For the next fortnight, Merry was busy entertaining Estella, and we didn't see much of him. The last night of her visit, Saradoc announced their formal betrothal at a celebratory feast. As Saradoc talked, I stared at the table, wishing it were mine being announced. That it could be mine. Frodo was at the next table. When supper was over, and everyone jumped up to crowd around Merry and Estella and offer congratulations, he came and sat next to me. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.
"Nothing," I said quickly. He looked frankly disbelieving. "All right, I'm thinking about betrothals. I wish ours were settled."
His face was impassive. "I see. Isn't it, then?" I looked at him, trying vainly to read what he was thinking. Relief? Anxiety? What did he want?
His eyes flicked over my shoulder, and I turned to see Mentha approaching us. "Big night for Merry, Tansy," she said slyly. "Did you see his face when Saradoc said it? I thought he turned a very pretty shade of green." We stood up as the servants came around to push the tables back for dancing.
"Aren't you happily married, then, Mentha?" I teased back. Saradoc gestured for the music to start. Apparently, no one was in a speech-making mood tonight. I glanced over at Frodo and mouthed, Speech? He shook his head, smiling, and handed me my wine glass.
"I am married, so I know what I'm talking about," Mentha said. "Women don't need nearly as much convincing as men, in my experience." She glanced back and forth between us, still smiling mischievously. "Still, nearly all the Travelers are either betrothed or married now. Those with proper hobbit-sense, anyway."
Frodo had just taken a sip of his wine and he coughed violently. I looked at Mentha, startled. What has gotten into her?
Frodo looked annoyed once he'd gotten his breath back. "I'm going to congratulate Merry," he said shortly.
After he'd stalked off, Mentha looked at me with mock-dismay. "O-ho, so Mr. Baggins is a little sensitive on the subject of marriage!"
I had to count to three to keep from snapping at her. "I certainly cannot speak for Mr. Baggins, Mentha," I said coldly.
She sat down, looking genuinely surprised. "You seem as if you're-" she broke off and blushed. "I'm sorry. It's really none of my business, is it? Merry said so, and here I go chattering anyway."
I was turning to look after Frodo, when her words penetrated. "What?" I said sharply.
She looked alarmed at my tone. "Tansy, I only said that you and Frodo seemed to be in each other's company quite a bit, perhaps a courtship was on the horizon? Merry told me to be quiet." She hesitated, and then added, "And not to gossip about it, for Frodo would never do anything to hurt your reputation. I only meant to joke a little."
"Oh, yes," I agreed dully. Of course, Frodo would never intentionally ruin a woman by seducing her and then not marrying her. And he would certainly never abandon a woman in love with him, of Merry's own family. I'd known all that before, but it made it seem more real when others spoke of it. Does he truly want to marry me? Or am I yet another duty he must fulfill?
I pushed the thought away and said goodbye to Mentha. As I walked over to where Frodo and Merry were standing, I heard Merry say, "I won't deny occasional panicky moments, but I'm happier than I thought possible 18 months ago." Frodo nodded, smiling wistfully. Merry continued softly, "Health and long life, Frodo! Let's drink to it and spit in Saruman's eye!" He touched his glass of wine to Frodo's. A flicker of sadness passed over Frodo's face and then he drank.
"Saruman?" I asked curiously. "What do you mean by that, Merry?"
Frodo's shoulders tensed a little. "Nothing important," he said. I didn't miss the quick look he shot at Merry, who immediately shut his mouth.
I looked at them both skeptically. What? I thought. Merry looked blankly innocent. Frodo just looked stubborn. I sighed.
"Estella, dear, come and speak to Frodo," Merry called then. Estella walked over smiling. She was a lovely hobbit, with extraordinarily fair hair, and could have married anyone she'd chosen. But she had been absolutely devoted to Merry since childhood, tagging after him everywhere. Once she grew into her beauty, she'd captured his attention easily. "Hello, Frodo, Tansy," she said. "You both look well."
Frodo kissed her cheek. "All happiness to you, Estella," he said pleasantly. "And how is Fatty?"
She laughed. "He's doing his best to be worthy of the name once more. Father swears he'll eat him out of house and home." I fidgeted impatiently, thinking to myself, Is he keeping secrets from me? I looked around the Hall. It was difficult to see since the chandeliers had been extinguished. Who else was about during the battles? Most of the children and younger hobbits were on the floor dancing a vigorous reel. I finally caught sight of Mentha's brother, Merimas sitting against one wall. Merim would know. I excused myself with a final hug to Estella, and went over to him.
"Hullo, Merim," I said, sitting down next to him.
"Tansy, how are you? I haven't seen you about for ages."
"I'm well, thank you. But I have a question for you. I've just realized that I can't remember something about Sharkey."
"Why would you want to?" he said, frowning.
"No particular reason, but Merry said something just now and I didn't want to ask what he meant. Or appear provincial. But you were there, Merim, you can remind me," I smiled at him engagingly and he rolled his eyes.
"What is it you want to know?"
"What does a toast to health and long life have to do with Merry and Frodo getting the better of Saruman? Sharkey, I mean."
He hesitated a long moment, looking troubled. "I'm not sure…but it could be a reference to what he said to Frodo."
A cold chill rushed down my neck. "Saruman? What did he say to Frodo?" He hesitated again. "Merim? Please?"
He threw up his hands. "He was just being mean and spiteful. At the end, when Frodo had told him to go, and hoped he'd yet find a remedy. He said something like, 'I'll not wish you health or long life, for you will have neither. But that is not my fault. I only foretell.' "
Curse him! Arwen, Galadriel, and now Saruman…all these great ones seemed determined that Frodo should have no peace. I stared out over the Hall in dismay and anger. I eventually became aware of Frodo watching me, from where he stood by Merry. He caught my eye, frowning, and shifted his gaze to Merim. I felt Merim twitch like a spooked pony beside me. He jumped to his feet and blurted out, "I promised Meli I'd talk with her friend, Tansy, if you'll excuse me," and fair rushed away.
Frodo walked over deliberately and stood before me with his hands in his pockets. "You wheedled it out of Merim," he said, with obvious irritation
I stared at him, my mind a-whirl. The nightmares and illnesses, the chill in his shoulder, the times I'd catch him suppressing some grimace when he moved, the appetite that didn't improve no matter how I tempted him to eat… Health and long life. Surely it wasn't too much to ask for him. Not when he'd already given so much.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I replied with some heat. The reel finished in a jangle of notes and Saradoc began shooing the children off the dance floor.
"Saruman's spite does not bear repeating. I insist you put it from your mind immediately." A fine one he was, telling me to put things from my mind!
"Don't order me about, Frodo Baggins," I replied angrily.
He opened his mouth, and then checked himself. "This is not the time or place," he said evenly.
I jumped to my feet. "Then we can go someplace else."
He wheeled away from me, arms folded, and bumped into Saradoc.
"Frodo," Saradoc said heartily. "You must dance! I've not seen you on the floor yet."
"Perhaps later, Uncle."
"I insist, my boy. I'll brook no argument." Saradoc looked at me shrewdly and took my hand and pressed it into Frodo's. "Dance with Tansy. Out you go, now go on."
Saradoc moved on and gave Merry and Estella a similar push onto the floor. Frodo and I looked at each other as the musicians started. Merry and Estella joined hands and walked into the center of the room. Quite a few other couples followed, forming a line. The Farthingall was slower than most hobbit dances. It was usually a good dance in which to catch your breath and flirt a little. He finally led me over to the line. The musicians crashed into the reverence and I curtsied very formally as Frodo bowed. He took my hand and we stepped forward to the measured beats of the music, falling into line with the other couples.
"Why didn't you tell me what Saruman said?" I asked him softly.
He shook his head and didn't reply. I was quiet until we reached the end of the advancing steps. We faced each other for the turn, and clasped hands formally. He was looking straight ahead, avoiding my eyes, which was unusual during the Farthingall turn. Clasp elbows for familiar and hands for formal, Mother had told me when teaching me to dance long ago. Tilt your head to meet your partner's eyes. Thrice turn as if you are circling a sixpence piece on the floor. She and Father had demonstrated and she had gotten rather giggly. Sancho and I had rolled our eyes at each other. It's just some silly dance! We'd learned it reluctantly, unable to see why people would care about it so.
I gave Frodo's hand a tug and he looked at me at last. "Does it have anything to do with what Queen Arwen said?"
He looked resigned. "Possibly. We can discuss it later."
We stopped and raised our hands together at shoulder level, palm to palm. Partners may try to steal a kiss at this point, Mother had said, looking at Father and laughing. Father had pretended to get angry, retorting: I never want to see you two acting in such a way! In the last stanza, the couples would form two circles: the inner couples reversing and the outer moving forward.
I hadn't been paying attention, and started to step forward. Frodo's fingers curved around mine, and his lips quirked. "We're falling back," he whispered. I blushed, almost stumbling as I corrected. His steps never faltered, continuing light and sure. I mirrored him, looking over his shoulder as we circled. One couple was perilously close together. They moved out of my line of vision before I could identify them. I turned my attention back to my partner. Through our joined hands, I could sense the easy rhythms in his movements. His backwards and sideways steps were light and sure, with the deceptive ease conveyed by those well rehearsed.
"You're an excellent dancer," I said, watching him.
"You sound surprised."
"You never danced much at festivals, I remember."
He shrugged vaguely. "In Hobbiton, I was usually the host and so had other duties."
We had returned to our original position, completing our backward circuit. Usually the dance repeated several times. We both looked ahead to Merry and Estella, but they showed no sign of leading us to change partners.
Frodo took my hand and we went forward again side by side. I stole a peek at him from the corner of my eye. He'd left his fine damask weskit unbuttoned in the warmth of the Hall, and had his sleeves pushed up over his forearms. His posture was quite proper, with head up and shoulders back. I considered that if I were to run my hand down from the nape of his neck to the small of his back, I would be able to feel the tension in his muscles, the tension that kept him upright and balanced so perfectly.
We turned towards each other and clasped hands. As we circled around the imaginary sixpence piece, I could smell the lavender scent of the soap he'd washed up with before coming to the supper. It was odd how alone we seemed, with the music filling our ears, and the rest of the Hall seeming to fade into the dim candlelight. And then the turns were complete.
As we began advancing palm-to-palm, with each step, his knee slightly disarranged my skirts and touched mine. I felt increasing warmth from those small points of contact; our palms, our knees. I bit my lip, and looked down, trying to concentrate on the music. Step, pause, step, pause, double-step, pause…
His formal breeches were cut looser than those for everyday. I could see where the material flowed over his hips and upper thighs before falling smoothly to his knees. I wondered what the fabric felt like. It looked like it had a soft nap. He's not built typically, I thought a little dizzily. Those are tailored somewhat big. If I had a chance, I could alter them. At his hips, take hold of the material and pull it a bit tighter and mark where the new seam should be. Work my way down to mid-thigh or so, and then run the width straight to the knee.
"Don't bite your lip," he said softly. I swallowed hard and pulled my gaze back up to his face. The heat in the Hall was stifling. I stared at his lips from a distance of six inches, close enough that I could see every tiny curve and change in texture. If I moved forward a few inches, I could touch his lips with my own. I raised my eyes to his, to find him looking at me intently. Just a small movement. My pulse was speeding in my throat. He dropped his eyes to my lips and leaned toward me, slowly, almost unnoticeably. A flourish in the music washed over us and I became dimly aware of a change in the other couples' movements. Frodo halted, and released my hands reluctantly.
We were back to our original position and it was again time to advance side by side. Blast, I thought in frustration. Now I was suddenly eager for the dance to be over and to make my polite farewells. As we walked forward, he laced his fingers through mine, rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand. His hand was very warm. He glanced sideways at me, his eyes catching a glimmer of torchlight from the wall sconces. I stared back, caught in their intense blue.
At the turn, I put out my hand for him to take. He stepped closer, and took my elbow. I could feel the cool material of his shirt under my palm. He'd loosened his cuffs earlier in the evening and pushed them back to his forearms. I slid my hand along the inside of his arm and inside his sleeve. It felt as if most of the nerves in my body were concentrated in that hand, and luxuriating in the feel of his skin under my fingers. We finished the turns too quickly for my taste and faced each other again.
He stepped toward me deliberately, somewhat off-center, and slowly raised our hands to shoulder level. I shamelessly moved closer still, and we began falling back. I heard a rushing in my ears, as if I truly were falling from a height. With each step, I could feel his knee rising between mine and rubbing along my thigh. I was intensely aware of every slow movement, each lingering contact between us, and the tingling of arousal. I stared into his eyes, wondering what he felt. His face was completely impassive, but his eyes were not. He looked at me as if I lay before him, ready, and my knees weakened embarrassingly. I took a deep breath and looked outward, clutching his hands like a lifeline.
"You're doing this on purpose," I accused, feeling my breath catch.
"I'm not." His barely-felt whisper raised goose bumps all along my neck and down my arms.
I turned my head to him, and found somehow that my cheek brushed his, and all I could see was his hair and the flared collar of his shirt.
The music began to increase in volume, signaling the final measures. I needed only to turn my head slightly to touch my lips to his jaw. I kissed the curve of his neck, and his taste and smell went to my head like wine. His hands tightened on mine, and he brought one to his lips, as if in a gallant flourish. I tensed when I felt his mouth against the inside of my wrist. He kissed me once and then began slowly rubbing his lips up and down there, along the so-sensitive skin. I closed my eyes, trusting him to keep us moving in the right direction. I yearned to press myself to him and kiss down his throat to his chest and stomach, unbuttoning as I went. I began concentrating on keeping my breathing slow and easy, increasingly aware of his body where it touched mine at the wrist, hands, and thighs. Then I felt his lips moving against my skin when he whispered, "The music is about to stop." He stepped back slightly to a more decorous distance. I opened my eyes and looked at him.
The music is about to stop… I tried to make sense of the words. We had once again returned approximately to our starting position, and dropped our hands to our sides. Perhaps to the others in the Hall, he seemed normal, his face wearing its customary non-committal expression, but I saw more. His eyes were very bright, and his breathing had quickened. I gave myself a mental shake as the musicians began the closing reverence, and I curtsied low, sweeping the floor with my skirts as I dipped. He bowed graciously in return, and then took my arm.
He led me over to the side of the dance floor where Mentha was sitting. He squeezed my hand, and then said formal goodnights to us both. Then he looked across the Hall to where Merry stood with Estella and raised one hand in a brief farewell. Without another word, he walked away. He stopped at the doorway and looked back at me. When our eyes met, I started to rise from my seat to go to him.
Mentha grabbed my arm. "Don't, Tansy," she hissed. I subsided, looking over at her. She looked sympathetic. "Don't go rushing out after him," she advised.
I looked back toward the door. He'd gone and I wanted to go after him. Immediately. "You are mistaken, I merely thought it time to retire," I said loftily.
She ignored this. "My goodness, woman, you're a Brandybuck! By marriage, anyway," she amended hastily. "And Brandybucks do not pursue…they are the pursued," she finished with a smug smile.
I sank back on the bench in annoyance. "Does it matter? I am a widow, not a maiden." I need to see him..to talk to him…and other things.
She laughed at me, and I flushed, conscious of taking my bad temper out on her. She patted my arm kindly. "Don't fret, Tansy, it creases your brow unpleasantly." She continued, "Now, we two ladies will leave shortly, and I'll walk with you back to your rooms."
I had no mind to return to my rooms. I smiled pleasantly as I tried to dissuade her. "Of course, dear, I would enjoy your company. But I so hate for you to miss the festivities. Stay if you've a mind."
She looked sly. "Certainly not." She tucked her arm through mine, and together we rose and began making our goodbyes to the others.
As we walked, we chatted lightly of inconsequential matters. The corridors were empty of all save an occasional servant, as the other residents of Brandy Hall celebrated the heir's betrothal. Mentha halted at the intersection of two corridors.
"I believe I will return to the Hall now. You can walk on from here, can't you?" she said cheerfully.
I looked around, realizing immediately that Frodo's room was down the opposite corridor. "Oh, yes!" I said equably. I took a step and paused, looking at her innocently.
Her lips twitched, and she said, "Very well, I'll pass on your regrets. Goodnight." She turned and strode away briskly. After she turned a corner, I made hastily for the opposite hall.
When I reached Frodo's door, I had just lifted my hand to knock as it was jerked open. Frodo and I stared at each other for a second, then he grabbed my arm and pulled me in. He closed the door and leaned forward to kiss me.
I slipped out of reach and looked at him uncertainly. "Frodo, wait. First I would speak of what I what I learned tonight."
"Why?" He looked surprised and a little taken aback.
"Because it affects us, you and I."
"Tansy, there is little to discuss. I cannot see the future like the Wise. I do not know if what Saruman said is true. " As he spoke, he walked into the bedroom and dropped onto the bed as if suddenly weary.
"And what Queen Arwen spoke of?"
"Of sailing West? I've already said I've no wish to leave the Shire. More than that I cannot say."
"Cannot or will not?"
He seemed to look into the distance. "Cannot. I'm afraid my future is as unfathomable as your own."
"When would you have sailed?" He hesitated again, and I frowned, walking over to stand before him.
"As far as I know, the Elven Ring-bearers have not yet left Middle Earth," he said reluctantly.
"I see." Could he still leave, then? I sat down abruptly on the bed, feeling sickened at the thought and trying to hide it. An old memory surfaced: "They say those most deserving of love and happiness, seldom find it."
He looked at me intently. "That cannot always be true, can it? Otherwise, we'd have never met."
My answering smile trembled a little but he didn't seem to notice. If I could make him happy… I'd spend my life trying and count it well spent. He curved his hand around the back of my neck, and moved to kiss me. I turned my head so that his lips touched my cheek instead.
"Wait," I said, trying to remember if there was anything else.
"Not more discussion?" he murmured against my cheek.
"Frodo, don't try to befuddle me," I said hastily. "It works all too well. It's unfair."
"Unfair to whom?" he asked, sliding his hands down my back, "I'm affected as you are."
I tugged at my neckline a bit. It suddenly seemed far too snug around my throat. "No, that's not true. You- you know how I feel," I murmured distractedly. "While we were dancing…." I trailed off, my body burning as I remembered.
He raised his head to look at me, his eyes very dark in the meager light from the table-candle. "Do you think that I react this way intentionally?" he said, sounding frustrated. "You give yourself too little credit. I never imagined—" He broke off, looking away.
"What?" I asked. "Frodo?"
"Caring like this. Now. After all that has happened to me."
"Caring? Is that what you call it?"
He hesitated, searching my eyes with his own. "No, actually. I would call it love."
I caught my breath. "Yes." Our eyes met and we moved forward as one. This time, when he kissed me, I did not move away. I responded with all my love, bringing him to me, within me. Until we fell apart, panting, drowsy, and scrambled under the bedclothes.
Frodo slept easily, but I stayed awake, struggling to come to terms with my future. I'd been so sure it included Frodo. Was I wrong? I tossed and turned for a long while before falling asleep.
The next day, I found my steps turning toward Opal's room. I'd struggled to think this through on my own long enough. It was time to seek someone else's advice.
She didn't bat an eyelash when I turned up at her door. "Hello, my dear," she said easily. "You've something you wish to discuss, is that it?"
I slumped down in one of her chairs, feeling tired. "I have a dilemma, Opal. I may need a good excuse to delay a marriage. And I am having difficulties thinking of one."
Her eyes narrowed in her wrinkled face. "An excuse to delay a marriage," she repeated thoughtfully. "Not to refuse? Difficult. Something workable should be based in truth; it makes everything easier. Do you dislike the man who's asked you?"
I shook my head, staring at the floor.
"Is there another you want more, then?" I shook my head again, feeling like a fool. "Well, what does Merry say? I'm assuming he knows about this."
"I haven't spoken of it with him."
She laced her fingers together and leaned her chin on them, considering. "Well, I've not heard that Frodo has any prior commitments, and he seems to care for you."
I looked at her, startled, and she smiled wistfully. "Dear, at my age the only thing that might surprise one, is how little lovers change. But I could've sworn you cared for him a great deal, so perhaps I am missing the mark."
"I do care for him," I paused and took a deep breath. "I suppose this will sound ridiculous to you. But I worry his past will not let him ever be at peace in the Shire. He's told me that Queen Arwen said he would need to go into the Uttermost West. I need some time to sort it out. But he won't talk to me about it, and I'm not sure what to do."
"Into the West? Like the songs say the Elves do? Why?"
I shrugged, staring into the fire. "For healing."
She looked thoughtful. "And if he doesn't?"
I couldn't look at her. It was harder than I'd imagined, speaking my fears aloud. "I don't know…but I'm afraid," I said.
I thought I saw a flicker of sadness in her eyes. "That is a different kettle of fish, then," she said slowly. "In that case, your problem is not Frodo at all— "
"It's Merry," Dahlia finished firmly from behind me. I jumped, and saw her standing in the doorway. I hadn't even heard her come in.
"That's not at all what I was going to say, 'Lia," Opal said, sounding ruffled. "And there's no call to be sneaking up on us."
"What do you mean?" I asked them in confusion.
Dahlia clicked her tongue impatiently. "You could put off Frodo Baggins from now till the Brandywine freezes again and he'd probably not mind overmuch."
"Well, yes, the boy is dreamy," Opal agreed. "Always was."
Dahlia ignored this. "But Merry is completely different. He may laugh and tease but he takes his responsibilities seriously. And he won't allow this …relationship to continue without wedding plans."
I blushed a little, and she looked amused. "You're discreet, but you'd have to be canny indeed to fool Opal or me. And there's another thing you've not considered," she continued briskly. "What will you do if you get with child?"
I felt a surge of mingled terror and joy. If it happens, it happens. It's enough for me to consider what else I may have to do. "I'll cross that river if I come to it," I said firmly. ""And as for Merry... I don't know. Frodo may have already talked to him."
Opal and Dahlia regarded me for a long moment. Then Dahlia shrugged and said, "Well, Tansy, you'd best leave Merry to me then."
"What will you say?"
"I'll tell him I don't want him to announce any betrothals until a full year's mourning for Tory has passed. It's old-fashioned, but then, so am I. He'll agree reluctantly, but he will agree. And that will give you a couple of more months. By then, child, you'll have to make up your mind."
"Exactly, Dahlia," Opal said triumphantly. "That's what I was about to tell her when you interrupted. Her true problem is making up her own mind."