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Sing Ho! For The Open Road
Sam was a bit nervous about the proposition, but that was a state
of mind in which he had frequently been as of late. Since his moving into Bag
End a week ago, his life had been turned upside down, and the straightforward
threads of his previous existence had been knotted up into such a wreck of a
snarled mess that he wasn’t quite sure if he’d ever be able to unravel them
again. Up until this last week, he had been used to being the one upon whom
family and friends could always depend. He was, after all, the one son who had
no intention of heading north to start life elsewhere. He had been content, and
indeed quite happy, to follow in his father’s footsteps, and take over the
position to which his father had so faithfully given himself. Every one of his
sisters knew that Sam was absolute reliability itself, when it came to doing any
chore that needed a bit of muscle behind it, and what’s more, it was done
willingly, cheerfully, and usually before they got around to asking. And every
neighbor and friend, within a mile or two about Number Three, knew that Sam was
the lad to go to if ever an extra hand was wanted. Sam knew all of this as well
of course, but what was more important, he somehow had grown accustomed to
feeling that this was his place, his own particular strength. In his own mind,
at least, he was not the cleverest of hobbits, nor the handsomest, nor was he
gifted with his hands in any particular way. But being helpful was something
that came naturally to him, and never failed to make him content with his
position in life.
So the fact that his father was not speaking to him and, even more disturbing,
had made quite sure that he did not even see Sam, was very distressing to him.
Marigold was distracted by her recent marriage, of course, but neither Daisy nor
May had been near Bag End, and Sam was really not sure if they wanted to see him
at Number Three at all. He had not ventured to find out otherwise. It was as if
the comfortable niche that he had made for himself in life had suddenly and
unexpectedly given way, and he felt himself inadvertently falling, somehow, but
into what, he did not know.
The only time that he felt secure and sure of his place right now was when he
was in Frodo’s arms at night, and they lay together in the great soft bed in
Frodo’s bedroom at Bag End, and Frodo kissed him, and called him his own dearest
love, and Sam felt such happiness that nothing else in his life mattered in the
least, other than the feel of those arms around him, those sweet lips on his,
and the indescribable sensation of their two bodies together, skin to skin. The
loss of his family was a price that he would pay, if he must, but when daylight
came once more, he realized that he hadn’t known how much it could hurt.
So when Frodo proposed a short walking tour, in the lovely early summer weather,
he quickly agreed, even though he had never gone walking for more than a day
without returning to his own home at night. After all, it was when he was alone
with Frodo that he felt the happiest these days, and it seemed as if this trip
would give him a chance to leave all these difficulties behind, at least for
awhile.
&&&&&
Frodo had, with well hidden alarm, seen Sam's life abruptly change, and the once
comfortable existence that he himself had known at Bag End was suddenly fraught
with new difficulties. He could not think of what to do to help Sam, for his
intervention would certainly do nothing but worsen matters, but it saddened him
to see that the easy flow of everyday life between Bag End and Number Three,
Bagshot Row, had suddenly come to an awkward end, and he felt certain that it
was due to his impetuousness and blind desire to hold Sam close to him that this
misfortune had come about. If he hadn't yearned for more than his blissful
afternoons with Sam, if he had only had a little more patience since, after all,
Sam was barely over a teen, then perhaps the gaffer would not have felt
compelled to try to send Sam away, and matters would not have come to the point
to which they had. He had been very greedy, he knew quite well, and that had
been the real cause of this dilemma. Of course, he tried to reason with himself,
he hadn't known that he was going to fall in love so very completely with a lad
who had been around more or less half his life, and he certainly couldn't have
known that that very same lad would answer his infatuation back to the extent
that he would give up everyone who was dear to him, just for the chance to be
with him, and return that passion.
He watched Sam stoically go through his chores, and anxiously looked for the
least hint that Sam was regretting his decision. He briefly considered insisting
that Sam return to his family, at least for the time being, but really there was
no doubt now that such an insistence would only serve to possibly break Sam's
heart, and unquestionably his own as well. He had made his choice, and Sam had
as well, and now it was time for them to learn how to adjust to those decisions.
But at least he could give both of them a few days away from everything that
reminded them of the past, and so he had proposed the walking tour. A few days
tramping about through the woods, and laying out under the stars would do the
two of them, he was quite sure, a world of good.
&&&&&
He had made the proposal at first breakfast, and Sam blinked at the suddenness
of the idea. “A walking trip? To where, Frodo?” he asked in surprise, stopping
short in the midst of buttering the last piece of bread.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Frodo shrugged, giving his tea another stir. “Possibly to
the west; it’s been awhile since I went in that direction, I believe.”
“Not to any place in particular, then?” Sam continued to question, still
somewhat bewildered, but greatly relieved that this excursion did not seem to be
involving any of Frodo’s relatives. He most decidedly was not ready for any
encounter along those lines, certainly not yet, and quite possibly never.
“No place in particular, Sam,” Frodo took a sip of tea, glancing at Sam over the
rim. “You know, just out and about. See where our fancy takes us, that sort of
thing. Three or four days, possibly more, although I suppose you’d have
difficulty being gone for a week.”
“Aye, t‘be sure,” Sam felt alarm at that thought, a matter not at all hidden by
his expression. “ ‘Tis summer now, and folk’s have their hands that busy…” and
left unspoken was the difficulty of asking anyone for help, things being as they
were at the moment.
“Oh, of course,” Frodo hastily agreed with him, although that had not actually
been a consideration of his until this very minute. “Wouldn’t want to impose.
Four days should do quite nicely really, two days there and two days back again.
I’ve never followed the other end of the Water that much; I’m rather curious as
to where it goes.” He refrained from mentioning that he and Bilbo generally had
taken the eastern routes, towards the direction Bilbo had once gone upon his
great adventure, and the direction that Frodo suspected he had gone when he left
the Shire last autumn. Oddly enough, Sam’s unspoken reluctance to meet up with
any of Frodo’s relatives was shared by Frodo himself, at least for the time
being. The westerly routes, however, seemed safe enough.
“What sort of things should I be packin’ for us then?” Sam asked, rather meekly,
after several moments of contemplative silence.
“The usual,” Frodo put down his teacup and gave him a slight smile. “Don’t tell
me you’ve never done this before, Sam. Haven’t you ever gone to visit your
brothers, at least?”
Sam shook his head, with a rueful look. “Not exceptin’ for once when I was but a
wee fauntling. ‘Twas with my mam and the gaffer, when Halstad settled down for
the first time up there, but I really don’t remember naught, save for some fine
trees on the way, and how the wind bit something fierce whistling through them.
The most I had t’do with the packing was stayin’ out of the gaffer’s way, and
mindin’ Mari.”
“Oh.” Frodo was slightly surprised by this. He knew that working hobbits didn’t
generally have the time to go touring purely for pleasure, but he had assumed
that Sam must have accompanied his father on a trip or two, and he was sure that
he remembered Bilbo mentioning that he had brought Hamfast Gamgee with him, once
or twice, on his visits to Brandy Hall. But the idea of walking about the
countryside with Sam had quite charmed him by now, and he didn’t mind, in the
least, showing Sam how one went about it.
“Well, food’s the main thing,” he warmed to the topic, leaning forward in his
chair and pouring himself another cup of tea. “That, and something to cook it
in. If you’re along the main roads, you can always pick up a bit along the way,
but I don’t expect that we will need to. Just the basics, of course, and then
with any luck, one can find some berries, or a bit of game as one goes along. If
the meals get to be too wildly boring, there’s usually an inn to be found, and
that’s always as good a reason as any to sample the local brew.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Sam murmured, smiling shyly, with an elbow resting on the
table and his chin propped up in his hand.
“Oh, it is,” Frodo informed him reassuringly. “Food does taste amazingly
delicious out under the stars, especially with a good pipe afterwards. It’s
nearly summer, and the weather has been lovely lately, so the only other items
we’d need, I should imagine, would be a blanket each and a stout walking stick.
Not too much to pull together, really. Perhaps we could be off by elevenses?”
“Oh, aye, I suppose so,” Sam pulled up a bit at this, clearly a little startled.
“But there’s a bit of watering that I should be tendin’ to first, an’ the
strawberries want pickin’ or the birds will have them all before we get back,
and…” his voice trailed away with some reluctance, as he stood up quickly, and
cleared the dishes off to the wash basin.
“I can take care of the strawberries, Sam, that won’t be a problem. What else
needs to be done?” Frodo questioned him, curiously.
“Well, I’d best let those down the Row know where we’re off to,” Sam added
quietly, keeping his back to Frodo. “They might be up this way, an’, well, I
should let them know,” he ended, rather lamely.
Frodo got up at Sam’s words, and walked over to him, wrapping his arms tightly
around him and resting his forehead on Sam’s shoulder. “It won’t always be like
this, Sam, dear,” he said quietly. “I’m sure they’ll get over it.”
“Oh, aye, no doubt,” Sam agreed softly, dropping his head, but bringing his
hands up to cover Frodo’s. “They’d be family, after all, and ‘tis more a matter
of the being worried than angry, excepting maybe the gaffer. ‘Tis I who should
be actin’ like there’s naught to be concerned about, and that’ll bring’em round,
sooner better than later.”
Frodo kissed the back of his neck tenderly, but had no words to say as Sam left,
his back squaring itself and his head held high as he strode purposely down the
kitchen walk towards Number Three.
&&&&&
It was not long after elevenses, after all, when they left Bag End, closing the
door neatly behind them. Frodo had decided to take the back road in the
direction of Hobbiton, since it actually was more of an infrequently used path
than a road, and there was very little chance of meeting anyone else on it.
Besides, it cut down towards the village not far from the Water, and it rather
looked, as he gave the map of the Shire in the study one last desultory glance,
as if, as long as they headed in a generally straight direction, that they ought
to run into the Water before very long. The idea of finding its end had quite
fixed itself in his fancy now, and it seemed like a proper sort of goal for this
adventure.
It was a lovely morning on which to begin a hike; blue skies with puffy clouds
sailing past high overhead, and all the woods in their freshest late spring
state. The path had grown over quite grassy, and indeed, if Frodo had not known
it so well, finding it might have been a bit of a puzzle from time to time.
Festive wildflowers were liberally strewn throughout the occasional small
clearing, and the trees that lined the path were far on their way towards
reaching their glossy green summer foliage. There was a bustle and chirping, as
the hobbits passed quietly under the branches, for it was the end of nesting
season, and they noticed more than one fledgling being coaxed into fluttery,
uncertain flight by a patient parent.
Frodo felt his spirits rise immediately, for who could be gloomy on such a gay
day? He adjusted his pack to fit a bit more comfortably over his cloak, which he
really didn’t need at all, and reached out for Sam’s hand. Sam’s fingers, strong
with that delectable touch of roughness, intertwined easily with his, eagerly
returning his clasp, and Sam gave him a warm return smile. Frodo had not asked
any questions regarding Sam’s brief visit to the Row, and Sam had not
volunteered any information, but that was behind them now, and there would be
plenty of time to discuss the matter before they returned, Frodo felt. Right
now, what really mattered was the touch of sun on his face, and the green
fragrance of the woods, and Sam at his side.
They reached the fork in the path, where they generally turned down towards
Hobbiton, about mid-afternoon. “I’ve never gone this other way,” Frodo said
thoughtfully, as they stood at the junction, and both gazed in the other
direction. “But Bilbo told me that it eventually hits the road from Hobbiton to
Nobottle, in the direction of the Bindbale Woods. The Water is either on this
side of it or the other, I’m not too sure which, but no doubt we’ll run across
it soon enough. After all, this is the very heart of the Shire; I can’t imagine
we could get too terribly lost.”
Sam nodded trustingly in agreement, and gazed down the nearly imperceptible
passage through the trees. If the other path had been overgrown and difficult at
times to follow, this one was even more lightly trod, and Sam was privately not
sure if it was indeed a path at all, and perhaps nothing more than a deer track.
He was confident in Frodo’s experience in these matters, however, and took the
opportunity to glance at the trees around them. The pines, he was conversant
enough with, and the oak and larch as well, but there were some tall darkish
trees with which he was not familiar.
“Oh, those?” Frodo responded thoughtfully, as Sam asked what they might be.
“Actually, I don’t think I can tell you. Bilbo knew all of this, but I never
thought to ask him. Tell you what, Sam,” he laughed, throwing an arm around
Sam’s shoulders. “You need to collect some leaves, or bark, or something of the
sort. Then when we get back, we can see if we can find them in Bilbo’s books.
Pity I didn’t bring any sort of a sketchbook with me, I suppose.”
Sam gave a satisfied nod at that proposal and walked over to one of the trees in
question. It was then that the difficulty presented itself, for the tree really
was quite tall, with no branches within reach. “’Tis naught in the way of
leaves, but more of a needle, like pine,” Sam eyed it contemplatively. “But that
rough bark, now, that’d never be pine, nor fir, neither. Well, I’d best be givin’
it a good look, for there’s naught much else I’d be able t’bring back with me.”
Frodo joined him then, and gave the tree a close appraisal. “I can get up that,”
he announced, with a certain amount of satisfaction. “I’ll cut you off a bit,
Sam.”
“You can’t be climbing that high, Frodo!” Sam protested almost immediately, in
alarm. “Why, ‘tis eight feet to the nearest branch, if not more!”
But Frodo laughed, confident of his skill. “Of course I can. The product of a
misspent youth, Sam,” he insisted, gaily. “I never paid any attention when there
was something useful to be learned at Brandy Hall, but skills such as climbing
trees, holding my breath underwater, and pilfering current buns from behind
Cook’s very back? Ah, there was never my like in abilities such as those, as
Merry could well tell you. You’ve a pocketknife on you, don’t you, Sam?”
Sam uneasily produced it, and Frodo slipped it into his own pocket. “Right,
then,” he studied the rough trunk with the air of an expert. “Just a little
boost up, now, and I’ll make for that low branch.” He pointed it out
authoritatively to Sam.
“Frodo, you really don’t need to…” began Sam uncertainly, but Frodo already had
one foot up, waiting for his hand. With an inward sigh, Sam bent slightly, and
hooking his hands together, brought them under Frodo’s foot and lifted as high
as he could, as Frodo scrambled up the trunk.
He had to admit, as he watched Frodo’s progress, that Frodo actually was quite a
good climber, lithe, with strong arms and toes, and a powerful grip. The coarse
bark did have the benefit of allowing him a toehold, and he was within reaching
distance of the lowest branch in no time. Leaning into the trunk, he reached
into his pocket with his right hand, as his left arm wrapped around the tree,
and brought out Sam’s knife. It only took a practiced flick of the wrist to open
it, and reaching out toward the branch, Frodo, with, if Sam had been able to see
it, his tongue very slightly stuck out with the effort, slashed as best he could
at the nearest needle cluster on the branch. But perhaps he hadn’t climbed up
quite far enough, for with a cry of dismay, he felt himself overbalance, and
inadvertently opened his hand, dropping the knife.
Sam gasped below in sudden fright, watching Frodo waver, and he only just ducked
the falling knife. His hands flying involuntarily to his mouth, he saw one of
Frodo’s feet losing its hold, and both of his arms embrace the rough trunk as he
began to slide down the tree. He landed in the grass with a sharp intake of
breath and a loud whump, and Sam flew to his side in an instant.
“Oh, Sam, I’m fine, really I am,” Frodo shook his head with embarrassment as he
gingerly picked himself up, and checked himself cautiously for damage. “Nothing
worse than some scrapes, fortunately. It’s what I get, I suppose, for fancying
myself a teen still. Not quite as light as I once was.”
But Sam refused to be distracted, and carefully grasping Frodo’s hands, turned
them palms up. They showed clearly enough the marks of his skid down the tree,
being scraped and bloodied, and Frodo gave them a rueful look. “Some of that
salve of yours would have done nicely, I suppose, but that can’t be helped, I’m
afraid. I certainly don’t want to turn back now, just to fetch it, just on
account of my clumsiness.”
“Well, now, let me just see,” Sam blinked at Frodo’s words, and reached one hand
down to search his pocket. “If this ain’t a piece o’luck,” he murmured, giving
Frodo a sudden smile. “ ’Tis my gardening jacket, after all, and happens as I
was pruning the roses last week. I popped this in my pocket, just in case, as it
were, and a good thing, too.” Triumphantly he produced a small twist of oiled
paper from his pocket. “Have a sit, m’dear, and let your Sam see to those poor
hands.”
So Frodo sat in the grass under the tree that had been the cause of it all, and
Sam opened the twist, revealing the daub of salve that he had put away in his
pocket. Gently, and with the greatest of care, he first found a cloth in his
pack, and the water bottle, and washing the dirt away, then eased the salve into
the scrapes. “No ink marks,” he mused, glancing up to see Frodo watching his
face with a loving smile.
“Haven’t spent much of my time in the study, this past week,” Frodo replied
softly, his smile deepening. “Perhaps we should find someplace to stop for the
night fairly soon.”
“Aye,” Sam answered his smile, his heart, as always, leaping into his throat and
his pulse quickening at the sight of Frodo’s look of desire. “That would be
right nice.”
“Very well then,” Frodo stood up, decisively. “A little further away from the
cross-roads, I should think. Sing out as soon as you spot a likely location,
Sam. Oh, and here,” he stooped, picking up a couple of objects and handing them
to Sam with a grin. “Your knife. And your branch. Let’s only collect specimens
on the ground from now on, shall we?”
&&&&&
But the further down the path they found themselves, the less likely there
seemed to be a good location in which to camp. The trees were high overhead, and
the bushes underneath were thick indeed, and unless they planned to camp
directly in the middle of the road, there didn’t appear to be many alternatives.
And it wasn’t more than a half hour later that the first of the drops hit Frodo,
on the nose and then on the hand, and he glanced up in dismay. “Rain,” he
muttered. “Lovely. And a brisk breeze as well. Where in the name of all that’s
good did that come from? Well, perhaps if we spread out the cloaks over some
branches, and build ourselves a snug campfire…. oh, bollocks!”
Sam stopped at that exclamation, and watched in surprise as Frodo suddenly began
to search through all of his pockets and then, snatching his pack from his back,
it as well. Finally he gave a sheepish glance up over to Sam, distinctly
embarrassed. “Forgot the tinder box,” he admitted. “Bilbo always brought it, and
I never thought…. I don’t suppose you did?”
Sam shook his head in dismay, and Frodo gave a frustrated sigh. “Marvelous. I’m
really not too sure where we are, I don’t mind telling you Sam, and now it’s
chilly and raining, and I have no way of making a fire for us tonight. I suppose
we might as well pack it in, and try to head back to Bag End at least as far as
we can get, before it becomes too dark. It’s not going to be a very pleasant
evening though, I’m afraid.”
“No,” Sam said quietly, after a moment’s thought. He laid an encouraging hand on
Frodo’s arm, and continued. “I don’t mind any of this, Frodo, as long as you
don‘t likewise. Let’s just go on a little more, and see what we can find, in the
way of a place t’rest for the night. Tomorrow will be another lovely day, I’m
sure of it, and I’d not want to go back, not just yet.”
Frodo studied his face for a minute, and then smiled back lovingly. “Always the
optimistic one, aren’t you, my dear? Very well, let’s try to find someplace just
a little further on, and if not, I suppose the path will do.”
The sun should have stayed out much longer, as near to mid-summer’s day as it
was, but the quickly thickening dark bank of clouds was bringing the darkness on
faster than expected when Sam, looking up from the path, spied a glimmer off in
the distance. “What’s that, Frodo?” he asked, slightly apprehensive, reaching
out and catching hold of Frodo’s arm, and wiping the rain out of his eyes with
his other hand.
Frodo stared off in the direction that he was pointing and soon saw it too.
“Well, it appears to be the light from a smial,” he announced, somewhat
uncertainly. “Possibly, there’s a better road somewhere about as well, but
perhaps we could find a shed, or an outbuilding in which to stay for the night.
But we’d better make our way there before we altogether lose the light, for this
underbrush is decidedly thick.”
It was thick, and thorny and prickly as well, so it took some going to reach
what finally turned out to be a small inn tucked into the side of a crumbling
hill and bordered by, Frodo noted with surprise in the fading light, a broad and
well-trod road. There was a faded board hanging above the entrance announcing
that they were in the presence of the Rusty Thrush, but even without that
indication, it was unmistakably an inn, to judge from the warm light and sound
of voices from behind the partially open door.
The rain was coming down now in earnest, as Frodo and Sam stood in the shadow of
the tall poplar that sheltered the entrance. “I suppose that this is a good a
place as any to put up for the night,” Frodo grasped Sam’s hand, giving it an
encouraging squeeze, and they started to enter. But just then, there was a loud
cry from within, and the round door was flung wide open, nearly in their faces.
The stout figure of an older hobbit was propelled out rather suddenly from
inside, nearly colliding with them, before managing to gain his balance as the
door banged shut again.
“Pardon me, I’m sure,” Sam stammered out, reflexively, as the older hobbit shook
himself off and gave the newcomers a glare.
“You’d want t’be mindin’ yourselves, young sirs,” he growled, jamming a battered
cap on the top of his already wet head, “if you’re plannin’ to go on in. An
infamous lot, they is, and tight with their brew, likewise.”
His complaint might have had more credibility to it, however, without the very
noticeable scent of the brew which the speaker had already consumed, so Frodo
gave him a polite nod, and said, “Thank you very much for the warning; we’ll
keep our heads about us. But any shelter in a storm, you know.”
With a shake of his head, and a huff that clearly disclaimed all future
responsibility, the older hobbit disappeared into the rain, and Frodo reached
out to open the well-scuffed door.
It was a crowded room that night, with a rather boisterous crowd and a
noticeably frazzled lass serving the guests. Frodo looked around unnoticed for
several moments for the proprietor until a hoarse voice from an ancient hobbit,
seated close to the door, yelled out, “Hoy! Willum! There’s summat new here f’ye!”
Willum turned around from a large keg at the side of the room, that he’d been in
the process of trying to hoist onto his back, and gave the newcomers a quick
glance. “Aye, then, I’ll be there once I get this round to the front,” he called
out, turning back to the obviously full keg.
“Here, now, let me give you a hand w’that,” Sam slipped behind the elderly
hobbit and made his way back to the burly proprietor to offer assistance. “Looks
like a handful.”
“No mistake about that,” puffed the proprietor as he bent his knees, struggling
to lift it. “Just help me get it up, that’s all I’d need.”
Sam grasped the other side then, holding it up and letting the older hobbit bend
down to get a shoulder under it. “Aye, that’s it,” he grunted, lifting it up
with the skill of long practice, and quickly toting it over to the counter.
“Well, then,” he exclaimed with satisfaction, setting the keg down on the
counter with a solid thump, “that will do right nicely.” With a quick swipe of
his forehead and hands with a well-used handkerchief, he gave Sam a wide grin
and stuck out a broad hand in greeting. “A round on the house for you and your
friend, or my name ain’t Willum Broadbur. And welcome to the Rusty Thrush on a
sorry a night as we’ve had in awhile. Fair cut right loose out there, didn‘t it
just?”
“True enough, that it did,” Sam answered with a smile. “I’d be Samwise Gamgee
then, and my…” It was there he stopped, turning and unsure as how to identify
Frodo.
But Frodo was there, at his elbow, and stuck a hand out to shake as well. “Sam’s
friend, Frodo Baggins,” he added smoothly, “and most happy to find your
establishment. We really hadn’t come prepared for this type of weather at all.”
Willum gave a grunting chuckle at Frodo’s remark. “Ah, to be sure, not a one
did. But ‘tis still spring, and as fickle as the finest of lasses, as the sayin’
goes. Baggins, did you say?”
Frodo nodded, but did not elaborate. However, the elderly hobbit by the door had
been watching and now made his slow and bandy-legged way up to them. “I’d
remember a Baggins, from down Hobbiton way,” he frowned, giving Frodo a careful
look. “But you ain’t him a’tall. He’d be an older chap, and not near as dark.”
“Bilbo Baggins, my cousin,” Frodo explained politely.
“Well, that’s not the one as comes to mind t’me,” Willum responded, rubbing his
chin thoughtfully. “There’s a Baggins which is taller. About this un’s age but
more pimply about the face,” he added, contemplatively.
“Most likely Lotho Sackville-Baggins, another cousin,” Frodo managed to keep
from grinning at that description of Lotho.
“Aye, most likely,” Willum nodded, having gone through his recollections of
Baggins’ and not having found Frodo. “Anyways, you’re more than welcome t’stay
the night, but I’m afraid we’re not the sort of inn as has rooms. Just the space
what’s in front of the fire. We generally clear away the tables, later on, and
if you can find a spot to stretch out, why, you’re more than welcome to it.”
“That would be very kind of you, and we certainly would appreciate it,” Frodo
answered, knowing that it would be better than a soggy evening out no matter
even if it was a little crowded.
“I’m not sure as I’d call it kind, seeing as how you’ll be paying me for it,”
Willum flashed the two of them a grin, “but on a night such as this, I’d wager
you’ll be thinkin’ it a good bargain.” Reaching out for the empty mug the old
hobbit had brought over with him, he filled it and handed it back with a
grunted, “There you’d go, old’un.”
“Keep an old hobbit company. The name’s Tom,” the recipient lifted his mug as
Willum passed one each to Frodo and Sam as well. “Just you be leavin’ your packs
there by the wall. They’ll be safe enough there, no matter what that Bill might
a’told you on the way in.”
Frodo laughed as he and Sam sat down at the table, after following the old
hobbit’s instructions regarding their packs. “I must say I did have a bit of
concern, but the night is not one in which to be out.”
“Oh, there’s not a bit o’harm in him; he just doesn’t like goin’ home,” Tom
chuckled. “But look at the pair o’ye, now. You must work the land,” he eyed Sam
as he leaned back in his seat, taking a pipe out of his pocket and tamping it on
the table. “You’ve got a strong back, t’be sure, and a bit o’color about ye. But
you…” he turned then to Frodo, giving him a piercing look. “An indoors job, no
mistake. What is it, lad?”
“I keep books,” Frodo declared, after a quick moment’s thought, and saw Sam’s
grin at his answer.
“Ah, I knew it then!” Tom exclaimed in triumph. “I can allus tell, that’s what
they’d tell me. Well, I’m that glad to see your friend taking you out in the
country, for you certainly could use a bit of color, if you’d allow an old
hobbit a free tongue. So where are you off to, lads?”
Sam was ready for that question though. Following Frodo’s lead, he boldly
replied, “I’ve a couple of brothers as live up North Farthing.” Even though it
had nothing at all to do with their trip, it was undeniably true, and Sam’s
cheeks were pink with pleasure as he returned Frodo’s tickled glance. That
satisfied the old hobbit’s curiosity, and as both Sam and Frodo had found their
own pipes, the rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough.
&&&&&
It did end up being somewhat crowded on the floor, that evening, as several of
the local inhabitants decided, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, to remain
at the inn until the morning. Frodo and Sam had found some space near the edge
of the room, fortunately near the one window, which was left cracked open for a
bit of fresh air. Just as well, for even with the fire dying down to embers, the
atmosphere of the small inn was a trifle close.
Tom had left for his own smial as soon as they began clearing the oak tables to
the sides, not wishing, as he said, to make the old lady fret at home. Other
patrons did not seem to share his concern, as they took a quick look outdoors,
into the rainy night, and turned back into the common room with a shrug. “Ah,
she knows where t’find me,” one lanky hobbit muttered to his comrade with a
grin, who nodded agreement.
“Long as you’re back in time for first breakfast,” his friend laughed, clapping
him on the back in a jovial manner. “Not as it’s never happened before, now, is
it?”
So Sam and Frodo were mostly left to themselves, other than an occasional
friendly nod, and Frodo pulled his blanket out of his pack, where he had thrust
it as soon as it had started raining. “I suppose this is better than trying to
huddle under a bush out there,” he murmured, as he tried to make himself
comfortable on the blanket, drawing his cloak over himself, “but it really
wasn’t what I had in mind for tonight. Not exactly a peaceful evening under the
stars.”
Sam quietly chuckled as he followed Frodo’s example. “Seems like a quick storm,
just passin’ through,” he reassured Frodo. “Tomorrow will be fair, no doubt. And
mayhap we might be able to pick up a tinderbox near abouts here.”
“Oh, good thinking, Sam,” Frodo reached out for his hand under the cover of
their cloaks, turning on his side to face him.
The room settled down quickly, but sleep would not come to Frodo as he lay there
listening to the strange assortment of noises that issued from the room’s
occupants. Finally cocking an eye open, he saw, in the dim light from the
embers, that Sam’s eyes were open still as well.
“Can’t sleep either, Sam?” he whispered, scooting in a little closer to him.
Sam gave a slow smile. “Ain’t right,” he murmured. “You’re here all right, but
not enough of you, if you catch my meaning.”
Frodo ventured a quick kiss on Sam’s cheek for that comment. “Clothes are an
infernal nuisance, aren’t they?” he smiled tenderly back at Sam. “So much better
without them. I can’t believe how fast I’ve gotten used to you being in my bed
without the bother of them. It’s only been…”
“Eight nights,” Sam instantly replied, tightening his grip around Frodo’s hand
and his expression unmistakably devoted. “Eight nights I’ve spent with you. Not
countin’ this one, of course.”
“Oh, Sam, my dear,” Frodo, touched, reached out a hand to caress his cheek.
“You’ll lose track soon enough, my love, because there will be so very many of
them.”
Sam chuckled, in quiet denial, and murmured, “Never, me dearie. I’ve a good
memory, you know, and there ain’t a one I’ll ever be forgettin’. An’ especially
this one.”
Frodo reached out then, and pulled a quite amenable Sam close to his side. “I
suspect neither of us will forget this one, dearest. But none of them know us; I
don’t care what they think. At least I can hold you, Sam, and maybe we can at
least get to sleep.”
And eventually, they did.
&&&&&
Sam was correct, as Frodo had fully expected him to be, and they set off early
the next morning, which was as clear as could possibly be, with a new tinderbox
courtesy of Willum and a fresh loaf of bread as well in Frodo’s pack. The rest
of the occupants were still sleepily stirring on the floor as the proprietor
handed the two travelers a bundle of items to be eaten along the way, as well as
an admonition to be sure to stop by on their way back. “We’d be not seein’ much
in the way of new faces in these parts, and me Da fair took t’the pair of you.”
“Old Tom?” asked Frodo, slightly startled, as he had not suspected the
connection.
Willum grinned and winked at them. “Doesn’t like any special favors, he don’t.”
But he was distracted at that point by a sleepy dispute by two groggy hobbits as
to who had snored louder than the other the night before, so with a last wave of
farewell, they left the Rusty Thrush.
The only remnant of last night’s rain was the muddy condition of the road, but
it dried quickly enough under the bright rising sun, and the woods that lined
their way appeared freshly washed and brilliantly green. Stopping not too far
from the inn, they ate the breakfast Willum had thoughtfully provided for them;
a wheel of cheese, a handful of dried apples, and the quite tasty loaf of brown
bread. “We may as well finish off the water,” Frodo commented, shaking his flask
a bit, “for I am sure now that we are not far from the Water. I checked with Tom
the night before, and this is definitely the road from Hobbiton north to
Nobottle, so it should come up on the left any time now.”
He was absolutely right, for the broad willow-lined stream soon appeared just
where he thought it might, glistening gold in the sun, since it was fairly
shallow at this point. “Let’s get off the road now,” he proposed at the sight of
it, turning to Sam with a smile. “It wasn’t the most restful of nights, last
night, and it would be lovely if we could find somewhere to camp early. Some
place quite secluded as well, not so near the road, I should hope.”
Sam instantly saw the attraction of this plan, so they climbed down the sandy
bank from the road, and began to follow the lazily meandering river. The rain of
the previous day was gone, as if it had never occurred, and the sun shone
comfortably upon them as the two hobbits slowly made their way through the small
rivulets and tributaries that spun off from the mighty Water. They chatted gaily
as they walked hand in hand leisurely along the sands, gleefully discussing
their companions from the night before, and paying only occasional attention to
their surroundings other than their immediate footing. By noon, the road and any
sign of hobbit inhabitants had long since passed from view, and they seemed to
be in an older and slower world, where the broad Water glinted with a golden
shimmer, and whispered and burbled to itself; a far cry from the swiftly flowing
river that passed under Brandywine Bridge far to the eastern side of the Shire.
Willow lined the banks, as well as other trees that liked their toes in the
water, and rushes and reeds grew thickly between them. The only other creatures
to be seen was the occasional family of ducks, who paddled right up to them, as
they walked by on the shore, and eyed them curiously with tilted heads. Both Sam
and Frodo couldn’t help laughing as the fowl discussed them in muttered quacks
and then, obviously deciding that they were of no import, returning to their
business of bobbing underwater, tail feathers waggling high.
By afternoon, as the sun was beginning to arch to the west, the two travelers
turned their attention to finding a suitable campsite for the night. The ground
underfoot, though, was still a bit mucky, and Frodo stopped and looked back
toward the direction of the road. With a start, though, he saw that somehow they
had managed to become surrounded by the Water; and that there were rivulets
interspersed with grassy muddy banks on either side of them. It was only then
that he began to vaguely remember that this end of the Water, on Bilbo’s old
map, had had the word “marsh” written somewhere about it.
He mentioned this rather hesitantly to Sam, but Sam gave an unconcerned shrug,
and reassured him, “A little soggy, t’be sure, but it doesn’t rightly look like
a marsh t’me. We’d just be needing a patch of dryish ground, t’build a fire on.”
“You’re right, Sam,” Frodo cheered up at that thought. “The blankets should be
enough to protect us from a bit of damp ground, and the surroundings are
definitely more peaceful and pleasant that those of last night.”
And they were, too, until after dinner.
&&&&&
Dinner had been taken care of, and the decision had been made to forego pipes
for the evening, when Frodo spread the both of their blankets over the driest
patch of land that he could find. The two blankets, he reasoned, should be
enough to keep them from the damp, and there were still their cloaks in case
they needed some sort of a cover. For the time being, though, that did not seem
to be the case, for the evening was wonderfully soft and balmy, and the stars
were quite bright in the early night sky. He and Sam had nestled on the blankets
together, and were lying side by side and both staring dreamily up into the
gradually darkening purple overhead.
“The very same stars, Frodo,” Sam murmured, in a sort of wonder. “Just like
those over Bag End.”
“Well, yes, Sam love, but we really aren’t so very far from home yet,” Frodo
answered, with a bit of amusement.
“Seems that way t’me,” Sam turned his head, glancing at him with a slight smile.
“ ‘Tis the furthest I’ve ever been, no mistake.”
“Oh, I suppose you are right,” Frodo hastened to assure him with a slight
tightening of his hand that grasped Sam’s. “But I believe that the sky looks the
same pretty much all over the Shire. Certainly, I never noticed a difference
between the stars I saw at Brandy Hall and those at Bag End. I imagine one would
have to go quite far away to see different stars.”
“Do you think we ever will?” Sam asked softly, turning back to gaze at the sky
again.
“Perhaps,” Frodo responded quietly. “I’m a Baggins, after all, and we have been
known to wander. But I’m no Bilbo, my dear, I can’t imagine leaving alone.”
“Well then,” Sam turned back again, and quietly reached out to touch Frodo’s
cheek. “That’s all as matters t’me. Just as long as you let me tag along, Frodo,
me dear.”
“Oh, Sam. As if I never would,” breathed Frodo, and covered Sam’s hand with his
own. “At last,” he continued in a low tone, but with a smile in his voice. “This
is what I had had in mind the entire time, you know. No one but you and me, and
the stars above.” Rolling to his side and facing Sam, he ran a thoughtful finger
down Sam’s nose and stopped at his lips. “I missed these terribly last night,”
he whispered, and leaned over for a kiss. Sam’s mouth opened promptly to his and
tongue eagerly met tongue. “I missed this too,” Frodo murmured, as soon as he
found breath to speak again, slipping a covetous hand under the collar of Sam’s
shirt, and finding smooth warm flesh there.
“Ah,” gasped Sam, drawing a knee up, and leaning in to Frodo. “Can’t say as I
didn’t, likewise.”
Frodo laughed aloud at that response, and drew his hand down, tugging Sam’s
shirt out from his trousers. “Fortunately there’s no one about for miles, save
the ducks,” he murmured, in a throaty voice, running a slow greedy hand up Sam’s
firm side under the shirt. “And they don’t seem to be very curious about us at
all.”
“Aye, I did notice that,” Sam’s response was markedly husky, and his hand joined
Frodo’s. Frodo could feel him hesitating for just the moment, and then he boldly
directed Frodo’s hand down to where Frodo had been planning to send it all
along, down under the still-fastened trousers, to where Sam was unmistakably
ready for him.
“Sam!” Frodo exclaimed in pure delight, laughing aloud for joy. “You are
catching on rather quickly to this camping under the stars thing.” His hand
caressed and enticed, and Sam gave a heartfelt groan, clamping both of his hands
tightly over Frodo’s.
Frodo felt himself in the very same condition as Sam at this point, and there
seemed to be very little point in continuing the preliminaries, so finding Sam’s
mouth again, and using his kiss as an apology for withdrawing his hand, he
rapidly unfastened his own clothing, and broke from Sam’s delectable mouth for
just the moment to sit up and strip himself of all clothing. Sam had taken the
hint, and had just as rapidly removed his own, and in no time, they were in each
other’s arms, with no aggravating fabric in between.
“Ah, Sam, dearest one,” Frodo breathed, inflamed with an overpowering joy once
again at the beloved form he held in his arms. “How I managed to get through the
days, without you to look forward to each night, I’ll never know.”
Sam smiled up at Frodo, who had rolled the both of them with himself on top, and
reached up to touch Frodo’s curls, his eyes aglow in the starlight, and his
expression still holding more than a hint of wonder. “You are a marvel as I
never dreamed of, Frodo-love, and no mistake,” he whispered softly, and let his
hand slide slowly down the smooth plane of Frodo’s cheek. “I still can’t help
feelin’ as if the gaffer will be rousing me up to head for the fields, at any
moment, an’ I’ll find ‘twas all naught but a dream.”
“No dream, my own darling,” Frodo smiled tenderly, and bent his head down to
give a lingering kiss to the base of Sam’s throat. “No dream at all,” he
murmured as he continued up to just behind Sam’s ear.
“Ah, Frodo, me dearie,” Sam groaned, writhing instinctively under Frodo’s
skillful stimulation. “Aye, ‘tis no dream, no ways. Just a wonder you are, me
darling,” and his hands reached down, cupping the silky roundness.
“Sam, dear Sam,” Frodo’s response was decidedly husky, as he let his hand glide
between them, and ground delectably down on the enticing figure under him.
“Ahhh, hi!”
The latter syllable was delivered in what was very nearly a squeak, and Sam
quite suddenly found the luscious form that had covered him but a moment ago
abruptly removed. Opening his eyes with bewilderment, for they had quite closed
of their own accord not a moment before, he beheld Frodo standing up next to him
with an unmistakably annoyed expression on his face. “I can’t see it, Sam,” he
snapped, “but something has definitely taken unwelcome liberties with me.”
It was then that Sam noticed that Frodo appeared to be massaging that very same
roundness that he had so admired not a moment earlier. It was also only then
that he began to hear the faintest of drones, a buzzing in the background.
“Stinging mites,” he exclaimed, in sudden understanding. “ ‘Tis the marshes they
love, now.”
“Definitely stinging something,” Frodo growled in irritation. “And I can’t even
see the damage.”
“I can, love,” Sam successfully hid his smile at Frodo’s exasperation. “Let me
see your, erm, let me see you, m’dear.” Sure enough, there was a bright red
spot, visible even in the moonlight, on that milky skin. “Well, ‘twill itch for
a day or two,” he clucked sympathetically, “but naught too bad, I’d be guessin’.”
“One should hope not,” Frodo retorted grimly, easing himself gingerly back down
next to Sam. “An infernally awkward spot to scratch.”
Sam couldn’t help a laugh at Frodo’s tone and expression. “Come here, m’dear,”
he enticed him, reaching out to Frodo’s bare shoulder and running a slow hand
down the front of his chest. “Let your Sam take your mind off o’it.”
That was certainly an acceptable plan as far as Frodo was concerned, and he lay
back down at Sam’s side. Sam’s leisurely caress journeyed on, to Frodo’s side,
around the smooth jut of his hip, and back in front again. With a yearning sigh,
Frodo wrapped his arms around Sam, drawing him over himself. “My own, my dearest
one,” he invited him with an alluring push upwards, and Sam lost no time in
accepting.
Sam’s hand, between the two of them, had found them both, and Frodo inhaled
sharply, drawing his leg up and encircling it around Sam. Sam’s breathing was
quickening, and Frodo felt his own falling into Sam’s rhythm when that sudden
sharp pain suddenly bit again, this time on his thigh. Involuntarily, he jerked
upwards and gave a sharp muttered curse, as Sam froze in confusion. “Blast if
they didn’t get me again,” Frodo explained, sitting up and glaring at the site
of the bite. “Haven’t they anything better than hobbit to eat?”
“They do seem that fond of you,” Sam observed mildly, sitting up next to Frodo,
not without a certain amount of difficulty. These sudden halts to the
proceedings were becoming unmistakably awkward, not to mention painful.
“Afraid I can’t return the sentiment,” Frodo muttered in annoyance, rubbing at
the latest reddening circle. He lifted his head up abruptly then, and gave Sam a
look of unmistakably dismay, even in the lessening light. “Hear that, Sam?” he
asked, rather nervously. “Getting louder, isn’t it?”
Sam listened, and Frodo was quite right. The hum had increased, and there was a
sense of activity in the air. “Here, Frodo,” Sam exclaimed, snatching up the
cloaks that had been carelessly dropped to the side of the blankets. “They can’t
be gettin’ through this.”
In a moment, Frodo was curled under the cloaks, quite covered, as Sam gave a
last look about their campsite. There hadn’t been much of a campfire, what with
the damp ground, but he made sure what there had been was put out, and the packs
were ready for the morning. Although he was still without the benefit of
clothing, the mites paid no attention to him whatsoever, but rather seemed to be
hovering over the wool-covered mound that was Frodo, humming in disappointment.
After Sam saw that apparently they did not intend to disburse, he waved a still
smoldering branch in their direction long enough to drive them away for a few
moments, so that he could burrow under the cloaks to join Frodo. Unfortunately,
any activity other than sleep was decidedly out that night, since Frodo did not
dare stretch a limb out from the narrow confines of the cloaks. But at least
they were able to fall asleep wrapped together, and some time during the night,
the disillusioned mites left.
&&&&&
Sam poked his head out cautiously the next morning, but the interlopers from the
night before were gone. Instead, the morning was misty, chilly, and damp, and a
white haze seemed to rise from the Water itself, enveloping them in its soft
clammy grasp. Sam gave an unconscious shiver, and glanced down at Frodo. He was
still asleep, the cloaks falling away from his face, and Sam felt as if he could
spend the morning in blissful contemplation of that fair countenance, with the
long dark lashes resting against the creamy white skin, and the straight sharp
nose jutting out over the soft rosy lips. He was the most dazzling being as ever
was, he decided once again, and what he saw in a plain ordinary hobbit such as
himself, Sam felt he would never really know. But it was not a mystery that he
truly needed to understand, he conceded, reaching out to imperceptibly touch
those dark curls, as long as Frodo loved him the way he did. And on that matter,
he had no doubts whatsoever. Frodo did love him, as improbable as it seemed, and
with a love that was for a lifetime. Sam could only feel humbled by that
thought, and vowed once again to try his very best to never fail Frodo, no
matter the cost. And the very first thing he could do, his practical nature
reasserted itself, was to start the tea, and prepare the best breakfast he could
manage.
Frodo awoke, therefore, to the alluring aroma of a steeping kettle, and toasted
bread and cheese. “Oh, Sam, how late is it anyway?” he yawned, stretching
luxuriously and then suddenly opening his eyes quite wide as he remembered the
events of the evening before. “They aren’t still around, are they?” he asked,
anxiously, suddenly ready to pull the cloaks back over himself again.
“No, they’d be evening creatures,” Sam chuckled, pulling the mugs from his pack.
“As long as we find drier ground by tonight, they’d not be botherin’ us again.”
“Bothering us?” Frodo responded, a trifle sharply, as he stood up and stretched
his cramped limbs. “I just don’t understand why it was me they took a fancy
towards. Seems to me they could have shared us.”
“Skin’s too tough,” Sam answered with a grin, holding out a steaming mug.
“They’d not be liking the taste o’me, no ways.”
Frodo gave a disgruntled grumble at that rationale, but the hot tea, and cool,
creature-free morning air soon raised his spirits, and they were off before the
mist had vanished in the summer’s morning air.
&&&&&
Since they were two days from Bag End, it was time to be turning back, so Frodo
stuck east towards where he anticipated the road to Nobottle would be found, and
indeed, they reached it by second breakfast. The going was certainly easier
after that, but not nearly as interesting, and Frodo had no desire to spend a
second evening at the Rusty Thrush, no matter how welcome it had been in the
storm a couple of nights ago. So he eyed the woods to the side of the road, and
when he spotted a promising semblance of a path, stopped short.
“I’m quite likely to lose us again, Sam,” he explained, glancing at his
companion rather apologetically, “but I’m hoping that we might meet up with the
fork of the back road from Bag End, where we left it a couple of nights ago. Of
course, we may never see Bag End again, but I’d rather walk through the forests
than this dusty road.”
“Of course, me dear,” Sam agreed instantly, with a smile. “We can’t be but that
far away, I’d be thinkin’.”
So they climbed up the bank of the road and into the trees, and Frodo did indeed
feel his spirits lift at the fresh green fragrance that quickly surrounded them.
Perhaps, he thought, this trip might not end as the complete disaster that it
had been up until now. The forest was close around them for most of the morning,
as they walked along in a companionable silence, hand in hand. But sunlight
shone through the leaves overhead mixed with dappled shadow, and the faint path
was cool under their toes with spring’s fresh grass. At first Sam had his doubts
as to whether there really was a path, but just when it seemed to fade into a
complete close, Frodo would glance about, and sure enough, find it continuing on
the other side of the clearing. It was obvious that Frodo had had training in
woodcraft, and Sam found one more unsuspected reason to admire his lover.
By mid-afternoon, they found themselves under a grove of gnarled oak trees, and
casting a chance glance upwards, Sam spotted a large hive attached to a great
branch, and a steady stream of bees coming and going from it. “Look,” he pointed
it out to Frodo. “There’s no flowers about that I’ve seen, but ‘tis busy
indeed.”
Frodo gave it a curious examination. “I wonder,” he said softly, and then looked
over to Sam with a smile. “Let’s follow them, Sam,” he suggested, impishly.
“After all, they must be feasting on something, as industrious as they seem, and
I see nothing but the deepest of woods about us. Perhaps it will be a more
promising place to stop for the night. I have no idea how far off we still are
from home, but we really haven’t had an undisturbed night yet, and I’d not be
surprised if you never cared to go camping again. It would be lovely if we could
spend a peaceful evening together.”
“Peaceful?” Sam crooked an eyebrow up at that suggestion, and Frodo burst into
laughter.
“Very well, perhaps peaceful isn’t exactly the mood that I was thinking of, but
as long as the local fauna will let us be, I won’t ask for more.”
Sam grinned in response, and they left the faint path, following the flight of
the bees. Through thick brush and silent woods they made their way, with Frodo
keeping his reckoning with a careful eye on the sun and the prominent landmarks
as they went along. But it wasn’t long before they found the bees’ destination.
From under the trees they emerged and found, stretching before them, a wide
field, completely covered in high grass thickly mixed with clover. “Oh!” Sam
exclaimed, stuck in wonder by the sight. “Ain’t it that lovely!”
And truly it was. No trees interrupted the low sea of green that spread out
before them, only the occasional brightly golden dandelion or deep blue lupine.
It was no higher than their knees, and the clean scent was temptingly soporific,
as they stood on its border, gazing at the lovely scene. The bees lazily flew
back and forth over the field, buzzing in contentment and completely ignoring
the strangers in their midst. As they both looked about themselves in delight,
Frodo detected, under the hum of the bees, another sound. “Listen, Sam,” he
exclaimed, turning to his companion with a delighted smile. “Water!”
Sam heard it as well, a cheerful splashing only faintly audible in the distance.
“I didn’t know there was any other stream in these parts,” Frodo admitted, “but
it certainly sounds like one to me. I don’t know about you, but I definitely
wouldn’t mind getting my toes wet. Let’s look into this.”
That sounded tempting to Sam as well, so they started across the wide green
field, leaving the woods farther and farther behind them. There were no trees
bordering the far side of the meadow, and as they neared it, they were startled
to see that the ground on which they stood was actually the top of a fairly high
hill. The source of the burbling sound was there too, a small clear spring that
flowed down the side of the hill in a series of terraced sparkling pools, before
it disappeared down into the verdant valley below.
“Why, I never knew this was here,” exclaimed Frodo in delight. “We can’t be that
far off from Bag End, after all, but this is marvelous!”
Sam couldn’t help but agree as they gazed out over the rolling hills and
tree-lined ridges that faded far off into a hazy distance. “I never knew the
Shire was that big,” he murmured in awe.
Frodo nodded in agreement. “You can never see all that much of it at once,” he
explained, “but I do know that you can go for days and days and still not leave
the Shire.” But lovely as the sight was, there was a more immediate concern in
his mind. He studied the scene below them carefully, and then, with a smile,
indicated a location to Sam.
“There, Sam, that second pool down. Wouldn’t that be perfect? It seems to be
fairly shallow, and the bank next to it is quite wide and level. We could camp
there, this evening, and not have to worry about rolling down the mountainside,
I should think.”
Sam nodded in approval. “Naught of the flying nuisances, likewise, for they’d
not like running water,” he agreed. “And just at the edge, see there? A bit of
wood for a fire.”
“Just the thing,” Frodo concluded with satisfaction. “Only a bit of clambering
down that slope, Sam, and I think we’ll be set.”
&&&&&
It was in wordless agreement, as they reached the desired location, that they
dropped their packs to the ground, and found themselves suddenly in each other’s
arms. All the pent-up desire of the past few days suddenly surged to the surface
as they clutched tightly to each other; their mouths hungrily coupled together,
and desire inflaming them both once again.
“Ah, then,” groaned Sam, feeling his knees beginning to buckle as Frodo’s hands
found their way under his clothing and after caressing his back, began to find
their way lower.
“Oh, my dearest Sam,” moaned Frodo, no longer caring who or what might be about.
They had had to make do for the past two nights, and that was something he did
not think he could manage one more time. The thought of this beautiful lad,
gloriously tempting and so unconsciously alluring, and who loved him with a deep
unwavering love like no other he had ever known, was inflaming and intoxicating,
and there was nothing else and no one else in his life who mattered even half as
much. Sinking onto the grass, with an equally eager Sam in his arms, he vaguely
realized that his foot was wet, falling into the pool of spring water, and he
suddenly knew what he craved.
“Sam,” he whispered hoarsely, between kisses. “The water.”
Sam needed no further explanation. Breaking apart from Frodo only briefly, he
instantly stripped himself of his clothing, throwing it in a most
uncharacteristic manner to the side, and discovered that Frodo had done the
same. Together they tumbled into the pool with racing hearts, unable to refrain
from clutching each other tightly, and kissing nearly frantically. The water was
clear and warmed perfectly by the afternoon sun, and the bottom of the pool
sandy and delicious between the toes, but they never noticed as they found
themselves at the edge with Sam on his back and only his head resting on the
shallow grassy bank, fiercely pulling Frodo down hard over himself.
“Ah, Sam,” moaned Frodo, as he planted a knee on either side of Sam’s hips, and
slipped one hand behind Sam’s head. Sam’s response was necessarily nonverbal, as
they mouths met greedily yet once again, but Sam reached both hands around to
grasp him from behind and pushed himself up to meet Frodo. A deep groan come
from one of them, neither really knew who, as Frodo’s hand expertly slipped
between them and, efficiently yet lovingly, caressed and stroked and soon
brought them both ecstatic relief. Only then, with a guttural cry, he slumped
forward onto Sam’s body, breathing in great gulps as his pulse gradually calmed
itself. Sam was also breathing in a gasping rhythm, still trying to catch his
breath as well, but both of his hands came up to cradle Frodo in his arms, and
he tenderly kissed the side of Frodo’s face as it lay on his shoulder.
“There, now, dearie,” he murmured happily, gazing dreamily up past Frodo’s dark
curls at the golden clouds that were floating by in the late afternoon sky, and
feeling the gentle water lap at his chest. “There, now, my own sweet one. ‘Tis
your Sam here with you, and no one could ever love you more.”
&&&&&
Often, after that first trip, they tried to find the meadow again. That
shouldn’t have been very hard to do, for they were but a day’s journey from Bag
End, but they never found it again.
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