Chapter Three: Comeliness and Confusion

Late in the evening of October twenty-fourth, Frodo collapsed in bed, thoroughly exhausted. So much had happened; not just that day, but in the days since he and his friends had arrived. It made his head spin to think of it all.

That morning, he had woken around ten, terribly hungry and a bit confused. His dreams of the darkness had still been with him, but they were more distant now, and, as Frodo thought, he could not precisely say what had happened in them.

But he did not dwell on trying to remember, for there was good news among the bad to think of. Best of all, he had finally seen Bilbo again.

When Bilbo had disappeared on their birthday, Bilbo's eleventy-first and Frodo's thirty-third, Frodo had been both relieved and saddened. Although he knew that Bilbo loved him dearly and had never regretted adopting him, there had been times where he would catch Bilbo gazing off wistfully in the direction of the mountains, and he knew the older hobbit was yearning for another taste of the world away from the Shire. He hadn't fully understood why at the time – after all, he adored the Shire and felt sure he would never feel quite at home anywhere else – but now, enveloped in the splendor of Rivendell, Frodo thought that perhaps he understood a little bit better.

Rivendell was almost like a chimera, the exact sort of place where people so splendid they were practically unreal might turn up. And they had – there were Elrond and Gloin of Bilbo's old tales, people Frodo had heard of since he was in his tweens but always thought of as a bit mythical. And there was the Lady Arwen, Elrond's daughter, who possessed both the fair gracefulness of the Elven-kind and the dark magnificence of Men.

And yet, amid the resplendence of Rivendell, Frodo could still feel the weight of the Ring. He lifted it up and gazed at it, turning it over and examining it from every angle. It was so small, and plain, and unassuming. If it were not for the remaining blackness that still dwelled in the back of his mind, Frodo would have found it hard to fear the Ring, here, in the Last Homely House, where noble people abided and light shone throughout. Here, in the Last Homely House, where Sam slept just across the corridor.

Sam. In Frodo's dream he had cried out for him, and he had learned when he awoke that Sam had hardly left his side. That was just the sort of thing Sam would do; put others above himself, even if he were tired and under a great deal of tension.

The only good part of Frodo's dream came back to him: the kiss, so filled with love and compassion, so filled with light. Sam. His light in the darkness.

But as Frodo continued to think of the dream, his heart skipped a few beats. Then, if he had dreamed of kissing Sam, then that meant -

There was a quiet knock at the door. "It's Merry and Pippin," said a voice from the other side. "Do you suppose we could talk with you for a moment? That is, if you aren't too tired…"

"No, come in!" said Frodo quickly. He had not had as much time as he would have liked to speak with his cousins during the day, and he figured that this was as good a time as any.

They came in, Merry first, with a look of determination in his eye that Frodo was not accustomed to. Pippin followed. His face was bright scarlet and he was staring at the floor. The blush put Frodo in mind of Sam again – Sam, that morning, when he had seen him again. He still remembered the gentle touch of Sam's hand on his.

"So," he said now to Pippin, "what've you done that you're as red as a strawberry? Haven't been stealing from the kitchens, have you?"

"Merry wants to ask you something," Pippin mumbled, his eyes downcast.

"Oh no you don't," said Merry. "We said we'd do this together, and don't bail out on me now, just because we decided I'd be the one to actually ask it. Don't make it sound as if you're just along for company."

"What?" asked Frodo.

Merry swallowed. "Well, Frodo, your business is your own, and you're under no obligation to answer this if you don't want to. But we're only asking because we care about you. Frodo…" He too blushed, and did not continue.

"Well, what is it!" cried Frodo, unable to take the suspense. "If you've got something you want to ask me, out with it!"

"Well…I was just wondering…I could be wrong, mind you…but I thought it might be possible…that…maybe…"

"He wants to know if you're in love with Sam!" Pippin burst out suddenly. The color of his face changed from strawberry to cranberry.

There was a silence. "What makes you ask that?" Frodo said when his heart slowed to normal.

"You cried out for him in your sleep," said Merry, his voice soft. "Many times. And when he walks into a room…you just light up, Frodo. I've seen it. You two have always been close, especially for an employer and servant. Even closer since Bilbo went away." He bit his lip. "And we wanted you to know that…that if you were, we wouldn't mind."

Frodo thought. "I don't know," he said finally. "I know I'm happier when he's around, and I know that he's very dear to me. When I was dreaming I was regretting that I've never told him how much I cherish his friendship. But love…romantic love…I don't know." He sighed. "I might be."

Merry nodded. "Like I said before, you don't have to answer. But I'll just say this: if you do love him, you couldn't have picked a better person." He leaned over and kissed Frodo on the forehead. "Goodnight, Frodo."

"Goodnight, Merry."

"'Night," muttered Pippin, the blush fading but still noticeable. He pecked Frodo's forehead quickly and then hurried after Merry through the door.

"Good night, Pippin," said Frodo to his retreating form.

He lay back on the pillow, even more confused now than he had been mere minutes ago. The day had been too full of things to think about. Weary, he pulled the coverlet up over his head and fell into a restless sleep.