A/N: Sharkey was what the hobbits called Saruman when he took over the Shire.
Frodo tugged lightly at the strings of the brown paper package. All the way home it had lain heavily in his palm, beckoning him to it. Remarkable how much little bands of metal seemed to control his life. Lighter than the last and by far less evil it was, however, its equal in power. A little tug more and the strings fell from their lofty knot, the paper opening as a flower in the palm of his hand, and in the center, the thin gold band fixed with a single stone in the center. It was a goodly size; the Boffins had, after all, been quite a prominent and well-off family before Sharkey. 'Sharkey,' he whispered to himself and smiled at the irony. 'Old man.'
'Wha's that, Mr. Frodo, sir?' Sam asked from the door where he'd stopped upon hearing his friend's quiet voice in its well-known contemplative tone.
'Oh nothing, Sam, just a thought,' he responded, fingering his ring. 'The etymology of the word "Sharkey" and he slid the ring into his vest pocket. 'Sam, what do you think about our current situation?'
'What situation's 'at, Mr. Frodo?' he asked, stepping farther into the room and committing to the conversation.
'You and I and Rosie and Lily. . . Here.'
'Well, I think it's. . . I think it's quite nice, Mr. Frodo, don' you?'
'I have. . . And I do. . . And I don't.' Frodo began to pace.
'I don' think I know what you mean.'
'You remember. . . When you found us, don't you?' Sam only turned away. 'I know you were. . . disappointed in us, in me. . .'
'Oh, Mr. Frodo, don' think that at all. I don' presume t' be disappoin'ed in you,' Sam urged quickly, spinning about. Then he explained, 'It's simple fer a gard'ner. Find a girl ya like and marry 'er. Ya know exactly who and what are within yer reach. For you there are rules. It's all very complicated, I'm sure, and I'm 'appy not knowin' what it's like. In any case, I've no right to judge you fer what I know nothin' about. An' even if I did know. . .' His voice trailed off, but his mind continued, 'I'd 'ave no right to challenge you for anythin'. . . After all you've done.'
'Well, it would be alright if you did,' Frodo explained. 'It's no surprise most others would, and badly. To whit, I've meant to ask a favor of you, Sam.'
'What, Mr. Frodo?'
Frodo hesitated, thinking deeply on his request. 'What do they say, Sam, of Lily and I? In the inns and pubs, at Lucy Goodbody's teas and out along the roads. There must be talk, I know, but I've not been about much of late, having no cause of it, and I have not heard. Tell me, Sam, if you would, what is the common word?'
A simple enough request, Frodo's, yet it tripped Sam up so. Which way first? 'Ther' are some,' he began, 'who say it's some great shame and talk as if they were somethin' better. Ther' are. . . those 'ho say what else would be expected of Mad Baggins and 'ho only say such a shame about poor, young Lily bein' brought along withal. "Trouble started with ol' Mr. Boffin's death," they say, "an' was only made worse by the Mayor's imprisonment and such. Sad 'ow the fam'ly's fallen from grace," they say. Then,' he paused to consider, 'ther' are those 'ho deny th' 'ole thing. "The Boffins were such a splendid fam'ly," they say, "but right indeed they've fallen and er not so splendid anymore." An' they say yer bein' wondrous kind takin' the girl in now 'er mother's lost 'er wits. "Frodo's a bachelor fer life," they say, " after ol' Bilbo. It's 'is ken."' he finished at last.
'And what do you think of us, Sam?' Frodo asked quietly, his left hand involuntarily reaching into his vest pocket to finger the ring.
'I think yer in love, Mr. Frodo, sir. What matters more 'an that? You were always encouragin' me to go after Rosie before everythin'.'
Frodo smiled sort of nervously. 'What do you think they'd say to a wedding?'
Sam's face lit up for joy. 'Yer goin' to be married?! Why didn't ya say so in the first place? This is. . . splendid! An'. . . all 'obbits love a wedding! But when did you ever care about the rest, eh?'
'Sam, I've not asked her yet.'
'Well, what er ya talkin' t' me for? Go ask 'er!' he urged his friend and comrade excitedly.
'I'm not so sure, Sam,' Frodo said in the small, quiet manner he always assumed when he felt insignificant and unworthy.
'What do you mean? I-- Mr. Frodo, what do you mean you're not sure?
Frodo crossed the room hesitantly. 'Things have changed.' Again he hesitated.
'Well, Frodo. . . Don't you love her?' Sam asked earnestly.
'Of course, Sam, of course I do!' Frodo said vehemently, spinning about. 'It's just. . .' He looked down at his hands touching just at the fingertips before him, at all but his middle finger. '. . .I'm not so sure. . . she loves me.' Sam stepped forward toward his friend with furrowed brow, questioning silently. 'She's so very young,' Frodo began slowly to explain. 'It is the tendency of the young to love freely. . . and then. . . not to love.' He sighed. 'I know what it is to be young and in love,' and at the last word he mocked quotation makes as best he could. 'I shall not say I have not done the same.' He turned away from Sam again. 'It is her right. . . ss it is every free person's--' and the flash of memory came back to Sam at those words, free persons '--to. . . change her mind. But I am not young, Sam,' he spoke looking up through his dark lashes at his friend, who had come round in front of him, 'and if she does not love me--' his voice dropped to a whisper at the last. 'Sam, I--'
'She loves you,' Sam said softly, but Frodo only shook his head, in a shower of molasses curls. 'She does. She loves you!' Sam insisted.
'And how do you know, Sam? Is it not more likely I'm. . . a fling?' he asked with a touch of disgust and quite more depression, 'a youthful discretion? An. . . adventure?' Ah, yes, an adventure. For they were very alike, the two of them. And now he'd come to be in some ways so very like dear Bilbo, a mysterious entity with plentiful stories and a plethora of strange occurrences. Aye, that would do to wet curiosities.
'No, Mr. Frodo, sir. She does. She loves you.'
'But how, Sam, how do you know? Or is it just conjecture?' he snapped and lunged forward. Then, closing his eyes lightly and sighing, he apologized dejectedly, to which Sam responded quietly:
'How do you know she doesn't?'
A moment of stillness passed then as Frodo brought himself up out of his depression. When he finally stirred, his movements were slow and purposeful, almost painfully thought out. He reached into his left vest pocket and pulled out the great trinket on which his fate hung. 'Well, Sam,' he said quietly, fingering the gold lightly, 'do I do it?' and he held out the ring at arm's length as if both showing it off to his friend and reviling it from himself.
'Sweet Mother of Mercy,' came a breathless phrase from the doorway. Rosie stood beaming there. 'The world's come a-rights again!'
A/N: Is this me begging for reviews thing getting annoying at all? Because you points finger like classic Uncle Sam have the power to stop it! I should make posters.