elderberrywine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elderberrywine) wrote2004-04-10 02:49 pm
elderberrywine) wrote2004-04-10 02:49 pm
Floating Into Light, Part Three
So, without further ado, here is part three (including a special gift for my glorious beta, Tinewen).
Title: Floating Into Light, Part Three
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S, possibly others?
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ah, but life isn't all skittles and beer.
Floating into Light
Part Three
It was early in the morning as the three hobbits walked single-file down the narrow, overgrown path that had been made long ago through the rushes that grew thickly along this side of the Brandywine. The fragrant air was already warm this morning, and it was clear that summer was about to stay for awhile. They had spent the night at the cave carved from an overhanging rock ledge further back upstream that both Frodo and Pippin had remembered. But word needed to be sent to Merry, and as they walked along, pushing aside the bulrushes and skirting the thornier thickets, Frodo reviewed the amended plan with Sam, who was right behind him. Pippin followed up the rear, gratefully pushing back the rushes that Sam was absent-mindedly holding aside for him. It was clear that this way had not been much used since, probably, Frodo’s time at Brandy Hall, for Pippin was finding it difficult to remember when he and Merry had last been this way.
The wall of rushes suddenly stopped, crudely hewn down and chopped back, and a field of richly green young spring wheat stretched out between the river bank and the hills on the far side. They had entered the rich lands of Buckland now, and Sam could not help but feel awe at the bounty that lay before him, for the fields that he helped harvest for the Cottons could not begin to compare to this. Behind the rushes, to the side of the field, the thickly wooded verge ran, with a rail fence and narrow dirt road separating it from the planted cropland.
Frodo stopped and nodded to the road as Sam came up beside him. “That’s the road that I was telling you about, Sam,” he indicated it quietly. “Just follow it that direction, towards Brandy Hall. But these woods on your left, now, they’ll only stretch a mile or so more and then you’ll see the road to the spring pasture. It’s fairly wide, since the herd that travels it is rather large. Just you go then, up to your left, to the top of the hills and you’ll find the herd and herders there.”
Sam nodded, trying his best to keep his apprehension from showing.
“It’s Halstad that you want to see, he’s the chief herder. Large fellow, dark hair, and doesn’t say much. Just give him the note.” Here Frodo held up a piece of paper from the notebook that he had brought with him, upon which he had hastily written, “River cave, tonight.”
“Tell Halstad that the message is from me, and it’s for Merry. Be sure to tell him that I’d really rather no-one but Merry saw it,” Frodo added as Sam reluctantly took the paper from him. “Don’t worry about Halstad, or any other of the herders,” Frodo gave Sam a reassuring smile as Sam stuffed the note in his pocket. “They’re all good fellows. None of them were that partial to spending time at Brandy Hall, either, so I always got along quite well with them. Halstad slipped many a note from me to Merry; he really is very good at it. Enjoys the challenge, I think.”
“And remember, Sam,” he laid his hands on Sam’s shoulders lovingly, and searched his eyes with a warm smile. “If you aren’t back by early afternoon, I’ll come looking for you. I’ll be waiting for you, dear.” Throwing his arms around Sam’s neck, he gave him a tender kiss, which Sam instantly returned, no matter his anxiety. Pippin stepped back and found the thick grasses at the side of the road of particular interest. But after a few moments, Sam parted from Frodo, and with a certain determination despite his reluctance, gave him a slight nod, and turning, set off down the road.
Notwithstanding his fears, Sam soon felt himself beginning to enjoy the sight of the thick grasses, waving in the light morning breeze. He had not been able to see much of the fabled Buckland during the quick Yuletide visit he and Frodo had made. Primarily they had been at Brandy Hall, and snow had covered most of what Sam could see. In a corner of his heart, he was hoping that, whatever else might happen during this visit (and privately, he did not expect much of it to be good, although he’d rather have been struck mute than to mention that to Frodo), the thought that he might, somehow, have a bit of a quiet chat with the Brandy Hall gardeners burned brightly in his breast. Wouldn’t the gaffer be that proud of him then, if he came back with some bits of useful advice? For surely, the gardeners of Brandy Hall must be masters of the craft, and there would be much that could be learned from them. With these thoughts running through his mind, it was no time at all before Sam reached the road that ran up to the spring pasture.
Back into the woods this road wound, but not for long. Sam soon saw a clearing ahead. Cautiously walking a little closer, he found a wide sturdy oak to stand behind as he looked on. Obviously it was the dairy herd that he saw, docile black and white creatures, grazing upon the grass, with generous udders. At least two dozen of them were spread about the expansive meadow, some quietly grazing, others lying in the shade of the poplar trees scattered about, for even this early in the morning, the sun was already warm overhead. The herders were sprinkled about the meadow as well, some leaning against a tree trunk in the shade, seemingly already asleep, others standing near the perimeter of the meadow, with a watchful eye for any potential strays. But there was one hobbit who stood in the center of the meadow, leaning on a thick staff, and surveying both the herd and the other hobbits with an unmistakable air of authority. He had dark hair, thick shaggy dark hair at that, and was deeply brown from a lifetime spent in the open air. Sam had no doubt that this was Halstad.
Even as Sam stood in the shade of the oak and wondered on how to best approach this grave figure, Halstad suddenly narrowed his eyes and turned in Sam’s direction, giving Sam, to his consternation, a direct glance. Sam stood his ground, but all manner of words of greeting were lost to him as the other hobbit unhurriedly made his way over to the oak. The rest of the hobbits in the meadow never moved from their positions, but all heads had turned to their leader, and even the sleepers had roused themselves to watch.
“An’ who might y’be, lad?” came the deep voice, as Halstad stopped only a few feet from Sam. “You’d be no Bucklander, I swan.”
“No,” Sam found his voice with some difficulty. “I’d be from Hobbiton.” A small corner of his mind was telling him that he ought to offer a bit more information than that, but his tongue was having a curious amount of trouble in finding the right words.
“So,” chuckled the older hobbit, apparently having decided that Sam was harmless enough, “you thought to have a bit of a stroll t’view our fine cattle? I’d no idee we’d that sort of reputation w’Hobbiton folk.”
The rest of the herders laughed with appreciation at Halstad’s joke. Herding could be a trifle monotonous, at times, but this morning was shaping up to be a rather entertaining one.
Halstad suddenly furrowed his brow, giving Sam a more searching look. “I know ye,” he said slowly. “You’d be Mr. Frodo’s lad. You were here last Yuletide, w’him.”
Sam nodded, wondering fleetingly what the implications of the term “Mr. Frodo’s lad” were, but with no thought of denying them, whatever they might be.
“No fear, lad, I’d not bite you,” Halstad smiled encouragingly at that, and Sam was suddenly quite glad that this hobbit seemed to be on his side. “So would that young scamp be about somewhere then?”
Sam blinked at that. He was beginning to realize that this had been a rather common perception of Frodo at Brandy Hall, no matter the difficulty he had with the idea. “Erm… he sent me wi’ a message for you,” Sam replied, rather vaguely. Stuffing his hand in his pocket, he withdrew the crumpled bit of paper and held it out to Halsted. “It’d be for Mr. Merry,” he added.
Halstad laughed out suddenly at that. “Still up t’his old tricks, I see. And Mr. Merry‘s mum is t‘know naught about it, I expect?”
Sam couldn’t help smiling at that. “Aye, true enough.” he admitted.
“Ah, well,” Halstad continued to chuckle, shaking his shaggy head, “seems like auld times again, sure enow.” He took the paper from Sam, unbuttoning his shirt and stuffing it inside. “You tell that Mr. Frodo of yours to rest hisself easy. Ol’Halstad’d know what t’do.” At that he gave Sam a rather thorough look. “You’d be lookin’ a bit sturdy for house work, lad. You do for Mr. Frodo, then?”
“I’m his gardener,” Sam explained simply.
Halstad gave a bright smile of recognition at that. “Well, ain’t you now. I thought there was summat that familiar about ye. You’d be one of them Gamgee lads, sure.”
“Samwise Gamgee, if you please, sir,” Sam acknowledged politely, wondering how he could possibly know that.
“Aye, t’be sure. The little one,” Halstad clapped him on the back heartily. “All grown up, ain’t you though. I’d be knowin’ your dad, lad,” he explained with a chuckle, “an’ if you ain’t just like him. Ol’ Mr. Bilbo, he used to bring Hamfast Gamgee out this way many a time, and a right fine one to talk to, he surely was. How’s he doin’, lad, anyways?”
“Well enough, thank ye for askin‘,” Sam replied with a smile, although he had noticed several of the herders watching him now with greater interest. He was not going to be unrecognizable for much longer, it appeared.
“An’ now here you are, comin’ to Buckland with Mr. Frodo,” Halstad shook his head with a grin.
“Mr. Frodo would rather not have folks knowin’ he’d be here, not just yet,” Sam felt compelled to add at this point.
“Well, an’ I wouldn’t be deliverin’ this little message otherwise, now, would I,” Halstad shook his head knowingly. “No worries, lad, You just let Mr. Frodo know that his ol’ Halstad, he’d be takin’ care o’the matter. Just tell him to pay me a visit afore he goes, if he gets the chance.” And with a wink to Sam, he turned his back on him and muttered, “Now, take off, lad. I’d have no idee where you went.”
“Thank you kindly, Mr. Halstad,” Sam called out, and quickly left the pasture, leaving Halstad behind chuckling to himself at that title.
Pippin and Frodo were sitting at the water’s edge, backs against a muddy bank, and toes cooling in the backwash of the Brandywine. There was an easy silence between the two of them, only broken by the soft lap of the water, and the occasional rustle of some creature well-hidden in the rushes. Frodo was aware of the sun, but it was not yet high overhead. He did not expect Sam back for another hour or so.
Pippin was munching thoughtfully on an apple that he had saved from their breakfast, and as he finished the last bite, he tossed the remains of the core into the river before him, where it sank with a soft plop. Turning to his cousin, who was lying back on his elbows, with his eyes closed, he softly said, “Thanks, Frodo.”
“What for?” Frodo asked, puzzled, his eyes quickly opening and turning to Pippin.
“For helping me,” Pippin replied seriously. “For dropping everything and slogging to this far corner of Buckland with me. For bringing Sam too, and letting me get to know him a bit better.
“He’s rather worth knowing, isn’t he,” Frodo turned to his cousin with a glowing smile.
“Yes, he is,” Pippin breathed, mesmerized by the way Frodo’s expression had suddenly changed at the mention of Sam’s name.
Frodo stopped for a moment, and stared at the younger hobbit intently. “I truly do love him, you know, Pippin,” he said at last, very quietly.
Pippin threw his arms around Frodo, unable, for the moment, to form words. “I know, my dear, I know,” he murmured at last. Frodo held him tight.
Sam turned the final bend in the road back to the river to find Frodo sitting alone on the rail fence where it ended, running into the thick rushes. Frodo’s head was turned to the river, and for the moment, he was unaware of Sam’s approach. Sam stood still for that same moment and gazed at him.
The sun had struck the russet glints in Frodo’s dark hair, but the exposed face and limbs were stubbornly pale, no matter how long Frodo spent out of doors. He sat, perched high on the rail, with an easy grace and agility that always belayed his years, still looking much like the young hobbit lad who had once lived here. Sam was suddenly struck by the notion, as he watched Frodo, who was staring dreamily out over the Brandywine, that he could never imagine Frodo growing old. As for him, that was easy enough. One look at the gaffer gave him a quick enough foretaste of what he’d be like at that age. But Frodo? He could never imagine him other than eternally young, with that quick smile that always lit up his face, everlastingly beautiful.
Sam smiled to himself at that, and shook his head at his foolish notions. Like as not, he would be finding out the answer to that riddle some day. He strode forward again, and at that, Frodo spun around and greeted him with a laugh.
“You made it back, Sam,” he said with delight. “And it was a success, too, I can see it in your face.” Jumping down from the fence, he ran forward and grabbed Sam’s hand. “Pippin’s gone to a nearby farm for provisions. They’re used to seeing him stop by and won’t think twice about it. But until he gets back, well, come with me, Sam.”
Sam clasped his hand tightly and followed.
*****
It was close to dusk, even with the forgiving light of a long summer evening, by the time Daisy and Pearl were setting off from Hobbiton. They had left behind a disappointed May, not to mention the Burrows family as well, but Daisy knew her father would be awaiting her return, and as for Pearl, she explained that she couldn’t very well keep an eye out for Frodo all the way from Hobbiton. May had quickly pulled Daisy aside though, just before they left, and mentioned that it had been awhile since she had paid her respects to their father, and she planned on a visit home in the very immediate future. Daisy laughed, and told her that her room would be ready for her the next day.
As they passed the Green Dragon, on the outskirts of town, the windows glowed with a warm light, the sounds of merry voices inside could be heard, and Pearl stopped short. “It’s a long road back, and I’m feeling slightly parched. Care for a mug, Daisy?”
Daisy halted, and stared with surprise at her companion. Never, in all of her years of traveling this road, had she ever thought of doing that, although now, wracking her brain for a response, she couldn’t think of why not. It wasn’t as if she’d never been in the Green Dragon, there’d been many a festive gathering she had attended there. But to just stop by for a half-pint on a whim? No, never.
“Why, thank you kindly,” she found herself replying, amazed at her own daring, “that would be nice.”
They entered the crowded inn, and were greeted warmly by the innkeeper. “Daisy Gamgee, welcome, lass,” he roared over the heads of a cluster of hobbits seated next to the door. “Good to see you, m’dear. I still can’t be thankin’ you enough for helpin’ out with our littl’un this last winter. But the gaffer’s not here, he’d have left at least an hour back.”
“I’m not here for him,” Daisy found her voice, despite a bit of initial difficulty. She stepped bravely up to the counter and added, “We’d be havin’ a half-pint each, if you please.”
“Well, now, lass,” the red-faced publican’s grin grew. “This’d be summat new, then. And who’d this fine lass with you be?”
“Pearl Took,” the lass in question nodded in response, and asked, “and you?”
“Bless my…” the innkeeper began to chuckle, and then froze as the name suddenly registered. “Pearl Took?” he gaped. “That Pearl Took? From Tuckborough?” And turning back to Daisy again, he registered an even more improbable fact. “With Daisy Gamgee?”
A wave of hushed silence had swept out through the room, as from a stone dropped down a well, and conversations concerning Farmer Brownwort’s luck with spotted pigs, and the unusually fine rhubarb crop this year, were halted mid-sentence and immediately forgotten.
“Aye, that’d be her, true enough,” came a deep verification from the corner of the room. A rather well-fed older hobbit raised his mug in acknowledgement. “I’d have been in Tuckborough not six months past, and it was her as passed me by, with the Great Took hisself, no less.”
There was a murmur of surprised verification at that, for Farmer Barkham was never less than absolutely reliable. Pearl, giving the farmer a quick nod of recognition, turned back to the publican and mentioned quietly, “And about those half-pints?”
“Oh, aye,” the innkeeper hastily grabbed up two mugs and gave them a careful swipe with the dishrag, an unusual courtesy on his part. “Here you’d be, my young ladies,” and set the two generously filled mugs before them.
Pearl nodded her thanks, and placed some coins on the counter. Not waiting for the change, she swept her way to one of the few unoccupied tables to the far side of the room, Daisy quietly following in her tow. As it seemed there was to be no explanation forthcoming of the unexpected appearance of one of the Shire’s finest families in this lowly inn, the pre-empted conversations slowly resumed about them, and Daisy and Pearl were allowed to savor their brew in peace. They left not too long afterward, and that’s when conversation at the Green Dragon became truly lively.
The rest of the way back to Bagshot Row though, banter flowed readily between the two, and Daisy found far more at which to giggle than she ever had on that road before.
***
Sam had built a small campfire to start preparations for lunch in the front of the river cave, and was going through his provisions when Pippin finally returned. With a gesture of triumph, he dropped a rather hefty sack in front of Sam, and then crossed his arms, looking extraordinarily pleased with himself.
Frodo had been sitting near the river edge of the cave, feet dangling over, and reading a book that he had brought with him. “That certainly took awhile, Pippin,” he swung his legs up from the edge and stood up, stretching. “I was beginning to think you’d gone all the way back to Hobbiton.”
“Well,” Pippin patiently explained at that, “if Merry’s going to be here as well, we won’t have nearly enough apples to keep him happy. You know how he is about them. Cherries aren’t nearly the same, for him.”
“You do think of everything, don’t you,” Frodo gave him an affectionate hug at that, tousling his hair slightly.
“Ah, don’t I, though,” Pippin laughed, reaching back into the bag and producing another small parcel. “This would be for you, Frodo.”
“Mushrooms,” breathed Frodo, his nose twitching, before he even opened it.
“Remember what I told you now, Sam,” Pippin confided with a grin as Sam chuckled at Frodo’s reaction to the unexpected treat. “I’m sorry I didn’t get anything especially for you, Sam, I don’t know what you like the best in the way of food.”
“Butter,” muttered Frodo, his head nearly all the way in the bag, and then turning, he couldn’t help a laugh at Sam’s suddenly rosy face. “I’m sorry, dearest,” he murmured, giving Sam a warm hug at that, “Never mind me, Pippin, mushrooms always make me giddy.”
It was at that moment that a sudden sound caused them to quickly look, Pippin still crouched on the ground near the bag, and Frodo with his arm still around Sam, over to where the hidden path from the hills above came down to the cave. It was Merry. He stared at Frodo and Sam, his expression hard to read as the mid-afternoon sun shone behind him. But when he glanced down and saw Pippin, the hardness that had been in his face instantly vanished, and in one quick movement, he was down next to Pippin with his arms around him. “Oh, Pip,” he breathed, in immense relief, “oh, there you are.” And for a moment, he buried his face in Pippin’s shoulder as Pippin sighed happily and returned Merry’s embrace.
But it was no more than a moment before he straightened himself up, and backing away with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, he stared at Frodo, who had let go of Sam and was now standing protectively in front of him. “So what’s this all about anyway, Frodo?” he asked his older cousin, almost angrily. “Why has Pippin gone missing, and why is he here with you?”
“With Sam and I,” Frodo returned, with a certain precision in his voice.
Merry gave Sam a curt nod at that point. “Sam,” he acknowledged, briefly.
“Mr. Merry,” Sam returned his nod.
“Sam!” both Frodo and Pippin, cried out in exasperation, nearly simultaneously, both turning on him.
Sam colored at that, but stood his ground and said no more.
“I hope you realize, Frodo,” Merry continued at that, with an edge to his voice, “that both the Brandybuck and Took clans are currently combing the hills for this one. Pip’s sister has apparently been to Bag End, and word is that you’ve disappeared as well. What is all this fuss about, anyway?”
“They wouldn’t let me see you anymore, Merry!” Pippin burst forth at that, unable to keep quiet any longer. “And Aunt Esme wouldn’t even let me say goodbye to you or tell you why I had left!” With a sudden movement, he was clinging to Merry’s arm, and although Merry stared at him in bewilderment, his other hand moved up unconsciously and closed over Pippin’s.
“It was because of Frodo and Sam,” Pippin began to sniffle now, tears welling up in his eyes, “but it wasn’t really their fault, not really.”
Merry was now starting to look thoroughly confused, and Frodo took pity on him. “Sam,” he said quietly, turning behind him and laying a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “why don’t you take Pippin out to help you gather some fire wood. I’ll explain the situation to Merry.”
“Aye, I could use a bit o’help,” Sam agreed hastily, and quickly grasping Pippin’s arm, added, “I’d be appreciatin’ your assistance, if ye’d not mind, Pippin,” and dragged an unresisting Pippin from the cave.
Merry’s face darkened at that familiarity on the part of Sam, but said nothing and turned back to Frodo with a scowl on his face.
Sam walked up the rush-walled path, away from the cave, with Pippin and then stopped. “I don’t know where I’d be going,” he admitted, unhappily.
“Of course not, Sam,” Pippin sighed, moving around him on the path. Matter-of-factly he took Sam’s hand and began to tow him unresistingly further away from the cave “You’ve never been here before now, have you.”
Sam followed him without question for a few moments, but then stopped short. “Mayhap we shouldn’t be goin’ far,” he mentioned hesitantly. “Mr. Merry seemed that mad.”
Pippin turned quickly around at that, both hands on his hips. “Really, Sam,” he said sternly, nearly glaring at the older hobbit. “You don’t have to call him that, you know. Frodo hates it, and unfortunately, Merry enjoys that.”
Sam looked unhappily down at his feet but said nothing.
“Come on, Sam” Pippin sighed again, his voice softening, and he took Sam’s hand up again. “Just a little way longer.”
After the next bend, the wall of rushes fell away, and now the Brandywine could be seen as well as heard. There was a pile of stones on the shore at this point, where the river took a bend, and the tops of other smooth grey slabs could be seen further out in the water, submerged from time to time in the swirling water and white foam.
“Merry told me there was a great stone bridge here once,” Pippin mentioned quietly, staring out over the dark churning river, “but it was washed away in a flood.” He was silent for several more moments, and then, still gazing unseeingly out, said, almost to himself, “I suppose they thought it would last forever.” He shook himself a bit at that though, and turning to Sam, indicated the stones at the shore. “These, however, Sam, are quite safe. I imagine they haven’t moved a bit in the last fifty years or so. Let’s sit here for a while and give the two of them the chance to sort it all out.”
Sam sat down on a smooth sun-warmed boulder next to Pippin, and stretched his legs gratefully out on the warm rocks. “I’d not be understanding Merry,” he confessed to Pippin, after a few moments’ companionable silence, with only the slightest of hesitations before he said the name. “I expect he thinks me not to be suitable for Frodo, but it always seems to be Frodo he’d be mad at, not me.”
Pippin turned to Sam at that, smiling, with the sun shining copper in his curls. “Don’t you know, Sam?” he chuckled quietly. “Merry’s jealous of you, of course.”
Sam stared open-mouthed for a moment at Pippin. “But, I thought, it’d be you...” he stammered out, trying to make sense of this, but never doubting Pippin.
“Well, yes, of course it’s me that he really loves,” Pippin explained, his lips quirked in a smile, and supremely self-confident, “but he hasn’t actually discovered that yet.”
He turned his face back to the river, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “He still thinks it’s Frodo,” he commented quietly, “but Frodo is taken. Quite taken, I might add,” he smiled warmly at Sam by his side, who was still trying to piece all this together. “And after he gets that worked out,” Pippin continued softly then, turning back to the water and speaking almost as if to himself, “then he’ll know it’s really me.”
“I see Halstad hasn’t lost his touch,” Frodo commented mildly, as the other two left, leaving Merry still standing near the cave entrance, his hands crossed over his chest.
“Perhaps,” Merry admitted reluctantly, his face still hard, “but I really have no time for camping out in caves any more. I’m no longer a teen, and you’re no tween, I might point out. There’s fruit and hops to be harvested, and summer planting to start, and my father is expecting my assistance. So just explain this nonsense about Pip, and I’ll bring him back and you can be on your way.”
Frodo gave him a careful look, but let the subject drop. He sat back down on the cave floor, his feet once again over the edge, and politely nodded towards the ledge next to him. “Have a seat, Merry,” he said gently, “and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“I’d rather not,” Merry answered adamantly, not moving.
“Well, I’m not very well going to get a crick in my neck just to talk to you,” Frodo retorted, a bit of sharpness creeping into his voice despite himself.
Merry didn’t move at first, but then, with a noticeable grunt of displeasure, sat heavily down, with crossed legs, at the far end of the ledge.
“Pippin showed up on my doorstep, oh, about four days ago,” Frodo began. “He was quite upset; I couldn’t get a word out of him for awhile. When I finally did, he told me that your mother had apparently banished him from Brandy Hall, and sent him home alone.”
Merry frowned at that. “She never said anything to me about that. That’s rather hard to believe, you know. Did he say why?”
“Well, yes,” Frodo looked off to the river, sparkling below the cave ledge. “It was because of me.”
“What?” Merry exclaimed, still bewildered. “This makes no sense whatsoever.”
Frodo paused for a moment, still watching the shimmering river. “Someone told her about Sam and me,” he said finally, still not looking at Merry. “And for some reason, she thought of you and Pip.”
Merry’s face immediately flushed red at the implications of what Frodo had said. “There’s no reason for her to think that, ever,” he declared flatly.
Frodo turned to him at that, and gave him a searching gaze, but said nothing.
“So that’s the reason Pippin left?” Merry asked, his voice starting to rise. “How ridiculous. Just because you and that lad of yours have to come in to Brandy Hall and parade your relationship in front of everyone, now she thinks…”
“Excuse me a moment, Merry,” Frodo’s voice was crisp, always a warning sign. “I don’t believe that we were parading anything in front of Aunt Esme’s delicate sensibilities. I was invited, and specifically told to bring a friend, which I did. The fact that my friend was apparently not of the proper social status meant that he was whisked away immediately upon arrival, but I did not complain at that. I allowed Sam to be shuttled off to the servant’s hall, something that I am still ashamed of, by the way, for all that he tries to assure me that there was no need to disturb the family for his sake.”
“It sounds as though at least he has some common sense, something I think you’ve been rather lacking as of late, Frodo,” Merry answered tightly, rising to his feet in agitation, as though he could no longer sit.
“There’s more to all this, isn’t there, Merry?” Frodo had also risen to his feet, and was watching Merry pace to the back of the cave, with his head down.
Merry stood for a moment with his head bowed, and then spun around. “Why him, Frodo?” he hissed angrily. “I know he’s sincere, and I’m sure that he’s easy enough on the eyes, but really, Frodo. Is he worth the damage he’s doing to your reputation? I don’t think anyone would have minded if you had been the least bit circumspect about all of this, but to make him out to be your equal is just an insult to the rest of the family.”
“Then I don’t expect I’ll be back to Brandy Hall again. Is that the position you want to put me into, Merry?” Frodo would have been more upset, but there was something that was starting to catch his attention concerning Merry’s expression, about his strangely intense anger about all of this. And then it became clear to him. He walked over to where Merry stood, still fairly bristling with, as Frodo now realized, pain. Gently, he laid a hand on Merry’s arm and quietly said, “It couldn’t have been you, you know, Merry dear.”
Merry quickly turned away, but as he did so, Frodo saw his face begin to crumple, and knew he’d been right. Merry had put out a hand against the rocky wall of the cave to steady himself, but it was not enough, and he slowly sank down to his knees, his back to Frodo, and began to cry in harsh gulping sobs.
“Oh, Merry,” Frodo whispered, stricken, and sank down next to him. He hesitantly tried to lay a hand on Merry’s shoulder, but Merry quickly shook it off without even looking up. With a sigh, he moved behind Merry, settling back against the rocky wall, with his knees drawn up and his arms tightly around them, as near as he could be to Merry and still not touch him.
Patiently, he gave Merry time, waiting until the sobs seemed to be easing a bit. Then he quietly mentioned, “You were the only thing that made Brandy Hall bearable for me, you know.” Merry did not respond, but Frodo knew he was listening. “I know I would have run away, and never come back, and I wonder if they would have really cared. Other than having to explain it to Bilbo, or perhaps Uncle Paladin. But I never did, because of you.”
Merry was quieting now, down to the sniffles and an occasional shuddering breath, but he still wasn’t looking at Frodo. “You were the only one I had left to love, and I did,” Frodo continued, and hesitated just a moment. “And I still do, Merry. Very much. But we are too much alike, you and I. We couldn’t have been what each of us needs.”
“What‘s that?” The words were ragged and dragged unwillingly out of Merry, and he still did not turn around.
Frodo paused for a moment, and then said simply, “Someone who gives. Someone who will give to you, even if they don’t expect you to give back, because they must. Someone with a generous heart, and a charitable spirit. We are not like that, Merry, neither you nor I. But Sam is. And, I think, Pippin too.”
Turning again toward Merry, he laid an arm around Merry’s shoulder and this time Merry did not shake it off. “Please forgive me, Merry,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Forgive me for not being who you thought I was.”
It was the dampness that first aroused Sam. He and Pippin had been sitting on the warm stones, each lost in their own thoughts in a comfortable silence for he knew not how long. But as he glanced up with a start, he saw the long wisps of white mist creeping over the river, floating down from upstream, and realized that the far bank had vanished in white. Overhead, the sun had been obliterated by dark thick clouds, all the signs of an imminent summer rainstorm. “Pippin,” he lightly shook Pippin’s shoulder, and gestured upstream. “We’d best be gettin’ back.”
“Oh, aye,” Pippin nodded, and quickly rose. “We’ve given them plenty of time, I should think. And we never had lunch, and it clearly is getting on past tea time.”
Sam chuckled at that. “Just thinkin’ the same thing meself,” he commented wryly. “And a hot cup of tea sounds like just the thing, what wi’that wet acomin’ in.”
When they returned to the cave, they found that Frodo had already begun a fire, and Sam quickly started a kettle. The rain had begun to fall shortly after their return, and even though it was still afternoon, the light had become dim outside, and the river lay hidden by mist. Sam, with Pippin’s assistance, prepared a rather substantial meal, with sausages and mushrooms, as well as apples and the fresh bread that Pippin had brought from the farmhouse. They had found Frodo and Merry silently sitting at either edge of the ledge on their return, and conversation through the meal was awkward and restrained, given to sudden silences. Sometimes, the loudest sound to be heard was that of the raindrops dripping from the cave opening, and running down the rocky ledge to the rush path below.
Finally the meal was through, and picking up the pan, Sam rose to go down in the rainy afternoon to the riverbank to clean it. Frodo followed him, as if he had been waiting for Sam, and left the cave without a word to the other two hobbits.
Knowing that Frodo was following him, Sam made his way down to the break in the reeds, at the river’s edge and occupied himself in scouring out the pan, giving Frodo the chance to speak first. But Frodo said nothing, and only stood silently behind Sam, with his hands thrust deep in his pockets. Finishing the pan, Sam laid it on a rock at the water’s edge, and rose, turning to face Frodo.
Even in the deep dusky light, Sam could see Frodo’s face clearly. His wet hair was soaked against the sides of his face, accentuating his high, wide cheekbones and the delicate tips of his ears. Had Sam been in a more contemplative mood, he would have noticed the striking resemblance between Frodo and the drawings of the inhabitants of Rivendell in some of Bilbo’s old journals. But rather it was the expression of Frodo’s face that made Sam catch his breath, the anguish in his eyes, and the fact that Sam wasn’t sure whether the drops that slid down Frodo’s face were raindrops or tears.
“Have I ruined your life, too, Sam?” he heard Frodo whisper, and that was more than he could bear to hear.
Frodo did not wait for a response, though, and turning from the river, began to blindly push his way through the thick walls of rushes and grasses. Sam followed, thinking only to catch up to Frodo, to hold him, to do whatever he could to take this hurt away from him.
The wet grasses were slick against Sam’s hands as he shoved them out of the way. He hurried to keep up with Frodo in the muted light, not calling out, but relying on the sound of Frodo’s movements ahead of him to stay with him. Well he knew that Frodo would not stop until he felt far enough away from the cave, and whatever had happened there between he and Merry.
Finally the grassy borders of the river started giving way to bushes and small trees. Frodo, still ahead of Sam, had slowed down, and when he reached the leafy shelter of an ash tree, turned around. Sam approached him slowly and without a word, gently lay a hand on the side of Frodo’s rain-glistening cheek. “Never ruined it, Frodo-love,” he spoke tenderly, slowly sliding his hand back to gently cup Frodo’s face, “never at all. Only gave me so much more than I ever thought to have.”
With an incoherent cry, Frodo flung his arms around Sam’s neck, his mouth hungrily seeking and finding Sam’s. Sam wrapped his arms tightly around Frodo at that, and nothing else mattered, but that beloved wet form in his arms. Eagerly, he returned Frodo’s kiss, his mouth opening without hesitation to Frodo, his tongue seeking Frodo’s, his breath joining with Frodo’s. Urgently, he sought to reassure Frodo in every way he could, not really knowing why, and not caring, at the moment, in the least, for the reasons for Frodo’s question to him by the river.
Words had never been his strength anyway, no, it had always been his hands that had served him best. And it was these hands now that held Frodo closely to him, that ran through Frodo’s wet curls, that grasped Frodo tightly as his mouth slid down to caress that rain-slicked throat. Frodo clung desperately to him but said not a word. Instead his hands were busy as well, pulling out Sam’s sodden shirt, frantically seeking Sam’s skin, only reassured by the feeling of Sam’s chest against the palms of those restless hands.
They had turned somehow in their embrace and it was now Sam with his back against the smooth ash trunk. Frodo was pressing himself against Sam, his mouth busy on Sam’s ear tip, his hands under Sam’s shirt seeking the most sensitive of areas. As the rain still found its way through the leafy canopy above, Sam tasted the drops on Frodo’s mouth, his cheeks, the base of his throat, and hungrily became aware that it was Frodo’s arousal that was pressing itself demandingly into his hip.
“Frodo,” he gasped, bringing up his hand and stroking Frodo through the wet trousers, “oh, Frodo.” It didn’t matter in the least to him that they were both soaked through and through, nor that the ground below them was a mire of mud. All he knew was that he was wild with desire to feel Frodo on him, loving him.
Frodo cried out at the feel of Sam’s hand on him, and without any hesitation, grasped Sam’s trousers and undid the fastening. But the wet heavy fabric was slow to pull off, and Sam groaned with frustration at the time it took until he could finally kick them heedlessly off and thrust himself frenziedly into Frodo’s hand.
It wasn’t until that hand suddenly withdrew that he dimly realized that Frodo’s trousers were still on. Quickly, he joined Frodo in undoing them, pulling and tugging at the drenched fabric, until they finally gave way and fell. And now there was nothing between them, nothing at all.
Sam felt Frodo’s hand around him and he arched his back against the tree, digging his heels into the mud, moaning helplessly at the touch. Wildly, he grabbed Frodo’s backside and tried to draw him closer, ever closer. But Frodo had slipped between his legs, and oh, the feel of him there. Frodo’s breath was growing ragged, as was his own, and Sam knew there was only one thing he wanted now. If only Frodo felt it too…
And there was Frodo’s hand between his legs, and oh, yes, oh, yes, oh please… Frodo’s fingers had found him and with a wrenching groan, he arched his back and gratefully allowed them entrance. With difficulty, he forced his eyes open, and there was Frodo’s face before him, raindrops running down his cheeks, eyes wide and nearly feral, his mouth open and his breath coming in short pants. “I don’t have anything, Sam,” Frodo forced out with the greatest of difficulty, his brow knit with the effort of restraint.
“I don’t care, Frodo!” Sam cried out wildly, grabbing his shoulders fiercely, “I don’t care!”
Frodo bowed his head, resting it on Sam’s shoulder for a moment, and then Sam felt Frodo thrust himself inside of Sam. And passionately he accepted the pain, for it was Frodo in him, Frodo holding him, Frodo in his body, and Frodo in his heart, and they were joined, merged into one, and Sam cried out, his heart rent with joy.
When the world returned to them, they slid slowly down the smooth trunk and curled closely together, heedless entirely of the mud. Sam was sobbing, he knew not why, and Frodo held him in a loving and healing embrace, whispering a litany of love in his ear as the rain continued to fall.
It was much later when they returned to the cave. Pippin raised his face from where he was huddled on the ground, and his pain was heartbreaking to see. But Merry was gone, and not a word of explanation would Pippin give.
To be continued…….
Title: Floating Into Light, Part Three
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S, possibly others?
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ah, but life isn't all skittles and beer.
Floating into Light
Part Three
It was early in the morning as the three hobbits walked single-file down the narrow, overgrown path that had been made long ago through the rushes that grew thickly along this side of the Brandywine. The fragrant air was already warm this morning, and it was clear that summer was about to stay for awhile. They had spent the night at the cave carved from an overhanging rock ledge further back upstream that both Frodo and Pippin had remembered. But word needed to be sent to Merry, and as they walked along, pushing aside the bulrushes and skirting the thornier thickets, Frodo reviewed the amended plan with Sam, who was right behind him. Pippin followed up the rear, gratefully pushing back the rushes that Sam was absent-mindedly holding aside for him. It was clear that this way had not been much used since, probably, Frodo’s time at Brandy Hall, for Pippin was finding it difficult to remember when he and Merry had last been this way.
The wall of rushes suddenly stopped, crudely hewn down and chopped back, and a field of richly green young spring wheat stretched out between the river bank and the hills on the far side. They had entered the rich lands of Buckland now, and Sam could not help but feel awe at the bounty that lay before him, for the fields that he helped harvest for the Cottons could not begin to compare to this. Behind the rushes, to the side of the field, the thickly wooded verge ran, with a rail fence and narrow dirt road separating it from the planted cropland.
Frodo stopped and nodded to the road as Sam came up beside him. “That’s the road that I was telling you about, Sam,” he indicated it quietly. “Just follow it that direction, towards Brandy Hall. But these woods on your left, now, they’ll only stretch a mile or so more and then you’ll see the road to the spring pasture. It’s fairly wide, since the herd that travels it is rather large. Just you go then, up to your left, to the top of the hills and you’ll find the herd and herders there.”
Sam nodded, trying his best to keep his apprehension from showing.
“It’s Halstad that you want to see, he’s the chief herder. Large fellow, dark hair, and doesn’t say much. Just give him the note.” Here Frodo held up a piece of paper from the notebook that he had brought with him, upon which he had hastily written, “River cave, tonight.”
“Tell Halstad that the message is from me, and it’s for Merry. Be sure to tell him that I’d really rather no-one but Merry saw it,” Frodo added as Sam reluctantly took the paper from him. “Don’t worry about Halstad, or any other of the herders,” Frodo gave Sam a reassuring smile as Sam stuffed the note in his pocket. “They’re all good fellows. None of them were that partial to spending time at Brandy Hall, either, so I always got along quite well with them. Halstad slipped many a note from me to Merry; he really is very good at it. Enjoys the challenge, I think.”
“And remember, Sam,” he laid his hands on Sam’s shoulders lovingly, and searched his eyes with a warm smile. “If you aren’t back by early afternoon, I’ll come looking for you. I’ll be waiting for you, dear.” Throwing his arms around Sam’s neck, he gave him a tender kiss, which Sam instantly returned, no matter his anxiety. Pippin stepped back and found the thick grasses at the side of the road of particular interest. But after a few moments, Sam parted from Frodo, and with a certain determination despite his reluctance, gave him a slight nod, and turning, set off down the road.
Notwithstanding his fears, Sam soon felt himself beginning to enjoy the sight of the thick grasses, waving in the light morning breeze. He had not been able to see much of the fabled Buckland during the quick Yuletide visit he and Frodo had made. Primarily they had been at Brandy Hall, and snow had covered most of what Sam could see. In a corner of his heart, he was hoping that, whatever else might happen during this visit (and privately, he did not expect much of it to be good, although he’d rather have been struck mute than to mention that to Frodo), the thought that he might, somehow, have a bit of a quiet chat with the Brandy Hall gardeners burned brightly in his breast. Wouldn’t the gaffer be that proud of him then, if he came back with some bits of useful advice? For surely, the gardeners of Brandy Hall must be masters of the craft, and there would be much that could be learned from them. With these thoughts running through his mind, it was no time at all before Sam reached the road that ran up to the spring pasture.
Back into the woods this road wound, but not for long. Sam soon saw a clearing ahead. Cautiously walking a little closer, he found a wide sturdy oak to stand behind as he looked on. Obviously it was the dairy herd that he saw, docile black and white creatures, grazing upon the grass, with generous udders. At least two dozen of them were spread about the expansive meadow, some quietly grazing, others lying in the shade of the poplar trees scattered about, for even this early in the morning, the sun was already warm overhead. The herders were sprinkled about the meadow as well, some leaning against a tree trunk in the shade, seemingly already asleep, others standing near the perimeter of the meadow, with a watchful eye for any potential strays. But there was one hobbit who stood in the center of the meadow, leaning on a thick staff, and surveying both the herd and the other hobbits with an unmistakable air of authority. He had dark hair, thick shaggy dark hair at that, and was deeply brown from a lifetime spent in the open air. Sam had no doubt that this was Halstad.
Even as Sam stood in the shade of the oak and wondered on how to best approach this grave figure, Halstad suddenly narrowed his eyes and turned in Sam’s direction, giving Sam, to his consternation, a direct glance. Sam stood his ground, but all manner of words of greeting were lost to him as the other hobbit unhurriedly made his way over to the oak. The rest of the hobbits in the meadow never moved from their positions, but all heads had turned to their leader, and even the sleepers had roused themselves to watch.
“An’ who might y’be, lad?” came the deep voice, as Halstad stopped only a few feet from Sam. “You’d be no Bucklander, I swan.”
“No,” Sam found his voice with some difficulty. “I’d be from Hobbiton.” A small corner of his mind was telling him that he ought to offer a bit more information than that, but his tongue was having a curious amount of trouble in finding the right words.
“So,” chuckled the older hobbit, apparently having decided that Sam was harmless enough, “you thought to have a bit of a stroll t’view our fine cattle? I’d no idee we’d that sort of reputation w’Hobbiton folk.”
The rest of the herders laughed with appreciation at Halstad’s joke. Herding could be a trifle monotonous, at times, but this morning was shaping up to be a rather entertaining one.
Halstad suddenly furrowed his brow, giving Sam a more searching look. “I know ye,” he said slowly. “You’d be Mr. Frodo’s lad. You were here last Yuletide, w’him.”
Sam nodded, wondering fleetingly what the implications of the term “Mr. Frodo’s lad” were, but with no thought of denying them, whatever they might be.
“No fear, lad, I’d not bite you,” Halstad smiled encouragingly at that, and Sam was suddenly quite glad that this hobbit seemed to be on his side. “So would that young scamp be about somewhere then?”
Sam blinked at that. He was beginning to realize that this had been a rather common perception of Frodo at Brandy Hall, no matter the difficulty he had with the idea. “Erm… he sent me wi’ a message for you,” Sam replied, rather vaguely. Stuffing his hand in his pocket, he withdrew the crumpled bit of paper and held it out to Halsted. “It’d be for Mr. Merry,” he added.
Halstad laughed out suddenly at that. “Still up t’his old tricks, I see. And Mr. Merry‘s mum is t‘know naught about it, I expect?”
Sam couldn’t help smiling at that. “Aye, true enough.” he admitted.
“Ah, well,” Halstad continued to chuckle, shaking his shaggy head, “seems like auld times again, sure enow.” He took the paper from Sam, unbuttoning his shirt and stuffing it inside. “You tell that Mr. Frodo of yours to rest hisself easy. Ol’Halstad’d know what t’do.” At that he gave Sam a rather thorough look. “You’d be lookin’ a bit sturdy for house work, lad. You do for Mr. Frodo, then?”
“I’m his gardener,” Sam explained simply.
Halstad gave a bright smile of recognition at that. “Well, ain’t you now. I thought there was summat that familiar about ye. You’d be one of them Gamgee lads, sure.”
“Samwise Gamgee, if you please, sir,” Sam acknowledged politely, wondering how he could possibly know that.
“Aye, t’be sure. The little one,” Halstad clapped him on the back heartily. “All grown up, ain’t you though. I’d be knowin’ your dad, lad,” he explained with a chuckle, “an’ if you ain’t just like him. Ol’ Mr. Bilbo, he used to bring Hamfast Gamgee out this way many a time, and a right fine one to talk to, he surely was. How’s he doin’, lad, anyways?”
“Well enough, thank ye for askin‘,” Sam replied with a smile, although he had noticed several of the herders watching him now with greater interest. He was not going to be unrecognizable for much longer, it appeared.
“An’ now here you are, comin’ to Buckland with Mr. Frodo,” Halstad shook his head with a grin.
“Mr. Frodo would rather not have folks knowin’ he’d be here, not just yet,” Sam felt compelled to add at this point.
“Well, an’ I wouldn’t be deliverin’ this little message otherwise, now, would I,” Halstad shook his head knowingly. “No worries, lad, You just let Mr. Frodo know that his ol’ Halstad, he’d be takin’ care o’the matter. Just tell him to pay me a visit afore he goes, if he gets the chance.” And with a wink to Sam, he turned his back on him and muttered, “Now, take off, lad. I’d have no idee where you went.”
“Thank you kindly, Mr. Halstad,” Sam called out, and quickly left the pasture, leaving Halstad behind chuckling to himself at that title.
Pippin and Frodo were sitting at the water’s edge, backs against a muddy bank, and toes cooling in the backwash of the Brandywine. There was an easy silence between the two of them, only broken by the soft lap of the water, and the occasional rustle of some creature well-hidden in the rushes. Frodo was aware of the sun, but it was not yet high overhead. He did not expect Sam back for another hour or so.
Pippin was munching thoughtfully on an apple that he had saved from their breakfast, and as he finished the last bite, he tossed the remains of the core into the river before him, where it sank with a soft plop. Turning to his cousin, who was lying back on his elbows, with his eyes closed, he softly said, “Thanks, Frodo.”
“What for?” Frodo asked, puzzled, his eyes quickly opening and turning to Pippin.
“For helping me,” Pippin replied seriously. “For dropping everything and slogging to this far corner of Buckland with me. For bringing Sam too, and letting me get to know him a bit better.
“He’s rather worth knowing, isn’t he,” Frodo turned to his cousin with a glowing smile.
“Yes, he is,” Pippin breathed, mesmerized by the way Frodo’s expression had suddenly changed at the mention of Sam’s name.
Frodo stopped for a moment, and stared at the younger hobbit intently. “I truly do love him, you know, Pippin,” he said at last, very quietly.
Pippin threw his arms around Frodo, unable, for the moment, to form words. “I know, my dear, I know,” he murmured at last. Frodo held him tight.
Sam turned the final bend in the road back to the river to find Frodo sitting alone on the rail fence where it ended, running into the thick rushes. Frodo’s head was turned to the river, and for the moment, he was unaware of Sam’s approach. Sam stood still for that same moment and gazed at him.
The sun had struck the russet glints in Frodo’s dark hair, but the exposed face and limbs were stubbornly pale, no matter how long Frodo spent out of doors. He sat, perched high on the rail, with an easy grace and agility that always belayed his years, still looking much like the young hobbit lad who had once lived here. Sam was suddenly struck by the notion, as he watched Frodo, who was staring dreamily out over the Brandywine, that he could never imagine Frodo growing old. As for him, that was easy enough. One look at the gaffer gave him a quick enough foretaste of what he’d be like at that age. But Frodo? He could never imagine him other than eternally young, with that quick smile that always lit up his face, everlastingly beautiful.
Sam smiled to himself at that, and shook his head at his foolish notions. Like as not, he would be finding out the answer to that riddle some day. He strode forward again, and at that, Frodo spun around and greeted him with a laugh.
“You made it back, Sam,” he said with delight. “And it was a success, too, I can see it in your face.” Jumping down from the fence, he ran forward and grabbed Sam’s hand. “Pippin’s gone to a nearby farm for provisions. They’re used to seeing him stop by and won’t think twice about it. But until he gets back, well, come with me, Sam.”
Sam clasped his hand tightly and followed.
*****
It was close to dusk, even with the forgiving light of a long summer evening, by the time Daisy and Pearl were setting off from Hobbiton. They had left behind a disappointed May, not to mention the Burrows family as well, but Daisy knew her father would be awaiting her return, and as for Pearl, she explained that she couldn’t very well keep an eye out for Frodo all the way from Hobbiton. May had quickly pulled Daisy aside though, just before they left, and mentioned that it had been awhile since she had paid her respects to their father, and she planned on a visit home in the very immediate future. Daisy laughed, and told her that her room would be ready for her the next day.
As they passed the Green Dragon, on the outskirts of town, the windows glowed with a warm light, the sounds of merry voices inside could be heard, and Pearl stopped short. “It’s a long road back, and I’m feeling slightly parched. Care for a mug, Daisy?”
Daisy halted, and stared with surprise at her companion. Never, in all of her years of traveling this road, had she ever thought of doing that, although now, wracking her brain for a response, she couldn’t think of why not. It wasn’t as if she’d never been in the Green Dragon, there’d been many a festive gathering she had attended there. But to just stop by for a half-pint on a whim? No, never.
“Why, thank you kindly,” she found herself replying, amazed at her own daring, “that would be nice.”
They entered the crowded inn, and were greeted warmly by the innkeeper. “Daisy Gamgee, welcome, lass,” he roared over the heads of a cluster of hobbits seated next to the door. “Good to see you, m’dear. I still can’t be thankin’ you enough for helpin’ out with our littl’un this last winter. But the gaffer’s not here, he’d have left at least an hour back.”
“I’m not here for him,” Daisy found her voice, despite a bit of initial difficulty. She stepped bravely up to the counter and added, “We’d be havin’ a half-pint each, if you please.”
“Well, now, lass,” the red-faced publican’s grin grew. “This’d be summat new, then. And who’d this fine lass with you be?”
“Pearl Took,” the lass in question nodded in response, and asked, “and you?”
“Bless my…” the innkeeper began to chuckle, and then froze as the name suddenly registered. “Pearl Took?” he gaped. “That Pearl Took? From Tuckborough?” And turning back to Daisy again, he registered an even more improbable fact. “With Daisy Gamgee?”
A wave of hushed silence had swept out through the room, as from a stone dropped down a well, and conversations concerning Farmer Brownwort’s luck with spotted pigs, and the unusually fine rhubarb crop this year, were halted mid-sentence and immediately forgotten.
“Aye, that’d be her, true enough,” came a deep verification from the corner of the room. A rather well-fed older hobbit raised his mug in acknowledgement. “I’d have been in Tuckborough not six months past, and it was her as passed me by, with the Great Took hisself, no less.”
There was a murmur of surprised verification at that, for Farmer Barkham was never less than absolutely reliable. Pearl, giving the farmer a quick nod of recognition, turned back to the publican and mentioned quietly, “And about those half-pints?”
“Oh, aye,” the innkeeper hastily grabbed up two mugs and gave them a careful swipe with the dishrag, an unusual courtesy on his part. “Here you’d be, my young ladies,” and set the two generously filled mugs before them.
Pearl nodded her thanks, and placed some coins on the counter. Not waiting for the change, she swept her way to one of the few unoccupied tables to the far side of the room, Daisy quietly following in her tow. As it seemed there was to be no explanation forthcoming of the unexpected appearance of one of the Shire’s finest families in this lowly inn, the pre-empted conversations slowly resumed about them, and Daisy and Pearl were allowed to savor their brew in peace. They left not too long afterward, and that’s when conversation at the Green Dragon became truly lively.
The rest of the way back to Bagshot Row though, banter flowed readily between the two, and Daisy found far more at which to giggle than she ever had on that road before.
***
Sam had built a small campfire to start preparations for lunch in the front of the river cave, and was going through his provisions when Pippin finally returned. With a gesture of triumph, he dropped a rather hefty sack in front of Sam, and then crossed his arms, looking extraordinarily pleased with himself.
Frodo had been sitting near the river edge of the cave, feet dangling over, and reading a book that he had brought with him. “That certainly took awhile, Pippin,” he swung his legs up from the edge and stood up, stretching. “I was beginning to think you’d gone all the way back to Hobbiton.”
“Well,” Pippin patiently explained at that, “if Merry’s going to be here as well, we won’t have nearly enough apples to keep him happy. You know how he is about them. Cherries aren’t nearly the same, for him.”
“You do think of everything, don’t you,” Frodo gave him an affectionate hug at that, tousling his hair slightly.
“Ah, don’t I, though,” Pippin laughed, reaching back into the bag and producing another small parcel. “This would be for you, Frodo.”
“Mushrooms,” breathed Frodo, his nose twitching, before he even opened it.
“Remember what I told you now, Sam,” Pippin confided with a grin as Sam chuckled at Frodo’s reaction to the unexpected treat. “I’m sorry I didn’t get anything especially for you, Sam, I don’t know what you like the best in the way of food.”
“Butter,” muttered Frodo, his head nearly all the way in the bag, and then turning, he couldn’t help a laugh at Sam’s suddenly rosy face. “I’m sorry, dearest,” he murmured, giving Sam a warm hug at that, “Never mind me, Pippin, mushrooms always make me giddy.”
It was at that moment that a sudden sound caused them to quickly look, Pippin still crouched on the ground near the bag, and Frodo with his arm still around Sam, over to where the hidden path from the hills above came down to the cave. It was Merry. He stared at Frodo and Sam, his expression hard to read as the mid-afternoon sun shone behind him. But when he glanced down and saw Pippin, the hardness that had been in his face instantly vanished, and in one quick movement, he was down next to Pippin with his arms around him. “Oh, Pip,” he breathed, in immense relief, “oh, there you are.” And for a moment, he buried his face in Pippin’s shoulder as Pippin sighed happily and returned Merry’s embrace.
But it was no more than a moment before he straightened himself up, and backing away with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, he stared at Frodo, who had let go of Sam and was now standing protectively in front of him. “So what’s this all about anyway, Frodo?” he asked his older cousin, almost angrily. “Why has Pippin gone missing, and why is he here with you?”
“With Sam and I,” Frodo returned, with a certain precision in his voice.
Merry gave Sam a curt nod at that point. “Sam,” he acknowledged, briefly.
“Mr. Merry,” Sam returned his nod.
“Sam!” both Frodo and Pippin, cried out in exasperation, nearly simultaneously, both turning on him.
Sam colored at that, but stood his ground and said no more.
“I hope you realize, Frodo,” Merry continued at that, with an edge to his voice, “that both the Brandybuck and Took clans are currently combing the hills for this one. Pip’s sister has apparently been to Bag End, and word is that you’ve disappeared as well. What is all this fuss about, anyway?”
“They wouldn’t let me see you anymore, Merry!” Pippin burst forth at that, unable to keep quiet any longer. “And Aunt Esme wouldn’t even let me say goodbye to you or tell you why I had left!” With a sudden movement, he was clinging to Merry’s arm, and although Merry stared at him in bewilderment, his other hand moved up unconsciously and closed over Pippin’s.
“It was because of Frodo and Sam,” Pippin began to sniffle now, tears welling up in his eyes, “but it wasn’t really their fault, not really.”
Merry was now starting to look thoroughly confused, and Frodo took pity on him. “Sam,” he said quietly, turning behind him and laying a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “why don’t you take Pippin out to help you gather some fire wood. I’ll explain the situation to Merry.”
“Aye, I could use a bit o’help,” Sam agreed hastily, and quickly grasping Pippin’s arm, added, “I’d be appreciatin’ your assistance, if ye’d not mind, Pippin,” and dragged an unresisting Pippin from the cave.
Merry’s face darkened at that familiarity on the part of Sam, but said nothing and turned back to Frodo with a scowl on his face.
Sam walked up the rush-walled path, away from the cave, with Pippin and then stopped. “I don’t know where I’d be going,” he admitted, unhappily.
“Of course not, Sam,” Pippin sighed, moving around him on the path. Matter-of-factly he took Sam’s hand and began to tow him unresistingly further away from the cave “You’ve never been here before now, have you.”
Sam followed him without question for a few moments, but then stopped short. “Mayhap we shouldn’t be goin’ far,” he mentioned hesitantly. “Mr. Merry seemed that mad.”
Pippin turned quickly around at that, both hands on his hips. “Really, Sam,” he said sternly, nearly glaring at the older hobbit. “You don’t have to call him that, you know. Frodo hates it, and unfortunately, Merry enjoys that.”
Sam looked unhappily down at his feet but said nothing.
“Come on, Sam” Pippin sighed again, his voice softening, and he took Sam’s hand up again. “Just a little way longer.”
After the next bend, the wall of rushes fell away, and now the Brandywine could be seen as well as heard. There was a pile of stones on the shore at this point, where the river took a bend, and the tops of other smooth grey slabs could be seen further out in the water, submerged from time to time in the swirling water and white foam.
“Merry told me there was a great stone bridge here once,” Pippin mentioned quietly, staring out over the dark churning river, “but it was washed away in a flood.” He was silent for several more moments, and then, still gazing unseeingly out, said, almost to himself, “I suppose they thought it would last forever.” He shook himself a bit at that though, and turning to Sam, indicated the stones at the shore. “These, however, Sam, are quite safe. I imagine they haven’t moved a bit in the last fifty years or so. Let’s sit here for a while and give the two of them the chance to sort it all out.”
Sam sat down on a smooth sun-warmed boulder next to Pippin, and stretched his legs gratefully out on the warm rocks. “I’d not be understanding Merry,” he confessed to Pippin, after a few moments’ companionable silence, with only the slightest of hesitations before he said the name. “I expect he thinks me not to be suitable for Frodo, but it always seems to be Frodo he’d be mad at, not me.”
Pippin turned to Sam at that, smiling, with the sun shining copper in his curls. “Don’t you know, Sam?” he chuckled quietly. “Merry’s jealous of you, of course.”
Sam stared open-mouthed for a moment at Pippin. “But, I thought, it’d be you...” he stammered out, trying to make sense of this, but never doubting Pippin.
“Well, yes, of course it’s me that he really loves,” Pippin explained, his lips quirked in a smile, and supremely self-confident, “but he hasn’t actually discovered that yet.”
He turned his face back to the river, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “He still thinks it’s Frodo,” he commented quietly, “but Frodo is taken. Quite taken, I might add,” he smiled warmly at Sam by his side, who was still trying to piece all this together. “And after he gets that worked out,” Pippin continued softly then, turning back to the water and speaking almost as if to himself, “then he’ll know it’s really me.”
“I see Halstad hasn’t lost his touch,” Frodo commented mildly, as the other two left, leaving Merry still standing near the cave entrance, his hands crossed over his chest.
“Perhaps,” Merry admitted reluctantly, his face still hard, “but I really have no time for camping out in caves any more. I’m no longer a teen, and you’re no tween, I might point out. There’s fruit and hops to be harvested, and summer planting to start, and my father is expecting my assistance. So just explain this nonsense about Pip, and I’ll bring him back and you can be on your way.”
Frodo gave him a careful look, but let the subject drop. He sat back down on the cave floor, his feet once again over the edge, and politely nodded towards the ledge next to him. “Have a seat, Merry,” he said gently, “and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“I’d rather not,” Merry answered adamantly, not moving.
“Well, I’m not very well going to get a crick in my neck just to talk to you,” Frodo retorted, a bit of sharpness creeping into his voice despite himself.
Merry didn’t move at first, but then, with a noticeable grunt of displeasure, sat heavily down, with crossed legs, at the far end of the ledge.
“Pippin showed up on my doorstep, oh, about four days ago,” Frodo began. “He was quite upset; I couldn’t get a word out of him for awhile. When I finally did, he told me that your mother had apparently banished him from Brandy Hall, and sent him home alone.”
Merry frowned at that. “She never said anything to me about that. That’s rather hard to believe, you know. Did he say why?”
“Well, yes,” Frodo looked off to the river, sparkling below the cave ledge. “It was because of me.”
“What?” Merry exclaimed, still bewildered. “This makes no sense whatsoever.”
Frodo paused for a moment, still watching the shimmering river. “Someone told her about Sam and me,” he said finally, still not looking at Merry. “And for some reason, she thought of you and Pip.”
Merry’s face immediately flushed red at the implications of what Frodo had said. “There’s no reason for her to think that, ever,” he declared flatly.
Frodo turned to him at that, and gave him a searching gaze, but said nothing.
“So that’s the reason Pippin left?” Merry asked, his voice starting to rise. “How ridiculous. Just because you and that lad of yours have to come in to Brandy Hall and parade your relationship in front of everyone, now she thinks…”
“Excuse me a moment, Merry,” Frodo’s voice was crisp, always a warning sign. “I don’t believe that we were parading anything in front of Aunt Esme’s delicate sensibilities. I was invited, and specifically told to bring a friend, which I did. The fact that my friend was apparently not of the proper social status meant that he was whisked away immediately upon arrival, but I did not complain at that. I allowed Sam to be shuttled off to the servant’s hall, something that I am still ashamed of, by the way, for all that he tries to assure me that there was no need to disturb the family for his sake.”
“It sounds as though at least he has some common sense, something I think you’ve been rather lacking as of late, Frodo,” Merry answered tightly, rising to his feet in agitation, as though he could no longer sit.
“There’s more to all this, isn’t there, Merry?” Frodo had also risen to his feet, and was watching Merry pace to the back of the cave, with his head down.
Merry stood for a moment with his head bowed, and then spun around. “Why him, Frodo?” he hissed angrily. “I know he’s sincere, and I’m sure that he’s easy enough on the eyes, but really, Frodo. Is he worth the damage he’s doing to your reputation? I don’t think anyone would have minded if you had been the least bit circumspect about all of this, but to make him out to be your equal is just an insult to the rest of the family.”
“Then I don’t expect I’ll be back to Brandy Hall again. Is that the position you want to put me into, Merry?” Frodo would have been more upset, but there was something that was starting to catch his attention concerning Merry’s expression, about his strangely intense anger about all of this. And then it became clear to him. He walked over to where Merry stood, still fairly bristling with, as Frodo now realized, pain. Gently, he laid a hand on Merry’s arm and quietly said, “It couldn’t have been you, you know, Merry dear.”
Merry quickly turned away, but as he did so, Frodo saw his face begin to crumple, and knew he’d been right. Merry had put out a hand against the rocky wall of the cave to steady himself, but it was not enough, and he slowly sank down to his knees, his back to Frodo, and began to cry in harsh gulping sobs.
“Oh, Merry,” Frodo whispered, stricken, and sank down next to him. He hesitantly tried to lay a hand on Merry’s shoulder, but Merry quickly shook it off without even looking up. With a sigh, he moved behind Merry, settling back against the rocky wall, with his knees drawn up and his arms tightly around them, as near as he could be to Merry and still not touch him.
Patiently, he gave Merry time, waiting until the sobs seemed to be easing a bit. Then he quietly mentioned, “You were the only thing that made Brandy Hall bearable for me, you know.” Merry did not respond, but Frodo knew he was listening. “I know I would have run away, and never come back, and I wonder if they would have really cared. Other than having to explain it to Bilbo, or perhaps Uncle Paladin. But I never did, because of you.”
Merry was quieting now, down to the sniffles and an occasional shuddering breath, but he still wasn’t looking at Frodo. “You were the only one I had left to love, and I did,” Frodo continued, and hesitated just a moment. “And I still do, Merry. Very much. But we are too much alike, you and I. We couldn’t have been what each of us needs.”
“What‘s that?” The words were ragged and dragged unwillingly out of Merry, and he still did not turn around.
Frodo paused for a moment, and then said simply, “Someone who gives. Someone who will give to you, even if they don’t expect you to give back, because they must. Someone with a generous heart, and a charitable spirit. We are not like that, Merry, neither you nor I. But Sam is. And, I think, Pippin too.”
Turning again toward Merry, he laid an arm around Merry’s shoulder and this time Merry did not shake it off. “Please forgive me, Merry,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Forgive me for not being who you thought I was.”
It was the dampness that first aroused Sam. He and Pippin had been sitting on the warm stones, each lost in their own thoughts in a comfortable silence for he knew not how long. But as he glanced up with a start, he saw the long wisps of white mist creeping over the river, floating down from upstream, and realized that the far bank had vanished in white. Overhead, the sun had been obliterated by dark thick clouds, all the signs of an imminent summer rainstorm. “Pippin,” he lightly shook Pippin’s shoulder, and gestured upstream. “We’d best be gettin’ back.”
“Oh, aye,” Pippin nodded, and quickly rose. “We’ve given them plenty of time, I should think. And we never had lunch, and it clearly is getting on past tea time.”
Sam chuckled at that. “Just thinkin’ the same thing meself,” he commented wryly. “And a hot cup of tea sounds like just the thing, what wi’that wet acomin’ in.”
When they returned to the cave, they found that Frodo had already begun a fire, and Sam quickly started a kettle. The rain had begun to fall shortly after their return, and even though it was still afternoon, the light had become dim outside, and the river lay hidden by mist. Sam, with Pippin’s assistance, prepared a rather substantial meal, with sausages and mushrooms, as well as apples and the fresh bread that Pippin had brought from the farmhouse. They had found Frodo and Merry silently sitting at either edge of the ledge on their return, and conversation through the meal was awkward and restrained, given to sudden silences. Sometimes, the loudest sound to be heard was that of the raindrops dripping from the cave opening, and running down the rocky ledge to the rush path below.
Finally the meal was through, and picking up the pan, Sam rose to go down in the rainy afternoon to the riverbank to clean it. Frodo followed him, as if he had been waiting for Sam, and left the cave without a word to the other two hobbits.
Knowing that Frodo was following him, Sam made his way down to the break in the reeds, at the river’s edge and occupied himself in scouring out the pan, giving Frodo the chance to speak first. But Frodo said nothing, and only stood silently behind Sam, with his hands thrust deep in his pockets. Finishing the pan, Sam laid it on a rock at the water’s edge, and rose, turning to face Frodo.
Even in the deep dusky light, Sam could see Frodo’s face clearly. His wet hair was soaked against the sides of his face, accentuating his high, wide cheekbones and the delicate tips of his ears. Had Sam been in a more contemplative mood, he would have noticed the striking resemblance between Frodo and the drawings of the inhabitants of Rivendell in some of Bilbo’s old journals. But rather it was the expression of Frodo’s face that made Sam catch his breath, the anguish in his eyes, and the fact that Sam wasn’t sure whether the drops that slid down Frodo’s face were raindrops or tears.
“Have I ruined your life, too, Sam?” he heard Frodo whisper, and that was more than he could bear to hear.
Frodo did not wait for a response, though, and turning from the river, began to blindly push his way through the thick walls of rushes and grasses. Sam followed, thinking only to catch up to Frodo, to hold him, to do whatever he could to take this hurt away from him.
The wet grasses were slick against Sam’s hands as he shoved them out of the way. He hurried to keep up with Frodo in the muted light, not calling out, but relying on the sound of Frodo’s movements ahead of him to stay with him. Well he knew that Frodo would not stop until he felt far enough away from the cave, and whatever had happened there between he and Merry.
Finally the grassy borders of the river started giving way to bushes and small trees. Frodo, still ahead of Sam, had slowed down, and when he reached the leafy shelter of an ash tree, turned around. Sam approached him slowly and without a word, gently lay a hand on the side of Frodo’s rain-glistening cheek. “Never ruined it, Frodo-love,” he spoke tenderly, slowly sliding his hand back to gently cup Frodo’s face, “never at all. Only gave me so much more than I ever thought to have.”
With an incoherent cry, Frodo flung his arms around Sam’s neck, his mouth hungrily seeking and finding Sam’s. Sam wrapped his arms tightly around Frodo at that, and nothing else mattered, but that beloved wet form in his arms. Eagerly, he returned Frodo’s kiss, his mouth opening without hesitation to Frodo, his tongue seeking Frodo’s, his breath joining with Frodo’s. Urgently, he sought to reassure Frodo in every way he could, not really knowing why, and not caring, at the moment, in the least, for the reasons for Frodo’s question to him by the river.
Words had never been his strength anyway, no, it had always been his hands that had served him best. And it was these hands now that held Frodo closely to him, that ran through Frodo’s wet curls, that grasped Frodo tightly as his mouth slid down to caress that rain-slicked throat. Frodo clung desperately to him but said not a word. Instead his hands were busy as well, pulling out Sam’s sodden shirt, frantically seeking Sam’s skin, only reassured by the feeling of Sam’s chest against the palms of those restless hands.
They had turned somehow in their embrace and it was now Sam with his back against the smooth ash trunk. Frodo was pressing himself against Sam, his mouth busy on Sam’s ear tip, his hands under Sam’s shirt seeking the most sensitive of areas. As the rain still found its way through the leafy canopy above, Sam tasted the drops on Frodo’s mouth, his cheeks, the base of his throat, and hungrily became aware that it was Frodo’s arousal that was pressing itself demandingly into his hip.
“Frodo,” he gasped, bringing up his hand and stroking Frodo through the wet trousers, “oh, Frodo.” It didn’t matter in the least to him that they were both soaked through and through, nor that the ground below them was a mire of mud. All he knew was that he was wild with desire to feel Frodo on him, loving him.
Frodo cried out at the feel of Sam’s hand on him, and without any hesitation, grasped Sam’s trousers and undid the fastening. But the wet heavy fabric was slow to pull off, and Sam groaned with frustration at the time it took until he could finally kick them heedlessly off and thrust himself frenziedly into Frodo’s hand.
It wasn’t until that hand suddenly withdrew that he dimly realized that Frodo’s trousers were still on. Quickly, he joined Frodo in undoing them, pulling and tugging at the drenched fabric, until they finally gave way and fell. And now there was nothing between them, nothing at all.
Sam felt Frodo’s hand around him and he arched his back against the tree, digging his heels into the mud, moaning helplessly at the touch. Wildly, he grabbed Frodo’s backside and tried to draw him closer, ever closer. But Frodo had slipped between his legs, and oh, the feel of him there. Frodo’s breath was growing ragged, as was his own, and Sam knew there was only one thing he wanted now. If only Frodo felt it too…
And there was Frodo’s hand between his legs, and oh, yes, oh, yes, oh please… Frodo’s fingers had found him and with a wrenching groan, he arched his back and gratefully allowed them entrance. With difficulty, he forced his eyes open, and there was Frodo’s face before him, raindrops running down his cheeks, eyes wide and nearly feral, his mouth open and his breath coming in short pants. “I don’t have anything, Sam,” Frodo forced out with the greatest of difficulty, his brow knit with the effort of restraint.
“I don’t care, Frodo!” Sam cried out wildly, grabbing his shoulders fiercely, “I don’t care!”
Frodo bowed his head, resting it on Sam’s shoulder for a moment, and then Sam felt Frodo thrust himself inside of Sam. And passionately he accepted the pain, for it was Frodo in him, Frodo holding him, Frodo in his body, and Frodo in his heart, and they were joined, merged into one, and Sam cried out, his heart rent with joy.
When the world returned to them, they slid slowly down the smooth trunk and curled closely together, heedless entirely of the mud. Sam was sobbing, he knew not why, and Frodo held him in a loving and healing embrace, whispering a litany of love in his ear as the rain continued to fall.
It was much later when they returned to the cave. Pippin raised his face from where he was huddled on the ground, and his pain was heartbreaking to see. But Merry was gone, and not a word of explanation would Pippin give.
To be continued…….
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But it's OK, dear, it won't stay that way, you know.
*pat, pat*
I like to see my lads happy.
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On the other hand I love the whole femme-slash thing going on with Daisy and Pearl, and I loved how they just waltzed into The Green Dragon, without a care in the world. Girl power!
Daisy always struck me as the lonely sister. I'm sure they all thought of her as more of a Mother figure after Bell died, not an easy role to take up. She needs a good girlfriend to have fun with.
And as always your Frodo/Sam is lovely, and so true to their characters. I feel their *passion* so powerfully.
But I especially loved this:
“Someone who gives. Someone who will give to you, even if they don’t expect you to give back, because they must. Someone with a generous heart, and a charitable spirit. We are not like that, Merry, neither you nor I. But Sam is. And, I think, Pippin too.”
Sometimes I feel Frodo judges himself to harshly, and it gets in the way of things Frodo should aspire to do for his own sake. I believe this is how he would feel about his relationship with Sam, that he was the *taker* while Sam is the *giver*. I don't think its entirely true, but I'm sure Frodo would believe that of himself. I guess it just such a blessing to have people like Sam and Pippin in the world.
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Yes, poor Merry. It's gotta hurt to give up on someone like Frodo, right? On the other hand, if he takes a fresh look around, well...
And glad you like Daisy/Pearl. Yes, I think Daisy has been a surrogate mother for too long.
And thanks on commenting on Frodo's self-judgment. Absolutely that's Frodo's view of himself, and Sam would never agree. But I really do see Frodo changing from this point to the time he takes on the quest, and a lot has to do with the changes in him that Sam brings about.
So glad you're enjoying it...
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Now that is an extreme compliment if I ever heard one!
Thanks, and hope you enjoy.
Happiness and Sunbeams
Anyhoo--the Sam/Frodo is great, utterly lovely (poor angsty Merry, ack, what happened with him and Pip?) though I have to say that I'm really interested in what happens with Daisy and Pearl. Not something I ever thought I would say, but I can't wait to see more of them.
Brava!
Re: Happiness and Sunbeams
Not to fear on Merry, he'll get over it. After all, there is someone there just waiting to pick up the pieces.... but I'll say no more. (OK, like it's going to be any surprise.)
Glad you're enjoying the Daisy/Pearl as well, they just snuck in under the radar, so to speak. Who knew?
Next part is in Brandy Hall, and things are beginning to get rather complicated...
But thanks again!
(and no idea on Bill the Pony - that's odd)
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Lovely. Very true characterizations. Vividly sketched -- and somehow that walk through the rushes, and the loving thereafter simply speaks urgency, even in the writing style. Very beautiful!
As I said in email -- a new installment of EBWine is Always a Treat!
Thank you.
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It's fun working with all four of them, and trying to keep each one true to form, so to speak. And glad you liked that particular scene too....
And I will check on the other thing - thanks for telling me about it.
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Omg this was so full of passion and love so beautiful...making love in the rain....
I loved it very much:
I was angry at Merry but I was also sorry for him but above all I loved your Frodo!
Really really beautiful
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...
Re: ...
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ALSO, DAISY/PEARL OMG. <3333
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Part 4 is currently being beta'd, so more to come soon!
*hearts Daisy/Pearl*
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Hi Elderberry: Well, I've finally created an LJ. I'm still getting the hang of this, but I think the next step is to friend you, which I'll do now. Thanks again for the info on creation of the LJ. I loved Part 3 of Floating Into Light, and will send you more thoughts. I like, “And remember, Sam,” he laid his hands on Sam’s shoulders lovingly, and searched his eyes with a warm smile. “If you aren’t back by early afternoon, I’ll come looking for you. I’ll be waiting for you, dear.” Frodo and Sam making love in the rain was also beautiful. I'm looking forward to the next chapter ~
Lois
And a warm welcome to.....Lois!
OK, you are now officially friended. And welcome to this addictive craziness.