After walking dreamily back to my room, still thinking of the snows on Caradhras, I skipped lunch. I did have some cleaning and washing to do. I did the cleaning first. The dusting and sweeping seemed merely a formality. I was only playing at housekeeping. Even if I let it go a week or two, I myself generated barely enough dust to darken a rag. I made my bed. At least the bed was suitably untidy. I spread myself all over it in the course of the long nights, resting first on my pillow and then on Tory's as the mood took me.
Next, I got out the washtub and looked at my small pile of laundry. It was pitiful. I had had large robust piles of laundry when my boys were alive. I filled the tub with water and began moodily washing the clothing. There had been that month when Toby took such a liking for his yellow shirt with dogs and cats embroidered on the collar, that he refused to wear anything else. Every night I'd had to slip the shirt out of his room, rinse it and hang it by the fireplace so it would be dry next morning. And Tory had been absolutely hopeless about packing. Unless I watched him like a hawk, off he would go on a gadabout with the most inappropriate clothes in his pack. His favorite white shirt, for example. White! How long had it taken me to get the dirt and smoke stains out of that shirt without damaging the weave of the linen? And his best breeches, not the heavy brown or blue ones that would stand up to the rough.
I looked down at the washtub, half-expecting to see shirts and breeches and weskits, large and small. There were only dresses, aprons, and a couple of skirts, though. The aprons rolled through the water, showing flashes of white like a parley flag. I'm ready to parley now, I thought. I want them back, please. Anything. I'll do anything, give anything… I want them back. I sank down until my forehead was resting on the edge of the washtub. I closed my eyes and sat there for a long while. Finally, I roused myself and took the clothing outside to hang.
Later, Dahlia brought me a dish of supper, and I prevailed upon her to bring in my wash for me. Then I could sit in my rocker, in a perfectly clean and tidy apartment. The evening was rich and warm, but I ignored it. There was no disorder, no untidiness, and no noise. Had I ever wished for this when I'd had a surfeit of disorder and noise? Did I ever fully understand how blessed I'd been? I want them back. Anything… please…
The tap on the door nearly made me jump out of my skin. I wiped my face and tried to control a surge of anger. Couldn't they just leave me alone? I got up wearily and opened the door. I felt a faint surprise on seeing Frodo. I gestured him in and returned to my chair.
He stood by the door, hesitating. "I didn't see you at tea or dinner, and I thought I would return the favor. Have you lost track of the time?"
I shook my head, and then realized he expected a verbal response. "No." He still stood so I pointed to the chair next to mine. "You might as well sit down."
He sat down and picked up a small book from the floor. "Why, this is the book of translations you were speaking of. I haven't looked at my copy for a while." He began leafing through the book, stopping every now and then to read to himself a bit. I watched him curiously, suddenly struck by the thought that I had never seen Tory handle this book. He'd read fairy stories to Toby once in a while, but never sat down with the poetry book.
Frodo's hands on the blue leather cover were neat and compact. He held the book with confidence, easily finding the particular passages he wanted. I returned my gaze back to the small yellow shirt in my lap. The small noises as Frodo turned the pages and shifted in his chair were distracting me. They gave me the false impression that I was not alone in this apartment, and my mothering instincts began to speak up. Listen, did you hear that thump? Did Toby fall down? Maybe you should go check. It's too quiet; he must be into something.
Frodo looked up. "What? I didn't hear you."
"Nothing, never mind."
He looked regretful. "I think I'm imposing. My apologies. I'll go."
"No!" My response startled me, but I suddenly felt that I could not bear to be alone just then. I continued more moderately: "No, I would enjoy your company. I don't feel up to witty conversation, though. Perhaps you could continue your tale?"
He was leaning forward, on the edge of his seat. "Are you sure? I don't wish empty politeness. I would prefer honesty." I looked over at him. I could see the little hollow at the base of his throat in the 'v' formed by his opened collar. The silver links of a chain disappeared down into his shirt. Why did men never button their shirts all the way? The skin of his throat was milk-pale. I wondered what its texture was like. Tory's walking had tanned him quite a bit, and his skin had always been very warm with a solid feel to it. Frodo's skin looked as if it would be smooth as silk.
I met his eyes finally. "No, I'm not being polite, Frodo. I would like you to stay." Something in my face must've convinced him, for he sat back in his chair again.
He shoved some stray curls back from his face and began speaking, glancing at me often for my reaction. "I told you earlier of our flight down to the eastern Gate of Moria. When we reached it, the moon was up. Gandalf went to the Doors and said something softly and blew upon them. Silver lines spiraled out from his fingers, outlining the Doors. Gandalf said it was a substance called ithildin, a form of mithril, that reflected star-light and moon-light."
I set my mind to work following his words, trying to picture the scenes and people he described. I looked at him curiously when he described the attack by the Watcher in the Water. His voice was quiet, and his face dispassionate, as if what he described happened to someone else entirely. His story traveled through Moria, the battle in the Chamber of Marzulbul, and Gandalf's stand against the Balrog.
"We saw the fiery whip of the Balrog coil about his knees, and drag him to the brink. Before any of us could reach him, he stumbled and was gone. His last words were "Fly, you fools!" Which we did." Here he stopped.
My mouth was hanging open. Hobbits were insular and isolated, but surely I would remember hearing of Gandalf's death? "I cannot believe you saw Gandalf die."
He nodded. "I could not believe it, either. It was as if the Sun had suddenly refused to rise."
I frowned, searching his face for signs of grief. There were none. Then I remembered an earlier comment of his. "How is it that Gandalf could be dead, when I distinctly remember you saying that he had gone to see Tom Bombadil?" I asked him.
He smiled. "Caught in my own admission! But I will say nothing further, except that I believed he was truly dead and gone from Middle Earth. And that seems as good a place as any to stop."
I was twisting the ring Tory had given me about my finger. "And were you saddened when you thought Gandalf had died?"
His face sobered. "Very. He is a very dear friend. Over and over, I thought about all the things I would have liked to have spoken with him about, but it was too late." He looked over at me and touched my arm hesitantly. "I can't imagine… You are very strong, Tansy, to cope so well. You must have adored them."
"I… uh….I… I did adore them. I never dreamed…" My voice sank to a whisper. "They were a gift I never dreamed of."
"A gift?" he asked in surprise. "What do you mean?"
I closed my eyes against my memories. "I was happier with them than I had ever been. Than I even imagined possible. And happier than I'll ever be again, most-like."
He looked down at his hands musingly. He had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. A white jewel on a silver chain tumbled out of his shirt. It was beautiful. He took hold of it with one hand, while he rubbed a thumb over the spot where his ring finger had been. "A gift. Interesting."
My heart was bleeding and I couldn't face his leaving just yet. I forced a smile. "Please don't stop there. Continue for a little more."
He sat up and tucked the jewel back into his shirt. He skimmed quickly through Lothlorien, though I thought I recognized a little of the flush Goldberry's name had evoked when he spoke of Galadriel. In his description of the Mirror of Galadriel, I found some of the distraction I needed, and peppered him with questions until he'd repeated it thrice over. When they left Lorien via boats and bearing gifts, it was late. He looked around the room, and said, "I should be going. Will you be all right?"
"Yes," I replied. I felt a rush of gratitude at his kindness. At the door, I touched his shoulder lightly. "Frodo…thank you."
"Please, it was nothing." He paused a moment at the door, hand on the knob and staring ahead at the wood panels. He spoke in a rush without looking at me. "I enjoyed our visit, tonight. Shall we see each other tomorrow, then?"
"Yes, that would be nice," I answered. I took a deep breath and said, "If you like, you could come by for breakfast, if you're up. I'm usually up early, you see."
His hand tightened a little on the knob. "I think that would suit," he said off-handedly. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight." When he had left, I curled up on the chair where he'd been sitting, and tried to think about the latest chapter of the tale he'd woven for me. The chair was warm from the heat of his body. It was hard to believe that the same hobbit who'd sat across from me so quietly and spoken so politely was one who'd gone on this adventure. He didn't seem the type. Merry, yes, I could see that rascal Merry off on an adventure, and Pippin was too young to have any sense.
He'd also said very little about this Ring of his. If it was wholly evil, as the consensus seemed to be, had carrying it had any effects on him? I was sure it had. Not just the privations of this journey could have changed him so from the hobbit he'd been, to this haunted, thin version of himself. I knew that his servant Sam and his new wife were supposed to be looking after him. Couldn't they convince him to eat once in a while? If his braces were unbuttoned his breeches would probably slide off his body. He was built rather straight from the shoulder, with just a slight narrowing at his hips. Lithe was the word I was looking for. His body, at least, had the shape of a fine young male hobbit. His age showed only in his eyes, and to a lesser extent, in his face.
These thoughts eventually led me to the question of what I would serve him if he did show up tomorrow for breakfast. I got up rather restlessly and began rummaging about in my small cupboard. Some rather stale biscuits and cakes were all I could find. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten something with my morning tea. Obviously, a visit to the Hall kitchen was called for. I picked up a basket and left at once.
When I returned from my successful raid, it was close to midnight. I was quite tired, which surprised me a little. I put away the items I'd picked up and went to bed. For once, I slept immediately.
Kneeling in our front room, I am washing clothes in the big washtub, while Tory tells me about his trip. I stand up, and lift my skirt, climbing into the tub and pretending to stomp on the clothes. "What… are you doing?" Tory asks, dream-slow.
"Washing clothes the vineyards way," I reply. He smiles and stands up and takes me in his arms. I close my eyes as he kisses me. His lips are so warm. I touch the light brown-almost blond curls at the back of his tanned neck. He lifts me up and out of the tub, but one of my feet catches on the edge and tips it over. The sudsy water splashes over our feet and legs. I open one eye to look at the mess.
"Oh, no," I mumble into his mouth.
"Just don't think about it now," he says, and picks me up. "We can clean it up later." He turns to go into our bedroom, but as he takes a step, his foot slides out from under him and we both fall to the floor, in the middle of the tub water. I stare at him in dismay. I've fallen on my side and I am wet through from shoulder to knee. He has sat down hard and looks at me in exasperation. I flick soap bubbles off my hands. He starts to get up, revealing his mostly-dry breeches, with a huge wet spot over his bum. I look at that wet spot and get giggling. He glances down at his breeches and then at me. His mouth quirks, and he starts laughing as well. Then he pounces on me, and lays me down in the middle of that puddle, and kisses me as if his life depends on it. Wet clothing tends to bind up when you're trying to get it off in a hurry, but we manage.
I realize I'm dreaming now, but I don't care because it feels so wonderful. My hair is wet and sticking to the floor, and I can hear the slap of our bodies on the water. I stretch my arms up over my head, and sigh from the pure pleasure of feeling him when it's been so long. So long. His body is above mine and I can look over his shoulder at the wall of our sitting room, seeing our shadows there together. I clasp my hands around his neck, and twine my fingers into the soft raven-dark locks there. His movements quicken, and he nuzzles my neck, kissing under my ear. A delicious shiver runs from my neck to where we're joined. I kiss the pale skin of his shoulder, and run my hands down his back. His skin is silky smooth. I caress his slender hips, and his breathing becomes ragged, and he murmurs my name into my neck. "Tansy," in a soft voice, almost a whisper.
Somehow I'm beginning to feel an odd sense of disquiet, underneath the pleasure rippling through me. I arch my back, driving him deeper. I am gasping from the heat and the wetness. I grab his face and kiss the corner of his mouth, trembling with need. His eyes are nearly closed, the lashes dark against his pale cheeks. His blue eyes. It's Frodo I am with.
I started awake in the dark of my bedroom, my heart pounding and the ache of unsatisfied desire in my loins. I sat up in bed, and put my head in my hands. What was I thinking? What had happened? I pulled the neck of my nightdress away from my chest and took a deep breath. How could I be dreaming about someone else? Didn't I love Tory?
I stumbled over to the washstand and poured water into the basin. I bathed my face until my head began to clear a bit, the haze of passion receding. It doesn't mean anything, I told myself. Or rather the only thing it means is you've been nine months without Tory, and your body was bound to notice sooner or later.
I tipped the washstand perilously when I tried to replace the basin and pitcher, and then nearly stepped on the poppy-remedy hidden underneath it. I picked the tiny bottle up absently and set it underneath the upside-down pitcher. Why, any male might be grist for dreams. It could've been Merry, for pity's sake. Which in a way would be worse because you see him every day, and he has that understanding with Estella. At least Frodo is decently unattached.
That's what I told myself as I paced around the bedroom, occasionally eyeing the pitcher. I felt as if I would need my wits about the next day, though, so I refrained. I finally gulped down a cup of chamomile tea without sugar before I stopped trembling. Then I went back to bed. It was a long time before I could go back to sleep, though.
I woke with the first rays of dawn the next morning. For a moment, I just lay there, not thinking about anything. Then it all rushed back on me: my invitation to Frodo for breakfast, and my dream after he had left. I got up and looked out at the dawn. I still had time to wash and dress decently. I took the luxury of using heated water in the kitchen for my wash, since I didn't expect anyone this early. Then I rummaged about in my wardrobe for something to wear. In this warm weather I preferred to change clothes nearly every day. I picked out a nice light ivory chemise. I'd last worn this to the Mid-summer feast. The yellow overdress Opal had given me was with it. I wouldn't be wearing that again. I saw a maroon-brown bodice and skirt that I hadn't worn for a long time. My figure had expanded after Toby's birth. I held them up to me. It looked as if they would fit now, and the outfit held fewer associations than my other clothes.
I brushed my hair quickly then slipped these on. I tied the drawstring neck of the chemise and looked at myself. I'd tied it too high, and that much ivory showing over the bodice looked silly. I retied it lower and looked again. I had the shocked impression that it was now far too low, but I knew intellectually that it wasn't. I'd worn necklines much lower than this before. I picked up a light shawl to make myself feel better, and hurried in to start tea.
I heard a light knock on the door as I finished setting out the cakes and other things I'd picked up last night. I stared at the door for a minute, my heart quickening. All right, so he's handsome, I told myself firmly. Any female would notice it. That's all, really. Why, you appreciated the sight of a handsome hobbit even when Tory was alive. I smoothed my hair down, and patted my skirt into place. Stop acting ridiculous, Tansy.
When I opened the door, Frodo was standing with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the doorframe. He smiled as he said, "I was going to wait just a few more moments before deciding you were still asleep and leaving."
"Asleep?" I said, as I motioned him in. "I've been up since dawn."
"I've been up since before dawn," he teased back.
"Oh well, I forgot I never went to bed last night."
He laughed. "All right, then, you have me. For I did go to bed, and actually slept rather well."
I turned away quickly, and picked up the teakettle. He did go to bed. He slept well. Did he dream? My cheeks were burning at the innocent comment. I filled our teacups and handed him one. Then I brought out the platter of cakes and scones. "What would you like?" I asked him.
Yes, what do you want, my mind repeated. Do you see anything you want? I could feel myself starting to blush again. Be quiet! Just stop thinking about it, all right? I thought in frustration.
He picked up a scone and split it neatly with a knife, and drizzled some heavy cream on it. He moved with a simple grace and economy of motion. He looked up and saw me still standing there. "Don't stand on ceremony, Tansy," he said. "Join me, please."
I smiled politely, and replied, "Of course I will." Then I sat down quickly and reached for a biscuit. Today he had worn a white shirt, with braces and no weskit. His breeches were dark blue and somewhat worn. Unlike his other pairs, these did not hang on him loosely. They were snug. His braces were buttoned into the waistband, which was tight around his hips. When he reached over for the milk pitcher, the brace on his left shoulder loosened a bit, almost enough to slide off. His collar spread with the motion, as again he had not buttoned his shirt up. I suddenly noticed the silver chain again and next to it, a small freckle on one side of his throat. I wrenched my eyes away, and stared determinedly at my biscuit. Enough with the pleasantries, back to the story, I thought distractedly.
"Oh, of course," he said. I closed my eyes for a moment in despair when I realized I'd spoken aloud yet again. Some day that habit will get you into so much trouble, Tansy, I told myself sternly.
He went on, apparently not noticing anything out of the ordinary. "Our travel down the Anduin was mostly unexceptional, until we reached the Argonath. Oh, that was an extraordinary sight! I don't know if I can describe it properly."
He had been talking for a little over half of an hour, when we both heard a quick tap at my door. He stopped and looked at me, his eyebrows raised questioningly. I was mystified. I was getting up to answer it, when the door opened and Dahlia stepped in. She stopped dead, looking at us. I immediately saw the scene from her eyes. She turned right around and walked back out the door.
"Dahlia, wait!" I called. "I'll be back in a moment, Frodo," I told him. I rushed out after her and caught her in the hallway. "Dahlia, stop, what's the matter?" I asked her, closing the door behind me.
She turned to me, looking angry. "Tory's only nine months into his grave and you take up with that disreputable Baggins!"
"I have not," I answered back, stung. "Merry asked me to help cheer him up and that's all I've done."
She looked rather pointedly down the hall at the window on the far end, where morning light was just beginning to shine through. At this hour? her manner seemed to ask silently.
I tried to explain: "It's only breakfast. He doesn't seem to eat well, so I thought a meal would do him good… Honestly, Dahlia, he's only a friend. Just a few days ago I would have said he's only an acquaintance. You can't seriously think that…."
She held up her hands to stop me. "How silly of me!" she said formally. "Of course, you're right, Tansy. I apologize for my behavior. Will you convey my apologies to Mr. Baggins, as well?"
I wondered if she was being sarcastic. "Certainly. But you can tell him yourself. Come and have some tea with us."
"No, dear, I think I will go on to the kitchen. The scones smell wonderful this morning."
"Dahlia, perhaps I should walk with you," I said. "Just a second and I'll tell Frodo."
She looked at me for a moment, and then sighed. "No, Tansy, it's all right. Don't leave your company. He is handsomer than I remembered, isn't he? And grown up, as well."
I could feel the cursed betraying blush on my face.
"I've been selfish with you and your time, Tansy," she said quietly, "but I'm still glad to see you taking an interest in life again. I think this family has had enough sorrow, for now." She gave me a quick hug and then wiped her eyes. "I'd almost think it spring around here! Have you heard Meli is after Merry now?" she asked, returning to a light tone.
"I think Mentha was just put out with Melilot when she said that."
"No, I heard it from Tilly, and she was writing Estella. I imagine that girl will have something to say when she gets that letter. I was certainly surprised. But if Meli's decided to stop eating her heart out over her sister's man, it's an improvement." She patted my arm. "But that's enough gossip. I'll see you later, dear."
I kissed her cheek and watched her walk off before turning to go back inside. As I stepped inside, I saw Frodo coming out of my bedroom. I looked at him in surprise. He flushed and said, "I didn't want to interrupt your conversation but I had a minor accident." There was a splotch of cream on the left side of his white shirt. He held a rag in one hand.
"Oh, here, let me." I took the rag and dampened it with soap and water. As I rubbed at the stain, I said, "I'm sorry about Dahlia. She is a bit protective of me."
"As well she should be," he said in a strained tone of voice.
I looked at him curiously, wondering what he meant. "There, good as new." I gave his shirt a quick tug to straighten it, and let my hands linger for a moment on his chest.
He
looked down at me, his eyes very serious. What is it? I thought, holding
his gaze. He finally said, "Thank you," and turned to sit down at the table
again. I felt a flash of disappointment as I walked over to hang the rag on the
fireplace rack.
I refreshed our teacups and prompted, "So then you and Sam had left the Fellowship…"
He frowned a little at me, and then sighed. "Yes, that's correct. We started across the Emyn Muil, which is a rocky wasteland outside the borders of Mordor. Not in Mordor itself, you understand."
I nodded to show I did understand, and he went on. He was as fussy as an old maid about some of these details. He described their capture of Gollum/Sméagol, that awful creature who'd borne the Ring before Bilbo, and his decision to bind him with an oath. "I think Sam thought we should kill him then and there, but I couldn't slay the wretched creature. I felt something of his torment, you see, and I simply couldn't."
"You did quite right."
He looked at me intently. "Why do you say that?"
I hesitated a moment, annoyed with myself for speaking so unguardedly. I couldn't think of any reasonable evasions for what I'd said, so I was stuck with the truth. "I've developed rather a horror of death," I said reluctantly. "I don't think I could ever kill anyone."
"What about to save your own life?" he asked.
Well, I couldn't answer that. Save my own life? Why on earth would I want to do that? So I could live with my sorrow another ninety years? I frowned, pretending to be thinking weighty thoughts. "Of course, you're right. In that case, I probably would."
He searched my eyes with his own, looking troubled. I gazed back at him innocently. "So did your plan work?" I asked him. "To bind Sméagol with an oath?"
He was easily distracted, looking off toward the fireplace. "That will come out in the course of events." He went on with the description of their passage over the Dead Marshes and to the Black Gate, guided by Sméagol. The sun was high in the sky when he finished his description of the setting, and Sméagol's pleas to try the 'secret' way. The tea in our cups had grown cold. He stretched his arms ostentatiously. "Nearly time for elevenses," he said.
I looked at him in disbelief. "You can't stop there," I replied. "I want to know if you tried the Black Gate or not!"
"I'm sorry, Tansy, but I'm feeling rather hungry. Can I please have your leave to get some refreshment?" He said this so plaintively that I immediately felt a pang.
"Of course, I didn't mean to keep you. Here I'll show you out."
At the door, he looked back at me. "Won't you come down with me?"
I wanted to, but I also didn't want to see any more of Tory's family just then. "I'm really not very hungry," I said as casually as possible.
His eyebrows drew together as he frowned a little. "I see." He stepped outside.
I caught his elbow, drawing his attention back to me. "Don't think you've escaped, Frodo. I will be tracking you down at luncheon or tea. I must hear more of this today!"
He smiled. "I'll look forward to it, then."