Chapter Sixteen: Inhalation and Intricacy

"Which word do you like better, Frodo, 'fascinated' or 'intrigued'?"

"Usually I would choose 'intrigued'," said Frodo, "but I think that 'fascinated' works better in this particular sentence."

"Just what I was thinking!" exclaimed Bilbo delightedly, and he dipped his quill in the inkwell.

There was a knock at the door, and Sam stuck his head in. "I'm sorry to be interrupting," he said, "but Mr. Elrond sent me to tell you that the last of the scouts has come back."

"Ah, excellent," said Bilbo, setting down his quill. "Oh, there's something I've been meaning to ask you, Sam…how's Rosie?"

Sam blushed and muttered, "I wouldn't know, sir."

"Oh, come now!" said Bilbo, chuckling. "She's been after you since you two were too short to reach my doorknob."

"We've never actually courted, Mr. Bilbo," said Sam, staring down at the floor.

"She seemed to think otherwise," said Bilbo, climbing off his chair and smiling.

"I think I'll go outside and smoke," said Frodo.

"Don't you want to hear the news the scouts brought back, Mr. Frodo?"

"I'll hear it later. You two go on without me." And having said that, Frodo opened the door and walked out into the garden.

The temperatures had dropped even lower since three days ago when he had waited outside for Arwen. Nothing was alive anymore, and most of the brown flower corpses were covered with frost. Dusk had fallen. Shivering, Frodo took out his pipe and weed-pouch from his waistcoat pocket.

"They'd be miserable together," he said out loud, halfheartedly filling his pipe. "Why, his mind is always somewhere else…other lands, other times. He's curious, he wants to know things, he'll never be content to stay in the Shire his whole life, as much as he loves it. Rosie…" He stopped, thinking about what he knew of Rosie Cotton.

She was a pretty enough girl, with shining hair and dark green eyes that were her best feature. She liked to dance, and her mother bemoaned her horrible sewing and wished she'd spend more time at home, where she ought to be. But Rosie's defiant inclinations went only as far as twirling about the meadows. She could not read, and had no wish to. Stories of other places bored her. Her mind was rooted firmly in the Shire, and her curiosity was practically non-existent.

But she was mad about Sam…and, unfortunately, the two families were close. Sam's sister Marigold was already married to Rosie's brother Tom.

It was no good, Frodo told himself. When they got home (if they ever did), Sam would marry Rosie and they'd settle down, start an enormous family. Nothing would ever come of Frodo's love for Sam, and it was high time he forgot about it and focused his attentions elsewhere. "But how can I forget?" he thought to himself. "How can a person just forget they love someone? I can't, and I won't!"

"Are you planning to smoke that pipe or stare at it?" asked a deep voice from behind him.

Frodo turned his head to see a familiar pair of travel-worn boots. He looked up. "Hello, Strider."

Aragorn sat down next to Frodo and stretched out his long legs. He took out his own pipe and filled it. Lighting a match, he lit first Frodo's pipe and then his own.

"So," said Frodo, somewhat listlessly, "what news has been brought back?"

"Not very much," said Aragorn. He inhaled, held the smoke for a couple of seconds, and then let it out. "You will most likely leave within a few days."

"Oh," said Frodo. With glazed eyes, he watched the smoke drift over the brown flowers.

"But you have other things on your mind," said the Ranger. It was a statement and not a question.

Frodo nodded, his eyes blinking sluggishly and his pipe-weed burning away unsmoked.

"It's Sam, isn't it."

Frodo's eyes flew into focus and he hurriedly pulled the pipe from his mouth. "And how did you know that!" he exclaimed.

Aragorn smiled one of his rare smiles, small and a little sad. "Years and years ago, Frodo son of Drogo," he said, "I fell deeply in love with the Lady Arwen, whom, I hear, has become your friend. I am very pleased, but that is not the purpose of my tale.

"Elrond knew of my love for Arwen, and I was surprised, as you are now. It was because Elrond's wise and experienced eyes could see things in mine."

"That's what he was doing," Frodo thought to himself, "that's what Elrond was doing the night I asked for Sam's bed to be in my room." He was struck by the greatness and kindness of the Elf – Elrond had known all this time, and yet he had kept Frodo's secret.

"I do not claim to be as wise as Elrond," said Aragorn, "but in your eyes I find both pain and love. Your cousin Bilbo has said that you remind him more of an Elf than a hobbit at times. I think he is right; love between those of the same gender is much revered by the Elven-kind."

"Could you read Sam's eyes?" Frodo asked.

"I have tried, the night I first looked into the depths of yours," said Aragorn, "but they are difficult to interpret, and my powers in this domain are weak. Perhaps it is only an Elven gift."

Frodo smoked for a while, thinking. Then he said, "Strider, do you see that large red star on the horizon?"

"I do," said Aragorn.

"It is the Eye of Sauron," said Frodo, "and I wish I could read its secrets, so that I may complete my task and bring us all safely home."

Aragorn took Frodo's hand and raised it to his lips. "I shall be greatly honored to serve as your companion, Frodo Baggins," he said.