Part Two

The next day dawned crisp and clear, an almost perfect Blotmath day. Frost covered the ground in a sparkling carpet, and the limbs of the trees, bare but elegant nonetheless, stretched upwards into a washed, pale blue sky. Frodo opened the bedroom window and allowed the cold, fresh air to rush in. He listened intently for the sounds of Sam working. But he couldn't hear anything. Even in the winter Sam had something to do in the garden, and Frodo had grown so used to Sam's presence all year round that today's apparent absence unsettled him greatly. Frowning thoughtfully, he shut the window again, and made his way to the kitchen in search of breakfast.

Frodo found some bread and butter in the pantry, and also noted that apart from those items, the pantry was rather empty. He began to toast the bread, glancing surreptitiously out of the window every now and again, checking for Sam. But he did not appear, and by mid-morning, Frodo was beginning to worry. What could have possibly happened to Sam? He was usually up at the crack of dawn, and at Bag End not long after. Each morning he would join Frodo for a cup of tea before he set about doing his work. Sometimes Frodo thought that Sam's morning visits must be the only reason he got up in the morning.

Suddenly resolved, Frodo decided to go and look for Sam, and check he was all right. He had been so distraught last night that Frodo was beginning to worry about him. He pulled on his thick woollen coat and cloak over to top to protect him from the wind's bitter chill. Then he swung the heavy door of Bag End open, and stepped outside.

Walking down the gravel lane to Bagshot Row, Frodo began to curse his overactive imagination, which had started to come up with various reasons why he had not yet seen Sam. Complicated scenarios involving illness, injury and pain flickered through his mind, each one worse than the last. 'Stop it, you're just overreacting,' he mentally berated himself. 'So what if Samwise didn't turn up this morning? He might not have wanted to! He might not have anything to do in the garden He might be feeling unwell. Unless…unless he's avoiding you.' Frodo shook his head vigorously to dispel that thought. Sam valued his friendship, he was sure of it. Just because he had showed some kind of emotion last night, it did not mean…or did it? Sam had apologised for crying. Maybe he thought he couldn't face Frodo again, because he'd overstepped his mark. 'Maybe he felt ashamed.'

But Frodo had no more time left to ponder at such things. He had arrived at Sam's house. Taking a deep breath, he knocked briskly on the yellow door, and waited. A few moments later, pretty young Hobbit lass opened the door. She was wearing a simple green checked dress, with a well-worn apron tied around it. Her curly brown hair was secured into two pigtails. She had rosy cheeks and warm brown eyes. She blinked in surprise when she realised who the visitor was.

"Oh! Hello Mr. Baggins!" she exclaimed, smiling at him.

"Good Morning, Miss Gamgee," he replied politely, trying and failing to return the smile. "Is Samwise there please?"

Daisy's bright smile vanished. "Well…no, he isn't, I'm afraid. We thought that he'd gone to see you, yesterday evening, and stayed over."

"He did visit me, but he went home, and he didn't turn up this morning."

"Well, I'm right sorry, Mr. Baggins. It's not like our Sam to be missin' work like that."

Frodo felt a little exasperated. "Well, it isn't the work I'm worried about, Miss Daisy. I was worried about Sam. I just wanted to make sure he was well. But if he didn't return home last night…"

Daisy's eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Did anything happen last night?"

"He was…a little upset about something," Frodo replied evasively, reluctant to talk about it.

"Ah. Well, knowin' Sam he'll have gone off somewhere to sort things out. But I would've thought he'd go back to work."

Frodo frowned and glanced around edgily, half-expecting Sam to turn up at any moment. Sensing his concern, Daisy Gamgee patted Frodo's shoulder sympathetically. "Don't you worry, sir. He'll turn up, and when he does, I'll send him straight to you."

"Thank you. Tell him that - " There were so many things Frodo wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell Sam that his friendship was like a ray of sunlight in his life, that Sam was the only person that could truly make him laugh, or smile. That Sam was his inspiration for everything he did. That seeing Sam like that last night had nearly broken his heart, and that he need not love Rosie. If he would just love Frodo, he'd never weep again, for his love would be returned unconditionally. "Tell him that I was here to check that he was feeling well. I wasn't worried about the garden, I was worried about him."

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Sam woke suddenly, as one does when they find themselves somewhere they don't expect to be. He sat bolt upright, and quickly took in his surroundings. He was lying in a bed in a room he did not recognise immediately. A small fireplace was opposite him, and except for a chair by the window, the room was otherwise unadorned. Sam got up and found he was wearing a nightshirt that he did not remember putting on, and that his clothes were neatly folded on the chair. He dressed hurriedly, wondering where he could be, and just as he turned to leave, the door swung open. Young Tolman Cotton strode in.

"Morning Sam!" he exclaimed, grinning widely. "Hope you had a good night's sleep." Sam frowned in puzzlement, trying to remember just what happened last night. He remembered going to Bag End, of course. He remembered shaming himself by crying in front of Mr. Frodo. But after that…

"I found you at The Ivy Bush," Young Tom explained, unknowingly answering Sam's question. "In quite a state, might I add. Anyway, I brought you back here, rather than send you all the way home."

Sam sunk down onto the bed and groaned, putting his head in his hands. He must have shown himself up, not to have been able to go home like that. If Tom had brought him back here, he will have had a good reason.

Sam's head snapped up in realisation. If Tom was here, then he must be –

"Rosie!" he whispered. Tom's grin broadened. "Aye, she's here, Sam lad. She was worried sick about you, I can tell you. She's with Ma in the kitchen." He stepped aside so that Sam could exit. "You watch what you say to her though. She's may have been fussing over you this morning, but she hasn't forgotten. Well, go on!" he motioned for Sam to leave.

Sam plodded through to the kitchen, his insides twisting with apprehension and nerves. Rosie made him rather tongue-tied at the best of times. What was he to do now?

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When he arrived home, Frodo briefly debated making some second breakfast. Or perhaps he could continue with that Elvish translation he had never quite finished after Bilbo left…A small envelope lying on the doormat caught his eye. Stooping down, he picked it up and carefully slit it open. It was a letter from Meriadoc. Expecting the usual, slightly rambling letter full of family news and the like, Frodo was surprised to find that it was just to tell him that Merry would be visiting Hobbiton in about a week's time, and was looking forward to seeing his cousin. 'I think I should be glad of a little company,' Frodo mused as he went to the study. But he found it in complete disarray as usual, freezing cold and unusually unwelcoming. He turned away from the door, and went to his left, heading for the master bedroom.

The door creaked open and he stepped into the warmth, congratulating himself on his previous decision to add a couple more logs to the fire before he went out. He shut the door with a soft click, and leaned against it, resting his head on the smooth, warm wood. A sudden wave of overwhelming fatigue washed over him, and he swayed, nearly falling over.

Frodo padded to the large bed and crawled under the eiderdown. He curled up miserably on his side, and let himself slip into the usual thoughts about Sam. He felt a pang when he thought about Sam's disappearance, and he clutched at the quilt, agitated.

His mind began to wander, and soon he was dozing off, semi-concious of his surroundings, half in and half out of sleep and dreams. This was really the only way he could manage it; the gnawing guilt that raged inside him in bleak protest against his feelings – his wrong feelings – for Sam. Sleep was a haven, like an island in the midst of a stormy, choppy Sea. How he wished he could spend all of his time there. Because when he's hovering between consciousness and slumber, he feels content. Dreams aren't always just dreams. They feel real at that point, as real as the sun shining on the green patchwork quilt of fields in the Shire, or the Water flowing steadily through the Mill. In the hazy world he's suspended in, Sam feels the same. Sam's there, right next to him, his soft breath tickling Frodo's hair, and his heart beating steadily in his chest as he sleeps.

Frodo became dimly aware of the stuffiness of the room, and he turned over and pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to one side. Burrowing back into the nest of covers, he rested his head on the feather pillow and fell into a deep sleep.

About an hour and a half later, Frodo woke abruptly for seemingly no reason. He sat bolt upright, feeling rather flushed and warm. Then he realised what had roused him – the doorbell was ringing somewhat insistently. He scrambled out of bed and hastily grabbed his shirt. Then, he hurried through the smial to the front door, struggling to turn the shirt the right way round, and find which sleeve was which, and where his head should go, all at the same time.

By the time he reached the doorway, his shirt was half on, half off. His left arm had managed to be manoeuvred into the appropriate sleeve, but the right sleeve seemed to be escaping him rather too cunningly for an item of clothing. The visitor then began to knock, and Frodo flung the door open.

Samwise Gamgee was stood in a pool of wintry sunlight before him, and Frodo could tell that he was nervous just by his stance. But when the door had opened, Sam had started suddenly, looking Frodo up and down, taking in the tangled shirt and the tousled hair. His cheeks turned pink. Frodo felt himself colour too, and clutched the shirt to his chest, partly out of modesty, and partly to keep away the biting cold.

"S-s-sorry Mr. Frodo sir," Sam stammered, abashed. He looked as awkward as Frodo felt. "I was just here to apologise for not turnin' up earlier." He lowered his gaze, staring resolutely at the doorstep.

Frodo had to force himself to reply as nonchalantly as he could. "That's quite all right Sam, I was just a bit concerned about you. Come in, won't you? It's no use us standing out here in the cold."

He stepped aside and gestured for Sam to enter. They went to the parlour together, and Sam settled himself down on the same chair he had occupied just last night. Frodo excused himself for a moment, and returned – properly dressed – to sit down beside Sam.

There was an awkward pause, and then Sam cleared his throat self-consciously. "Well sir, I'm right sorry for being late."

"It's fine Sam," Frodo couldn't help but sound a little exasperated. "As I said, I was just worried about you."

Sam smiled, and it warmed Frodo's heart a little to see it. "Well, there's naught to worry about Mr. Frodo. I…erm – I had a few problems last night, after I left, but it all turned out for the best. I saw Rose this morning, and I told her exactly how I felt."

Frodo's heart seemed to stop beating and his breath seemed to stick in his throat before he managed to croak, "What did you say to her?"

A sudden, almost absurdly loud knock prevented Sam from speaking further. Smiling apologetically, Frodo exited and opened the door. A grinning Merry was on the doorstep, accompanied by a similarly cheerful Pippin.

"Frodo!" Merry cried, and he flung his arms around him in a hug, only to be pulled away by Pippin, who claimed he was not to miss his turn.

"What are you doing here? You're early!" Frodo cried, looking his cousins up and down. Pippin had grown at least three inches since Frodo had last seen him, and his hair was glossy in the morning sun. But he seemed different somehow. Thinner around the face maybe. His cheekbones were now more defined, and his green eyes sparkled with the promise of mischief. 'I suppose young Peregrin has all of the lasses of Tuckborough after him with those looks,' Frodo thought a little wistfully. 'It almost proves that there might be a little fairy blood in the Tooks.'

"Why, we're hear to see our favourite cousin!" Merry exclaimed. "It's been a while, Frodo. Well, are you going to let us in?" Blinking in surprise, an extremely bewildered Frodo stepped aside to let his cousins in.