Part Three
Merry and Pippin's presence was like a blessing to Sam. It wasn't that he didn't want to be around Mr. Frodo of course, far from it, but somehow, he mused, it was as though their friendship – if he could be as presumptuous as to call it that – had changed lately. This change has left Samwise feeling vaguely unsettled, and troubled him every night when he walked home to Bagshot Row in the dusk.
However, in his cousins' company, Frodo had cheered up a little. He was less prone to the melancholy moods of late, and he laughed a lot more. Sam loved to hear his master laugh. It was as though once he started laughing, it might carry on forever, crystal clear syllables sparkling with merriment floating through the air until silence was but a memory.
The pair had been at Bag End but a week, and already they had settled in. The night of their arrival had been a good one; Sam had insisted on cooking a large meal for them, and in turn, Frodo had insisted that Sam join them for it. The initial feelings of unease at being around the future master of Buckland, the heir to the Thainship, and Frodo Baggins soon evaporated, with the help of Merry and Pippin's laid back air, and a few mugs of ale. Sam found himself more at home in Bag End than he had been for months, and he was glad of it.
And so, the days went by. The Shire was graced with crisp, clear, frost covered days, with hardly a cloud in the sky to veil the pale sun. The nights were indescribably beautiful; the sky was like an ink blue velvet canvas, set with an array of perfect diamonds.
It was on such a night that Sam found himself walking home from the Green Dragon, feeling warm despite the bitter wind, and altogether content. The moon was full, and it was glowing so brightly that Sam almost supposed dawn must have arrived early. He paused to admire the silver orb, watching as a wisp of grey cloud scurried across it. He sighed, watching his breath cloud before him and drift away into the night.
It was at that moment that he heard a low murmur, and an unmistakable laugh. Against his better judgement, Sam crept towards the sound, as quietly as he could.
'Samwise, you ninnyhammer! What are you doing? Spying on the master? It'll just get you into trouble.' But something in Sam's mind resisted that logic, and he carried on regardless.
As he got closer, he was able to make out the words. He was caught, spell bound. It was Master Merry and Mr. Frodo, sat outside together. But there was a note to Frodo's voice, a certain timbre, that Sam had never, ever heard before. But he wanted to hear more of it.
"They are beautiful, aren't they?" Merry sighed, gesturing at the stars with the stem of his pipe.
"Yes," Frodo agreed. "It's on nights like this that I can bring myself to believe – really believe – the old stories. Of kindness and valour, and of spirits who walk Middle Earth, invisible to the mortal eye." Sam peered through the foliage of the bush that he was hiding behind, and he saw Merry smile.
"Ever the romantic, Frodo."
Frodo laughed again. There was a silence between the cousins, that was broken a few moments later by Merry.
"Frodo, there's something I need to tell you." He sounded to serious that Frodo visibly tensed, still but for the breeze stirring his dark curls.
"What is it?"
"It's nothing. Everything. It's just…I have to tell you. If I didn't, I think I should burst. I know you won't accept it," he sighed, "but I have to tell you. At least, if I do, I can go home, and nurse my wounds and then maybe in a few years time, I shall be able to face you again."
Frodo looked slightly alarmed. "Well Merry, what is it?"
"I – I think I'm in love with you, Frodo."
Another silence, a shocked one. "I know, it's not right, it's not proper. It's not natural Frodo, I know this. But I've loved you ever since I met you, and now I'm older I think I'm in love with you. This week has been amazing. You're wonderful and I just…" he trailed off. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise," Frodo whispered, "Don't ever apologise for your feelings Merry. We can't help the way we feel." He looked at his feet, prodding a blade of grass experimentally with his toe. Then he looked up at Merry. "I think I have feelings for you too." A slow smile crossed Merry's face, and he leaned closer, capturing Frodo in a soft, chaste kiss.
In the shrubbery, Sam felt his stomach plummet and his heart skip a beat all at the same time. He'd never, ever have thought of Merry and Frodo as being together like that. He reeled, shocked to the core at what he had just seen. Yet somewhere, deep down inside, something was telling him that is was right. And something was burning, a desperate, gnawing feeling that brought bile to his throat. But it couldn't be. He couldn't be jealous of Mr. Merry.
He crawled away, hoping he would not be heard, but he couldn't tell over the noise of his thoughts. He inhaled the painfully cold air, and let it out again. He began his way home, passing the gate to Bag End.
There he saw Pippin, clutching at the gatepost, cloak flapping in the wind, with tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked like a fallen angel.
