A Ghost In The Night
Chapter 25: Frodo's Farewell Gift
Disclaimer: all characters are property of J.R.R Tolkien and Tolkien enterprises. I make no money from this Fan fiction.
Author's note: This is not a slash story, though I suppose you could read that into it if you had a mind to. I have nothing against slash stories at all, but I did not intend this to be read as a slash, so I'm sorry if you got that impression.
: This IS the last chapter for definite. So there.
: A billion thanks to dearabbie who put up with the fic, melodysongsinger for lighting the day, and the frodohealers group for just being great. It has been an absolute honour to write for you all.
Thank you.
P.S. The ending is Boromir on a penny farthing. Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~
Frodo's anguished cry reached even Rose Cotton, who stood, dabbing a small white handkerchief against the corners of her eyes, fruitlessly trying to gather herself before she headed home and faced the painful enquiries from her mother on the success of her impulsive plan. She looked back towards the smial she had just departed, shock and fear temporarily empowering all pity that she felt for herself, her hand darting to her chest to still the heart that had missed a beat at such an anguished cry. She hesitated at the bottom of the path, her body paralyzed by the dwindling cries of terrific pain coming from the weak and pale hobbit she had seen shivering in his bed just moments before, but then the cries died down, and all that was left was the gentle tweeting of birds as they continued their business in the tree tops. Rose Cotton bit her lip lightly, told herself firmly that it was none of her business, and took her first step home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, Merry and Pippin had once again been surprised so much that they had jumped, and one of Frodo's valuable tea cups fell on the floor with a crash. Sam was snapped from his reverie, and he turned to his master, anguished that he had forgotten about his medicine. He grabbed the cup that he had partially filled, and, with a little too much force, put it to Frodo's lips and forced him to drink it. Frodo spluttered, his hands weakly struggling against Sam's in an attempt to push the foul tasting medicine away, but Sam's strength far exceeded his own, and the green goop vanished into Frodo's mouth without much incident.
"There you go, master," he soothed, pulling the cup away from Frodo's lips. He placed a hand upon Frodo's right where it lay encircling Arwen's pendant on its chain. "Shhh, now, it's ok."
"Sam," Frodo coughed, his eyes opening a crack to look at the gardener. He struggled to lift himself on his left hand, throwing himself forward in an attempt to prompt gravity to assist him in his desire to sit up. Sam put a comforting hand behind his back and lifted him tenderly from the pillows. To Sam's dismay, Frodo pushed his hand away as if it was venomous.
"Go!" he said in between coughs, a cupped hand now covering his mouth as he spluttered. "Go…after her…"
"What?" Sam asked, his hands frozen in mid air as he prepared to calm his master.
"It doesn't matter about me," Frodo coughed. "You…go…"
Frodo dissolved into another fierce bout of coughing. Sam snapped himself out of his fazed state.
"There, master," Sam soothed. He lent forward and wrapped Frodo in an embrace, effectively lifting him into a sitting position. He gently stroked a hand though Frodo's hair, trying to calm the master that pushed him away with what little strength remained. It took some time for Frodo to calm himself and for the coughs to cease into a gentle wheezing. He had stopped struggling now, and Sam, his arms wrapped around the too thin body, was left to ponder over this new event, Rose temporarily forgotten in the new twist to his master's health.
"Mr Frodo?" he tried after several minutes of uninterrupted hiccupping from his friend. He gently shook him, and Frodo responded by settling himself against Sam.
"You have to leave," he whispered, causing Sam to frown in confusion.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked, once again pulling Frodo away from him so he could look him in the eye; however, Frodo refused to maintain the connection, and he looked away, tears evident in his eyes.
"I-I can't explain it," Frodo sobbed, a single tear rolling down his cheek, a false smile on his face. He choked on a cry of anguish, his expression pleading for redemption. "I-I'm s-so sorry."
"Master? What do you mean?"
"Go to Rose, Sam," Frodo ordered, knocking Sam's hands away from the position on his shoulder. Sam stared, heart beginning to crack. Frodo sobbed again. "You should have gone; Gone, and left me in that infernal mountain!"
"No," Sam denied, horrified at such a thought. He moved forward, capturing Frodo's hand with his own, but Frodo kept trying to pull away from the contact, as if the very touch of his friend was a pain too great to bear.
"I'm not leaving you," Sam stated simply, shaking Frodo's hand who sobbed in reply. Sam swallowed back his own tears. "I'd never leave you. Valar knows I learned my lesson back…" He stopped, somehow sensing that it was not wise to continue when Frodo was in such a state. "Well, you know, sir." He finished lamely.
But Frodo was hysterical. He moved so he knelt upon the bed, knocking off the covers onto the floor as he shifted his position.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, gripping Sam's hand tightly within his own, Sam just staring in complete bafflement at the behavior. "I'm really sorry. I never meant…I tried…I know I tried…I'm sorry…" Frodo bit his lip, but the tears did not cease. "I'm so sorry."
"Frodo…"
"Please go to her!" He cried, pushing Sam's hand away and striking the bed sheets with his fists, his taut position and facial expression the epitome of suffering. "Go! Before it's too late!"
"B…"
"Please Sam," Frodo begged. "Go after her! I-I can't explain it…just go…!"
"Master!" Sam cried, and Frodo silenced at the volume he had used. "I'm not leaving you," Sam said simply, very slowly rising from the bed to prepare himself for any stupid actions that his deranged master may perform. Frodo ran from Sam's compassionate words and wanting embrace until he was pressed against the wall, arms outstretched as if ready to defend himself. In his movements, Frodo knocked the window open; Sam saw Frodo's eyes flicker towards it, and stop on something that Sam could not see.
"You are just sick, Frodo," he said, taking a step forward. "Please," he begged, offering a hand. "Just get back to bed and rest."
Frodo looked at him in panic, his mouth open in a silent exclamation.
"Come, master," Sam ordered lightly, shrugging as if this was perfectly normal to them both. Frodo ignored him, and he pressed a hand to the window hungrily, the thing out of the window demanding more attention than Sam's words.
"You can't do it," Frodo whispered, speaking seemingly to himself. He took a step towards the window. "The flowers were dying….there was little time…"
Sam took another step forward, but Frodo noticed this time, and he jumped as far away from the gardener as he could whilst keeping his hand glued to the window frame. For an agonizing moment, Sam did not know what to do or say, so he just stared at Frodo, heart beating thick waves of blood through his veins, making him feel dizzy and dry mouthed.
"You're not thinking straight master," he muttered finally, hoping that his inarticulate words would not drive him over the edge.
"No, I'm thinking clearly for the first time. It's for the best, Sam," Frodo continued, but it was obvious that the accusation had scared him to some complex degree outstretching Sam's intelligence. "It's the only way," Frodo said, smiling. "But how…I'm not sure…"Frodo returned his gaze to the window. With a leap, Sam rushed forward, grabbing both the opportunity and Frodo before he could run away again.
"We'll think of another, sir." He insisted, bracing himself as Frodo tried desperately to find a way to throw Sam off. Sam pushed back, attempting to return Frodo to the bed so he could rest, but Frodo fought back with an inexplicable determination to remain at the window of his bedroom.
"There is no other way," Frodo cried, his hands tearing Sam's off from where they crossed around his neck. "The flowers…I'm the only one!"
"Frodo," Sam screamed, Frodo still writhing within his grasp, legs now fruitlessly kicking at Sam to gain some freedom. "You need to rest. Now," he continued, successfully dragging Frodo away from the window a bit. "I'm sorry if Rose and I interrupted you…but we need to get you back to bed."
"Let me go, Sam!" Frodo ordered. With a sudden heave, Sam was off his back, and Frodo was free. He raced towards the window again, but Sam, quick as lightning, caught him once more. "Sam!"
"I'm not letting you go till you calm down, Frodo!" Sam told him.
"Well," Frodo retorted. "I'm not calming down till you've let me go!"
They had reached a no win situation, and both of them could sense it. Frodo momentarily stopped struggling within Sam's grasp, and Sam loosened his grip, but held Frodo still.
"Now," Sam said, biting his tongue in hopes that Frodo would listen. "I'll let you go if you promise not to jump out of the window."
Frodo considered the option, his head turning to the window which he seemed so desperately to get to. Sam could not understand his master's fascination with it, but then again he had not seen the solitary figure in a pink dress that hung uncertainly at the bottom of the path to the smial.
"All right," Frodo agreed, an odd edge to his tone that suggested he had something else planned. "I promise I won't jump out the window as long as you promise to apologize to Rosie. She's angry." Sam was temporarily mortified by the statement, and Frodo broke free from the gaze and settled himself against the wall again.
"Angry?" Sam queried, stunned. "Sir, Rose wasn't angry. She'll be fine after I explain it to her."
But even as he said it he knew that she wouldn't understand, just as she didn't understand about the quest. Though she seemed happy to listen whenever he discussed it, her polite and unenthusiastic questions had betrayed her, revealing her true feelings about the year of his life in which she had not been a part. Sam looked away towards the skirting board, unable to meet Frodo's gaze lest he guess the truth from the tears that lay swollen and fat within his eyes. He knew it as obviously that Frodo knew it, no matter how deranged he was acting, that Rose would not understand, and strangely enough he felt that he would never have the chance to explain.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo whispered, his hands so entangled with each other that the stained bandage around his right swooned towards the ground. "I tried to stop it…every day…I couldn't…Bilbo said I should have hurried…but I didn't understand what I had to do…"
Sam was silent, for in his heart he held nothing but blameless regrets and he could find no words of comfort or reassurance.
"I understand now…" Frodo told him, as if seeking to explain some great treachery. "The flowers…that's what they said…"
Frodo paused, and he pinned Sam with such a heart breaking gaze that Sam felt he had just been told that he had to return to Mordor. A veil passed between them, and Sam could see that some form of sanity, or insane calculation, was playing with his master's mind. He took a step forward, taking advantage of Frodo's unmoving state, but his friend's next words froze him in his position.
"You never told her."
Sam froze, a badly crafted shield of mutual denial falling victim to the simplistic words, spilling out all his desires for all that cared to see. He daren't move, but he couldn't help but silently panic over how his master had seen something he had tried so hard to hide. It was not an accusation, more a curious and innocent declaration, but he couldn't stop the blood rushing to his cheeks, spilling over into two unmistakable pools of red that answered Frodo's question better than any words could. Frodo frowned, his hands still wringing each other in stressful apprehension, tears still failing like gems from his eyes, sparkling against the golden light that enshrouded his body in a tragic glow.
"I don't know what you mean, sir," Sam insisted, feigning a smile that Frodo shattered with his palpable compassion. He reaching down and grabbing the medicine bowl from the bedside table, and began fiddling pointlessly with the curved end of the spoon in an attempt to busy his mind or to appear nonchalant, but Frodo saw through his disguise, and he dug his nails into the flesh of his palms, not noticing the rivulets of red that run from the puncture wounds.
"You…never said…not once…even in Mordor…" Frodo did not move, but his words were spellbinding, his voice louder than the towering bells that chimed in Gondor. "But I knew…"
"Now come, Mr Frodo!" Sam tried, practically throwing the bowl back on the bedside table in his haste to appear normal. He put a hand behind his head, deliberately enacting the actions his Gaffer would adopt in situations such as these. "Don't be so silly! Now just take your medicine…"
"I knew," Frodo continued, his voice barely above a whisper but demanding more attention that the world he planned to leave. "Every time I fell and you picked me up, I saw her. Every time I yearned for death, I saw her. Every time I wished for us all to return home, I saw her. Samwise, every time you were strong, I saw the memory of her in your eyes, empowering you to the ends of the earth."
Sam did not speak. Frodo had read his heart like it was an open book, revealing things to the gardener that in his non removable duty he had either ignored or not accepted.
"But yet," Frodo continued, his voice as tender as the bird song that accompanied it. "You never told her." He stopped. "Did you?"
Sam became numb; he stopped scratching his head, the silken threads embracing his fingers as he slowly withdrew his hand. His heart felt anesthetized within his chest, his breath caught in painful hitches that he did well to conceal, but above all it was Frodo's pitying gaze that cut him to the core, slicing him into two with the mere gaze. How many years had Sam hidden his feelings for Rose? How many years had he yearned to see her in his arms? How many times had he sung a song empowered by the mental picture that never faded, despite the years that grinded at the frame? How many times had he lied to his friends, telling them that he felt nothing for the woman he would gladly give his life for? And now here he was, Frodo, his friend and beloved master, the only equal to Rose he had ever found, telling him that he knew of his secrets, asking, as Sam was sure, to make a decision on something he had never thought he would have to even consider. In that moment, Sam knew that it was no good lying; Frodo could read him like no other, and to lie to him, to refuse acknowledgement of the priceless link that connected them, would be an insult to them both.
"No," he whispered, the words like the banging of drums in Moria. He looked away. "No, I-I…never said…"
"You have lied for many years, Samwise," Frodo said thickly, slowly, his words a sacrifice that Sam would never understand. "You lied to yourself that you felt nothing for her. What a shame that you could not convince us so easily."
Sam said nothing.
"You love her, Sam." It was not a question.
Sam felt as if a storm of butterflies were trapped within his abdomen, their wings gently pummeling the sides of his stomach as they tried to find an escape. He opened his mouth to answer, but he shut it again as no words would form.
"You hid the love you had for her from me," Frodo whispered. He folded his arms across his chest in a childlike habit he had never outgrown. "You…are scared to tell her the truth…?"
"I've never known such fear," Sam admitted, his tongue and lips working without his knowledge. He sat down upon the bed; he could not have stood much longer. "I try to find the words to say to her…" Sam heard Frodo's footfalls thump lightly upon the floor, before the mattress dipped, and a warm, slightly bloodied hand found its way atop of the one he leant upon. "I fail each time, Mr Frodo. I don't know what to say! Every time I see her I struggle to express myself, to tell her that I love her." Sam felt Frodo's squeeze his hand reassuringly. "But every time I fail. I'm starting to think that I'm running out of time."
Frodo recoiled at that comment; his hand slipped off Sam's as if he had been subtly burned, and his gaze fell towards the window periodically, checking to see if something-or someone- was still there.
"How can I tell her, Frodo?" Sam asked, his heart forgetting to beat regularly. He shook his head. "I can't."
Sam sighed, and Frodo looked down towards the mattress with guilt, his free hand twiddling Arwen's pendant in a thoughtful fashion. Sam had seen the action countless times by now: Frodo used it to find strength within himself, or when a situation became too dark for him to handle alone. Frodo looked down towards the necklace, his expression weighed down with lament, before he slowly raised to look at the sunlit trees outside of his window, falling upon the bottom of the path that led to the main entrance to the smial.
"No, you can't," Frodo agreed, and to Sam it was like the final nail within the coffin of his relationship.
"I've tried, Frodo," Sam continued. "I was never any good with words, if you follow." Sam blushed, but Frodo did not notice or answer, and his gaze did not shift from the open window.
"It's too late," Sam mumbled to the blanket that lay crumpled around his body. "I left my feelings unexpressed too long."
He turned to Frodo, wooden bed creaking as he twisted in his perching place.
"Too late," Frodo repeated, his voice distant as he looked out of the window. He shook his head softly, and Sam, watching him, was left to wonder over the motion.
"I can't tell her how I feel, Frodo," he repeated, heart in hand, leaning forward toward his master. Frodo turned to him, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears, his face a mask of bitter acceptance.
"No," Frodo agreed. "But I can."
Sam stared at him. "What?"
Frodo peered back, and Sam could see that he was plotting something, or unraveling a puzzle to which he had not been allowed access. "I think I know what to do," he said, leaning back onto the bed, his left hand frozen upon the gem around his neck. "You have tried to tell her how you feel and have failed. Maybe someone else needs to do it."
"Frodo, wha…?"
But Frodo only chuckled sadly. He got off the bed and approached the window. He opened it fully, the window groaning on its hinges, and leant so far out of it that Sam feared he was going to break the promise he had enforced upon him. He was half way through standing up, preparing to get Frodo away from the window, when his master cupped his hands around his mouth and gave a deafening shout of "HEY! OVER HERE!", fastening him in position. Sam did not understand what Frodo was doing, but his master turned to him and said: "You'll thank me for this, Sam."
He gave one last smile, turned to the window and screamed: "HE LOVES YOU, ROSE!"
Sam could only gawk, his mind racing. It was only then, as he rushed to Frodo's side, but strangely unable to restrain him due to embarrassment, that he caught sight of the unmistakable sight of Rose Cotton.
Frodo tilted his head. "I don't think she heard me," he said, temporarily lowering his hands from his mouth, his eyes narrowed as he peered at the sun drenched scenery. "Better try again."
"Fro-"
"ROSE COTTON!" Frodo bellowed, the window pane physically shaking at the volume, Sam flinging himself behind the curtain as her gaze fell onto the room. "SAMWISE GAMGEE…" Frodo looked towards Sam, delivering a swift thumbs up before leaning back out the window, his left leg raised behind him to keep him balanced. Sam could not react; he was frozen to the spot, incredulity replacing flesh and bone. But Frodo had not finished.
"…SON OF HAMFAST GAMGEE, LOVES YOU, ROSE COTTON!"
Sam froze, silently begging Frodo to be silent or for the ground to swallow him up whole. He could just picture Rose at the bottom of the path, a hand over her heart, her head turning from left to right to see if she could locate the culprit behind the words.
"HE WANTS TO MARRY YOU, ROSE!"
Frodo squinted out of the window once more, one hand shielding his eyes from the sunlight. He dusted his hands against each other. "Oh good!" he declared happily. "She heard me."
Sam sputtered. "She…w-what…"
Frodo turned, a smile breaking through the look of stern authorization that he gave him. "Now, now, Samwise," he chided, whisking himself away from the bedroom window and landing lightly upon the mattress "You may want to get ready. I believe she is heading back to the smial and you are certainly in no condition to greet her."
Sam only stared, open mouthed.
"And don't worry about me," he continued, reaching over and pulling up the blanket. "Merry and Pippin are in the kitchen. I assure you that I can bother them as well as you if the illness grows."
Sam finally got his mouth to work. "Frodo, please tell me you didn't just tell Rose Cotton that I loved her."
Frodo blinked. "Was I not meant to?"
"No!"
"Oh well," Frodo grinned, planting his hands upon his hips. "You said that you wanted her to know, and now she does."
"Frodo," Sam managed weakly. "You shouted it out a window!"
"I know," Frodo grinned again, shaking his pillow in his hands, plumping it until the feathers had spread comfortably. Sam was sure that Frodo was quite proud of himself.
"Well off you go then!" Frodo ordered, pointing towards the door at the same time that someone knocked very strongly against it. "That'll be her."
"But I-I…."
Frodo sighed. He pushed himself back off the bed, audibly wincing as he accidentally knocked his tender neck and shoulder. "Honestly, Samwise," he said through gritted teeth. "Are you going to answer that door or not?"
"I-I- c-can't…" Sam spluttered, his face positively beetroot at the situation.
"Oh," Frodo realized. He approached Sam and slapped him upon the shoulder in a consolatory fashion. "Must I do it for you?"
And he disappeared into the corridor before Sam could get a word in.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The sea had not been a sight that Frodo had ever seen before his quest. The ocean was so big that he had been terrified of it at first, refusing to plunge into the azul waters lest he be swept away. But now, as he lay against the itching sand upon the beach, he reflected that it really did fascinate him, calling to him in a spiritual way that the rolling fields of the shire had never done. The salt but refreshing air had always intrigued him, making him feel alive without the necessary herbs the others kept prompting him to eat. It was after sunset and as such Frodo felt more alive than ever he did, watching blackness at the edge of the horizon seep slowly over the purple fabric of the soon to be night sky, a few odd stars waking after their rest. It was very much a deserted beach which he inhabited. Bilbo had found it whilst exploring with Gandalf, and had promptly reported it to his nephew before any one else could lay claim to it. Unfortunately, that did not always mean that Frodo gained the solitude he so often craved, for the beach was well known to the others, and his regular absences to go and see it even more so. That evening, under the dim light of the waxing moon, company had decided to invade his thoughts, their light footfalls none the less crushing the sea shells and gravel beneath them, warning Frodo of the arrival. When they stopped and all was silent save for the crying of sea gulls, Frodo felt, rather than knew, that they were just behind his line of vision, their eyes too locked towards the waves.
"Honestly, Frodo!" came a falsely exasperated voice. "I told you to let Sam go, and though I certainly did not expect you to do it that way, you still succeeded."
Frodo did not reply.
"Do you regret it?"
Frodo did not turn for he knew the voice well and did not need to see the face to recognize that who he spoke to. He continued to gaze at the deep navy waves, silently wistful, and he hoped that the person would recognize his desire to be alone. Had that not been the reason why he had left the dining hall in the first place?
"I wish to be alone," Frodo said simply, the waves crashing onto the beach and crawling forward to kiss his toes before withdrawing back to the giant pool his mind was trapped in.
"Then answer my question, child. Do you regret it?"
Frodo raised his knees to his chest, cuddling his cold body close to keep in the warmth. "It matters not."
"But you miss him?" They continued.
"Like the night misses the moon," Frodo confessed. "But I always knew I would feel that way."
There was the sound of crunching gravel again, followed closely by a sigh as the company sat down upon the beach themselves. Frodo allowed the silence to survive, finding no words of reassurance for the person who knew him better than himself. He knew that the others were concerned by his apparent melancholy, but the truth was there were parts of Frodo's heart that the Havens could never hope to fill, and only the sight of one person could make him feel complete.
"The moon always returns to the night, Frodo," they said, and Frodo felt a warm, large hand land softly upon his healed shoulder. "He will return to you in time. You have sacrificed only years, but you have not sacrificed everything."
"Perhaps that is why I am afraid," Frodo admitted, silently watching the reflection of the moon within the waves shimmer and break. "Time can change many things."
"It can't change destiny, my lad," the person advised him "You'd do well to remember that."
A squawk of a sea gull stole their attention when it landed gracefully upon the shells of the sea shore, its yellow beak digging strategically for any food it may find. Frodo followed it with his gaze, envious of its lack of emotions, wishing for the simple life he knew it led.
"Wishing is a dangerous business," the person said, the sea gull disappearing in a down pour of feathers. "You wished to have your own adventure ever since you met your uncle, and look where that got you!"
Frodo looked back towards the ocean. He often fancied if he looked hard enough he could see the tips of the mountains of Middle-Earth, even though he knew perfectly well, as Gandalf frequently told him, that they were not within visual distance of the land he had left.
"Do you think Sam regrets it?" Frodo asked, his hand tightening once again upon the necklace. The person did not answer straight away, but their melodic voice did not hesitate for long.
"Yes," he replied simply, shocking Frodo with the words. "But he is happy all the same."
As usual, the words from his friend's were harsh but honest, a refreshing change from the usual white lies that everyone usually fed him. In turn, Frodo tried to be the same to him; he owed it to them for their time together back in the Shire all those moons ago.
"As am I," Frodo sighed, resting his head in the dip created by the gap between his knees. "But I do regret it."
"Would you go back and change your decision, if you could?" the person asked.
Such a simple question, but Frodo knew he held so many answers. At first he was tempted to answer yes, for as happy as he was within the havens, there was a part of him which yearned for the Shire and his friends. But at the thought of his friend's he remembered their dark faces of concern whenever he fell sick, the torturous affair of lying to them day in and out about the darkness which grew in him. A tightness formed in his stomach, and Frodo silently cringed, wishing that he knew if he had done the right thing. Then, from nowhere, a vision assailed him: Sam, older now, sitting happily in front of the fireplace, four children surrounding him on a bed of cushions, Rosie knitting away happily over the bulge of her stomach as they laughed over some meager thing, their faces aglow with happiness.
Frodo felt something warm drop into his stomach, and once more he was resolved with his decision.
"I miss the Shire and my friend's so much it's like constant pain in my heart," he said, twiddling Arwen's pendant. "I feel it is a pain too much for me to bear sometimes."
"So would you change your mind?" the person asked again.
Frodo smiled, the vision of Sam and his family making him feel stronger than ever he had felt. "No," he said simply. "I would not. He is happy now, they all are, and that alone brings me more joy than this place."
"Then stop sulking," the other ordered, "and come back to the party."
Frodo laughed, and he stood up upon the rocky beach, intent on following the friend that had already started to walk away. He took one last look over the top of the ocean, but this time it was not the mountains he saw, but the faces of his friends lit up within the very stars, bringing happy memories Frodo would never abandon.
"Perhaps someday," he whispered to the rolling waves, the salty tang sticking to his tongue, "I will see you again."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rose banged her fist against the door in a fashion that she never dreamed she would, for to her it was the utmost in rudeness. But, hands hammering against the wood, she realized that her anger or confusion- she hadn't quite decided which one it was yet-gave her the luxury of really not caring that she was making a complete spectacle of herself, and that the whole incident would probably plunge her into disrepute with every hobbit from the west to the east farthing.
"Open up this door!" She ordered, feeling more foolish by the second, her anger and confusion draining as each second went past. "Open it up!"
She stopped banging temporarily to give her aching fists time to rest, and in that time she heard someone in the kitchen mutter "what in…"
But then the door opened, and Rose leapt back to stop herself falling face first onto the floor of the smial. To her ultimate embarrassment, it was Frodo Baggins who stood in the doorway, his cheeks lightly pink from some unknown illness, his night clothes in a state of disarray, and his hair all over the place. Respectively Rose couldn't help but think that it would be Frodo that would be embarrassed at being in such a state, but he seemed far from it, and the unusual comfort and confidence with the lack of attire and disheveled appearance made her feel more embarrassed than he.
"Rose!" Frodo chirped, bowing lightly in the doorway, his hand gripping the doorframe to keep him steady. "We were just talking about you."
"So I heard," she hissed, drawing upon her emotions once more. "And so did half the shire! What on earth was shouted, and who did the shouting?"
Any other man would have quailed at the show of unbridled anger coming from the hobbit-lass, but Frodo was like no other, and his smile grew wide at the glorious invitation.
"Oh that was me," he confessed, pointing to himself.
Rose opened her mouth in amazement, but she could not find the words to say to him. Her anger had been replaced by bewilderment and humiliation, and she was no longer as strongly fuelled by the rampant emotion of moments ago.
"What-what…" she mumbled.
"Oh, you want to know what I said?" Frodo asked, smiling widely. "Well, I said that Sam loves you Rose! He wants to marry you."
He tilted his head, his eyes round with curiosity. "Was I not loud enough? Oh!" He said just as an audible gasp came from someone inside the smial. "By the way, I think Rose Gamgee is a lovely name to have."
Rose could only nod. Only now did she realize her folly; she had expected someone to mumble an apology under the breath, giving a quick explanation as to the cruel lies they had just humiliated her with, but no; Frodo Baggins himself was the culprit behind it all, and he was not denying a single thing she had heard, nor was there any show of betrayal or lying tone that she could detect.
She continued to scrutinize the hobbit, trying to find some visible reason for why he had done what he had, and why on Middle Earth he was admitting to it so freely, but as she stared at him, she noticed a hobbit figure appear shyly from a doorway. Her attention was suddenly diverted, and she couldn't help but follow the hobbit figure as he darted from doorway to doorway like a shy mouse, a thick pillow in his hand raised so it covered the face. Evidently the hobbit had not seen her, or at least could not be see her without revealing himself, and the way he acted definitely confirmed her suspicion that he didn't want that. She said nothing as the figure stopped in the nearest doorway to the entrance, then dart with a great speed behind the partially open door, his fast breathing audible from his hiding place.
"Frodo!" the person hissed, the voice seeming altered to Rose's ears, his voice lowered in an attempt to restrict the members of the conversation. Frodo looked behind the door, his expression skeptical but amused, before he smiled deeply. He glanced at Rose, and she could tell that he was up to something.
"Oh, Samwise!" Frodo cried, and he pushed the door fully open to remove his hiding place. And there he was, Samwise Gamgee, product of countless dreams, standing with a pillow in his hand, and a mortified expression on his face. "We were just talking about how much you love Rose," Frodo continued, either not caring or finding the situation too enjoyable to stop. "Care to join in?"
Through the haze of humiliation and confusion, Rose could not help but carefully read Sam's reaction: Sam's startled expression, his complete loss at speech and action, verified that Frodo's words were true. Sam had always been a terrible liar, but yet it was always difficult to discern the truth unless he said it himself. Rose knew as well as any other hobbit that Frodo and Sam shared an unusual bond that none had the power to sever, thus Sam told things to Frodo, or Frodo had the power to read things Sam wouldn't admit, that he would not tell anyone else. As she watched Sam splutter and cough, his face beetroot, and his gaze refusing to fall upon her, she knew that some of it at least was true.
"I-i…"he uttered. He laughed falsely, and his hand sought the back of his neck. It was only then he noticed the pillow was still in his hands, and he looked at it, startled before quickly throwing it over his shoulder like it had never been there.
He started whistling.
The situation was bad enough without an audience, but it seemed that Marry and Pippin had been drawn out of their resting place and had come to have a look. Rose felt herself blush.
"What is going on here?" Pippin queried, glancing from everyone in turn. "Cousin," he queried, his eyes rounding in surprise when they landed on Frodo, "what are you doing out of bed?"
"I'm telling Rose how much Sam loves her," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sam took a step back from the doorway, hoping to find sanctuary in the shadows, but Frodo denied his exit with a surprisingly firm grip upon his arm.
"Oh," Pippin acknowledged, glancing briefly at Merry to check if he had heard what he had. "Would you like some tea then?"
"Pippin!" Merry exclaimed, gesturing towards his smug cousin, whistling Sam, and shocked Rose. "Where are your manners? This is obviously an occasion for biscuits!"
"And cake," Frodo added.
"Excuse me," Rose said, her voice fragile an uncertain. "But um-I have to go."
"Ohh," Frodo cooed. "Are you going to tell everyone the happy news?"
"Don't be so silly, cousin," Merry chided, walking up to Frodo and wrapping an arm around his waist to support his ever sagging body. "She's off to buy a wedding dress!"
"Actually," she intervened, face as hot as the sun. "I was going to, er, well, I was going to do something."
Sam collapsed onto his knees, his faint hearted whistling painfully pathetic, but no one seemed to notice, for their attention was centered upon the hobbit lass who stood unsure and recluse in the doorway.
"I'm sorry about this," Pippin apologized, lightly jumping around Merry and Frodo to embrace Rose's hands in his own. "I'm really really sorry," he continued, and Rose smiled, thinking this was the time that the routine explanation of "it was all a joke" emerged. However, she was not to be spared so easily. "I'm sorry, but we're out of biscuits."
Rose couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"There is cake though," he said, incorrectly reading her horrified expression for something else. "And tea, lots and lots of tea. I hear cousin Frodo makes quite good biscuits, perhaps he'll make you some?"
"I would," Frodo said. "But I'm busy telling Rose that Sam loves her."
"Oh right," Pippin acknowledged. "I'll just leave you to it then."
Sam had now completely collapsed upon the floor, the pillow once again hiding him from view, his arm dangling from where Frodo gripped it with his bloodied hand. Pippin once again jumped over them and headed back towards the kitchen, disappearing behind the wall that separated them with a final wave of farewell, leaving an envious Rose to wish that she could disappear so easily.
Frodo, sliming broadly, looked towards Merry and nodded so subtly that no one else but he could notice it. Merry took the hint, and he nodded back with equal subtlety.
"No biscuits," Merry grieved, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I think I need to sit down…the shock you know…"
They were loving this; Rose was quite sure.
"But there's cake," Frodo reminded him, propping up his friend with his spare hand. "We could always have some of that. Come on," Frodo prompted, releasing Sam's hand so it dropped with a thud against the ground. "Let's go get some."
"Okay," Merry agreed, and the two hobbled away into the kitchen, Frodo glancing back with a simple smile before he vanished.
The two of them were alone, Sam collapsed on the ground, and Rose stood stock still in the door way. She could have made a run for it, she could have left and forgotten today had ever happened, but something held her in place, and she knelt down, touching Sam lightly upon the back.
"Sam?" She asked gently, fear running through her. "Are you all right?"
He nodded his head. With a sudden flare of irritation, she reached for the pillow and withdrew it, revealing the face which told her every word Frodo had spoken was true.
But she needed to hear it from him.
"Sam, did Frodo…" she paused, unsure of what to say. She sat down herself upon the floor, crossing her legs so she could sit more comfortably. "Did he mean it?"
Sam looked up at her, his feelings evident in his gaze.
He nodded.
"Oh," she said, looking away and prodding a crumple on her dress. "Oh," she repeated. "I thought…"
"I love you Rose," he interrupted, his hand capturing hers, his expression deeply fearful yet determined. "I wanted to tell you…couldn't find the words…certainly didn't want That to be the way you found out…"
"It's ok," she hushed, placing a finger against his lips. "If it makes you feel any better, I feel the same way."
Sam blinked. "Um, yes, it does actually."
She didn't know what else to say, so she stood up, gently prying Sam's hand from her own. "Um, perhaps we'd better discuss this tomorrow." She blushed furiously. "At…at my parents house?"
She could not have given more permission than that. Sam nodded and she smiled. She took a few steps backwards, neglecting to check that there was nothing behind her to trip her escape, before she fled from the house in a fit of babbling giggles, heart full and rich as she fled. It was strange, she thought, laughing as she flew down the path, that the sun seemed so much brighter now she knew she could call him her own.
~~~~~~~~~~
"It's in here somewhere!" Frodo declared, shifting flour bags and jars from shelf to shelf in his search, hands gently stroking the upper shelves in hopes of colliding with the item. "I know we have cake," he shouted back to Merry who stood in the doorway, stretching on tip toes as he reached for the higher shelf, fingers barely able to caress the solid wood that hid the food from view. "Pippin hasn't eaten it has he?" he asked, falling back to his feet with a sigh.
"Not that I've noticed," Merry told him. "But then I haven't been watching him all the time."
He stretched one last time at the shelves in a last ditch attempt, but sighed with slight frustration when he once again fell short of the topper most shelf. Merry stepped forward into the pantry, his eyes roving over the shelves in hopes of finding the cake his cousin had promised.
"I'm sure we've got one," Frodo continued, turning once again to the shelves and pouting as if the action would force them to reveal their secrets. "I baked it just the other day!"
"Perhaps you've eaten it all ready?"
"I have not!" Frodo denied hotly. "I baked it for you three, so I wouldn't have eaten it."
"Pippin would."
"Hey!" Pippin cried, hearing the insult from the corridor and arriving to defend himself. "I haven't touched the cake. Perhaps it's in the kitchen?"
"No, I…"
"Perhaps it's in the kitchen," Pippin repeated, shoving Merry a bit forcefully. "Go and check."
And Pippin said no more to Merry, even when he prodded his side with his finger, he did not acknowledge him. Merry shivered, and with a hesitant glance at the two he departed. Frodo continued to scavenge, unaware of his change of audience.
"So?"
"So what?" Frodo asked innocently as he delved through the large amount of food within the pantry.
"What was that all about?" Pippin asked from behind a tower of flour bags, randomly passing pieces of food to Merry who stood in the doorway.
"What that?" Frodo asked. "That was nothing."
"Didn't look like nothing to me. That was a good thing you just did," Pippin said, freezing Frodo from where he stretched on tip toes for the uppermost shelf. "Sam will thank you after the humiliation dies down."
Frodo reclined a little, his hand starting to drift down from the shelf he tried so desperately to reach. He turned his head to the aside, a worried expression written upon the half that Pippin could see.
"I don't know what you mean," Frodo insisted weakly.
He raised his hand towards the shelf again, fumbling with the jars and sacks that lay upon the huge wooden lengths with a renewed but fake interest, head turned as if the conversation was over.
"Yes you do," Pippin told him, once again pausing him in place. He shuffled his feet against the floor, kicking up some of the dust that lay dormant upon the slabs of stone. "It must have been hard," he continued, looking down at his furry feet, "to have done that."
Frodo's hand moved as he shifted his position, knocking one of the jars of fruit into another jar with a soft clink. "I don't know…"
"Can I ask you one thing?"
Frodo took a step down from the shelf, clambering down the wooden shelves ungracefully until he found himself upon firm ground again. "It depends on what you ask."
"Be honest with me, Frodo," he took a step forward, bridging the gap between the two of them. "Just this once."
Frodo smiled faintly. "You ask a lot of me."
"I mean not to," he replied, dipping his head. "But I need to know." He paused. "Are you sure about this?"
"About what?"
"About leaving."
Frodo turned to him fully, a jar of treacle still grasped in his hands, a broken and shattered mask of ignorance finding its way onto his face.
"Be honest, Frodo," Pippin pleaded.
Frodo placed the jar back down with a soft thud, his head lowered with some heavy decision. "It's for the best," he whispered
"For who?" Pippin argued.
"For Sam," Frodo retorted, picking up another random jar and inspecting the label with his mutilated hand. "For Merry, and for you."
Pippin laughed lightly. "That's what Merry thinks," he told him, "but I think there's one person you missed out on your list."
Frodo looked up from his fake scrutiny of the jar, his eyes round with curiosity.
"You, Frodo," Pippin told him. "It is the best for Sam, it is the best for Merry, it is the best for me, but it's also the best for you."
Pippin picked up his own jar from the shelf, tossing it into the air and catching it with a triumphant sweep of his hand. "We want what's best for you Frodo," he said, tossing the jar repeatedly within his hands. "So your secret, once again, is safe with us. We will not tell Sam that you are leaving."
"And I will not tell Merry that you've grown up," Frodo promised. "He may feel threatened."
Pippin smiled, and he caught the jar one last time with a withering smile. "I'll meet you back in the kitchen."
Pippin left leaving Frodo standing in the pantry, a sacrificial smile upon his face. Then, with a sigh, he returned to the shelves, continuing his search for the cake.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Eleanor had a stubborn streak a league long, so her mother often said, for even upon her father's lap she continued her battle with her younger brother, darting her tongue out to insult him whenever her father turned away towards the window, as if drawn. It was only when his soft but firm baritone accompanied the crackling fire and scraping of mugs against the wooden floor that she ceased, falling to the words her father spoke.
"Sometimes I think that we were the ones that failed."
The statement had fallen from nowhere, temporarily stunning the children with a crushing confusion that they could not lift. The mother was the only one free from the stupefying curse, and she went forward to ease a heart that she knew was troubled. How many nights had they lain together, and she felt his heart reach out to the ocean, or the way his eyes seemed to fall distant on the world celebrated anniversaries? She had felt his pain every night since his departure, but she knew, as she was sure Frodo knew, that it was for the best in the end. The problem had always been explaining that to her husband. His naive innocence had always prevented him from understanding the reasons for his friend's departure. She lifted her bulky frame from the chair as she went to comfort her husband, musing that was perhaps why he had left it to the last moment, knowing that the last few years together would have been tainted by the ever looming prospect of his departure.
Of course, Sam didn't understand that.
"You didn't fail, Samwise," she murmured, lovingly stroking the back of his hand with a delicate touch. "The only thing you are guilty of is bringing a smile to his face each and every day."
"He wasn't smiling the day he left."
"No," she agreed, clasping his hand tightly within the warmth of her own. "But I think he was happy none the less. I think Frodo-lad was right after all," she admitted, turning to her eldest son. "I think he did leave because of us, and in particular, because of you."
The children remained motionless, the younger ones failing to follow the depth of the conversation, the elders remaining silent out of respect and surprise. She turned to them, realizing that her words may not be appropriate for their young ears.
"Children, there are some snacks in the kitchen. Why don't you go and help yourselves?"
They replied with happy squeals, and suddenly they were falling over each other to get out of the room, tripping up on the cushions that still lat littered upon the floor. When there happy cries faded away to be replaced by soft arguing over the amounts of food, she knew it was safe to continue, and she smiled, feeling the compassion within her heart swell at the sight of her grieving husband.
"He left because of you, Sam," she whispered lovingly, marginally startling him with the truth. "I won't deny that. He left because he knew it was the only way to make you happy. He knew that you were torn, and only he had the power to mend you into one. He wanted to see you happy, and now you are, aren't you?"
"Of course," the father answered sincerely.
Seeing that she was making progress, she continued.
"When there is a knife in your heart, you must expect pain from its removal before it can heal. I'm not saying that his departure did not wound you or him; what I'm saying is that Frodo did what he needed to do, what he thought was right. He looked only to make you happy; I saw that as plain as day. Isn't it time you saw it too?"
She shook him lightly, feeling rather than knowing that her words had dyed the pool of his self incrimination to a lighter shade. Her only answer was a barely distinguishable nod of his head and a muffled mumble that no one could correctly decipher, but she knew as she grasped his hand within her own, knew the way he squeezed back, that he was happy.
"You'll see him again someday, my darling," she said, smiling at the mental picture, for she did dream of their re-union and it made her glad to think it, for Sam's happiness was her own.
"You think?"
"I know."
The father raised his head, and upon his face was the most beautiful smile rose had ever seen. It was the smile she had chased when a youngster, the smile she clung to during her troubles and woes, the smile that lit her very day; that made everything worth while.
"Come on, love," Rosie murmured, lightly stroking Sam's hair out of his face with a loving hand. "Let's go and play with the children."
He smiled warmly, and hand in hand they stood and left the reading room, soon to fall into a fit of laughter at the cookie jar Merry had got stuck on his hand in his secret attempt for more supper. Little did they know it but it was almost at the same time as Frodo entered a hall of rioutous laughter and song, a smile gracing his face as he entered to the happy dancing of his uncle and mentor, Gandalf. They were both happy now, healed from their wounds in different ways, but both still wondering, Sam as he pried the jar off Merry's hand, Frodo as he swung to some upbeat tune, that the warmth in their heart foretold one thing and one thing alone.
One day.