Golden Snowflakes.
Chapter seven: Golden Snowflakes.
T: Ah the last chapter…actually I feel rather sad about this. Meh, I'll be posting again before you can say, "damn that was good!" Anyway, as I really do not wish to put anything here that will spoil what is going to happen in this chapter, I thought I'd give thanks to Pixie, the girl who left, Luthien and ForceMuette for reviewing and being so very nice to me. Extra special thanks to Endymion who has been responsible for the change in chapter 4 and for keeping me going, also I have been prompted by Endmion's last review to search out a beta reader for this particular fic so if you see up dates after this one it's the grammar being added. Also Endymion I am was very surprised to learn that English is not your first language, especially given the secure grasp you seem to have of it…kudos!
This chapter gave me hell, mostly because I never set myself a personal time limit (e.g. I'll have it finished by next wed) and because I had kind of dug myself into a whole with chapter 6… then I bought myself the TT sound track (finally) and between the inspirational music (Track 18 especially) and the cover I had chosen (both Frodo and Sam staring out at the camera…Sam looking wonderfully determined I may add!) I eventually found my way out again and here we are. I apologise in advance if I repeat myself a little, but you must recall that I am typing this from a version written away from all my other notes and so with my goldfish memory I was never quite sure what I had covered and what I had not!
Warnings the same, still not mine…pooh!
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The Gaffer stared hard at the small stretch of kitchen visible through his kitchen window. He was dwelling upon his son and all that seemed to of happened since he had returned alone from his trip.
That in itself had caused suspicion and when careful questioning had yielded a reply of, "Frodo's staying a few extra days." He had really begun to worry. For, ever since his son had known Frodo he had placed a `Mr.` honorific at the front of his name and so for him to drop that honorific, even when Frodo was not present, was the greatest of insults that Sam could devise. Yet he had shown no signs of either grief or agitation that might be expected from a fight with his best friend and the Gaffer had been entirely perplexed as to what the matter could be.
Four hours after his return Sam had vanished again with the short explanation of "off to see Rose, dad" and had left the Gaffer to ponder what on earth could be wrong. Thankfully not long after Sam's departure Frodo's note had arrived and though he had no comprehension of anything other than the fact that it was addressed to him, being practically illiterate as he was, he had however recognised the soft curls of Frodo's hand and had sought out his daughter May to read him the note, so that he could clear the mystery as quickly as possible.
And now an hour later he was assured of only one thing; his ninnyhammer of a son had over reacted to something (had it not been for the wording of the note) he would have readily called a lovers tiff. What to do? That was his problem now. Of course he could do as Frodo had asked, find some way to keep Sam within Hobbiton long enough so that Frodo might talk to him. He was torn as to whether he should follow the other two instructions posed, torn between the loyalty to his old mater and his need to protect his son.
If he gave consent for Sam to wed Rose, he knew that any hope Frodo would have of his son returning his feelings was lost. If he allowed Sam to leave Hobbiton, he knew that would be the end of everything, for Frodo would not chase and Sam would not return.
"What to do?" he enquired to himself. He had little time to contemplate an answer, however, for a knock on the door admitted Rose, her curls in disarray and her skin flushed.
"We need to talk." She said as she stepped across the threshold.
*
As was often the way, his feet had taken over the direction in which he was walking, so that his mind might concentrate on other more pressing problems. And so when his mind had finally focused again and he had found himself at the gate of Bag End, it took a moment for him to register the fact.
"One last look can't harm me." He said to himself after a moment. Delving into his trouser pocket he pulled free the spare key to the Smaile, pushed open the gate and made his way up the path.
The ground in scent of pipe weed and Mr. Bilbo's aftershave hit him as soon as he opened the door and a thought came to him suddenly that this would be the very last time that he would breath in this smell. While contemplating this fact his feet lead him to the left of the entrance hall, lingering long enough in both the living room and the kitchen so that his mind might bubble forth small memories of happier times, long ago lost to darkness.
His feet then lead him back out into the hallway and to his right again, stopping entirely this time as he came to the door of Frodo's study. He hesitated for a moment, some core part of him still insisting that it was not his place to tread within the Master's study. But Frodo wasn't his master any more, was he? He'd seen to that right enough with his stupid, thoughtless words.
He started forwards again, his mind now in perfect control of the direction that he was heading. Pushing the study door open he walked across the threshold and was hit suddenly with Frodo's scent; all spice, and a little tinge of acidic pipe weed that made it familiar, homely. The smell was comfort in itself, yet held a torture of sorts now also, for Sam would never be comforted by it again, never assured by its closeness, its familiarity. Another feeling was woken by the scent, one that Sam in his current torrential state of grief and confusion, could not yet name. But it lingered there within his heart as a burning thing, awaking a half formed memory that teased at his mind. Again his feet ceased control, his mind momentarily concentrated on recalling the memory in all its clarity.
He came to rest eventually in front of Frodo's desk and his eyes lifted for a moment to take in the view of the garden from the window. He could smell the lavender that stood just outside the window, even in the morning still. All that lay beyond that window had once been his, each plant, each flower, tainted with memories and emotions and now another would come into his territory and make it their own. All that was his would be lost… Again the memory stirred in his mind, stronger now yet still not completely formed. He forced it from his mind for the moment and dropped his eyes again to the desk, scanning each document that still lay strewn upon its surface until they came to rest upon a thick red leather bound book. He knew what the books was, knew that Frodo had already began to place their adventure into its pages and that knowledge made it a temptation to him, one that he was not of the mind to refuse.
A shaking hand stretched over and pushed the book open, turning pages until he came upon a page almost entirely blank. At the top of the page was a title, sprawled in Frodo's hand and reading simply, `Cirith Ungol. ` Sam stared at the heading for a moment, hardly believing that Frodo had stopped just at the very point where his thoughts, his view, on all that had occurred was greatly desired. Yet the page remained tauntingly blank and Sam carefully closed the book again, assuring that he left it as it had been when he came upon it.
He went next through the left hand door into Frodo's bedroom, pausing regularly now for the memories brought to him by each piece of furniture and every inch of carpet. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes now, but he pushed them away without a second thought, his mind being bent now as it was upon an as yet unknown task. He was searching for something, that much he knew, but what? He recalled the hope that had swelled in his heart as he had discovered the Red Book and he knew instantly that he sought something akin to a diary. He was searching for proof to discount the words that he had said while within Minas Tirith, proof that there had indeed been a true friendship between Frodo and himself.
That Frodo was a Hobbit who tended to write things down, was something Sam had learned while at a very young age, when he had witness the young Baggins produce a small notebook from his waistcoat one evening and begin to write. There was a passion that Frodo found while writing, an intense liberation, that he had confided in Sam, was lost to him in every day life. It was a source of vast confusion to Sam, therefore, that he found no sign of anything even vaguely resembling a diary. For would it not have benefited Frodo to submit all of his thoughts to paper and thus bringing an order to the chaos?
Belatedly, Sam recalled that Frodo had also told him that he felt emotions, true personal emotions, were not something to be written down. " For even the Elvin language can do the language of the heart any justice, Sam." He had said, an odd half smile upon his lips. His task fruitless, therefore, Sam sat down on the bed and allowed the thoughts flitting through his mind to crystallise. `All this…` He finally thought, `you have lost all of this to your hardheaded stupidity.
`It is all well and good stating that you are to move on, but where shall you go? Buckland Masters look for a servant who can swim and ye know well that ye cannot swim even when everything depends on it.
`Tuckborough Masters would walk all over ye in a matter of moments, ye being soft of heart and they being mischievous little things when they wish to.
`Ye other option is to gibe up gardening all together, learn a new trade such as roping or perhaps ye could be a carpenter, earn some real money and become a gentle Hobbit ye self. But that is a foolish idea, Samwise Gamgee, and ye know it. The last time ye tried roping ye Gaffer laughed so hard that he was useless for anything else for the rest of the day. As for making a trade out of wood…
`Ye are a gardener and ye shall always be a gardener, for the soil calls to you in a way similar as to how the Sea calls Frodo. Ye cannot be a gentle Hobbit and a gardener, unless…` And for a moment he truly considered the idea. To be able to make a true living doing the one thing he loved and the one thing he could do so very well. He was prevented from actually beginning to turn the dream into a reality by the sudden incursion of the memory, now fully recalled and thrust to the fore of his mind. He recalled now that he had been nothing more than a young Hobbit at the time of the memory, a factor that probably helped the ease of its irradiation once his initial shame had faded.
He was sat in the Party field, listening idly to the chatter of the young Hobbit lasses sat around him in a lazy circle. One, slightly older than the rest of the group, had turned the conversation towards the topic of marriage and was stating proudly,
"I intend to marry Mr Frodo Baggins. He is smart, good looking and he will inherit all of Bilbo's money." And Sam had given her a sharp look and said,
"Ye can't marry Mr. Frodo. He's mine." And that would most probably have been it if Ted Sandyman had not been present to hear the little declaration.
"Yours is he, Samwise?" He had enquired, "And why do you think that?"
"Because the Gaffer told me so."
"He ment that he was yours to serve, not that you were to be his lover. He is a Baggins after all, what would he want with the likes of you when he could have anyone he wanted?" And that had been it, for Sam had blushed crimson at that, for the shame of reaching beyond himself and the lasses had giggled at him and the whole thing had quickly been pushed behind him to be forgotten.
Why was it that the memory had chosen this point in time to be recalled? He had been nothing more than a lad with a belief in his head that had been terribly wrong. He took a deep breath of the air around him, thick with Frodo's scent and the lingering traceries of lavender and tried to shake the fog from his mind.
Frodo…all of this was to do with Frodo, that much he could see clearly. All of the confusion, the anger, the hate and the indefinable emotion still burning away within him could be linked so easily with Frodo. Yet Frodo was his past now, wasn't he? Ted had been right about that much at least, what would a Baggins need from him? Yes, it was best that he left, started again, perhaps in Crickhollow where he heard the Hobbits were supposed to treat gardeners like kings.
Yes, he had to leave. It was the only way that he could escape this confusion broiling away within him.
*
"…So I came here as quickly as I could." Rose concluded. The Gaffer pulled his pipe from his mouth and said,
"Ye were right to, for its set me mind to rest about one thing at least."
"Aye, but that he doesn't wish to wed me any longer doesn't necessarily mean that he knows or even understands what he does wish for."
"I'm sure that Frodo will see to it that he does understand."
"If we can keep Sam here long enough that is,"
"Aye and its there that I've still got difficulty. Frodo asked me not to force him to stay, but short of destroying the garden to keep him busy, I can't think of what to do." The gaffer said. They were quiet for a moment, both considering the options available to them with such restrictions in place. Any idea of disobeying the instructions given to them by Frodo was erased immediately from their minds, such an action being viewed as it was, as a sin on par with murder.
"I think I may have something." Rose said eventually.
"Well whatever it is Rose, it's more than I've thought of and so I'll give ye whatever support ye need to carry it out." The Gaffer stated. Rose smiled and was about to thank the elderly Hobbit for his kind words, when the sound of the front door being opened stopped her before she could bring voice to the words.
"Is that ye, Samwise?"
"Aye." Came back the reply and then a moment later "Where are ye?"
"I'm in the kitchen having a nice chat to Miss Rose, who kindly came to give her company to an old Hobbit who can't get out much." The Gaffer replied, the lie spilling easily from his tongue. There was a muffled silence for a moment and then Sam appeared at the doorway of the kitchen, an intense agitation lodged within his eyes.
"I wish a word with ye if I may and ye also Miss Rose, so ye've no need to leave." He said as he came to join the pair.
"Some things have been said between Frodo and I that have lead me to hand in my notice.
"I've been giving some thought as to what it is that I shall do next and I've decided that its best that I leave Hobbiton. Now I won't go far, havin' no wish to be separated from me family and me friends. I thought, perhaps, that I could go to Overhill or Crickhollow at the worse.
"I know that ye are both fond of Frodo in ye ways and so I shall not ask ye to pretend to hate him in my presence, for though our friendship is at an end I still wish him no harm." He said. The Gaffer looked to Rose for a moment, then raised his pipe again to his lips, taking a few drags of the smoke before he enquired,
"And what do ye intend to do in Overhill or Crickhollow at the worst?"
"I thought I might garden."
"Ha! In Crickhollow ye'd be lucky to garden anthin' other than lilies and other plants suited for a wet environment. As for as Overhill…I tilled a good deal of soil there before I came to work for Mr. Bilbo and I can assure ye that its so solid that it'd kill the plants ye are used to growing."
"Then I shall have to get used to growin' new plants. `A true gardener always does the best with what he's given, ` is what ye told me once, dad, or have ye forgotten that lesson?"
"No son, 'twas good solid reasoning and I'm assured that ye'd bring life to whatever ye attempted to grow, it is just…" He trailed, unsure of how to continue without revealing both the note and his prior knowledge of the situation.
Rose came quickly to the rescue by putting the plan that had formulated within her head, swiftly into motion.
"We wish ye to stay long enough to watch your Mallorn bloom, Sam. 'Twould be a shame if ye left before ye had chance to see how beautiful it was." And at those words the anguish faded from Sam's eyes and he smiled,
"Aye, 'twould be at that. I shall stay long enough to see the Mallorn bloom. It'll give me some time, at least, to find myself me knew job." And then with a gentle good evening to both Rose and his father Sam left the room.
"How long do ye think it'll be before the Mallorn blooms?" Rose enquired after a moment.
"A week at the most."
"Will that be long enough do ye think?"
"I hope so Rose, I truly do."
*
"…Making things needlessly complicated. All you need do is kiss him." Merry concluded. Frodo glanced over his shoulder so that he might look into his Cousin's eyes.
"I am sure that would go down wonderfully with Sam, Merry. Especially if he does not return my feelings." Frodo replied. Merry pulled his reigns hard, bringing his horse to a quick stop before he enquired,
"Are you serious?"
"Very and you need not sound so shocked, it is a possibility after all."
"Yes and so is death by wolf attack, yet I do not see you afraid of stepping out of your door."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Frodo enquired, as he too pulled his horse to a stop.
"It means that we are both very sceptical of the idea that Sam feels nothing for you in return, Frodo." Pippin stated as he drew level with his Cousins.
"You heard what he said in Minas Tirith and you have both seen him with Rose…"
"Yes, but we have seen him around you as well, Frodo. At times when he thought none were watching."
"Yet all that you believed that you have seen could be nothing more than the burning resolve that makes him Sam. I can risk nothing in this endeavour to claim him back, for to loose him…" He shivered slightly at the thought and spurred his horse onwards again.
"I know what it is that you risk, Frodo, but can you truly return to being his friend now that you know the truth?" Merry enquired, as he and Pippin also tapped their horses into movement.
"If I must, yes."
"But then you would be building your friendship on a lie, just as Sam accused you of doing at the very beginning. When the truth came out, as it would in the end, he would hate you for it and then there would truly be no hope of him returning your feelings.
"You must tell him, if only so that you cause no more distance between you." Merry said.
"There will be a distance between us no matter what I do, Merry."
"Perhaps. But would you not rather that it was there because you had told him the truth and not because you had lied?"
"You may have a point, Merry. And yet I fear it shall be null by the time we reach Hobbiton, for Sam will already be long gone."
"I think you may still be surprised as far that is concerned, for the Gaffer is a resourceful Hobbit when he wishes to be and if Rose helps then there shall be no limit to what might be achieved." Pip said.
"Perhaps. Let us not assume things before we get back," Frodo said, the tone of his voice suggesting that that was the end of the conversation.
Merry glanced over to Pippin and tipped his head slightly back to indicate that he wished a moment with his Cousin. Pippin nodded and the pair dropped their speed enough so that they fell far enough behind their Cousin so as to be out of earshot.
"What do you think?" Pip enquired after a moment.
"I still believe that Sam ment what he said at Minas Tirith."
"Frodo said that he apologised."
"Yes…"
"You do not think that it was a true apology?"
"I do not know, Pip. I do not wish to doubt the truth of their friendship, but…"
"Yes, I know what you mean. There was something far to sensible in Sam's voice for the argument to have come completely from anger."
"Yet as he spoke the words there was both belief and doubt in his voice."
"Both were there in his eyes also. But I wonder if there was enough doubt inside of him to destroy that belief."
"We shall see once they have talked to one another again."
"Do you think Frodo may be right about his not caring?" Pip enquired after a moment.
"I do not know, Pip. He is right that so much of Sam's affection could be attributed to of his sense of dedication."
"Yes, but what of the emotion we perceived within his eyes while we were within Rivendale for the first time. Can that be attributed to his dedication?"
"Maybe, yes. I would say willingly that he loved him, Pip, if I truly believed that he did, but I feel that there are far too many lies and restrictions between them now to stay defiantly."
"But you are hopeful?"
"Perhaps. Let us do as Frodo says and wait and see what happens when we reach Hobbiton."
"Agreed."
*
It was the morn of April the 5th 1420 (by Shire reckoning) when Frodo Baggins returned again to Hobbiton.
Upon his return, Frodo was met with a borage of questions, each following a very similar line of enquiry.
The first had come in the form of Daddy Twofoot, who was walking down the Row as the three friends road in.
"Ah Master Baggins, the Gaffer said you'd been away these last few days."
"How can I help you Master Twofoot?" Frodo had enquired, leaning down a little so that he might listen to the elderly Hobbits response.
"I wished to tell ye that I think ye are making a mistake letting young Sam out of your employ. I won't be the last to tell ye that either, for the Gaffer informed me when I went to see him yesterday that several others had already come to him to express such an opinion. " And with that the elderly Hobbit was gone again.
It was approximately an hour after that when a knock on the door of Bag End had admitted Tom Cotton, who had indeed come to tell Frodo that letting Sam go, especially since the argument that had brought around the situation was evidently nothing more than a lovers tiff.
Two hours later Frodo was sat in his living room, his head in his hands and a blush evident upon the areas of his face still exposed. Merry and Pippin were sat to either side of him, both attempting and failing miserably to comfort their Cousin.
"It could be worse, Frodo." Merry attempted again.
"How? The whole Shire knew that I was in love with Sam long before I did."
"Not all of the Shire," Pippin said.
"No? Just all of Hobbiton instead then?"
"You were his friend, Frodo and you could not see him as anything other than that. You lied to yourself about your feelings for him so that things could remain that way," Merry said. Frodo raised his head from his hands for a moment, then dropped it as another knock came upon the door.
"I will go shall I?" Pip enquired.
"Yes, thank you Pippin. Tell whoever it is that I am sick or whatever it will take for them to leave me alone, for I have not the strength to face any more of their sympathy or judgements." Frodo said. Pippin left the pair and answered the door as instructed. There was the faint rumble of hushed talking and then Pip's voice raised in the enquiry of,
"It is the Gaffer, Frodo, shall I let him in?"
"Of course, Pip." Frodo replied. Pip appeared in the living room again a moment later, the Gaffer following not far behind him. He had only to look at Frodo before he divined what was wrong and said,
"I'm terribly sorry, Frodo, but we live in a small community and once Sam started makin' enquires…"
"I understand, Master Gamgee." Frodo said, pausing for the barest of seconds before enquiring, "Is Sam still here?"
"Yes he is. Rose and I convinced him to stay long enough to see his Mallorn bloom, but after that we will have lost him."
"Rose…then Sam and she?"
"Nothin' more than my half witted son confusing friendship with love. He's made his apologies to her and told her exactly what I've just told ye,"
"That is a small weight off of my shoulders at least. How long do you think it shall be before the Mallorn blooms, Master Gamgee?"
"I'd be very surprised to see it still bare at dawn tomorrow, Frodo. But don't look so down trodden, I know for a fact that Sam has not yet had one offer made to him.
"Even without me suggesting it to them as you said I might, they all believe that what he's doing t'aint nothing more than a test, or they can't shake the feeling that you'll manage to get him back before he's been of use to them."
"Surely at least one Hobbit is interested."
"They're all interested, Frodo, my Sam is very good at was he does after all. But Sam has always been yours, Frodo and they've no wish to disturb that."
"He is not one of my possessions, Master Gamgee and I have no wish to hear him talked of as if he is."
"I meant no offence, Frodo, but it is the truth…at least in a fashion. Ye are gentry and while ye paid Sam's wages ye owned him, just as ye own a piece of furniture. I know that idea offends ye, because ye have a good heart just as Master Bilbo before ye, but 'tis the way of our society and so it is the only way that most of us understand."
"Do you think he shall leave if he finds no employment?"
"I don't know, Frodo. Whatever has been said between ye has disturbed him greatly, indeed I haven't seen him this worried since…"
"Since?"
"Since March the 13th. I heard nothin' but worry from him until that young Hobbit came for him."
"It is true, Frodo, he was in such a state when he arrived at Bag End that day that we almost believed that he would do us no good." Pippin supplied.
"It all started back there…" The sentence trailed and one of Frodo's hands crept behind his neck to touch the wound hidden there.
"Frodo?" Merry enquired.
"I am well, Merry, you need not fear anything to the contrary. I am just thinking on something Sam said that first time,"
"Perhaps while ye are recalling, Frodo, ye might fill me in, so that I can see what it is that I am dealing with."
"Certainly Master Gamgee. If you will sit down, for I fear that it is a rather long tale."
*
Sam closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the feel of the Mallorn that sat behind him, on the rush of the wind through its leaves. Yet all that his mind would allow him to see was Frodo.
He had been coming up the Row from another failed attempt to find himself a new job, when he had heard Frodo's voice. The well-loved voice that he had not heard since the Ring had begun to take his Master from him. Glancing ahead of him he perceived three mounted figures a little ahead of him on the road. One was lent a little in his saddle so that he might hear the words being spoken to him by Daddy Twofoot.
The look upon Frodo's face in that moment was frozen still upon Sam's mind. His pale skin flush red from the hard rife and his eyes burning with some unknown thought or feeling.
Sam had had no wish to tarry on the road then, for fear that his former Master might see him and so he had come to the one place where he felt safe, secure. Once he had settled beneath the Great Mallorn he had allowed his mind to dwell upon Frodo, memorising all that he would allow himself of face, voice and body language. He hoped that by memorising each, he could recall them to himself when he was at last completely separated from his friend.
Yet once recalled the memory of Frodo awoke the burning heat of the unknown feeling deep within Sam's heart. He had no wish to recall that feeling yet and so he had tried to push it away by picturing the new life he was to be living very soon…
And yet all that he could see was Frodo. All that he wished for was his old life with Frodo.
Sam brought down a hand, hard, onto the trunk of the Mallorn and cursed under his breath.
"T'aint no going back, Samwise Gamgee," He said to himself. He knew that it was the truth, for all that had been said between them would make returning to their old comfortable friendship nigh impossible. Yet if Frodo was truly found again, if his friend had at last escaped the darkness surrounding him, wasn't there a hope now? If not for a return then for a new start?
Had Frodo truly found his way out though? And if so how? What new cure had been found to reverse what Sam had truly believed permanent?
" Mayhap he someone within Minas Tirith more skilled at healing than ye," And that idea grew in Sam's mind, building his anger and jealousy with it. His imagination took the stupidity and melded it into a reality, a being who had taken his place as Frodo's carer and perhaps even his old job at Bag End. That he had only seen three Hobbit sized figures did not disperse this new reality, for this stranger could easily have ridden ahead, or perhaps he was a short individual and one of Frodo's Cousin's had ridden ahead instead.
"T'aint right." He said, anger bubbling behind the words. " Frodo's mine. He's mine! And I love him." The last was out before Sam realised and he blushed crimson as the words sunk in fully.
I love him…he had thought it before, certainly, but then it had been nothing more than a brother's love, a platonic devotion that had never been anything other than that This time though Sam knew that there was more to the words, a fiery yearning only just ignited in his heart.
"Why couldn't I have chosen a better time to fall for him?" He asked himself. "It's all too late now, for there are too many lies, too much said that can not be un-said." And Sam knew that that was the grim reality of it all. His love had bloomed too late and as with a late blooming flower it would perish in the ice of winter.
And at last his anger was lost to his grief and he began to weep uncontrollably, his tears falling like rain on the grass around him.
*
"…And so I was reminded of what Sam said."
"And do ye think he was right?"
"Perhaps…after what happened within Minas Morgul I began to pull away from Sam for fear of hurting him. For fear of killing him…"
"And without the support of your feelings for San you fell to the song of the Ring." Merry concluded.
"Yes, that is it entirely."
"It all seems simple enough to me, Frodo. Ye need to show Sam that ye are restored to ye self and once he trusts that ye need to tell him the truth."
"I doubt that it will be that simple, Master Gamgee."
"No?" He enquired. In the silence that followed the Gaffer seemed to contemplate something and then with a slight nod of his head he pulled a crumpled note from his pocket. "That arrived today. I've yet to tell Samwise about it, but I will." He said. Frodo took the note and after a moment handed it back again.
"Why show me this?"
"I wanted to show ye that your time is running out, Frodo. Ye have to talk to Sam, or ye shall lose him forever."
"I would willingly lose him Master Gamgee, rather than force him stay."
"Ye truly are a suborn Baggins aren't ye? Look talk to him, it will do ye no harm and mayhap it will out doing a great deal of good." And with that the Gaffer bid each a good day and was gone.
"Frodo?" Merry enquired after a minute.
"Give me a while to think, Merry."
"Certainly, Frodo. Come on Pp, I'll treat you to an pint down at the Dragon." Merry said as he stood. Pippin followed on his heals, lingering in the doorway long enough to tell Frodo,
"I have faith in you, Frodo. Even if you do not." And then he too left.
Alone now in the silence Frodo began to weep, his tears and anguish matching exactly that of the Hobbit for most in his mind.
*
As dawn brought light upon Hobbiton it seemed to all that looked out onto the Party Field, that the great Mallorn planted there was wreathed in flames.
So it had seemed to Sam also. When he had peered out of his window in the morning. Yet when he came closer to the tree, still half dressed in his night attire and a small pail of water in his hands he perceived that it was not flames at all but deep golden flowers. Placing the bucket to the floor he stretched a hands to caress the flowers, hardly daring to breath for fear of blowing the petals away, so fragile did they seem.
"Beautiful, is it not?" Came an enquiry, in a voice Sam recognised far too well. Suddenly embarrassed he pulled his hand away from the bloom far too quickly, causing the thin branch to bounce and dislodge a flurry of petals.
"It is indeed." Sam replied as he turned to face Frodo. His eyes focusing on a point slightly above his former Master's eyes. "Me brother Halfred has said that if I am serious about finding another job, I might come and work with him in Oatbarton."
"So your Gaffer has informed me…are you going?"
"Yes, this evening most likely, lest me Gaffer needs me to stay for a few more days." He replied. There was silence between them for a moment and as the breeze picked up again another cascade of petals fell from the tree. `Small golden snowflakes`, Frodo thought as he watched one dip and climb again, `caught in the wind and fated never to fall but to move ever onwards in the winds. Tiny mimicries of life…`
"It does not have to be this way." Frodo said eventually.
"It can't be any other way." Sam replied.
"Look at me Sam, please?" Frodo enquired. Sam's eyes dropped instantly and were caught by Frodo's own, "Do you see?"
"You are yourself again, aren't you?" Sam enquired.
"Yes."
"And what was your cure then? What finally drowned the call of the Sea from your heart?"
"Love, Sam." Frodo replied.
"Love for who?"
"Do you even have to ask?" Frodo enquired as he took a step towards his friend. Sam tried to step away, but he was snared now by the emotion in Frodo's eyes and its mirror in his heart.
"It'll never work." He managed to say before Frodo moved again and they were locked in a kiss.
And here in the silent moment of perfection there was no need for words, for they would be inadequate now, lost to the complete reality of this instant. And as they separated Frodo asked simply,
"Stay."
"Yes." Sam replied before he pulled Frodo to him again, resisting for a moment more the pull of gravity and drifting, like the petals around them, on the winds.
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T: Ha! Not only did I slip the title in but also it was done with such finesse! A few notes on this chapter before I do my last little bit… The idea of the Gaffer not using the `Mr.` honorific before Frodo's name was spurred by the little recollection in the last chapter and because I wanted to show how close the pair were. Some might be confused with the fact that the Gaffer stated that there had been no offers and then a little later shows Frodo the note from Halfred. I stress here that the Gaffer said that Sam had not had an offer made to him which is true, because at that point he had not yet seen Halfred's note. The layout of Bag End is based here upon the plan in `The art of the fellowship of the Ring` if you do not have this book and wish to see the map please ask me at Soulreciever@yahoo.co.uk and I'll be more than happy to send an image your way.
Also should anyone out there wish to write a sequel they are more than welcome, but please just ask me first, the same with pictures of the scenes and other such things.
For those out there who can draw and are interested in helping me with my next fiction drop me a line and I'll let you know what I'm after. Anyway thanks again and as always R+R!