The sun was setting, and most of the guests had arrived, voices filled with laughter drifting into the kitchen where Frodo had ducked in, hiding for the moment, exhausted by his own fake cheer. The shadows loomed long and deep in the weakening light; dark as the water where his parents drowned. Frodo felt like he could reach out and touch the darkness, and maybe it would stick to him like webs, like thick, insistent webs- like Her webs, and pull him in deeper still- and maybe he wanted that, who could tell?
With a sigh, Frodo moved further into the kitchen, and leaned over the hearthfire. His chill just wouldn't go away, though no one complained of a draft. Frodo warmed his hands, stared at their silhouettes against the bright flames. Even his tame hearthfire seemed to see him, to watch him. The soft crackle of wood drowned out the mirthful voices in the parlour, though, and so Frodo lingered.
And just as though he'd never left, Frodo was in the boat again, arriving there as softly as death, and surrounded by flames. On and on they burned, but they carried Frodo's boat at last to a dark shore. His boat scratched against sand, and Frodo leaped out onto a dark beach. The conch shell was in his hand, its music begging to be listened to. Frodo held it up to his ear, and heard his own death knell.
Wandering from the beach to grassy lands, even in the pitch dark of that starless night, Frodo could find signs of inhabitants of this strange land, over the sea of flame. He followed footprints- lighthearted prints, alighting on the grass and sand in wild circles as though by dancing- he allowed himself to feel hope- he followed, until he heard laughter, and merry-making, and saw lights… but every time he approached, the people fled from him, leaving only their bonfire. Frodo would walk up to the bonfire, lingering in the abandoned light longer and longer each time, until finally he stopped, fully giving up his pursuit, and stood alone in front of the flames.
The flames could see him. Their gaze pierced through his clothes, through his skin, to his very bones. They saw through to the dark pit inside his heart, the void that the Ring had left when it took everything good from within Frodo, until there was nothing of him left.
This fire saw, and judged, the lesser flames of a greater Fire, peering into the lesser void of a greater Shadow. For that was all Frodo was now, a lesser void- and the fire seemed to declare it to be so, that the Nazgul blade had finished its work after all…
"Frodo? Frodo!"
Merry was shaking him by the shoulders, and Frodo woke up dazed. How long he'd been standing over the fire, he wasn't sure, but his cheeks were blazing hot, red and cracked dry from the heat, and he could barely breathe or swallow. Merry led him over to the table and put a mug to his mouth.
"Frodo, what's happened, was it another nightmare?"
"It's never come on that strong before… not while I was awake, anyway…"
Merry let out a pained sigh. "I worry about you living here alone. You're not yourself."
Frodo glanced around him at the soft glow and quiet shadows of his kitchen- less menacing with Merry next to him. But the memories of sunlight and laughter that Bag End once knew were distant and bitter to taste. "You're right, Merry- Bag End is no place for ghosts. I'll not stay long."
"Now what's that supposed to mean," Merry nearly yelled it, his voice sharp, and Frodo looked up at him as though for the first time that evening. Where were they? Oh yes… the party…
The voices in the parlour had quieted in alarm, hearing Merry's raised voice. After another moment, they carried on hesitantly, easing back into their conversations.
Frodo was still fighting to remember where he was, and it began to dawn on him what he'd said aloud. He took a deep breath and focused his gaze, meeting Merry squarely in the eye.
"I mean," he hated to admit it, on this, a festive occasion, and especially after Merry and Pippin had worked so hard to get Bag Eng ready for him. But he was too tired to hide the truth any longer.
"I mean, I'm not staying in the Shire for much longer, and I'm sorry to say so, after all you've done. It'll be a while yet, but… I mean to follow Bilbo." It wasn't the full truth, but it would do.
Merry stared at him hard with pain in his eyes, but there was grudging understanding, too. Finally, he gave a small nod. It was a moment before he spoke again.
"What about Sam?"
Frodo's pulse quickened.
"What about Sam?" The sound of that name was like hope unbidden.
Merry's gaze softened, and Frodo couldn't bear to see the pity there. He turned away, leaning with both hands on the table.
"He's here, you know. The last of the guests have arrived." Merry leaned against the table too, let out a frustrated sigh, and grabbed an apple from the bowl, tossing it up in the air.
So he came after all… Frodo felt that familiar fever pitch rise through him, and he gripped the cloth napkins at his hands.
"Won't you go out and greet him? I know you're in pain- but there's still some joy to be had. And I know you want to talk to him, and tonight could help. Let's enjoy what you've won for us all, tonight at least, and drink and be happy."
After a long moment, Frodo nodded, and followed Merry out into the parlour, feeling with every step that he was walking to his doom.
And there was Sam, very nearly still in the doorway, with old Will Whitfoot on his arm. Snow had started falling again, and he was brushing it off of the mayor's coat and scarf as he hung them up; and then he was looking at Frodo, and all time seemed to stop, and everyone else faded away, and all nightmares were forgotten.
"Hullo, Sam," Frodo could barely whisper it.
"Mr. Frodo," Sam said, and a soft smile touched his lips. Frodo's throat went dry again, and a different sort of red came to his face. Sam's smile was so gentle, even after everything…
Frodo flustered a bit, remembering at last to greet the Mayor as well, and others came around to welcome the two in from the cold. Pippin was there, too, and sprang up to the growing circle, throwing arms around Merry's and his shoulders and announcing to Frodo,
"Table's been set, now let's hear you name your guest of honor, so we can get this dinner started before Midsummer!" There were cheers at that.
Frodo ran a nervous hand through his hair. He was going to name Will Whitfoot- it was only proper to honor the mayor- but the words spilled out of his heart before his mouth could stop them:
"It's Sam- of course it's Sam." Frodo hung his head like it was a confession. "He saved me…" he explained weakly. The guests started to shift uncomfortably. Frodo took a breath, forced himself to lift his head again.
"... And he restored the Shire!"
The guests cheered and clapped and headed to the table, linking arms and bringing drinks and chatting excitedly. Their number around the table was lucky fourteen, just as Bilbo would have had it, and Frodo closed his eyes and thanked his stars that Merry and Pippin were there, and had taken care of all the details, and that they insisted on this party in the first place, for because of that, Frodo got to see Sam; and that their parties were impressive enough to distract the guests from everything awful within him that Frodo failed to hide.
The places were set with some helpful banter and fuss from Merry and Pippin. Frodo ended up at the host's end of the table, with Mayor Whitfoot in the place of honor at his right, and Sam at his left. Merry and Pippin themselves were just a little further down, and their sets of parents, and Frodo's aunts, uncles and cousins from Brandy Hall, filled out the rest of the crowd. Sam was shy and quiet at his side and eventually Frodo mustered the courage to ask, "Have you been well?" to which Sam nodded, tight-lipped, and Frodo couldn't tell if it was a trick of the firelight or if Sam had a blush that wouldn't go away, and maybe it was just the wine, but Frodo felt thrilled and heady just to be sitting there next to him, and he couldn't push away the feeling that, shy as Sam was being, he wanted to be there, next to Frodo, in spite of everything.
"You know it's true, and right odd,"
Evening was dwindling on, the food was lingering towards its demise, and the beer and wine and liquor had made their rounds many times over. It was that inevitable raucous hour, when the sharper tongues would move from clacking to wagging.
"It is true," Frodo's cousin Daisy piped up, adding, it seemed, to a conversation Frodo hadn't been paying attention to. Now her shrill voice rang out over the others as she gestured with her mug over at Merry and Pippin.
"Here you are, the two most eligible bachelors in the Shire- beggin' your pardon, Frodo dear-" But Frodo just let out a laugh, and others joined him. His brazen little cousin was just barely of age and newly married herself, and wrapped up in her newfound worldliness, she pressed on: "Why waste your time living together when you could have your pick of the lasses?" She threw a meaningful glance at Frodo's younger cousin Angelica, who blushed and cast her own gaze toward Merry.
Frodo started to catch the context of Daisy's words. Yes, of course… all the lasses were tripping over each other chasing his shining cousins these days, ever since the Battle of Bywater, and especially lately as they'd taken to riding around the Shire on noble-looking ponies, mail-clad and swords ready at their hips.
Pippin leaned in to whisper some snark or other- since when had Pip saved his wit for Merry's ears alone?- and Merry nearly snorted beer out of his nose. Daisy went quiet with a hot glare, and Angelica turned purple as beets and looked down at her lap. Frodo noticed Pippin's father seated near, with a dark look, and some were murmuring… but Merry and Pippin seemed to pay them no mind, and only laughed harder as Pippin tried to clean Merry off, spilling his own cup in the process, trying to catch his breath to make some clever reply.
The moment seemed to freeze in time for Frodo, as he saw his cousins as though for the first time. How Pippin's hand lingered on Merry's arm, how Merry looked at him with a telltale softness at the corners of his eyes, biting back a smirk, how the two had eyes for nothing but each other in that room. Frodo would recognize those feelings anywhere- but did they know it yet, for themselves?
Frodo couldn't help but glance at Sam, and they shared a meaningful look. Sam saw it too…
Frodo looked back at the others, who had begun to grow quiet watching Merry and Pippin. Did they have any idea the danger they were in?
"Why," Frodo found himself standing, and starting breathlessly, "Who has time for lasses, when you have wars to win?"
"Hear, hear!" Merry and Pippin raised their mugs, still unaware of the growing tension in the room.
Frodo continued, "Another Sharkey could steal in anytime, and before you know it, there's another battle to fight to win the Shire!"
"Hear, hear!" More joined in this time, raising their mugs, and Frodo raised his own as well.
"What do we deserve to keep, if we don't have heroes among us to drive away the darkness?"
"HEAR, HEAR!" Nearly everyone cheered and drained their mugs, and Pippin drew his sword with a brandish, and Merry followed suit, and everyone laughed when Pippin speared an apple with his sword, and Merry toppled against the table, more than a little tipsy, trying to knock the apple off with his own sword. A few of the guests ducked in terror, and the others roared in laughter all the more.
Frodo sat back in relief, but couldn't help but glance at Sam, and they shared a long look, and if there wasn't something of love still there, then Frodo's eyes were cheating him. His throat went dry. If there was one thing they needed, it was time… time to talk, to at least understand each other.
Frodo looked back at Merry and Pippin, and saw in his mind's eye how their life might unfold, living together, going on adventures… a life of love and caring and joy… and an ache crept through his heart, clear and cold as the last star left, far on the horizon of the destruction of the world.
Against his own better judgment, he turned to Sam and said, "Well…" tipping his head toward Merry and Pippin. "How about it? When are you going to move in and join me, Sam?"
It was so much less than he could say in front of the others- and yet so much more, too- but as soon as he said it, he regretted his words. Laughter and cheerful talk continued all around him, but Sam looked awkward, and Frodo knew he'd overstepped, and the laughter seemed to warp into a sound as dark and awful as the whispers of the Pale Kings.
"There's no need to come yet, if you don't want to," Frodo tried to save himself.
"It's not that," said Sam, and he went very red. Frodo felt a dread rise in his chest.
"Well, what is it?"
"It's Rosie, Rose Cotton…"
Frodo swallowed hard. So Sam took his advice, after all.
"I see… you want to get married…" Frodo suddenly became aware of everyone around him, and it felt to Frodo that he was naked in front of them all, his shame and longing and jealousy there for all to see. One last flicker of courage seemed to rise up in him, and his next words came tumbling out, a desperate mimicry of what disinterested friendship might say.
"You want to get married, and yet you want to live with me in Bag End, too? But my dear Sam, how easy! Get married, and move in with Rosie. There's room enough…"
Frodo saw the pained look on Sam's face- the pity, always it was pity- and couldn't bear it. Blindly, he started to stand, holding up his mug and saying weakly, "A toast, everyone, for my friend…" but his knees buckled and gave out from under him. Frodo was aware of a few cries of surprise… Sam caught him in his arms, and Frodo felt he could die right there from the shame- but Sam's arms were warm and strong and true, and drew him up, pressing Frodo against him.
"He just needs a little fresh air, is all," Sam said, trying to sound light.
"Aye, and who's next?" Pippin's voice lit up, distracting the others. "I'll drink any of you to the floor, or all of you at once!"
Cheers of challenge rang up and no one seemed worried about Frodo anymore- but he caught Merry's anxious gaze as he was guided away, dressed in coat and scarf, and led out the door.
Sam took Frodo down the road away from the smial, until they were at the very rock where Frodo had been that morning. Here in the fog and the snow and the darkness, no one would see or hear them. Frodo sat heavily on the rock and buried his face in his hands.
"I'm sorry, Sam… I'm so sorry." A bitter sob rose out of him. Sam came to him immediately and kneeled next to him, putting an arm around him and squeezing his shoulder with that perfect mix of warmth and strength. It felt too good.
"Truly, Sam… I'm so sorry. I should not have imposed on you… with that question… I shouldn't have invited you tonight, I shouldn't have insisted on you being my guest of honor… I should never have let you come close. I should have left you in peace. I've ruined our friendship. I've ruined everything."
"No, don't say that… I wanted to be here, I wanted all of it. It's just that… well… you mentioned her yourself, Mr. Frodo, all the way back last fall, when we… after we… when you decided…" Frodo bowed his head hearing Sam's words, tears spilling down his cheeks. Sam's voice dropped to a whisper. "But if I had known what it would do to you…"
A sharp panic rose in Frodo, and he shook his head violently. He would not have Sam lose anything more because of him.
"No, no, you were right to ask her. It was clear how she felt about you, and I remembered how you told me you thought of her, even during our darkest moments on Mount Doom. I've always known that you had feelings for her, although you set them aside for my sake."
"For your sake?" Sam shook his head with impatience. "Rosie's like sunshine on flowers. But I chose moonlight." He came around and knelt in front of Frodo. "I had feelings for you too, just as long, if not longer- I grew up with you, too, if you care to remember." He said it hotly, and Frodo looked up in surprise.
"I can't let you be torn in two, Sam. You deserve a full love, and a full life, and a family."
"You ARE my full love," Sam was shouting. "And my life, and my family! And you deserve all those things too, more than anyone else in all Middle Earth!" Tears were in his eyes now. "Why can't I find them with you?"
"I can't, Sam, I can't be your full love, I'm…" Damaged. Broken. Naked in the dark. I'm being consumed, even as we speak, by shadow and flame.
"I'm… not well…" Frodo was unable to look Sam in the eye any longer. "I have to leave…"
Sam clenched his fists, trembling. He drew himself up, and gave a resolute nod.
"Let me take care of you. I'll never let you go cold. I'll keep you warm and safe forever. I still love you," he lifted Frodo's chin and kept his hand there until Frodo met his gaze- and his eyes even in the dark seemed to hold the light of the stars.
"I still love you," He repeated in a whisper, "And I didn't want to be parted from you in the fall, and I don't want to now." He took Frodo's hands in both his own, and the brush of his fingertips was like a long lost song. "And I've spoken words to Rosie, but I can unspeak them, and you and me can make a home together and it's nobody's business, just like Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin."
"Sam…"
The violence came back to Sam's words. "Nobody ought to say nothing as it is, and you ought to be honored… folks 'round here should be singing your praises!" Sam choked back tears as he spoke. "T'aint fair… you saved the Shire, you saved us all… yet nobody knows… nobody cares… and you take nothing for yourself."
A wind rose around them as though agreeing with Sam, catching snow drifts in spirals and moving over the icy pond in soft whispers. Frodo looked down at Sam's hands enfolding his own. The warmth that he missed so dearly was there for the taking, offered so freely… even after everything that happened, even though Frodo had ended their affair months ago, and could not give reasons.
But Frodo knew what it meant to be tempted, and would not go down that road again.
"It's not about what other people say… it's about what I can't give. I have so little left of myself… I can't give you a happy life." Frodo couldn't help the tired resignation in his voice, which Sam must be so familiar with now. But he pressed on. "And… I'm dying, Sam. Not today, not tomorrow, not next month… but not very long from now, either. I can feel it. My light's going out. If you stay with me, after only a few years you'll be left all alone, and no one will touch you, because I had already claimed you."
"No… no…" Sam was whispering now, and he brought his hands up to hide his face, and his whole body trembled, until he was shaking with sobs. "Don't say that, please, no…"
Frodo was so used to words like these in his mind, he forgot how shocking they could be. But he couldn't take them back- he could only bring Sam closer, enfolding him in his arms and kissing his hair.
"Do not fear… Sam, I won't let it end that way… I intend to follow Bilbo and seek healing from the elves. I don't need to go right away, either; I have time, yet. I'd like to finish my book first, if I can manage it." Frodo looked back up at the road, winding and lovely and ending finally at Bag End, warmly lit and soft sounds of laughter floating out among the softly falling snow. How beautiful it looked, filled with light and love and family. Frodo swallowed hard, knowing what he had to do.
"I meant what I said, earlier. Marry Rose as quick as you can, and move in with her, and with me, at Bag End. For you are my heir, and I would have you settled there before I go. And you and I will remain only as friends, and not break faith with Rosie, so never worry about that. I know you are well-honored, and don't want for anything- but you would honor me, by taking Bag End and filling it with the laughter and love of family and children. That way… though I've gone, I'll know that something of me remains here for you."
At length Sam nodded, shoulders still shaking. Frodo moved to stand but Sam stopped him.
"Don't regret… please don't you be sorry about anything, about… about you and me. I already loved you badly. You made me the happiest hobbit- I never would've dared hope."
Frodo let out a small laugh, in spite of everything. "You would give everything to me, wouldn't you? You wouldn't let me have one bad feeling if you could help it." Frodo let out a ragged sigh. "But it is you who are more than I could have dared hope for. I owe you everything, my every breath- everything that I have and might have had." Frodo took his hands, and they stood.
"So dry your tears, Samwise Gamgee," he whispered fiercely, strength from an unknown source rising in him. It felt like a fire in his chest, but warm and life-giving and perfect as starlight. "I'll make a speech for you, if you'll let me, a speech so cheerful and raucous, I'll make Pippin look like a sober old miser. For I want you celebrated at every turn, and everyone raising a glass to you and shouting your name."
Sam seemed to find strength too, and his eyes glinted with it now. "I'll let you make that speech, but only if you do this- Promise me, you'll keep hope for us. Promise me, you'll never give up hope."
Hearing those words, and looking into Sam's eyes, something in Frodo seemed to shatter. And suddenly Sam's arms were drawing him in one more time, their foreheads touching. Maybe Frodo hadn't realized that he'd lost his hope, until that moment. Finally, he nodded. If Sam asked it of him, he would find hope again, and keep it, whether or no.
"I promise, Sam- I swear to you."