The next morning dawned cloudless and bright. Immediately after breakfast, I headed out to the cemetery. Despite my excesses the night before, I felt fine, with no headache. I have such a good constitution, I thought in amusement. Why, I might live another 90 years! I laughed under my breath as I went through the small cemetery gate. Might, but I doubt it.
Even at this early hour, Frodo was standing as he had the previous day, before his parents' graves. He did not look over as I sat down in my usual spot. My darling, how are you? I'm helping Merry out with something. Remember Frodo Baggins? He's having some sort of problem and I've promised to help cheer him up for a bit. I wish you were here. You would be excellent company. How you'd set the company roaring when we'd go to feasts and such. I'm afraid I'll be very poor company, but he is a Baggins, so if I just nod in the right places he should be happy.
I took a deep breath before turning to the other. It was always so much more difficult to address my little one. Mommy loves you, Toby. I love you, baby…so much. I dug my fingers into the turf and tried to compose myself. Not very cheery now, are you? After what seemed an endless time, I wiped my eyes and looked over. Frodo was still over there but he had sat down. I cleared my throat, and he looked up.
"Hullo, Tansy," he said quietly.
"I don't mean to disturb you, Frodo, but would you care to tell me any more of your adventure? I've been wondering what happened after Bree." I had decided that this would be the most logical reason for the daily visits I'd promised Merry. It's early, I'll get this over with promptly, I thought, congratulating myself for not procrastinating.
He hesitated a long moment, staring off into the fields to the south. Then he stood and walked over. I noticed that today he was dressed far more casually than yesterday, in more green breeches with a light green shirt. I thought uncharitably that green did nothing for his looks; in fact, it made him appear rather sickly. His coloring was unusual for a hobbit. His hair was so dark as to be nearly black, paired with blue eyes and a light complexion. As he sat down, he looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
I felt badly that my thoughts had been visible on my face. "Nothing important. I was struck by the idea that a blue or white shirt would be more becoming is all."
He glanced down at his shirt and then back at me. "Really?" he said with apparently genuine interest. "But why bother?"
"No reason, especially. Except for the way that green makes you look like you're about to be sick. But perhaps you are feeling ill? In which case…" Here I moved away from him, leaving some space between us.
He laughed, which brought some color to his cheeks. "No, Tansy, I won't be sick on you. It's safe to sit near me. Next time I see you, I will try to be wearing a shirt that will meet with your approval."
"Well, it's not for me to say how you should dress," I cautioned hastily.
"It's my pleasure," he said firmly. "I was delighted when no one approached me yesterday, asking about how I'd met old Tom in the Forest."
I took the point at once. I hadn't gossiped about his story, contrary to expectations for most hobbit-wives.
"I thought it would be so, and I'm glad to be proved correct," he finished. He had never said in so many words that he did not wish this repeated, and I was glad I had guessed properly. I grumbled to myself. How like a man! Never say clearly what they want and then take all the credit for being high-minded and noble when another's actions turn out as they wish.
"Once in Bree, we continued on to the Prancing Pony. I admit, I was unsure what course to take, and hoped to have some time for reflection. Unfortunately, we went into the common room before dinner and that proved a mistake."
I settled back on my elbows and listened attentively as he told of the 'accident' in Bree. "You stood on a table and sang?"
He looked resigned. "It seemed to make sense at the time."
"And I don't believe I've heard the song you're describing," I exclaimed. "A cow that jumped over the moon? How…quaint. I wonder if I heard it if I would recognize it."
He slanted his eyes at me. "I am not singing it."
He went on to talk about Strider, Barliman Butterbur and his forgotten errand. "He said he'd been given a description of Mr. Underhill and that I met it."
"Indeed? What was this description?"
He glanced over suspiciously, but my face was perfectly composed. "Taller than some and fairer than most. With a bright eye and a cleft chin." He flushed and finished: " A stout fellow with red cheeks."
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to maintain my sober expression. Whatever Frodo had been two years ago, he certainly was not now a 'stout fellow with red cheeks.'
He paused for a moment, chin lifted, to see if I had any comment. I kept quiet so he started on the night's adventures: Merry's encounter and the destruction of beds and the decoy. I was startled and disquieted at the dark turn the tale had taken.
"And yet, with Strider's help, you surely felt more confident," I ventured once.
"Yes, but… Have you been close to any of the Big Folk, Tansy?"
I started to laugh, and then realized he was serious. "No, certainly not."
"Strider is an honorable man, a warrior out of the old tales, but wise and long-seeing, as well." He looked around us and pointed. "The top of his head would just brush that old limb with the fork in it." My eyes went from the branch to his face and back again. I tried to picture an armed warrior standing to that height and quailed.
Frodo was watching me. He half-smiled and said, "You see, then." He continued on with leaving Bree, and their travels through the Wild. He mentioned Strider's goal, a hill called Weathertop, and faltered. He went on in a calm voice about the preparations they had made for camp, and the poetry Strider had recited. I was looking at the branch again, this time trying to picture a warrior that size preparing for battle.
"Sam had gone to get wood and came running back. He said he felt something creeping down the slope."
When I looked at him, he was staring ahead again, his mind far away. Minutes passed and I began to wonder if I should just leave quietly or say something. I touched his arm tentatively. "Frodo?" I asked.
He looked at me, and I was startled by the pain and anger in his eyes. "We saw the Black Riders advancing toward the dell. And I felt the call the put the Ring on. I struggled against it but then I yielded. With the Ring on, I could see the Riders clearly. Their faces were white and haggard; they bore silver swords. One was crowned. Everything was confusion, but I remember crying out the name of Elbereth, and stabbing him, in the leg. They could see me quite clearly, as well, and the king stabbed me in return, in the shoulder."
He took a deep breath and continued in a remote voice. "Later, I learned that by yielding to their command, I made it very easy for them to ensnare me. Strider fought them, but primarily they withdrew, thinking that I was as good as theirs, that the wound they had dealt would sap my spirit and place my soul under their command."
I floundered, unsure of what to say or do. Blast it all, Merry, what have you gotten me into? I was chilled by his words and the mental image I'd had of a Black Rider as tall as a tree. "You mustn't blame yourself."
He made a disbelieving sound. "If only I hadn't put the Ring on," he began. "That wound torments me to this day."
"It does?"
He made no answer, but leaned his chin upon his knees and closed his eyes. I stared at him. He pressed his lips together firmly, and I realized with a sudden surge of pity that he was near tears. I hesitated a long moment, still wondering what to do. Finally, I picked up his hand, and stroked it lightly.
"Quite the hero," I said.
He opened his eyes and looked at me angrily. His eyes were amazingly blue with tears standing in them. "Quite the hero," I repeated. "His companions, frozen with fear on the ground and he tricked into putting on the Ring. Still yet managing to strike the enemy. Could they have expected one stout hobbit to struggle so?"
He closed his eyes again, and two tears tracked down his cheeks. "I've never claimed to be any sort of hero."
"It's becoming clear to me, Frodo, since you are alive and able to tell me this story, you must be ten times a hero."
He made a small sound, like a bitter, half-choked laugh. "I don't agree with you, but thank you for your kind words, Tansy."
He swiped his other arm roughly across his face and told me what he remembered of the journey to Rivendell. The sun was high overhead when he came to his awakening, after being healed by the Elves. He mentioned the summons to the Council of Elrond and paused, no doubt thinking as I did, that it was high time for lunch. I realized that I was still holding his hand, his fingers curled about mine. I loosened his grip as inconspicuously as possible, feeling oddly embarrassed.
"I'm sorry to make you relive such ill memories, Frodo. A meal would probably do you good, and it must be time for lunch now."
"Yes. Perhaps in a little while. Good day, Tansy."
He didn't move as I got up. I hesitated. "Aren't you going to walk me back, then?"
"Do you want me to?" he asked vaguely.
I held out my hand to him. "Yes." After all, I reasoned to myself, as we walked away, I'm sure Merry would not want me to leave him sitting alone in a cemetery. He left me at my doorstep and I went in, lost in thought. Opal had left a tray on the table, with a cold luncheon. I ate a little and settled down with my knitting. Blankets, sweaters, socks, and mittens all sprang from my busy needles. I enjoyed it. The clack of the needles was soothing, lulling me, and blanking my mind so that I didn't need to think about anything for a time.
Tilly tapped on my door that afternoon. She had been a friend when Tory and Toby were alive, but I had not seen much of her lately. After I greeted her and gave her some tea, she had leaned forward eagerly. "Tansy, what is going on with Frodo?"
"Excuse me?" I was taken aback. I was unused to anyone talking about or questioning my activities. What should I say?
"Well, twice now, someone said you talked to him in the cemetery all morning. Is that true? Tell me, is he as odd now as they say? And I hear he's lost his looks."
I looked at her in irritation. "Are you pretending you don't know him? You know him as well as I, if not better." I had purposely left her question unanswered to give myself a space for thought, but her next words made me flush with indignation.
"Huh! I used to know a Frodo Baggins. Quite a catch he was, once, and with beautiful blue eyes, no less. But I don't think I know him now."
"He has seemed quite pleasant and polite to me," I said chillingly. Too late, I realized my mistake.
"So you have been talking to him! How interesting. Whatever do you talk about? And why in the cemetery? That seems a most unpleasant place to have a conversation!"
Of course, a cemetery would seem gruesome to Tilly. She had never lost anyone close to her. I tried to control my resentment. "He's told me a bit about his doings and I've told him something of Tory and Toby."
Her green eyes opened wide. "My dear, I am surprised. Really, you should be putting this grief behind you, not going about foisting it on others. It's very rude to Frodo, and I daresay, he's only being polite to let you go on about it."
"Perhaps you are right. I shall certainly remember that if I see him again."
She added casually. "You haven't felt social, I know. I am so flattered, sweetheart. Am I the first visitor you've seen since the funeral?"
Tilly already knew the answer to her question, so why was she bothering me? I forced a smile, and said, "Actually, no. Merry stopped by last night, and Opal let him in before I could tell her no. Of course, she was charmed by him."
Her eyes narrowed, and I remembered that her first cousin was Estella Bolger, who'd been all-but-betrothed to Merry for the longest time. "Oh, of course," she agreed. "Everyone is charmed by Merry, aren't they? But there are some that it would be best if they were perhaps not charmed."
Some like myself, perhaps? I began to feel like dumping the teapot on her head, and controlled myself with an effort. I smiled pleasantly. "Tilly, I think you're safe from Merry's charm."
She looked annoyed. She wanted the reason Merry had visited to reassure Estella. Especially since everyone knew widows were light-skirted.
I knew I should probably just come out with it. There was really no sense in delaying the inevitable. It was quite impossible to keep secrets in Brandy Hall. Instead, I kept on smiling and didn't say a word.
She began to look a bit strained…and surprised. Finally, she got up and murmured her farewells, kissing my cheek coolly.
After she'd left, I felt more out of step than ever. My friends would begin to think I was not only mad with grief, but turning eccentric to boot. Unable to sleep that night, I pulled the little bottle from its hiding place under my washstand. I fidgeted a bit with wand, lifting it and watching the clear droplets roll down the interior. I let one droplet only fall on my tongue and put it away. I felt more sympathy than I should toward the foolhardy Baggins who'd thrown his life away. I passed a difficult, restless night, and next morning found me again up at dawn.
I took my time dressing and bathing, since I didn't expect either Opal or Dahlia for some time. I noticed the dull brown work dresses I had become accustomed to wearing seemed terribly worn. I looked at the clothes in my wardrobe in dissatisfaction. White… Red… Pink… Yellow… None of those would do at all. I paused at a light green dress with a darker underskirt. Green on Frodo had made him look nauseated. Green on myself, however…. I held it up experimentally. With my dark brown eyes and hair, the green looked rather nice. I put this dress on, and dropped the other in the wash pile.
I was surprised when neither Dahlia nor Opal came 'round for breakfast. I waited past the usual time, and then set out for the cemetery. It did not seem to be my day. Frodo was not at the cemetery. I sat down next the graves and let the familiar weight of grief roll over me. But for the first time in months, I was conscious of a faint wondering of where everyone else was this morning.
I sat in the cemetery until second breakfast. Then not allowing myself to question what I was doing, I rose and headed for the dining room. The warm appetizing smells of cooking filled the air as I neared it. Esmeralda customarily served a hot second breakfast, with eggs and meats. Not too many of the residents of Brandy Hall bothered to come down for first breakfast, preferring tea and cakes in their rooms.
As I walked into the room, I saw Opal, Torric and Dahlia. Opal's mouth fell open when she saw me. "Tansy! You came down for a meal!"
Dahlia clicked her tongue. "Well, to what or to whom do we owe this pleasure?"
I smiled, hiding my annoyance at the question. You've been too solitary, I chided myself. Hobbits always mind each other's business. "No particular reason at all. I just missed my favorite relations this morning."
"My dear, sit down and eat then," Torric said. I looked around and saw Merry sitting just a short distance away.
"Let me say good morning to Merry, Torric." Merry was alone, poring over some papers. When I came over, he looked up and smiled.
"Hullo, Tansy, looking for Frodo?" I hesitated, aware of the people at the next table who had stopped eating and looked over at us. That was Merry, saying whatever came into his fool head with no thought at all as to what people would think. Besides, I had not come down to the dining hall solely in the hope of finding Frodo there.
"Certainly not," I said coldly. I had half a mind to leave without asking him anything further, much less Frodo's whereabouts. If you leave in a huff, you'll regret it, I told myself firmly. Before you even get back to your rooms.
Merry looked confused. "Before who gets back? You're leaving? I thought you were going to eat first."
"Yes, of course," I said impatiently. "I was just thinking out loud. And since you bring it up, how fares Mr. Baggins this morning?" The hobbits looking at us lost interest and returned to their food.
He shrugged. "I haven't seen him. I assume he got up late, since he wasn't around at breakfast either. You could go check. He's staying in the Blue Room. Do you know where that is?"
"Oh, I couldn't do that. I'll just wait and perhaps I'll see him later today. I hope you appreciate this, by the way."
"Yes, I am grateful," he replied, with a glint suspiciously like laughter in his eyes.
I went back and sat down with Tory's family to eat. After a bit, Mentha came over to sit next to me. "Hello, dear," she said easily. She was my age, Hall-born and bred and we'd always been friendly. She was a typical Brandybuck: charming, a little roguish, and with flexible attitudes toward things like 'rules'.
"Good morning, Mentha."
"What on earth did you do to upset Tilly? She told me she thought you might be setting your cap for Merry. Something about a mysterious visit no one seemed to know anything about. I told her that was ridiculous since I happened to know it was my sister Melilot who was setting her cap for Merry and she nearly hurt herself running off to check it out."
I looked at her reproachfully. "That wasn't very nice to poor Melilot. She hasn't the wit to handle Tilly."
She grinned. "Poor Melilot deserves it. I'm sick of her making eyes at my Everard. He hasn't even noticed, the dear thing, and if he did, he'd be terribly shocked. Mama keeps saying she'll grow out of this childishness once her marriage is arranged, but I'm none too sure of it myself. But I notice you haven't said why Merry was visiting. Just to say hello, welcome back to society?"
"Not quite. He just asked me to do him a small favor."
Mentha laughed. "Well, I'll take pity on you and not ask what. Not empty the Brandywine or knit wool into gems, I hope? I'm surprised it took Merry this long to find something for you to do. And don't waste your sympathy on Meli or Tilly. I heard something else from her, though. About the melancholic master of Bag End."
"I ran into him quite by chance." I did the day before yesterday anyway, I qualified mentally.
"And?"
I hesitated. I wasn't sure I could articulate what I thought of Frodo so that she would understand it. "I just think he had some troubles while he was away, and that perhaps he's a bit saddened by them," I said finally. "I can sympathize with that easily."
Mentha began to look uncomfortable. "Well, that makes perfect sense," she said hastily. "I didn't think it could be anything else. He's not your type, at all. He's changed so much I almost didn't recognize him in the hallway last eve."
After she left, I had some difficulty deciding what to do next. On the one hand, it was somewhat forward of me to go knocking at his door. I would be presuming on a long acquaintance but very short friendship. On the other, I myself knew all too well how easily one could get lost in melancholy, to the exclusion of all else. That finally decided me. I kissed Tory's family goodbye, saying nothing about where I was going.
I headed off to the Blue Room, one of Brandy Hall's nicest guest quarters. It was almost at the back of the Hall, in an out-of-the-way corridor. The private suites belonging to the family of the Master of the Hall took up most of this wing, so this hallway was nearly always deserted.
I was standing outside his door, considering the different reasons I could give for intruding on his privacy, when it was pulled open. We both started rather violently. I felt a sudden desire to sink into the flagstones. Frodo recovered first.
"Er, good morning, Tansy," Frodo said, as if it were commonplace to find someone skulking outside his door. I noted that today he was wearing a blue shirt with dark grey breeches. The blue was far more becoming, emphasizing his unusual eyes, and the fairness of his skin.
"Would you like to come in?" he continued politely. I nodded mutely, and he stood aside and gestured me in. The room was somewhat mussed. A red leather book was thrown across the table, open to a page covered with incongruously neat script.
I finally found my voice. "I'm sorry for imposing on you like this, but I noticed you weren't around at second breakfast and I wanted to say hello as I'll be busy with other things the rest of the day." This was the excuse I had decided on for dropping by.
He had picked up a teacup and was filling it as I spoke. When I finished, he handed it to me with a slight frown. "I see. I'm sorry I didn't see you this morning, then. I will miss our discussion." He sat down at the small table with a sigh. I looked at him closely and saw the circles around his eyes.
"You look tired, Frodo. Didn't you sleep last night?" I asked him.
He smiled faintly. "I did not sleep well, but that is not uncommon. I should apologize. I was doing some writing and the time slipped away from me. Otherwise, I would have met you this morning."
I sipped my tea as he added sugar and milk to his. Why did everyone keep going on about him losing his looks? True, he was thinner and somewhat paler than the conventional standard, but what of it? I made up my mind to stay a bit. Besides, I wanted to hear about the Council of Elrond. "Well, I have some time now if you're willing to continue."
He looked surprised. "Very well, then. I guess I had left off just before the Council? I was summoned to the Council of Elrond on my second day at Rivendell." As he talked, he played with the book on the table, flicking idly through the pages, and referring to the maps drawn in it. I was hard put to it to conceal my amazement and admiration as he spoke easily of meeting elf-lords and dwarf–lords and wizards as peers, deciding how to defeat the enemy. He said little of his offer to take the Ring to Mordor. Only that it seemed appropriate. I was enthralled with his account of the snow on Caradhras, and made him repeat it twice over. When the lunch-bell rang, he had just finished recounting Caradhras' defeat of the Fellowship and their flight to Moria.
"You speak so well," I said when he paused. "Why, I could almost feel the snow from your description. And you look chilled even." His hand was cold when I picked it up from the table. "You've even convinced your hands, see?" I said teasingly, lacing my fingers through his.
He jerked his hand out of mine, and I looked at him in surprise. "That hand is often cold," he said awkwardly. "It's an aftereffect of that wound I told you of."
I caught my breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"That's all right. How would you?" He looked away and busied himself with the teakettle, replacing it in its holder over the fireplace. "I think I will go down to luncheon now. Would you like to join me?"
I felt disinclined to join the loud busy meal in the Hall. "I'm afraid I cannot, Frodo. I have some other things to do."
"I see. Well, perhaps we will see each other later then."
"Yes, that would be wonderful," I answered. I wandered off down the corridor, thinking about snow. I had only seen heavy snow a few times as a child, when I'd been in the northernmost reaches of the Shire with my father.
Besides being cold, snow was surprisingly wet. Frodo must've been soaked through in the snow he described. That would even worse, to be not only cold but with one's clothes wet and clammy and clinging. I thought about snow and became gradually aware of a feeling of trespassing, as if I were doing something forbidden. What would Tory have thought, my spending so much time thinking about an adventure, of all things? He'd probably laugh himself sick. I had always been a most sensible hobbit…before.