After Frodo left, I decided I needed to keep busy. I didn't feel like company, however, so I set off on a walk. Out of habit, my feet found the cemetery path. The air was deliciously warm and so soft the littlest breeze felt as if it were caressing my face. I stood at the entry and looked over the stones. I began to walk over to my spot, but found myself drawn over to the corner where I had seen Frodo twice now. There was only one stone with two sets of names and dates on it. The first read: Drogo Baggins 1308-1380, and the second Primula Brandybuck Baggins 1320-1380.
I stood looking at them, trying to imagine what Frodo felt when he stood here. How well did he remember them? Was it worse to lose a child or a spouse or a parent? My mother had died five years ago, but I had been grown-up and nearly on my own. It seemed more natural, than to lose a child. But then, until I'd had the experience of losing a child, I would never have believed just how badly it could hurt.
I saw something odd in the grass, and knelt down to look at it. It was a long green leaf, with a shape I'd never seen before, and set atop was a dried but still beautiful golden flower. I reached out and touched it tentatively. The flower gave off a faint fragrance, soft, haunting and unlike any flower I was familiar with. It sent a chill down my spine as I looked at it, and it seemed to whisper of far-away places and sorrowful partings. I wondered why Frodo had brought this flower to his parents' grave. Was it merely a memento of his travels? A token of farewell?
I worried at my lower lip as I considered the way he'd behaved this morning. He'd seemed fine. Almost too fine, in fact. I felt sure that Ring had had some deleterious effects on him. He hadn't spoken of them, though. He talked lightly of what he and Sam had eaten, how they'd made camp, and he'd bemoaned at length Sam's tendency to carry enough food, utensils and clothing to supply a hobbit family for a week. Perhaps he doesn't trust me, or simply doesn't wish to discuss ill memories, I thought.
When I heard the lunch bell, I started and realized I'd been brooding here for quite some time. I stood up hastily, and walked over to my customary spot. I sat down between my boys, and ran my fingers gently over the incised stones.
Today I looked at Toby's stone first. "Toby, darling, Mama loves you." I sat for a moment, picturing his face. "I miss you, angel. I wish I could have gotten the chance to see what sort of man you would've been. I think it would have been wonderful. And I think you would have been the absolute image of your father. Someday, soon, baby, Mama will be there with you."
I turned to the other, and swallowed hard. "Tory, love, I miss talking to you," I said finally. "It always seemed no matter what vexed me, a talk with you would set it straight. And you spoiled me, dearest. We were so close, I never felt as if I needed anyone else in my life. I never really even bothered with anyone else. And now, I feel so alone and I miss you so…" My chest hitched and tears burned my eyes.
"I don't have enough to do, either," I continued. "My days are so empty. What am I supposed to do with myself?" I paused and tried to think of what Tory would say. Get busy, a change is as good as a rest. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Look around, and you'll find that most likely what you need is already to hand.
"None of those work. I know what you used to say, but they don't fit this situation." This was an old argument between us. I would insist that a certain problem was unique, and he would laugh at me.
"Tansy, sweetheart," he used to say, kissing me on the nose, "there is no changing hobbits. What worked yesterday will work today; there is nothing new under the sun." It amused him to run maxims together like that. And over time, though I contested each one, I'd come to see that those old wives' tales did contain truths. Sometimes they contained more truth than one wanted to hear. I sank into my memories, still trying to push Tory's sayings out of my mind.
After a time, I heard footsteps and looked up to see Tilly at the small gate. "Here alone, Tansy?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered warily. "Why are you here?"
"Merry seemed concerned that you hadn't been around today, so I told him I would be happy to check on you. And then, I overheard Dahlia talking to Opal, saying she'd seen you this morning with Frodo. Early. Is that true, sweetheart?" Her eyes were gleaming in anticipation of some fresh scandal.
I looked down and grimaced horribly at the grass. No matter what answer I gave her, she would probably take it in the worst possible manner. "And where were you yesterday?" she went on. "You came down for second breakfast, then disappeared for the rest of the day. Well, disappeared until Dahlia sees you having breakfast this morning."
I plastered a pleasant smile on my face before I looked up. "Really, dear, is there a such a shortage of gossip that you're driven to talk about me?" I said smoothly. "I just stayed in my rooms and did some cleaning and laundry. I got Dahlia to help me carry the wash in. And as for Mr. Baggins, there is nothing to tell. A few conversations don't hold much weight. Why, I barely know him."
"Oh, of course," she said calmly. She walked over to Primula's and Drogo's grave while I watched her, wishing she would leave. She stood as I had, looking down at the grave. Her mouth formed an 'o' and she suddenly stooped, reaching out to the base of the stones. "Look, an ugly old dried-up flower fell here. I'll just get rid of it, shan't I?"
"Tilly, don't," I snapped. "Leave that be, he put it there for his parents."
She pulled her hand back and shook her head, smiling. "I see. Good of you to set me straight. And calm down. I wouldn't lay a finger on his offering, if it upsets you so." I blew out my breath in exasperation. You should know better than to try to play games with Tilly. She's better at it than you are, I chastised myself.
She straightened up and looked at me gleefully. "So you barely know him? Well, dear, you are the persuasive one. I wondered if he was still even man enough for that, what with him being so thin and sickly-looking. I'd love to hear the whole story." She paused a moment, but I set my jaw and said nothing. She continued thoughtfully, "You know, now I remember something about how unusually close he seemed to be to that man-servant of his. He's even got him living in Bag End. That's a bit of a change for you, isn't it? Second place, I mean."
I was speechless for a moment in shock and anger. How could she repeat such things of him! She knew absolutely nothing of what he'd gone through and yet stood there and smirked at me, as if she knew it all. I jumped up, hearing the blood pounding in my ears, and seeing a look of smug satisfaction cross her face. "I'd expect a comment like that from an ignorant bed-warmer like you, Tilly," I said furiously. "There's more to a man than bed. Especially someone like him. You wouldn't know that, would you?"
Her mouth fell open and worked soundlessly for a second, then shut. Rage darkened her face. "You… wench!" she spat. "How dare you! I've never, ever behaved like that. Shameless hussy! You'll be ruined, Tansy. Merry and Saradoc would be so disappointed in you. You'd better pray you can talk Mad Baggins into marrying you!"
"You imagine you know everything there is to know, Tilly," I said bitterly. "So what makes you think Merry doesn't already know I'm ruined?"
She froze. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" she snapped back.
I glared at her, and spun away without answering. "Tansy?" she yelled after me. "Tansy!" I ignored her and walked faster, until I was nearly running. I got all the way back to my rooms before my blood started to cool. It was another hour before I started feeling even a little remorseful. I really should not have lost my temper like that. And Merry would not appreciate having Frodo dragged into the middle of a woman's quarrel. Worst of all was knowing that Tilly could ruin my reputation when I'd done nothing to earn it. I paced around restlessly, trying to decide what to do. Them that dance must pay the fiddler. What if you don't get even one dance and the blasted fiddler wants paid? I complained to myself. What then?
In the close quarters of Brandy Hall, arguments and spats were not uncommon, and the accepted way to deal with them was to smooth it over as quickly as possible. It rankled terribly but I'd have to go and make it up with Tilly. Of course, I could delay. But I'd still end up apologizing, most likely after a tongue-lashing from Dahlia or Opal, once they heard of it. Best get it over with then, I thought resignedly. I went over to her room immediately, before I could change my mind. When I knocked there was no answer, but I could see shadows moving in the light that seeped from under the door. She wants to avoid me, fine. I walked over to one of the little common rooms and picked up a piece of paper, and wrote:
Tilly,
I'm sorry we argued today. I was being hotheaded and I should not have said those things. I am, perhaps, a little over-sensitive these days. There's a simple explanation for everything you mentioned. I have visited—to talk!—with Frodo a couple of times, but only because I'd promised Merry to do so. If you doubt me, go ask Merry. When he visited night before last, he asked me to help keep Frodo company during his visit and prevent him from brooding overmuch. Now you know all so let's not argue anymore.
Peace?
Tansy
I returned and slid it under her door. By the time I got back to my room, I felt relieved and exhausted. I sprawled across my bed, and fell asleep.
When I awoke, it was nearly teatime. I stretched and got up and made myself some tea. I munched a scone absent-mindedly. I really should go and check that Tilly had gotten my note. I should probably tell Merry about our row. I winced, imagining that. Perhaps I'd wait a bit, and see what happened.
When I heard a tap on the door, I jumped up and jerked it open. It was Frodo. I peered around him into the hallway for a second, wondering if anyone else was about. He looked quizzical. "What is it?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing at all," I replied, saying the first thing that came into my head. "I thought I might have another visitor, is all."
He frowned slightly. "Were you expecting someone else?"
"Oh, no, Frodo, come in please," I said, taking his arm and bringing him into the room. "I must ask your pardon. I meant to come and ask you to tea, but I was rather tired. Instead, I ended up taking a nap, and only woke up just now. My apologies."
"Well,
what are you planning to do for tea, then?"
He stood looking at me, wearing the same white shirt and breeches he'd
had on this morning. But now, his clothes
seemed more filled in, and more comfortable, as if they'd molded themselves to
his body.
I felt a little warm, and went to open the window. "Let's just stay here, Frodo. And that way you can speak freely. Is that all right?" I gestured toward the table.
He sat down and I bustled about, making him some tea. When I had settled myself, I looked at him expectantly. He looked a bit distant and sad. "I described the Black Gate to you, and it was clear to me that there was no way I could cross it undetected unless I used the Ring. It would mean leaving Sam and Sméagol behind, probably in the middle of the night, and going alone. I also felt that it was desperately dangerous to use the Ring in Mordor and I mistrusted my own impulse to do so. When Sméagol spoke of a another entry way, it seemed like the answer I needed."
I sat and listened to him, staring at his hands as they lay on the table. He'd been faced with a horrible decision, with no good answer, and yet had found one. My admiration increased again. Who else would have the foresight to make an enemy an ally, I wondered.
I noticed that one of his cuffs had a loose thread, and it was stuck to the inside of one wrist. His cuffs weren't buttoned and I could imagine the smooth warmth of his skin. He was speaking lightly, as usual, of the journey away from the Black Gate. I folded my hands neatly together to keep from reaching over and tugging at that loose thread. That would be unremarkable, but then I could fold his cuffs back, revealing the soft skin of his wrists, and say something casual, like "Isn't too warm to have your cuffs down?" He would probably agree and I would slowly slide his cuffs up his arms, first one and then the other, in an intimacy too plain to ignore. Then perhaps he would lean over... I realized I was losing track of the story. He was describing a meeting with a Man named Faramir. I concentrated on his words, and folded my hands, looking down at them instead.
When he spoke of the climb to the secret pass, his voice began to slow. I began to wonder where this story was headed, and if we were getting close to the end, now.
"When we awoke, Sméagol led us into the tunnel that would take us through to the pass. It was absolutely black and had a foul stench. He led us long, and we passed other passageways, branching off on either side. I trailed my fingers along the wall to keep my bearings. After many branchings on both sides, I sensed something different, a deep pit with a terrible menace, close by. We hurried past it as quickly as possible and found that Sméagol had disappeared. The tunnel forked and we did not know which to take. We found that one fork was blocked somehow. Then we felt some evil presence and heard the noises. Something was coming toward us. It was only at this point that Sam remembered the phial of Galadriel. When I took it out, it shone through my fingers with a wondrous clear white light. And in that light, we saw the eyes in the distance."
"Eyes?" I questioned with a shiver.
He smiled grimly. "Many eyes in two great clusters, like that of a spider, if you can imagine a spider taller than a Man. We could only see the eyes and not the shape of the creature, and at first we fled. I saw it come leaping behind us and I knew we could not out-run it. I told Sam we must stand and I drew my sword." He fell silent, and swallowed hard. I folded his hands into mine, and squeezed them comfortingly. He cleared his throat and went on. "I advanced toward the creature, and the light seemed injure it. As I got closer, I felt the menace easing, and suddenly the thing turned and fled away from us."
"You faced it down," I whispered in awe.
"The light drove it off," he answered.
I stared at him, wondering why he had phrased it that way. "Songs and stories, Frodo! And how close did you have to get before it drove off the creature?"
He didn't answer me. "Once it turned away, we fled through the tunnels. There was a spider-web drawn across the last passage, which resisted Sam's sword. I gave him the phial to hold, and managed to cut through it with Sting. I could see the pass and smell the cleaner air outside. I told Sam to hurry and follow and ran through it."
He pulled his hands away from mine, then rose and went to the window. After looking out for a moment, he said hesitantly, "If it's all the same to you, I think I will stop here for now." I looked at his linen-clad back, tapering down to his slender hips, in wonder. He was so gentle, how had he borne it? One brace had twisted when he stood, and I stared at it, thinking of running my hands along his shoulders and straightening it.
"Of course, Frodo. It's early for supper yet, but if you like I could go down to the kitchen and get a tray for us." I stopped suddenly, wondering how he would respond to this.
He drummed his fingers on the window frame, tap-tap-ta-tap. "Thank you, but I think I will rest a little in my rooms."
"Of course." I clasped my hands together nervously. "I have the impression that there are difficult parts to this story. I've no desire to press you or impose, but I am…available. If you want to talk. I found that it helped sometimes."
He half-turned and looked at me searchingly. "I see."
Play, fiddler…My insides were a-flutter. I reached out and grasped his forearm gently. "Perhaps I'll see you after you've rested?"
"Yes, I'll go down for supper." He covered my hand with his own, lightly. "Will I see you there? Or are you staying in?"
I hesitated, thinking about trying to converse with him before all the eyes in Brandy Hall. As I 'd had ample proof shown, only the illusion of privacy existed in these close confines, but illusion or not, I knew my own preferences. I felt flushed and intensely vulnerable. "I'd rather you come and visit me for a bit after supper," I said quietly. "We could discuss whatever you wish or nothing at all. We could go for a walk. I've always enjoyed walking at night." I could hear myself babbling. This invitation strayed distinctly beyond the bounds of innocence.
His hand tightened unmistakably on mine, and he rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand in a slow circle. That was all, but I felt a flush of warmth all out of proportion to the small contact. "That sounds very nice," he said as politely as if he were discussing the weather. "I will see you shortly after supper, then."
After he left, I sank down onto a chair, feeling as nervous as a cat. I ate lightly, but I can't recall what I ate, and spent some time refreshing myself. Then I sat down and tried to read the poetry book over again.
As I waited, I remembered his curious comments about gifts. I began musing on the idea of Tory and Toby as a gift. Undreamt of…. they were that, definitely. Unimagined…. again, true. But something was niggling at me. You never knew when a gift was coming, did you? So unexpected was a good word, and suited my boys as well. And yet, if one never knew when a gift was arriving, and one couldn't imagine it, then how did one know when another might not lie around the corner? I turned that idea over in my mind. I couldn't help but feel it smacked of disloyalty.
I returned to it, though, like a dog digging at a fence. A gift might be unpredictable and unexpected, but no less welcome. If I had had the choice of having Toby for the nearly four years I'd had him, and not having him at all, I would still have chosen him. I would have chosen the anguish, would have borne it, knowing it was what I wanted. That to get the moments of pure joy and happiness I'd had, I'd have to pay in heartbreak later. It felt as if my head were about to break in two from the force of my thoughts. If a gift …a loved one…is by nature transient, doesn't that mean we should enjoy them while we have them as much as, as fiercely as possible, and then let them go when the time comes? Let them go without bitterness or anger? Appreciate what we'd had with them and celebrate it, instead of mourning the time lost. How would Tory react to my wanting to kill myself?
I knew the answer right off, for all I'd tried not to think about it. He would hate it. He would be horribly angry with me, if he could be here with me now. He'd probably shake me 'til my brains rattled in my head. "Chirk up, girl," I could hear him saying. "I'm gone, and that may be a sad thing, but you need to get up off your selfish hind end, and make yourself a new life!" I could see him clear as day, his chestnut curls disheveled and his brown eyes snapping at me.
"But, Toby? What about Toby, Tory?" I said pleadingly to this vision. "How can I possibly live without both of you?"
Tory shook his head at me. "Tansy, did you think that I wouldn't look after him? And when your time comes, I'll meet you, too, but you'd better not anticipate that by even one second." He stepped closer to me, and ran his fingers over my face. "Tansy, dearest, you have love to give yet. It's not your time, my sweet. It's not. Promise me. Throw that stuff away, and give up the idea. Promise me, sweetheart." He brushed his lips over mine, softly, sweetly and I threw my arms around him frantically. Oh, how I had missed him. He spoke again, whispering against my cheek. "Will you promise?"
"Oh, Tory, I promise!" I cried. "I promise, love."
He brushed my lips again. "Tonight, dear heart?"
I could feel his sturdy frame under my hands, warm, alive. "All right, love. Anything." I kissed him longingly. He felt just the same, and my heart was breaking. He murmured against my mouth, "I love you, darling. Goodbye."
"Tory! Tory, no! Don't go, don't go, please!" I could hardly speak I was sobbing so. In fact, I was sobbing so hard, I woke myself up. I was still sitting in the big chair by my rocker…Tory's chair.
The candle had burned down and it was dark as a tomb. I sat up and put my arms out into the air before me, expecting my fingers to encounter a warm body close by. Tory. Where was he? I could smell him on me; I could almost see him. I got up and moved around the room with my arms out like an old hobbit with bad eyes. I made two circuits before it began to sink in on me. It was a dream. For a little space, I'd felt his lips on mine, his warmth in my arms, but now it was gone. It was only a dream. I began sobbing again, harsh, loud sobs, not gentle or pretty in the slightest. I scrambled to my bedroom and reached for the pitcher. I had to get rid of it now. Otherwise, I couldn't bear it. An end at last…I want an end to this…but I promised.
I lifted up the pitcher but there was nothing underneath it. I frowned, and then decided I'd misremembered where I'd placed it last. I looked in the basin and under the stand. I couldn't find it. Had I put it under the bed, then? I looked but couldn't see anything. I was in a fever of haste so I stood up and braced myself, and threw the mattress over violently. Lighting a candle, I searched under and around the bed in vain. There was nothing. I searched quickly over the rest of the room to be sure. It was gone.
I suddenly flashed on Frodo, walking out of this room this morning and seeming so troubled after. I stood in the room where I'd slept with my husband, drawn to Frodo despite myself, and feeling like a bit of wool being twisted into yarn.
Someone took the bottle. Did you? Why, Frodo? The wheel and the spindle. I don't really want to know why, do I? But I had promised him I'd get rid of it. Could I be held to a promise to a dead man?
Turning. No, I don't know, and I can't go to him now. But he'd as good as said I'd love another before I died. Twisting. He couldn't have meant that I should go to him, now, it's too late. What would people say? And what on Arda would I say to him?
Pulling. Oh, Frodo, why? He doesn't belong to me. Which of them was I speaking of? Tighter. Did even I know? He has so much to live for. I scrubbed my eyes furiously with my hands. And he needs me. Stretched. I needed air. I have to get out. Snapped. I must go…now. Hurry!
I snatched up a shawl and ran out into the quiet hallways of Brandy Hall. It was so late that I saw not another soul, heard no other sounds of occupation. I was knocking on Frodo's door a few minutes later.