After that day, we were seen together more often. I maintained enough discretion to refrain from holding his hand or kissing him in the hallways, and Frodo acted properly as always. There were a few raised eyebrows, but no outright comments. And we always went our separate ways at night. Of course, I usually slipped out again and went to his rooms. In the nights, I loved him with an appetite that surprised me. Sometimes I'd look at him with a sort of greedy hunger overlain with sorrow. I couldn't explain it.
A few days later I arrived early to supper to find him playing with some of the children. They were playing 'Odd Man Out' a popular game with the sole virtue of making the children run a great deal, thus tiring them. It did require an odd number of players, though, and only 10 children were in the Hall that night. He saw me watching him, and rolled his eyes. I burst out laughing.
Line them up, two by two, two by two, two by two, line them up, two by two, to see the King. They began singing the accompaniment. They had lined up in two roughly equal lines, facing each other. Their ages ranged from around 5 or 6 up to 11 and 12. I saw with amusement that Frodo was next to Tilly's middle lass, a perky chit of 10 or so.
Walk them out, one by one, one by one, one by one, walk them out, one by one, to crown the King. Everyone joined hands, forming one long line and the leader led them running, like a shortened version of crack-the-whip. Faster and louder they went, with some of the smaller children nearly pulled off their feet.
Marry them off, till we're done, till we're done, till we're done, marry them off, till we're done, to see the Queen . On the last syllable the children scattered, everyone grabbing a partner. Many tried shaking off the one who'd gotten them and trying to snag someone else. Mentha's five-year-old grabbed Frodo's hand, smiling at him shyly. Clematis grabbed his other hand and Mimsy's little face clouded over. Frodo handed Clematis off to Seren, shrugging and indicating Mimsy. Then he took Mimsy's hand again, swinging their arms exaggeratedly until she started giggling again.
Odd man out, all alone, all alone, all alone, odd man out, all alone, and see the joker. The frantic shuffling ceased and the one child without a partner was encircled solemnly.
Pick a partner, and you're gone, and you're gone, and you're gone, pick your partner and you're gone, never to return. The encircled child pointed to another, who groaned loudly. They were both out of the game. Complicated alliances often formed and shifted, depending, of course, on who was paired with whom. Once the two out left the circle, Frodo and the children lined up again for another round, still an odd number. Until the very end, when the last odd man would be the winner.
I had some needlework with me that night and so after supper, I rather ostentatiously went to sit in the small parlor to work on it. Celandine stuck her head in and then came and sat with me for a while. Celandine was twenty-six and so tended to be focused on her own concerns, of which her marriage was the chief. She hugged me, exclaimed over my work, and then spent half-an-hour chattering breathlessly about her latest love. I gathered it was one of the younger Tooks. I let her words wash over me while I stitched, and it was a comfort. I'd missed her in my grieving and hadn't even known it. I'd never had any sisters and since my mother's death, the women of Brandy Hall had taken the place of my own family. Contentious they might be one moment, loving the next, and certainly never boring.
She leaned her head on my shoulder and finally paused to ask, "So do you like Mr. Baggins, Tansy?"
"Yes, he's very nice."
"Will you marry him?" I was rather stuck for an answer to that. If I were truthful, then I'd have to say yes, but that would truly light a firestorm of gossip.
"I've spent some time with him, but it's still early to be thinking about marriage, Celandine," I finally said. Thankfully, at that moment her mother Hilda came looking for her. After they went off, I went back to my needlework. As I finished a complicated border, I ran the needle into my finger with some force.
"Ouchie," I exclaimed. I stared at the little drop of blood thoughtfully. In the month before he died, Toby had become fascinated by "ouchies" and "boo-boos" and the sympathy they evoked. He'd often claimed to have some imaginary injury, demanding kisses to make it better, and sometimes even bandages and 'medicine'. I'd used blackberry jam as my medicine, giving him a spoonful when he claimed some illness. Dahlia had thought it ridiculous, but I was glad now I'd done it. I folded up my needlework. My hands were shaking too badly now for me to stitch anything.
Did it give you joy, baby? I thought sadly. I'd have let you eat nothing but desserts for the whole month if I'd known. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure, as I walked distractedly back to my own rooms. I'd have filled up the washtub and let you splash in it until the whole room was flooded. If only I'd known… Why didn't I do that? Why had I said it was too messy, and too much trouble?
I stepped into my front room and sat down in my rocker, lost in thought. Why hadn't I loved him more when I'd had the chance? How many days had it been since I'd visited his grave? I felt an urge to go immediately, as if by promptness now, I could make up for the previous neglect. I picked up my handkerchief to wipe my eyes. I jumped when I heard a tap at my door.
Frodo looked in. "Tansy?" he asked. "I was in the library and I couldn't remember if I was supposed to meet you—" he broke off. "What's wrong?" he asked gently, closing the door behind him and coming to kneel by me.
"I can't remember his smell. Toby's, I mean. That baby smell. I remember how it made me feel, but I can't call it back into my head…" I trailed off, hearing myself babbling disjointedly. He looked at me compassionately. He didn't look as if he were thinking I was a fool for raking up sorrows best left alone. He took my hands gently in his. "What kind of mother forgets that sort of thing?" I finally said shakily, ashamed but relieved to have it out.
"A normal mother. It's part of the healing, Tansy," he said
"I don't want to forget," I said, half-angrily.
"You won't forget the feelings," he responded. "You won't ever forget them."
I put a hand over my eyes, struggling not to break down entirely. "It hurts so.." I whispered. He put his arms around me and I hid my face in his shirt. I felt as if I were taking advantage of him by subjecting him to my grief like this.
"When will the sorrow ease? When does it go away?" I nearly begged him. He'd lost loved ones; he must know the answer.
He hesitated, stroking my head comfortingly. "It doesn't ever go away, Tansy…" he said at last, his voice low, almost meditative. "But one becomes reconciled to grief, and learns to live with it. It's like an old friend, a bittersweet reminder of that which is lost. The sorrow makes those fleeting moments of joy sharper, more piercing. For you know all too well the whims of fate and chance that can take them away."
I sat with him silently for a time, considering what he'd said. It felt right, and strangely enough, comforting. I toyed with the buttons of his shirt. I could feel the cool lump of the white jewel. "How do you do it?" I asked him wonderingly.
He started as if waking from a dream. "Do what?"
"So perfectly encapsulate… grief… in words. It is harsh, but it is the truth. And I feel better for hearing it. I never liked being told everything would be fine. Because sometimes it will not, and one must face it."
Frowning a little, he looked thoughtfully into my eyes, as if reading something there. "No, sometimes it will not," he agreed. Then he looked away and picked up my hand again, toying with my fingers. I leaned against him and we sat companionably enough. The tight knot of tension eased, and peacefulness crept over me.
"You loved Toby a great deal," he said quietly.
"Yes." I turned my head almost involuntarily to look at the chest where I still had his favorite yellow shirt tucked away.
"I don't know that I have the strength to love like that," he said hesitantly. He glanced at me and quickly away. I took his point at once.
"Yes, I can see that in you. It's not surprising."
"You do?"
"Yes," I said thoughtfully. "And I'm not a tweeny looking for a husband."
He brought his hands over mine, and folded them together palm to palm. "I never imagined you were. It is I who should not--"
"I'm of age, remember? Don't let's argue any longer," I interjected. I yawned, feeling my eyes beginning to prickle with fatigue.
"This is not an argument, but I'll leave it for your peace of mind." He sounded faintly put out and I grinned to myself.
After a short silence, he said, "I suppose I should go to bed and let you get some rest." He glanced at me and I saw subtle signs on his face that revealed his reluctance to go.
I felt a surge of tenderness and wanting. As tired as I was, and as heart-broken as I remained, I wanted to hold him close and find comfort in his arms. And forget. For a time, forget my sorrows and his in the pleasure we could bring to each other.
I touched his sleeve, and said, "Yes, that sounds best. Thank you, Frodo."
His face fell a little, but he kissed me and rose. "Good night, Tansy." He opened the door and stepped out, head down, studying the flagstones. I got up quietly and followed close on his heels. He saw me as he turned to close the door. He frowned, his forehead wrinkling. "Where are you going?" he asked.
"I'm going to bed, of course," I answered.
He stared at me for a moment, surprise and tenderness mixed on his face. Then he closed the door firmly. "Oh, of course," he echoed.
Hand in hand, avoiding others, we crept back to his suite. Once safely inside, I threw my arms around him and kissed his soft mouth, running my tongue along the little gap in his front teeth.
"Love me," I said simply. He led me into the bedroom and we undressed each other, kissing all the while. We sat down on the hearthrug, with him running his hands and mouth along my body until my breath came in little gasps. Finally, I could bear no more of that sweet torment and pulled his face back up to mine.
"Frodo…" He picked me up and carried me over to the bed, and we fell sideways across it, not even bothering to get under the covers. I reached down to feel him and his body stiffened over mine. He set his teeth together, then we were moving together frantically, moaning. His possession of me raised such a heat I felt as if I were afire with it, out of my head. I clutched his back, and his hands pulled at the bedclothes until I heard a rip. Glimmerings of silver were flashing before my eyes and Frodo's hands clenched tightly on my shoulders. He cried out above me, and then we were both gone, our individual selves lost in the pleasure.
He collapsed limply atop me, his breath easing out in a long sigh. I caressed his body longingly as my own gasps slowed. I love him, I love him, I thought desperately, tears welling in my eyes. It was an actual physical pain, deep inside me. My emotions were suddenly too close and too intense to deny. I felt him turn his head, and he rubbed my cheeks with his hand.
"Please don't cry," he said softly. "Have I hurt you somehow?"
I laughed shakily. "Not at all. I'm overwhelmed, not upset or hurt. It's not necessarily a bad thing, Frodo. "
He pulled the quilt up over us and I curled into the curve of his body. I was drowsing languorously, nearly asleep, when I heard him say, "Will you stay with me tonight?"
"Yes, of course," I mumbled.
I felt tension singing through his muscles, across his shoulders and down his arms. He finally said something very quietly, still idly caressing my cheek with a thumb.
I half-opened my eyes, frowning. Surely that's not what I heard…
"What did you say, Frodo?" I asked.
"Every night?" he repeated in almost a whisper.
My eyes flew open wide, as my heart started pounding. I stared blankly ahead at the smooth expanse of wall, and the pleasant dark-stained wood of the door. I love him.
"Do you mean…" I was too afraid to complete the sentence. I'd hallucinated it or perhaps this was a dream.
"Shall we wed, Tansy?" he asked finally. "Would you have me?"
I tightened my hands around his, my mind a-whirl. Does he love me? This was not wholly unexpected, but I hadn't dreamed he'd raise the question so soon. I don't know what to say. Could he love me? I don't care; I love him enough for both of us. "Yes," I finally whispered.
He released a long breath, and hugged me tightly. "Good. I'll need to talk to Merry, not that I think he'll object. Do you want to choose the date?" I will not ask him if he loves me. I will not. My thoughts were going in circles. We could heal each other. I pictured a life with him, children, quiet days filled with small joys. I could feel his tension increasing at my silence.
"Tansy?"
"Yes, I'm listening," I said slowly. "Before we pick a date, I think I'd like to talk with Dahlia and Opal. See what they think is proper."
He relaxed. "Oh, of course. I didn't think. I'll leave it up to you, then. " He brought my hand to his lips. "Thank you."
I lay there with the warmth of his body against my back. With a shiver, I realized suddenly that even now, with the heat from our lovemaking hot in our skin, I still could sense a faint chill in his left shoulder. We can heal each other, I thought firmly. The round hardness of the Queen's jewel pressed into my neck. I shifted thoughtfully to ease it, listening to the night sounds from the open window. Frodo's breathing had slowed to an easy pace, and small twitches ran up and down his arms as he relaxed into sleep, and soon I followed.