elderberrywine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elderberrywine) wrote2005-09-04 12:58 pm
elderberrywine) wrote2005-09-04 12:58 pm
Fourth and final section of Elegy
Hi there everyone.
Here is the last part of Elegy, Chapter Nine of Far From Home.
The last of the Rivendell chapter - guaranteed to be Council-free, more or less, and concentrating on the hobbits were up to during that time.
Title:Elegy (Part Four of Four), Chapter Nine, Far From Home
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S, M/P
Rating: NC-17
Summary: And now they are leaving, and there is no more turning back.
Merry stared thoughtfully at his hands, his brow furrowed, and an unconscious frown on his face. His legs dangled over the edge of the parapet, the low stone wall which ran along the cliff top that overlooked the Valley of the Falls far below. He and Pippin had found this spot, the day before, and made their way back here early this morning, for it was a peaceful and secluded location in which to discuss matters of importance. Pine trees ran against this wall providing them with the sharp clean scent, and a sturdy, although rough, trunk against which to lean back. Neither of them having in the least any fear of heights, they found it quite amusing to hang their legs over the edge and, leaning forward, stare far down into the spray of the Falls, as it frothed from rock to rock to the Valley floor, scarcely to be seen in the mist beneath them.
“There something amiss with Frodo,” he murmured at last, as Pippin sat at his side, patiently waiting. “And it’s not his shoulder I’m thinking of.”
Pippin nodded. “He’s not speaking of the Shire any more. And neither is Sam,” he replied quietly.
Merry sighed, the frown on his face deepening. “What’s more, he still has that damnable Ring. I caught sight of the gold chain around his neck at dinner just last night.”
Pippin leaned back in the needle-strewn grass next to the pine, propped up on his elbows, and waited for Merry to continue.
“He’s not going back,” Merry abruptly said, after a lengthy pause.
“No, I think not,” Pippin whispered softly in reply, continuing to stare down into the mist of the Falls.
“You know Frodo,” Merry continued, still frowning, still refusing to look at Pippin. “This loathsome thing has ended up in his hands, somehow, and if no one else steps forward to take responsibility for It, he will. I’m not sure if that means staying here, or going off somewhere else, but clearly it does not mean returning to the Shire, at least, not at this time.”
Pippin remained silent, uncharacteristically, for several moments, before turning to Merry, and quietly asking, “And what does that mean for us, Merry?”
“I’m not sure,” Merry replied, haltingly at last, studying Pippin’s expression. “You know our families must be wild with anxiety, by now.”
“No doubt,” Pippin murmured, his eyes on Merry and his expression never changing.
“But, I cannot imagine leaving Frodo. Nor Sam,” Merry continued to scrutinize Pippin’s face, watching for any hint of disagreement.
But there was none. “Neither can I,” Pippin said, quietly but firmly. “I suppose that settles that.”
Merry nodded, silently, and settled next to Pippin, drawing an arm tightly about him.
&&&&&&
Sam was in a meadow, in the hills above Rivendell. Lindelhir had suggested that he take Bill up this way, for the grass was still fresh and green in this secluded glade, hardly dried by the autumnal chill, and he knew that if Frodo came looking for him, he would be directed this way. He had to think this out, he knew, as he had led a compliant Bill up the stony path; he had to think all this through. Yet when he had reached the peaceful dell, his mind had gone quite blank, and he sank down into the grass, his heart numb. Frodo was not going back to the Shire, that much he had realized. And, therefore, neither was he.
They were not staying here, either, he was suddenly quite sure of that as well. Bilbo might have found this a comfortable compromise, with many of the comforts of the Shire provided for him, and the company of the elves he loved so as well, but Sam knew that Frodo cherished their own cozy hole and their peaceful life together at Bag End, and was not looking to live elsewhere. It had taken the terror of being hunted, and the fear of bringing harm to others, to force Frodo out of the Shire and he knew, with a firm certainty, that Frodo would not return to the Shire as long as he felt that he brought the attention of evil back with him. And once again, matters were back to the Ring.
Sam shut his eyes tightly, burying his face in his hands as he sat cross-legged in the grass. There was nothing to be heard but the peaceful sound of Bill grazing nearby, and the high faint sigh of the breeze through the pines that ringed the glade, and the sun was gently warm on his head, but none of the peace all about him reached the turmoil in his heart. This graceful land seemed not to be touched by time’s hand, and the seasons appeared to be but faint echoes of those he had known in the Shire, but Sam was too aware that even here autumn was halfway to its end, and winter was not long behind. Wherever their steps would lead them from here, it would not be a pleasant summer’s walking tour.
“You’re but borrowin’ trouble, Samwise Gamgee,” he desperately tried to chide himself, “and sure as all that’s good, you’d be findin’ it. You can’t be helpin’ Frodo, noways, if you’ve worked yourself all up afore knowin’ what sort of a mess the both o’ye are up against.” He tried to breathe deeply, and empty his mind of the whirling fears that filled it, and nearly did not feel the gentle hand quietly laid upon his shoulder. He did not open his eyes; there was no need. He knew that touch, and if he but kept his eyes closed a few more moments, he could still believe that they were on the hill behind Bag End, and Frodo had come to tell him that tea was ready, and steeping in the pot on the worn wooden table back in their snug kitchen.
However Frodo made no announcements, about tea or otherwise, but rather sank down onto the grass behind Sam, wrapping his arms tightly around him and tucking his head against Sam’s back, and rested his forehead on Sam’s rough tweed-clad shoulder. Reflexively, Sam’s hands were up at once, clasping Frodo’s, and, eyes still shut, he leaned back into the embrace.
“It must be destroyed,” Frodo’s voice came at last, so very quiet, and nearly diffident. “It will be the end of all that is dear to us, if It is not.”
Sam waited, only tightening his grip slightly, for he knew, as surely he knew the earth was below him and the sun above, what would follow. And it did.
“None will, or can, take this burden from me, Sam,” he heard Frodo continue, in a tone of haunting sadness. “It has come to me, to us, and it is we who must take It to Its destruction.”
Sam allowed only the briefest moment of piercing grief to pass through his heart before he took a deep breath, and opening his eyes, twisted around in Frodo’s embrace to face him. “Tell me all, love.”
And Frodo did. He told Sam of the cold resentment and scornful ill-will that he had seen in the council, the flashes of hatred for elf from dwarf, the disdain from elf towards both dwarf and man, and the indifference of the man from Gondor to both elf and dwarf. None trusted the others to be accorded such a great responsibility, and yet none would accept the responsibility of the destruction of such an evil and divisive instrument of the Dark Lord’s power. Rather they had all seemed content to let It lie in the hands of an unassuming hobbit from the Shire until finally, with a vast impatience for them all, and a growing, sinking premonition that somehow, this was meant to be his task, he had volunteered Its destruction. He told Sam of the sudden hush that had filled the room, and the look that Gandalf had given him, a curious mixture of pity and acknowledgement, and he knew that he had been right. This had been the task ordained for him, and Gandalf had always known it.
Gandalf had offered to accompany him, instantly, and Strider had as well. The man from Gondor, Boromir by name, had quickly spoken up, offering his services as guide to the lands of the south, but Frodo had to admit that he felt uneasy as to his reasons for assistance. Gondor was apparently expecting a war soon upon its borders, and the man had argued hard for wielding rather than destroying the Ring. And lastly, Gloin’s son had offered his aid, and an elf from Mirkwood, Prince Legolas Greenleaf, not to be outdone, had immediately offered his assistance as well. “And of course,” Frodo had added softly, “they know where I go, you go as well.”
“A fine party, indeed,” Sam said thoughtfully, once Frodo had finished. “But there’d be a pair more t’be considerin’.”
“They’re so young,” Frodo murmured, his expression immediately troubled, and with no need of asking to whom Sam was referring. “Pippin isn’t even of age yet. Both of their families need them so.”
“Aye, no doubt as to that,” Sam agreed, giving Frodo a steady look, and waited.
“Yet I know what they would say to us leaving them behind,” Frodo gazed unseeingly at the golden light upon the green grass. “What do you think, Sam?” he asked after a few moments’ silence, glancing back over to him, unhappily.
“That they’d be plenty old enough to know what they’re about,” Sam answered him, with a firm voice. “And that if you’d not be allowin’ them that choice, they’d forever doubt themselves.”
“We very likely will not come back from this journey, Sam,” Frodo spoke softly, continuing to regard him steadily.
“I know that, me dear. And they’d know that likewise. But I wager we’ll all be comin’ back, or none of us’ll be comin’ back, depend on it, me love.”
A small reluctant smile crept across Frodo’s face at Sam’s pronouncement. “And they call Baggins stubborn,” he sighed.
“No more so than they ought t’be, Frodo-love,” Sam said, with more resoluteness than he actually felt. “Near as I can see, ‘tis a fault of hobbits everywhere. So you’d best get used to the pack o’us followin’ at your heels.”
Frodo threw his arms around him then, finding comfort once more in the loving return embrace of that sturdy warm form in his arms. “Very well, Sam,” he whispered. “I’ll ask them then. And I have no doubt but it will be exactly as you say.”
Sam rested thankfully in Frodo’s clasp, closing his eyes in the peace of the glade, and felt no need to ask more. The shadows of late afternoon had begun to lengthen before they left the meadow.
&&&&&
The feasting and conversation, in a variety of languages, the singing and poetry and music, all of it was what the hobbits had come to expect in the Great Hall of Rivendell of an evening, but there was a subtle difference in the air this night. What concerned Merry and Pippin the most, other than Frodo and Sam’s obvious distraction and the way neither one would quite meet their eyes, was Gandalf. Unlike the previous evenings, when he had sat smoking his pipe with clear enjoyment of the company that surrounded him, on this night, his expression was melancholy and preoccupied, and from time to time, he gazed about him as did one who looked upon a cherished scene for perhaps the last time. He did not smoke his pipe, but sat quietly, a forgotten goblet left in his hand, and his food untouched before him.
Pippin gave Merry a quick nudge. “Gandalf’d not be in the best of moods,” he observed softly, giving an almost imperceptible nod in his direction. “Something’s amiss, no doubt about it.”
Merry’s glance was swift, but confirmed Pippin’s opinion. “We’d best be pinning cousin Frodo down tonight,” he whispered. “It’d be just like him to give us the slip, you know.”
“Over-protective by half,” Pippin agreed, with a curt nod. “Perhaps we should be close at hand, when the pair of them returns to their room.” Without notice by any of the rest, for those who would have noticed were too lost in their own thoughts this night, the two younger hobbits stealthily left the Hall, and made their way down the open airy corridors of Rivendell to the room that had become Frodo and Sam’s. Drawing up a pair of chairs closer to the fire, they settled down to await their arrival.
It was not much later, when there was the sound of soft footsteps outside the door, and quiet murmurs as the door was opened. Instinctively straightening his back, Merry crossed his arms, as he sat in the chair closest the door, and fixed a stern eye upon the two hobbits who entered the room. Pippin, in the chair closer to the fire, uncoiled himself, and dangled his feet over the edge again (for in truth, these chairs had not been designed with hobbits in mind) and waited quietly, his expression, for once, entirely serious.
Frodo had entered the room before he saw the two silent occupants, and stopped short, his face revealing dismay, quickly followed by resignation. Sam, right behind him, was obviously not surprised, however, and gave the other two a glance of nearly hidden approval before calmly stepping over to the fire, and occupying himself by stirring it up a bit.
“Frodo,” Merry’s voice was soft but firm. “I suspect there is something you need to be telling us.”
Frodo’s head ducked down a bit at Merry’s words, and turning from him, he clambered up wearily into the high bed. This immediately attracted Sam’s notice, and in an instant, he was up on the bed at Frodo’s side, arranging pillows behind his back and drawing a light coverlet over his legs. Frodo said nothing, but gave him a swift fatigued smile of thanks, and reaching out, grasped Sam’s hand and pulled him next to him as he sat, leaning gratefully back against the pillows.
Merry continued to watch, saying nothing until Frodo was settled, although his face was clearly tense with concern. Then, in a quiet voice, he began. “Perhaps it would be easier if I began,” he spoke calmly, but with authority. “You are not going to be returning to the Shire any time soon. That has been quite apparent for some days now. The Ring still hangs about your neck, so I assume you have been unable to convince anyone to relieve you of It. There has been an undeniable sense, in the last day or so, of affairs of importance in the wind, and Gandalf is looking particularly morose, so I am assuming you do not plan to continue to stay here. Therefore, you must take the Ring somewhere, or to someone, and I‘m quite sure that this mission is wildly perilous. Past that, I am afraid I am at a loss, but I’m sure that you will be able to fill in the gaps.”
A reluctant smile could not help but tug at Frodo’s lips as he viewed his cousin with a grudging admiration. “Very good, Merry. Undeniably logical, and quite accurate, actually. But then, I would expect that from you. So I suppose my secret is out, and all hopes for a stealthy departure are dashed to bits.”
“Really, Frodo, you wouldn’t have done that now, would you?” Pippin could no longer keep quiet at Frodo’s words, but burst out in dismay.
“Well, Sam had already convinced me it would be of no use, so you were quite safe on that account,” Frodo’s smile warmed slightly at Pippin’s obvious apprehension, as Merry gave Sam an approving glance. Then the smile vanished, and he turned to Merry with all seriousness. “You have guessed it all, I’m afraid. The only matter that remains is the destination. That would be Mount Doom, where the Ring must be destroyed.”
“Mount Doom?” Merry asked thoughtfully. “Not exactly a promising name, now, is it. The Ring certainly seems to be a nasty piece of goods, but tossing It into a bottomless pit somewhere is not an alternative?”
Frodo shook his head. “It’s not a trip I’d be making if there were any other choice,” he answered quietly. “That was where the Ring was made, and it is only there that It can be unmade. And it is only if It is destroyed that Sauron will never be able to use It to undo this world that we know, including the Shire.”
Merry looked rather taken aback at this. “It really is all that powerful, then?” he asked softly.
The look on Frodo’s face was enough to answer that question.
“Very well, then,” Merry gave a slight unconscious nod of his head. “So that matter is settled. It’s Mount Doom for us, and no doubt being chased by those same odious creatures that followed us here. I can’t imagine that a good wetting got rid of them for good, and they did seem quite intent on making mischief for us. But perhaps we can get a good head start on them this time. How far is this Mount Doom, anyway?”
“I’m not too sure actually,” Frodo confessed, looking suddenly quite tired. “I’ve been looking at maps and such, but it’s really quite confusing. It does seem like a very long ways away, and there’s not exactly much of a road. Apparently, it’s rather in Sauron’s back yard, and no one seems to ever go there.”
“Really?” Merry gave him a dubious glance. “And they expected you, and presumably Sam, to find your way there somehow?”
“Well, there are some others who would be going with us,” Frodo began reluctantly, suddenly finding the coverlet of great interest. “Strider, of course, and Gandalf as well.”
“Hmm. Useful sorts to have along, I would think. And?” Merry prompted, watching Frodo closely.
“Gimli, as well, you know, Gloin’s son,” Frodo added slowly, still plucking at the coverlet and not meeting Merry’s eyes.
“Bilbo has always had a high opinion of his father, and dwarves in general, for that matter. I expect that he’d make a good traveling companion. And?” Merry continued to press.
“It appears that if a dwarf goes, the elves feel compelled to send a representative as well,” Frodo couldn’t help a small wry smile at this point, “and so Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood will be accompanying us as well. And then since our route lies, at least at the beginning, along that of Boromir of Gondor, he will accompany us as well.”
“So. A dwarf, an elf, two men, and a…, well, whatever Gandalf is, and then you and Sam,” Merry stated flatly, folding his arms across his chest. “It certainly seems as though a couple more hobbits are sorely needed, if you ask me. What do you think, Pippin?”
“You are, as you so often are, Merry my dear, absolutely right,” Pippin nodded emphatically. “They’re still one up on us, but I think the addition of two more hobbits improves the company immensely.”
“You realize that it is entirely possible that we might never make it back to the Shire?” Frodo murmured softly, raising up his head and intently watching both of their faces.
“I did mention this all being wildly perilous, didn’t I?” Merry questioned him, somewhat shortly. “I quite believe I did. I think we do know what we’re getting into, Frodo, or at least as much as Sam does. I don’t think you can expect any of us to blithely bid you a safe journey and then toddle on back to the Shire without you. We are with you, of course. If you are throwing yourself into hazard‘s way, then we are, as well. And that’s quite all I want to say about that.”
“I can see I really don’t have a voice in this matter at all, do I?” Frodo slowly replied, the wry smile returning to his lips.
“Of course not. You know we would have tracked you and Sam down if the two of you had decided to bolt, don’t you?”
“Yes, and Sam would probably have dropped bread crumbs or the like to help,” Frodo laughed slightly. “Very well, it’s the four of us then. No point in thanking me now, for I’m sure that you’ll regret it at great length later, but it is awfully kind of the both of you, and I can’t deny that I’m very grateful.”
“Yes, we are noble like that, no doubt about it,” Merry replied, with an air of nonchalance that did not fool any of the others. He rose then, and motioned to Pippin. “But you are looking rather gruesome, Frodo dearest, if I may be so blunt. Sam, do see that he gets some sleep. There’ll be plenty of time for plotting and conniving come morning.”
&&&&&
The next morning, Merry accompanied Frodo to Lord Elrond’s chamber, where the final planning and preparations for the quest were being conducted. It was generally acknowledged among the four that Merry had by far the best head for maps and directions and that sort of thing, and Frodo was inexpressible grateful for his cousin’s silent support as they entered the room filled, by this time, with dignitaries of all the peoples of Middle Earth. He had been feeling quite overwhelmed as the only hobbit there, although he would never have admitted that fact.
But Merry strode in at his side, gave a swift glance at those assembled in the room, and immediately busied himself with the details of the planning with all the efficient, confident air of the born commander. Since none of the others present were acquainted with him, aside from Strider and Gandalf, he received some askance, rather incredulous, and even amused glances, which he studiously ignored to Frodo’s quiet satisfaction. The maps had muddled Frodo quite thoroughly, to his dismay, and he had been feeling entirely in over his head, but now it seemed as hobbits were to have a more substantial role in this enterprise than simply being the transporters of dangerous goods. He watched with pride as Boromir, at first haughty and skeptical, soon began to explain their projected route with a little more thoroughness, and nodded thoughtfully at the occasional point Merry brought up.
Merry, of course, was quite in his element, with all his years of training to become the Master of Buckland being brought into play, and there were no further mutterings from those assembled as to the wisdom of additional hobbits apparently inviting themselves along. Elrond had, however, drawn Gandalf slightly aside and had quietly asked if it was wise that Frodo bring his kinsmen along as well, but Strider, who had overheard, deferentially but emphatically indicated to the both of them that he thought it prudent that all four of the hobbits stay together, if they wished it so.
“I have been with them, in the most difficult of circumstances,” he reminded the elf and wizard respectfully, “and I have seen how they draw strength and support from each other. And they are surprisingly hardy travelers. It would be well for us, I believe, if all four go.”
Elrond’s expression was still troubled, but he listened thoughtfully to Strider, and turned to Gandalf. “I still have misgivings. The younger two are of considerable importance to the Shire and their families, I understand, and will be greatly missed. But you know these folk well, Gandalf, what do you say on this matter?”
Gandalf gave a glance toward the engrossed Merry, and Frodo at his side, his face finally without the tension that had been quietly worrying Gandalf these past few days. “They will be missed, certainly, but no more so than Samwise,” he finally stated with a small smile. “But it would never do to underestimate a hobbit. They can stick to their purpose in a manner that can put a dwarf to shame, and those who consider them soft and careless folk do so at their own peril. If Meriadoc and Peregrin are determined to accompany us, then they will, whatever we might think of the matter, and certainly it is fortunate for us if they do.”
Elrond nodded. “So be it,” he proclaimed softly. “It is the Fellowship of the Nine, then.”
&&&&&
While Frodo and Merry spent the morning in council, Sam decided that it was time to make his own preparations for the journey ahead. He found Pippin in the grand room that he and Merry shared, seated cross-legged on the balustrade that overlooked the gorge below. An apple was in his hand, but was untouched, and his expression was distant and somewhat forlorn as Sam quietly entered the door-less chamber. Giving a polite cough to announce his arrival, he couldn’t help smiling as Pippin whirled around with an exclamation of relief.
“Oh, Sam, I thought you were shut up with the other two,” he gave a cheery grin, all traces of wistfulness immediately gone.
“Ah, that’d not be for me,” Sam shook his head emphatically. “Frodo’s not the best with maps, I have t’be admitting that, but I’m hopeless. ‘Tis good t’have Merry helping him out, no mistake. I’m sure the Big Folk know what they’re about, but it doesn’t hurt t’have a hobbit in on it likewise.”
“Well, luckily for us all, Merry is ever so good at that sort of thing,” Pippin beamed with pride. “I’ve never known him to get lost. But what is there left for us to do, Sam? We should be able to help out somehow, you know.”
“I was plannin’ on checking up on Bill,” Sam replied, “and thought you might like to come along.”
This was quite agreeable to Pippin, and in no time they were strolling down the dusty road, lined with stately pine and cedar, down to Rivendell’s stable. “Would you be knowin’ much about ponies, then?” Sam asked after they had been walking for awhile in a comfortable silence.
“Oh, well, you know my father is quite fond of them,” Pippin answered with a chuckle. “I supposed I’ve picked up a bit from him, as well as the stable hobbits.”
“That’d be fine,” Sam gave him a relieved smile. “These elves, they’d know all there is to know about their great horses, but a pony is a different matter, I’d be thinkin’. I know naught, meself, so it’d be that fine if you could just check him out a bit, so as to make sure he’s ready t’leave with us.”
Pippin gave a laugh. “For not knowing anything, you surely managed to improve his looks, even before we got here.”
“Naught but a little attention and care,” Sam replied softly. “ ‘Tis all most creatures need.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Pippin gave him a warm glance, “but it’s more than the rest of us could have done, I suspect. He certainly will be a far more useful companion than some of the others coming along with us though. Somehow, I can’t imagine that elf carrying an especially heavy pack.”
Sam gave a wry grin at that thought. “Mayhap he’s like Gandalf, who never seems to need one. I don’t know how they manage it, no ways, wanderin’ about the countryside with naught but a cloak on their backs. It’s one thing t’be findin’ the food as you go along, but for meself, I prefer to have a pot t’cook it in, after I catch it.”
“A sound philosophy, Sam, and I’m certainly glad you feel that way on the matter,” Pippin gave him a cheeky grin. “But here we are. Where do you suppose they have hidden Bill?”
Bill was soon produced and greeted Sam with a nicker of delight, and a swift nuzzle of Sam’s pocket, where the apple he had brought was soon discovered. “His coat is looking thicker,” Pippin remarked approvingly as Sam led the sturdy pony from the stall and towards the path behind the stable that he had become accustomed to using.
“Just as well,” Sam sighed, glancing at the trees along the way to the glade. “It’s that hard, to be sure, to know what time of the year it is here. Seems like autumn, rightly enough, but I’d not be surprised if it don’t always feel like autumn in these parts. Something to do with the elves leaving, mayhap. But anyways, it is autumn, certainly, and winter is hard behind. ‘Tis not the best of seasons to be startin’ off on a walking trip.”
“Good point,” Pippin replied, with a bit of a frown. “I don’t expect that you’ve mentioned that to Frodo?”
“Oh, aye, I have, but there’s no time to waste, seemingly, and we can’t be puttin’ this off until the spring. It wouldn’t be botherin’ me near as much, though, if Frodo had only a little more time to build up his strength.”
“He does seem to tire easily in the evenings,” Pippin’s frown grew. “I don’t suppose saying something to Gandalf would do any good?”
“Nay, he can see that as well as I,” Sam shook his head. “No, we’ll be off in a day or so, like it or not, so it’s all the more important that Bill is doin’ well, you see? At least Frodo can get a bit of rest on him from time to time, if needs be.”
Pippin fell silent, then, for the rest of the way to the glade, and when they had reached it, and Bill had contentedly turned to the fresh grass, he leaned against the rough truck of a tall spruce and gazed, with a distant expression, past Sam, who had hunkered down in the meadow next to Bill. “Sometimes, it all seems to have happened so suddenly,” he murmured, nearly inaudibly. “Sometimes, it seems as though we’ve just left the Shire on a bit of a hike, and then I realize that it may be spring, and perhaps even summer, before we see the Shire again.”
Sam looked up quickly, catching something in Pippin’s voice.
But Pippin continued, still not looking at Sam. “And I wonder what my mother will think, when I’m not there for Yule, and my father, when I’m not there to help with the planting, not that I’ve ever been as much help as I ought to be.”
Sam rose immediately and was instantly at Pippin’s side, wrapping his arms around him without a word.
“I never got to say good-bye,” Pippin whispered then, tears now falling as he grabbed Sam’s jacket and buried his face against his shoulder, his voice thick. “It wouldn’t have been so bad, if I just could have said good-bye. And Merry says they can send a message, and I suppose that’s all right, but it‘s still not really the same, is it?” He gave a sharp sob then, and still not looking up at Sam, tried desperately to control his voice again and timidly added, “You don’t think this is just because I’m too young, do you, Sam?”
“Not a bit of it, Pip, dear,” Sam assured him without hesitation. “I only had a few moments with me da, meself, but I was that glad for it, even though it hurt something fierce. ‘Tis a hard thing, choosing between those we love.”
Pippin nodded, and then, somewhat awkwardly, withdrew himself from Sam’s arms. But Sam straightened up without comment, and reached in his pocket for a handkerchief, sympathetically offering it to Pippin.
“Merry has to do that, too,” Pippin gratefully took it and gave his nose a rather noisy blow, causing Bill to glance over in bewilderment before returning to his luncheon. “I left without one, of course.”
“It was in that much of a scramble when we left,” Sam commented with understanding. “I’d have packed Frodo’s heavier jacket, had I but known. Well, naught to be done about that now.” He turned to pick up Bill’s rope, and softly continued without looking at Pippin, “And you’d not be too young, don’t you be frettin’ yourself about that. You’ve a good head on your shoulders, Pip, and I’ve not seen a better one for understandin’ what goes on in a body’s heart. Don’t you worrit on that score. We’re all just as scared and homesick as you, no mistake. But there’s what needs doin’, and we must be seeing that through first. Your family’ll understand, when we get back.”
“So you do have hope; you do think we’ll be getting back then,” Pippin breathed, and it wasn’t a question.
“Aye, that I do,” Sam gave him a sharp, nearly stern glance as he started to lead the pony back to the stables. “That’s what I have t’be thinking, and I’d advise you t’do likewise. I’m not much use for the planning, and such like. All I can do to help, Pip, is to do everything I can, each day, to make sure we get to the next day. I know I can do that. An’ if we keep on doin’ that, then someday, we just have to be gettin’ back. ‘Tis but plain hobbit sense. I expect you can call it hope, if you like, but it’s the same as makes no difference.”
“You are right, Sam,” Pippin stared back at him with a determined set of his jaw. “One day at a time generally does do the trick, doesn’t it?” And he strode back to the stables, at Sam’s side, with renewed vigor in his step, but not before giving a rather startled Sam a swift kiss on the cheek.
&&&&&
When the hobbits arrived for dinner in the Great Hall, the evening before departure, there was a familiar face missing. Bilbo was not to be found in his customary chair next to that of Gandalf. Frodo questioned the wizard with some alarm, but Gandalf shook his head with a mild smile. “I spent the afternoon with him, and he was getting rather tired when I left,” he told Frodo gently. “I do think he would appreciate a visit from you tonight, however.”
Frodo gave him a searching look. “He knows we’re leaving then,” he murmured.
Gandalf nodded, as Frodo turned swiftly to Sam, who had been quietly standing at his side. “I’ll pack for the both of us,” Sam assured him with an understanding look. Frodo grasped his shoulder tightly for a moment, and left without another word.
It took several knocks on the round door before Frodo heard the sound of footsteps and Bilbo’s customary grumble. “No need to pound on the door so, Frodo-lad; one would suppose you thought I’d gone stone-deaf. Come on in, I’d thought you might be stopping by.” He motioned Frodo in, with a sweep of his arm, a pipe firmly clamped between his teeth. “I was just looking through my things… Oh, bother. Have a seat, my lad.”
With an apologetic glance at Frodo, he pointed to a seat close to the fire already burning brightly in the small parlor, and immediately scurried from the room down the hall. He returned before a mystified Frodo could become too worried, with a couple of puzzling bundles in one arm, and a bottle of what was unmistakably Old Winyards in hand as well. “I just thought…, well, we might as well have a bit of this, don’t you think?” he mumbled, dropping the bundles in the other chair, and crossing the room to draw a small table near to where Frodo sat. Frodo watched him, bewildered. It was so unlike Bilbo to be, well, almost nervous, it suddenly seemed to him. He nearly had the sense that Bilbo did not wish to meet his eyes, somehow.
The elderly hobbit was now fussing about with the bottle, muttering something Frodo could not quite catch, when Frodo finally had to ask, “Uncle Bilbo? Is there anything wrong?”
Bilbo stopped still at his words, and when he turned around to Frodo, after a moment’s silence, with the bottle still unopened in his hands, Frodo was stunned to see that there were tears in the old hobbit’s eyes. “I’m not very good at this,” Bilbo whispered shakily. “That’s why I didn’t have the courage to do this last time. This saying good-bye, you know.”
Frodo rose up without a word, and fondly embracing Bilbo, he gently took the bottle out of his hand and placed it with care on the table. “I knew that,” he said softly, with a slight smile. “I never held it against you, you know.”
Bilbo closed his eyes with a small breath of relief. “Well, I’ve felt guilty all these years about it, anyways.”
Frodo gave him a swift kiss on the forehead, and led him to the other chair. “No need,” he stated firmly. “I can’t say I ever knew why you left quite so abruptly, but I was always sure that your reasons must have been valid.”
Bilbo, looking somewhat calmer, gave him a wry smile. “Love of dramatics, most of all, I’m afraid. And there would be no point in the rest of that lot pestering you about where and why I had gone, if you clearly did not know yourself. But you had come of age, you know.”
Frodo, who had sat back down and was busily screwing the cork from the bottle, jerked his head up in some surprise. “What? Was that really why you left?”
Bilbo shrugged. “Oh, I must admit my feet were itchy to be off, and I was beginning to worry as to how long before I’d not be able to stand up to the road, but really, that was the reason for that particular piece of timing. It was rather obvious that you were never going to be able to take your rightful place as Master of Bag End as long as I was hanging about. Too many hobbits were still just seeing you as that Brandybuck lad I brought in purely to spite the Sackville-Baggins, not that that wasn’t a side benefit, I might add, but they seemed not to notice that you had quite grown up, and very nicely, too. It was a rather theatrical entrance into Hobbiton society, admittedly, but there you were, the Master, and there would be no choice but to treat you as such.” He paused for a moment and gave Frodo a suddenly suspicious gaze. “They did, didn’t they? Treat you properly, I mean?”
Frodo turned his attention back to the cork. “I’m afraid it did take some time for a few of them,” he confessed, popping it out and pouring wine into the pair of goblets that had been on a shelf nearby. “But eventually most of them gave in to the notion that I was the best they were going to be getting, along that line, and accepted me. Even Lobelia was beginning to bend a bit, by the end. Lotho’s been rather of a disappointment to her, I’m afraid.”
Bilbo accepted the glass Frodo held out to him, giving him a shrewd glance over the rim as he sipped thoughtfully. “I see I’ll have to be asking Sam, if I want more particulars,” he commented dryly.
Frodo took a swallow himself, and then gave his head a rueful shake. “He’s rather biased, you know.” He picked up the bottle then, giving the label careful scrutiny. “I had no idea, really, that Old Winyards had made it this far from the Shire.”
Bilbo gave a sudden snort of laughter at that comment, not at all fooled by Frodo’s show of nonchalance. “Oh, no, my lad, turnabout’s fair play, after all. My turn to ask a question or two. So how did all this business with Sam come about anyway? I can’t imagine old Hamfast was especially keen on the notion.”
“Erm,” Frodo began, continuing to study the bottle very closely, but quite unable to keep from flushing a bit. This was a conversation he had never thought to have. “I suppose it’s hard to say, really. How do such things happen, anyway? Sam moved into Bag End the summer after you left. His father, as you guessed, was more than a bit displeased, initially, but Sam felt that he was old enough to decide such matters for himself.”
“At what, twenty, twenty-one years of age?” Bilbo continued to question him softly.
Frodo’s flush definitely deepened. With a hint of defiance in his expression, he raised his head and gazed, with a sort of pride, directly at Bilbo. “It was not too young for him,” he stated firmly. “It was Sam’s choice. And I do know it’s a choice that neither of us has ever regretted, not for an instant.”
Bilbo, watching his reaction steadily, gave him a sudden smile. “Good for you, my lad,” he chuckled. “You always had a fine head on your shoulders, but it’s clear you have a fine heart, as well. Not that I had any doubts on that score, of course. Bold and brave, you have certainly turned out to be.” Then his face fell suddenly serious. “Which is just as well, given this business you are setting off upon.”
“I know, Gandalf doesn’t think I know the half of it,” he continued, as Frodo’s expression suddenly became somber as well, “but this old hobbit is not nearly as easily befuddled as he seems to think. It’s that Ring again, and if there is anything that I could wish for, it would be that I never picked It off of that wretch Gollum and brought It to you, putting you in harm’s way. It would only be right for me to take It off to wherever It has to go, and don’t think I haven’t suggested just that to Gandalf, several times too. But he thinks it would all be too much for me, and quite possibly he’s right, so It falls into your hands, my dear. It would seem that you have become my heir for both good and evil, and that is something I never would have wished for you, Frodo, never at all. You should be spending the rest of your days at Bag End, with Sam at your side, in the Shire that you both love so, instead of following your feckless uncle down all the byways of this world, trying to right the wrongs he has done. I am so very sorry to have brought this on you, lad.”
He rose to his feet abruptly then, before Frodo had a chance to respond, and walked over to the chair where the bundles lay. “There’s no use in me giving you any advice, I think, but perhaps there’s a few other things that I can give you instead.” Picking up one of the bundles, he drew off the cloth that wrapped it and held the object out to Frodo.
Frodo gasped in wonder, reaching out his hand impulsively to touch it. “Mithril,” he breathed.
Bilbo nodded. “A whole shirt of it, too. Made for an elf princeling ages ago. I just never liked the idea of it collecting dust in the mathom house in Michel Delving; somehow, it was just too pretty a thing. So I kept hold of it. But it seemed like it might be the sort of item that would come in handy if I had to barter my way out of a difficulty, so I took it along when I left Hobbiton. But it’s certainly doing me no good here, and I would just sleep a little better at night, knowing that you were wearing it, Frodo dear.”
Frodo took it from Bilbo then, still staring at it in admiration. “So light,” he marveled, turning it in his hands.
“And sturdy,” Bilbo added, beaming with pride. “There’ll be no arrows or swords piercing that, my boy, I can assure you. And that’s not all,” he turned back to the other bundle and produced a gracefully wrought sword, which he also held out to Frodo.
“Sting,” Frodo whispered, recognizing it at once.
“Quite right, my dear. It wouldn’t do to leave on this mission unarmed. No, no, my lad, no need to say aught about it,” he added hastily seeing the expression on Frodo’s face. “There’s really little that I can do to help you, but I’ll be easier knowing that you have these on you.” Frodo did not attempt to speak, then, but threw his arms around the old hobbit and held him tightly, letting both the coat and the sword fall unheeded to the floor.
“I’ll come back, uncle dear, and tell you about it all, I promise you,” he whispered against Bilbo’s white curls, fighting his tears. “You can add it to your book.”
Bilbo said nothing but held him just as tightly, his eyes squeezed shut but the tears running down his face regardless. Finally, with an obvious effort, he straightened himself up and took a furtive swipe across his face. “Mercy, but that fire is smoking something fierce tonight. But you can’t let an old hobbit keep you; it’ll be early enough that you leave tomorrow, if these elves have anything to say about it.”
Frodo nodded, and gathered the gifts back up in his arms, not trusting his voice to say anything. Leaning over to the shorter hobbit, he kissed him tenderly once again on the forehead, and turned to leave.
But Bilbo caught him by the arm just as he opened the door. “One more thing, Frodo,” he stated with deep feeling. “Never doubt that that which you carry is evil, Frodo, never let It trick you into thinking that the Ring can be used and a price not paid. I once thought so, but now that I have been away from It for a time, I know it is not so. Even now, even in the safety of Rivendell, though I know you carry It about your neck, I dare not look upon It again for fear of what It might yet be able to do to me. And I can’t forget the poor wretch that I took the Ring from, and what It had done to him. You have not had It as long, Frodo, and I’m sure that you have not been so careless with It as I was, but be as cautious as you can with It, my boy. If that thing should bring more harm to you…” He dropped his head down then, his words failing him.
“I will take all the care that I can, dear Bilbo. I will not let you down,” Frodo murmured, reaching under Bilbo’s chin and gently lifting his face. “I will see that the Ring is destroyed, not only for the sake of the Shire, but for both our sakes as well. Trust me, my dear uncle.”
Bilbo watched him leave, walking resolutely out into the darkened courtyard, until he was out of sight and then he crumpled against the doorframe, covering his face with his hands.
&&&&&
There was little moon this last night, but the room was dimly lit by a single taper, near the bed, when Frodo quietly entered. There were two neat packs by the doorway, one noticeably larger than the other, and Sam’s pans were carefully stacked next to them. Sam was sitting propped up on the bed, still wearing the elvish robe that had become their customary dinner attire, and his face was in the shadows, so that Frodo was not sure if he was still awake or not. But as Frodo cautiously placed Bilbo’s gifts next to the packs and quietly approached the bed, he saw Sam move, and the candlelight suddenly shone on golden curls and the eyes, dark brown in the flickering shadows, that watched him tenderly. “Come here, me dear,” Sam’s voice was low and soothing, with no questions, and Frodo drew near him with relief and gratitude, feeling protected from both his burden and his grief.
He stopped himself though, just before climbing upon the high bed, and impatiently pulled the robes that he had also been wearing over his head. Then, more slowly, he drew the chain from around his neck over his head, and glanced sadly at Sam. “I won’t be able to take this off again, once we leave this place, not even for the night,” he murmured, and held it out over the side of the bed, letting it fall unseen upon the luxuriant robes.
“I know, Frodo-love,” Sam replied quietly. “Let me see your shoulder, me dearie.” He reached out a hand to him, and Frodo saw that the small jar of salve was lying on the bed at his side. Crawling across the broad expanse of mattress, Frodo was at his side in a moment, and nestled back against the pillows as Sam’s strong fingers gently probed the pale disfigured shoulder. “It’s mended, I suppose,” Sam frowned, examining the knotted raised scar carefully, “but it never should have healed like this.” He started to say something more, but then shook his head, and opened the jar.
Frodo sighed and let his head fall back, closing his eyes. He could not deny that he felt rather drained, come evening, and the long days ahead were not the type of thing to which he was looking forward. From what seemed like far away, he heard Sam’s soft voice. “Does it still hurt, Frodo?”
“Not so much hurt,” he murmured truthfully, his eyes still closed, “as feel as though there’s a chip of ice lost somewhere inside, a bit of coldness that can’t be warmed from the outside. I expect a splinter of metal was left in, but I don’t think there’s much that can be done about it now. I’ll get used to it, I suppose.”
He opened his eyes then as he felt a light kiss brush it, instead of the expected salve, and found Sam watching him sorrowfully. “It should never have happened, Frodo, not to you, no ways.”
Sam said no more then, but with a comforting touch, rubbed the salve into the raised whitened skin. Frodo watched his face in the candlelight; Sam’s attention, as always, focused on what he was doing, and couldn’t help himself. “We had the perfect life, back in Bag End, didn’t we, Sam, dear?”
Sam gave him a sharp glance, but turned his attention quickly back to Frodo’s shoulder, and made no comment, waiting for Frodo to continue. “And most perfect things in this world can’t last forever, I’m afraid,” Frodo went on softly and almost unwillingly, but feeling the need to explain this melancholy mood that was settling around his heart. “So we must remember it, when we need to, for I fear that the days ahead will be hard for us to bear, sometimes.”
Sam’s hand stopped its movement at those words, and Sam stared at it without speaking, as if trying to collect his words. “It’s naught what we left behind as was perfect,” he finally said, almost gruffly, and not looking at Frodo’s face. “It’s what as is still with us.”
Frodo gave a slight gasp at Sam’s words, and then flung a greedy arm around Sam’s shoulder, bringing Sam’s willing mouth to his for a passionate kiss. “But what,” he breathed as Sam finally straightened up over him, his face in the shadows again and unreadable. “But what if we lose this? Nothing is permanent in this world, Sam, and there is danger and uncertainty everywhere. And if I lost you, Sam? Oh, if I lost you?”
“You could have lost me back in the Shire,” Sam replied, tenderly stroking his face. “Trees fall, lightning strikes, folk get sick. You can’t be thinkin’ that way, love; you‘ve got to trust that we’ll be gettin’ through this. You just see if we don’t.”
“What I trust is you, Sam,” Frodo whispered, reaching for him.
“Then trust me, me darling, for you’ll never have reason not to,” Sam answered with fervor, and reaching out for the candle, snuffed out the flame without looking at it. Frodo felt Sam’s hand now, in the dark, sliding down his side with its perfect knowledge of his contours, soft and rough both together, with that curious texture Sam’s hands always had against his skin. There could never be enough darkness for him not to know this touch in an instant, not to feel his skin delight in this caress, not to feel himself harden in anticipation.
“Sam,” he whispered, his own hands trying to brush aside the fabric that still covered Sam, seeking that welcoming body that had given him so much joy for so many years now. He heard an almost inaudible chuckle before those beloved hands left his side and gave a sharp tug to the fabric that he was struggling with. Then there he was, in Frodo’s grasp, gloriously warm and strong, with those compact muscles that moved so smoothly under the skin, and the rounded belly that Frodo had always secretly almost envied him. With a moan, he grabbed his shoulders, tugging and pulling him impossibly close, and over him. Sam’s hand had again found his side, but the movement was harsher now, greedier, and craving still more, Frodo arched up his back under the pressure of Sam’s body.
He knew what he wanted this night. It was going to be a very long time before they found another bed, that he was quite sure of, and there was no reason for them to waste this last opportunity. He wanted Sam, with no reservations about the next day’s journey, and he could feel by the answering response of the form writhing slowly on top of his that Sam felt the same. “The salve, Sam, the salve,” he gasped, and found Sam’s mouth again.
“Frodo,” Sam managed to get his name out between kisses, and there was a distinct note of worry in it.
“Scold me all you want tomorrow, dearest, but Sam, I need you so tonight.” Frodo’s yearning plea could never be disregarded by Sam, however, and despite what his hobbit common sense was reminding him about early starts in the morning, and Frodo’s none too robust condition at the present, his body betrayed his answering desire, and he ground himself slowly against Frodo.
“Ah, Sam,” Frodo cried out at that sensation, and his hand blindly flung itself out, groping for the small jar. Gratefully, he closed his fingers around it and lifting it up, stroked Sam’s arm with it. “Here it is, dearest. Oh, please, Sam,” he panted, arching his back higher.
Any thought Sam might have once had as to discouraging Frodo in this matter was now quite gone, however, and he grasped the jar eagerly, and rolled to one side of Frodo. The fragrant cream was slick to the touch, and dipping his fingers into the polished glass jar, he pulled them out quickly and found Frodo. With a wild choked cry, Frodo thrust himself up into Sam’s grasp, clamping his own hands over Sam’s, gripping them so tightly that Sam had a dazed thought that surely there would be marks in the morning. But the feel of Frodo was inflaming his body as well, and with a moan, he found Frodo’s mouth again, claiming it fiercely as his slick hands stroked down hard, and pulled up slowly. Frodo twisted in his grasp, and his hands moved upwards and seized Sam’s shoulders powerfully. With a hidden strength that never failed but to catch Sam by surprise, he tugged Sam close to him and threw himself into Sam’s caressing strokes.
With a groan, Sam grabbed blindly out for the jar again, dipping his fingers in the salve, but this time it was Frodo’s wiry hand that found his first, snatching the ointment from his fingers, and plunging itself between their bodies. This time, it was Sam who cried out and ground forcefully against the body under his own. Frodo gave a long shuddering breath at that, his body becoming taut.
“Oh, Sam, now!” he pleaded, breaking one hand away from Sam long enough to grab a pillow and thrust it under his hips. Sam sat back on his heels next to Frodo, not daring to touch himself for fear of not being able to last. Frodo’s knees were spread wide now, and as his hand neared Frodo, he felt Frodo snatch it, guiding the fingers in with a desperate urgency. With a near scream, Frodo jolted up as his fingers entered him, his hips arced above the pillow, in a wild attempt to force Sam’s hand in deeper.
Sam had no more restraint left. Tugging his fingers quickly out, he found Frodo unerringly in the darkness, entering him forcefully and without caution. He heard his name being gasped wildly beneath him, and felt Frodo’s nearly feral movements as he arched up again and again, his knees clasping Sam‘s body tightly. “Sam, Sam!” he barely heard Frodo sobbing out below him, as the blood rushed through his ears, and his body moved instinctively, all discipline quickly vanishing beyond control. He felt Frodo’s hand between them, jerking frantically, and the feel of it and the sound of Frodo’s harsh breathing in his ears was entirely more than he could bear. With a mighty groan, he drove into Frodo one last time, and froze, feeling the all-compelling pulsing pass the brink, and spill irredeemable forth. Hearing a last uncontrollable cry, he was aware of Frodo’s hips wrenching up one last time and coming to a quivering halt, and the warm wetness spilled between the both of them.
He collapsed to Frodo’s side, and held his hand as Frodo’s chest heaved in an attempt to catch his breath. It was only then that Frodo was able to roll against him, and bringing Sam’s hand up to his lips, kissed it over and over, whispering his name.
“Oh, Frodo, me darling, me own love,” Sam breathed tenderly, wrapping his other arm around the still too thin shoulders. “Don’t you worry, don’t you fret now, me dearest. You rest here, against your Sam, me love, and sleep well. I’ll always be here, for there ain’t nowhere else I ever want to be, Frodo-love, no ways. Sleep now, me darling, sleep.”
And Frodo drifted off into deep and dreamless sleep.
&&&&&
There was near silence the next morning as the company left Rivendell. Frodo was at the head of the procession, accompanied by Gandalf, with Aragon close behind them. The elf from Mirkwood followed next, his head proudly up, gazing straight ahead. Merry and Pippin, walking closely together, proceeded the man from the south, Boromir, and behind the rest trod the dwarf Gimli in his heavy boots, and Sam, bringing up the rear and drawing Bill along with him.
The morning was dreary, with grey skies, and the hint of rain in the air, and Frodo felt an unmistakable sense of loss as he left the path down to the Ford, at Gandalf’s direction, and proceeded up the less traveled road into the valley below the elves’ sanctuary. Trying his best not to appear too obvious, he gave a fleeting look back at those who followed him, but Sam was hidden by the rest of the company. With a concealed sigh, he turned back around again and set his feet upon the road south.
Here is the last part of Elegy, Chapter Nine of Far From Home.
The last of the Rivendell chapter - guaranteed to be Council-free, more or less, and concentrating on the hobbits were up to during that time.
Title:Elegy (Part Four of Four), Chapter Nine, Far From Home
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S, M/P
Rating: NC-17
Summary: And now they are leaving, and there is no more turning back.
Merry stared thoughtfully at his hands, his brow furrowed, and an unconscious frown on his face. His legs dangled over the edge of the parapet, the low stone wall which ran along the cliff top that overlooked the Valley of the Falls far below. He and Pippin had found this spot, the day before, and made their way back here early this morning, for it was a peaceful and secluded location in which to discuss matters of importance. Pine trees ran against this wall providing them with the sharp clean scent, and a sturdy, although rough, trunk against which to lean back. Neither of them having in the least any fear of heights, they found it quite amusing to hang their legs over the edge and, leaning forward, stare far down into the spray of the Falls, as it frothed from rock to rock to the Valley floor, scarcely to be seen in the mist beneath them.
“There something amiss with Frodo,” he murmured at last, as Pippin sat at his side, patiently waiting. “And it’s not his shoulder I’m thinking of.”
Pippin nodded. “He’s not speaking of the Shire any more. And neither is Sam,” he replied quietly.
Merry sighed, the frown on his face deepening. “What’s more, he still has that damnable Ring. I caught sight of the gold chain around his neck at dinner just last night.”
Pippin leaned back in the needle-strewn grass next to the pine, propped up on his elbows, and waited for Merry to continue.
“He’s not going back,” Merry abruptly said, after a lengthy pause.
“No, I think not,” Pippin whispered softly in reply, continuing to stare down into the mist of the Falls.
“You know Frodo,” Merry continued, still frowning, still refusing to look at Pippin. “This loathsome thing has ended up in his hands, somehow, and if no one else steps forward to take responsibility for It, he will. I’m not sure if that means staying here, or going off somewhere else, but clearly it does not mean returning to the Shire, at least, not at this time.”
Pippin remained silent, uncharacteristically, for several moments, before turning to Merry, and quietly asking, “And what does that mean for us, Merry?”
“I’m not sure,” Merry replied, haltingly at last, studying Pippin’s expression. “You know our families must be wild with anxiety, by now.”
“No doubt,” Pippin murmured, his eyes on Merry and his expression never changing.
“But, I cannot imagine leaving Frodo. Nor Sam,” Merry continued to scrutinize Pippin’s face, watching for any hint of disagreement.
But there was none. “Neither can I,” Pippin said, quietly but firmly. “I suppose that settles that.”
Merry nodded, silently, and settled next to Pippin, drawing an arm tightly about him.
&&&&&&
Sam was in a meadow, in the hills above Rivendell. Lindelhir had suggested that he take Bill up this way, for the grass was still fresh and green in this secluded glade, hardly dried by the autumnal chill, and he knew that if Frodo came looking for him, he would be directed this way. He had to think this out, he knew, as he had led a compliant Bill up the stony path; he had to think all this through. Yet when he had reached the peaceful dell, his mind had gone quite blank, and he sank down into the grass, his heart numb. Frodo was not going back to the Shire, that much he had realized. And, therefore, neither was he.
They were not staying here, either, he was suddenly quite sure of that as well. Bilbo might have found this a comfortable compromise, with many of the comforts of the Shire provided for him, and the company of the elves he loved so as well, but Sam knew that Frodo cherished their own cozy hole and their peaceful life together at Bag End, and was not looking to live elsewhere. It had taken the terror of being hunted, and the fear of bringing harm to others, to force Frodo out of the Shire and he knew, with a firm certainty, that Frodo would not return to the Shire as long as he felt that he brought the attention of evil back with him. And once again, matters were back to the Ring.
Sam shut his eyes tightly, burying his face in his hands as he sat cross-legged in the grass. There was nothing to be heard but the peaceful sound of Bill grazing nearby, and the high faint sigh of the breeze through the pines that ringed the glade, and the sun was gently warm on his head, but none of the peace all about him reached the turmoil in his heart. This graceful land seemed not to be touched by time’s hand, and the seasons appeared to be but faint echoes of those he had known in the Shire, but Sam was too aware that even here autumn was halfway to its end, and winter was not long behind. Wherever their steps would lead them from here, it would not be a pleasant summer’s walking tour.
“You’re but borrowin’ trouble, Samwise Gamgee,” he desperately tried to chide himself, “and sure as all that’s good, you’d be findin’ it. You can’t be helpin’ Frodo, noways, if you’ve worked yourself all up afore knowin’ what sort of a mess the both o’ye are up against.” He tried to breathe deeply, and empty his mind of the whirling fears that filled it, and nearly did not feel the gentle hand quietly laid upon his shoulder. He did not open his eyes; there was no need. He knew that touch, and if he but kept his eyes closed a few more moments, he could still believe that they were on the hill behind Bag End, and Frodo had come to tell him that tea was ready, and steeping in the pot on the worn wooden table back in their snug kitchen.
However Frodo made no announcements, about tea or otherwise, but rather sank down onto the grass behind Sam, wrapping his arms tightly around him and tucking his head against Sam’s back, and rested his forehead on Sam’s rough tweed-clad shoulder. Reflexively, Sam’s hands were up at once, clasping Frodo’s, and, eyes still shut, he leaned back into the embrace.
“It must be destroyed,” Frodo’s voice came at last, so very quiet, and nearly diffident. “It will be the end of all that is dear to us, if It is not.”
Sam waited, only tightening his grip slightly, for he knew, as surely he knew the earth was below him and the sun above, what would follow. And it did.
“None will, or can, take this burden from me, Sam,” he heard Frodo continue, in a tone of haunting sadness. “It has come to me, to us, and it is we who must take It to Its destruction.”
Sam allowed only the briefest moment of piercing grief to pass through his heart before he took a deep breath, and opening his eyes, twisted around in Frodo’s embrace to face him. “Tell me all, love.”
And Frodo did. He told Sam of the cold resentment and scornful ill-will that he had seen in the council, the flashes of hatred for elf from dwarf, the disdain from elf towards both dwarf and man, and the indifference of the man from Gondor to both elf and dwarf. None trusted the others to be accorded such a great responsibility, and yet none would accept the responsibility of the destruction of such an evil and divisive instrument of the Dark Lord’s power. Rather they had all seemed content to let It lie in the hands of an unassuming hobbit from the Shire until finally, with a vast impatience for them all, and a growing, sinking premonition that somehow, this was meant to be his task, he had volunteered Its destruction. He told Sam of the sudden hush that had filled the room, and the look that Gandalf had given him, a curious mixture of pity and acknowledgement, and he knew that he had been right. This had been the task ordained for him, and Gandalf had always known it.
Gandalf had offered to accompany him, instantly, and Strider had as well. The man from Gondor, Boromir by name, had quickly spoken up, offering his services as guide to the lands of the south, but Frodo had to admit that he felt uneasy as to his reasons for assistance. Gondor was apparently expecting a war soon upon its borders, and the man had argued hard for wielding rather than destroying the Ring. And lastly, Gloin’s son had offered his aid, and an elf from Mirkwood, Prince Legolas Greenleaf, not to be outdone, had immediately offered his assistance as well. “And of course,” Frodo had added softly, “they know where I go, you go as well.”
“A fine party, indeed,” Sam said thoughtfully, once Frodo had finished. “But there’d be a pair more t’be considerin’.”
“They’re so young,” Frodo murmured, his expression immediately troubled, and with no need of asking to whom Sam was referring. “Pippin isn’t even of age yet. Both of their families need them so.”
“Aye, no doubt as to that,” Sam agreed, giving Frodo a steady look, and waited.
“Yet I know what they would say to us leaving them behind,” Frodo gazed unseeingly at the golden light upon the green grass. “What do you think, Sam?” he asked after a few moments’ silence, glancing back over to him, unhappily.
“That they’d be plenty old enough to know what they’re about,” Sam answered him, with a firm voice. “And that if you’d not be allowin’ them that choice, they’d forever doubt themselves.”
“We very likely will not come back from this journey, Sam,” Frodo spoke softly, continuing to regard him steadily.
“I know that, me dear. And they’d know that likewise. But I wager we’ll all be comin’ back, or none of us’ll be comin’ back, depend on it, me love.”
A small reluctant smile crept across Frodo’s face at Sam’s pronouncement. “And they call Baggins stubborn,” he sighed.
“No more so than they ought t’be, Frodo-love,” Sam said, with more resoluteness than he actually felt. “Near as I can see, ‘tis a fault of hobbits everywhere. So you’d best get used to the pack o’us followin’ at your heels.”
Frodo threw his arms around him then, finding comfort once more in the loving return embrace of that sturdy warm form in his arms. “Very well, Sam,” he whispered. “I’ll ask them then. And I have no doubt but it will be exactly as you say.”
Sam rested thankfully in Frodo’s clasp, closing his eyes in the peace of the glade, and felt no need to ask more. The shadows of late afternoon had begun to lengthen before they left the meadow.
&&&&&
The feasting and conversation, in a variety of languages, the singing and poetry and music, all of it was what the hobbits had come to expect in the Great Hall of Rivendell of an evening, but there was a subtle difference in the air this night. What concerned Merry and Pippin the most, other than Frodo and Sam’s obvious distraction and the way neither one would quite meet their eyes, was Gandalf. Unlike the previous evenings, when he had sat smoking his pipe with clear enjoyment of the company that surrounded him, on this night, his expression was melancholy and preoccupied, and from time to time, he gazed about him as did one who looked upon a cherished scene for perhaps the last time. He did not smoke his pipe, but sat quietly, a forgotten goblet left in his hand, and his food untouched before him.
Pippin gave Merry a quick nudge. “Gandalf’d not be in the best of moods,” he observed softly, giving an almost imperceptible nod in his direction. “Something’s amiss, no doubt about it.”
Merry’s glance was swift, but confirmed Pippin’s opinion. “We’d best be pinning cousin Frodo down tonight,” he whispered. “It’d be just like him to give us the slip, you know.”
“Over-protective by half,” Pippin agreed, with a curt nod. “Perhaps we should be close at hand, when the pair of them returns to their room.” Without notice by any of the rest, for those who would have noticed were too lost in their own thoughts this night, the two younger hobbits stealthily left the Hall, and made their way down the open airy corridors of Rivendell to the room that had become Frodo and Sam’s. Drawing up a pair of chairs closer to the fire, they settled down to await their arrival.
It was not much later, when there was the sound of soft footsteps outside the door, and quiet murmurs as the door was opened. Instinctively straightening his back, Merry crossed his arms, as he sat in the chair closest the door, and fixed a stern eye upon the two hobbits who entered the room. Pippin, in the chair closer to the fire, uncoiled himself, and dangled his feet over the edge again (for in truth, these chairs had not been designed with hobbits in mind) and waited quietly, his expression, for once, entirely serious.
Frodo had entered the room before he saw the two silent occupants, and stopped short, his face revealing dismay, quickly followed by resignation. Sam, right behind him, was obviously not surprised, however, and gave the other two a glance of nearly hidden approval before calmly stepping over to the fire, and occupying himself by stirring it up a bit.
“Frodo,” Merry’s voice was soft but firm. “I suspect there is something you need to be telling us.”
Frodo’s head ducked down a bit at Merry’s words, and turning from him, he clambered up wearily into the high bed. This immediately attracted Sam’s notice, and in an instant, he was up on the bed at Frodo’s side, arranging pillows behind his back and drawing a light coverlet over his legs. Frodo said nothing, but gave him a swift fatigued smile of thanks, and reaching out, grasped Sam’s hand and pulled him next to him as he sat, leaning gratefully back against the pillows.
Merry continued to watch, saying nothing until Frodo was settled, although his face was clearly tense with concern. Then, in a quiet voice, he began. “Perhaps it would be easier if I began,” he spoke calmly, but with authority. “You are not going to be returning to the Shire any time soon. That has been quite apparent for some days now. The Ring still hangs about your neck, so I assume you have been unable to convince anyone to relieve you of It. There has been an undeniable sense, in the last day or so, of affairs of importance in the wind, and Gandalf is looking particularly morose, so I am assuming you do not plan to continue to stay here. Therefore, you must take the Ring somewhere, or to someone, and I‘m quite sure that this mission is wildly perilous. Past that, I am afraid I am at a loss, but I’m sure that you will be able to fill in the gaps.”
A reluctant smile could not help but tug at Frodo’s lips as he viewed his cousin with a grudging admiration. “Very good, Merry. Undeniably logical, and quite accurate, actually. But then, I would expect that from you. So I suppose my secret is out, and all hopes for a stealthy departure are dashed to bits.”
“Really, Frodo, you wouldn’t have done that now, would you?” Pippin could no longer keep quiet at Frodo’s words, but burst out in dismay.
“Well, Sam had already convinced me it would be of no use, so you were quite safe on that account,” Frodo’s smile warmed slightly at Pippin’s obvious apprehension, as Merry gave Sam an approving glance. Then the smile vanished, and he turned to Merry with all seriousness. “You have guessed it all, I’m afraid. The only matter that remains is the destination. That would be Mount Doom, where the Ring must be destroyed.”
“Mount Doom?” Merry asked thoughtfully. “Not exactly a promising name, now, is it. The Ring certainly seems to be a nasty piece of goods, but tossing It into a bottomless pit somewhere is not an alternative?”
Frodo shook his head. “It’s not a trip I’d be making if there were any other choice,” he answered quietly. “That was where the Ring was made, and it is only there that It can be unmade. And it is only if It is destroyed that Sauron will never be able to use It to undo this world that we know, including the Shire.”
Merry looked rather taken aback at this. “It really is all that powerful, then?” he asked softly.
The look on Frodo’s face was enough to answer that question.
“Very well, then,” Merry gave a slight unconscious nod of his head. “So that matter is settled. It’s Mount Doom for us, and no doubt being chased by those same odious creatures that followed us here. I can’t imagine that a good wetting got rid of them for good, and they did seem quite intent on making mischief for us. But perhaps we can get a good head start on them this time. How far is this Mount Doom, anyway?”
“I’m not too sure actually,” Frodo confessed, looking suddenly quite tired. “I’ve been looking at maps and such, but it’s really quite confusing. It does seem like a very long ways away, and there’s not exactly much of a road. Apparently, it’s rather in Sauron’s back yard, and no one seems to ever go there.”
“Really?” Merry gave him a dubious glance. “And they expected you, and presumably Sam, to find your way there somehow?”
“Well, there are some others who would be going with us,” Frodo began reluctantly, suddenly finding the coverlet of great interest. “Strider, of course, and Gandalf as well.”
“Hmm. Useful sorts to have along, I would think. And?” Merry prompted, watching Frodo closely.
“Gimli, as well, you know, Gloin’s son,” Frodo added slowly, still plucking at the coverlet and not meeting Merry’s eyes.
“Bilbo has always had a high opinion of his father, and dwarves in general, for that matter. I expect that he’d make a good traveling companion. And?” Merry continued to press.
“It appears that if a dwarf goes, the elves feel compelled to send a representative as well,” Frodo couldn’t help a small wry smile at this point, “and so Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood will be accompanying us as well. And then since our route lies, at least at the beginning, along that of Boromir of Gondor, he will accompany us as well.”
“So. A dwarf, an elf, two men, and a…, well, whatever Gandalf is, and then you and Sam,” Merry stated flatly, folding his arms across his chest. “It certainly seems as though a couple more hobbits are sorely needed, if you ask me. What do you think, Pippin?”
“You are, as you so often are, Merry my dear, absolutely right,” Pippin nodded emphatically. “They’re still one up on us, but I think the addition of two more hobbits improves the company immensely.”
“You realize that it is entirely possible that we might never make it back to the Shire?” Frodo murmured softly, raising up his head and intently watching both of their faces.
“I did mention this all being wildly perilous, didn’t I?” Merry questioned him, somewhat shortly. “I quite believe I did. I think we do know what we’re getting into, Frodo, or at least as much as Sam does. I don’t think you can expect any of us to blithely bid you a safe journey and then toddle on back to the Shire without you. We are with you, of course. If you are throwing yourself into hazard‘s way, then we are, as well. And that’s quite all I want to say about that.”
“I can see I really don’t have a voice in this matter at all, do I?” Frodo slowly replied, the wry smile returning to his lips.
“Of course not. You know we would have tracked you and Sam down if the two of you had decided to bolt, don’t you?”
“Yes, and Sam would probably have dropped bread crumbs or the like to help,” Frodo laughed slightly. “Very well, it’s the four of us then. No point in thanking me now, for I’m sure that you’ll regret it at great length later, but it is awfully kind of the both of you, and I can’t deny that I’m very grateful.”
“Yes, we are noble like that, no doubt about it,” Merry replied, with an air of nonchalance that did not fool any of the others. He rose then, and motioned to Pippin. “But you are looking rather gruesome, Frodo dearest, if I may be so blunt. Sam, do see that he gets some sleep. There’ll be plenty of time for plotting and conniving come morning.”
&&&&&
The next morning, Merry accompanied Frodo to Lord Elrond’s chamber, where the final planning and preparations for the quest were being conducted. It was generally acknowledged among the four that Merry had by far the best head for maps and directions and that sort of thing, and Frodo was inexpressible grateful for his cousin’s silent support as they entered the room filled, by this time, with dignitaries of all the peoples of Middle Earth. He had been feeling quite overwhelmed as the only hobbit there, although he would never have admitted that fact.
But Merry strode in at his side, gave a swift glance at those assembled in the room, and immediately busied himself with the details of the planning with all the efficient, confident air of the born commander. Since none of the others present were acquainted with him, aside from Strider and Gandalf, he received some askance, rather incredulous, and even amused glances, which he studiously ignored to Frodo’s quiet satisfaction. The maps had muddled Frodo quite thoroughly, to his dismay, and he had been feeling entirely in over his head, but now it seemed as hobbits were to have a more substantial role in this enterprise than simply being the transporters of dangerous goods. He watched with pride as Boromir, at first haughty and skeptical, soon began to explain their projected route with a little more thoroughness, and nodded thoughtfully at the occasional point Merry brought up.
Merry, of course, was quite in his element, with all his years of training to become the Master of Buckland being brought into play, and there were no further mutterings from those assembled as to the wisdom of additional hobbits apparently inviting themselves along. Elrond had, however, drawn Gandalf slightly aside and had quietly asked if it was wise that Frodo bring his kinsmen along as well, but Strider, who had overheard, deferentially but emphatically indicated to the both of them that he thought it prudent that all four of the hobbits stay together, if they wished it so.
“I have been with them, in the most difficult of circumstances,” he reminded the elf and wizard respectfully, “and I have seen how they draw strength and support from each other. And they are surprisingly hardy travelers. It would be well for us, I believe, if all four go.”
Elrond’s expression was still troubled, but he listened thoughtfully to Strider, and turned to Gandalf. “I still have misgivings. The younger two are of considerable importance to the Shire and their families, I understand, and will be greatly missed. But you know these folk well, Gandalf, what do you say on this matter?”
Gandalf gave a glance toward the engrossed Merry, and Frodo at his side, his face finally without the tension that had been quietly worrying Gandalf these past few days. “They will be missed, certainly, but no more so than Samwise,” he finally stated with a small smile. “But it would never do to underestimate a hobbit. They can stick to their purpose in a manner that can put a dwarf to shame, and those who consider them soft and careless folk do so at their own peril. If Meriadoc and Peregrin are determined to accompany us, then they will, whatever we might think of the matter, and certainly it is fortunate for us if they do.”
Elrond nodded. “So be it,” he proclaimed softly. “It is the Fellowship of the Nine, then.”
&&&&&
While Frodo and Merry spent the morning in council, Sam decided that it was time to make his own preparations for the journey ahead. He found Pippin in the grand room that he and Merry shared, seated cross-legged on the balustrade that overlooked the gorge below. An apple was in his hand, but was untouched, and his expression was distant and somewhat forlorn as Sam quietly entered the door-less chamber. Giving a polite cough to announce his arrival, he couldn’t help smiling as Pippin whirled around with an exclamation of relief.
“Oh, Sam, I thought you were shut up with the other two,” he gave a cheery grin, all traces of wistfulness immediately gone.
“Ah, that’d not be for me,” Sam shook his head emphatically. “Frodo’s not the best with maps, I have t’be admitting that, but I’m hopeless. ‘Tis good t’have Merry helping him out, no mistake. I’m sure the Big Folk know what they’re about, but it doesn’t hurt t’have a hobbit in on it likewise.”
“Well, luckily for us all, Merry is ever so good at that sort of thing,” Pippin beamed with pride. “I’ve never known him to get lost. But what is there left for us to do, Sam? We should be able to help out somehow, you know.”
“I was plannin’ on checking up on Bill,” Sam replied, “and thought you might like to come along.”
This was quite agreeable to Pippin, and in no time they were strolling down the dusty road, lined with stately pine and cedar, down to Rivendell’s stable. “Would you be knowin’ much about ponies, then?” Sam asked after they had been walking for awhile in a comfortable silence.
“Oh, well, you know my father is quite fond of them,” Pippin answered with a chuckle. “I supposed I’ve picked up a bit from him, as well as the stable hobbits.”
“That’d be fine,” Sam gave him a relieved smile. “These elves, they’d know all there is to know about their great horses, but a pony is a different matter, I’d be thinkin’. I know naught, meself, so it’d be that fine if you could just check him out a bit, so as to make sure he’s ready t’leave with us.”
Pippin gave a laugh. “For not knowing anything, you surely managed to improve his looks, even before we got here.”
“Naught but a little attention and care,” Sam replied softly. “ ‘Tis all most creatures need.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Pippin gave him a warm glance, “but it’s more than the rest of us could have done, I suspect. He certainly will be a far more useful companion than some of the others coming along with us though. Somehow, I can’t imagine that elf carrying an especially heavy pack.”
Sam gave a wry grin at that thought. “Mayhap he’s like Gandalf, who never seems to need one. I don’t know how they manage it, no ways, wanderin’ about the countryside with naught but a cloak on their backs. It’s one thing t’be findin’ the food as you go along, but for meself, I prefer to have a pot t’cook it in, after I catch it.”
“A sound philosophy, Sam, and I’m certainly glad you feel that way on the matter,” Pippin gave him a cheeky grin. “But here we are. Where do you suppose they have hidden Bill?”
Bill was soon produced and greeted Sam with a nicker of delight, and a swift nuzzle of Sam’s pocket, where the apple he had brought was soon discovered. “His coat is looking thicker,” Pippin remarked approvingly as Sam led the sturdy pony from the stall and towards the path behind the stable that he had become accustomed to using.
“Just as well,” Sam sighed, glancing at the trees along the way to the glade. “It’s that hard, to be sure, to know what time of the year it is here. Seems like autumn, rightly enough, but I’d not be surprised if it don’t always feel like autumn in these parts. Something to do with the elves leaving, mayhap. But anyways, it is autumn, certainly, and winter is hard behind. ‘Tis not the best of seasons to be startin’ off on a walking trip.”
“Good point,” Pippin replied, with a bit of a frown. “I don’t expect that you’ve mentioned that to Frodo?”
“Oh, aye, I have, but there’s no time to waste, seemingly, and we can’t be puttin’ this off until the spring. It wouldn’t be botherin’ me near as much, though, if Frodo had only a little more time to build up his strength.”
“He does seem to tire easily in the evenings,” Pippin’s frown grew. “I don’t suppose saying something to Gandalf would do any good?”
“Nay, he can see that as well as I,” Sam shook his head. “No, we’ll be off in a day or so, like it or not, so it’s all the more important that Bill is doin’ well, you see? At least Frodo can get a bit of rest on him from time to time, if needs be.”
Pippin fell silent, then, for the rest of the way to the glade, and when they had reached it, and Bill had contentedly turned to the fresh grass, he leaned against the rough truck of a tall spruce and gazed, with a distant expression, past Sam, who had hunkered down in the meadow next to Bill. “Sometimes, it all seems to have happened so suddenly,” he murmured, nearly inaudibly. “Sometimes, it seems as though we’ve just left the Shire on a bit of a hike, and then I realize that it may be spring, and perhaps even summer, before we see the Shire again.”
Sam looked up quickly, catching something in Pippin’s voice.
But Pippin continued, still not looking at Sam. “And I wonder what my mother will think, when I’m not there for Yule, and my father, when I’m not there to help with the planting, not that I’ve ever been as much help as I ought to be.”
Sam rose immediately and was instantly at Pippin’s side, wrapping his arms around him without a word.
“I never got to say good-bye,” Pippin whispered then, tears now falling as he grabbed Sam’s jacket and buried his face against his shoulder, his voice thick. “It wouldn’t have been so bad, if I just could have said good-bye. And Merry says they can send a message, and I suppose that’s all right, but it‘s still not really the same, is it?” He gave a sharp sob then, and still not looking up at Sam, tried desperately to control his voice again and timidly added, “You don’t think this is just because I’m too young, do you, Sam?”
“Not a bit of it, Pip, dear,” Sam assured him without hesitation. “I only had a few moments with me da, meself, but I was that glad for it, even though it hurt something fierce. ‘Tis a hard thing, choosing between those we love.”
Pippin nodded, and then, somewhat awkwardly, withdrew himself from Sam’s arms. But Sam straightened up without comment, and reached in his pocket for a handkerchief, sympathetically offering it to Pippin.
“Merry has to do that, too,” Pippin gratefully took it and gave his nose a rather noisy blow, causing Bill to glance over in bewilderment before returning to his luncheon. “I left without one, of course.”
“It was in that much of a scramble when we left,” Sam commented with understanding. “I’d have packed Frodo’s heavier jacket, had I but known. Well, naught to be done about that now.” He turned to pick up Bill’s rope, and softly continued without looking at Pippin, “And you’d not be too young, don’t you be frettin’ yourself about that. You’ve a good head on your shoulders, Pip, and I’ve not seen a better one for understandin’ what goes on in a body’s heart. Don’t you worrit on that score. We’re all just as scared and homesick as you, no mistake. But there’s what needs doin’, and we must be seeing that through first. Your family’ll understand, when we get back.”
“So you do have hope; you do think we’ll be getting back then,” Pippin breathed, and it wasn’t a question.
“Aye, that I do,” Sam gave him a sharp, nearly stern glance as he started to lead the pony back to the stables. “That’s what I have t’be thinking, and I’d advise you t’do likewise. I’m not much use for the planning, and such like. All I can do to help, Pip, is to do everything I can, each day, to make sure we get to the next day. I know I can do that. An’ if we keep on doin’ that, then someday, we just have to be gettin’ back. ‘Tis but plain hobbit sense. I expect you can call it hope, if you like, but it’s the same as makes no difference.”
“You are right, Sam,” Pippin stared back at him with a determined set of his jaw. “One day at a time generally does do the trick, doesn’t it?” And he strode back to the stables, at Sam’s side, with renewed vigor in his step, but not before giving a rather startled Sam a swift kiss on the cheek.
&&&&&
When the hobbits arrived for dinner in the Great Hall, the evening before departure, there was a familiar face missing. Bilbo was not to be found in his customary chair next to that of Gandalf. Frodo questioned the wizard with some alarm, but Gandalf shook his head with a mild smile. “I spent the afternoon with him, and he was getting rather tired when I left,” he told Frodo gently. “I do think he would appreciate a visit from you tonight, however.”
Frodo gave him a searching look. “He knows we’re leaving then,” he murmured.
Gandalf nodded, as Frodo turned swiftly to Sam, who had been quietly standing at his side. “I’ll pack for the both of us,” Sam assured him with an understanding look. Frodo grasped his shoulder tightly for a moment, and left without another word.
It took several knocks on the round door before Frodo heard the sound of footsteps and Bilbo’s customary grumble. “No need to pound on the door so, Frodo-lad; one would suppose you thought I’d gone stone-deaf. Come on in, I’d thought you might be stopping by.” He motioned Frodo in, with a sweep of his arm, a pipe firmly clamped between his teeth. “I was just looking through my things… Oh, bother. Have a seat, my lad.”
With an apologetic glance at Frodo, he pointed to a seat close to the fire already burning brightly in the small parlor, and immediately scurried from the room down the hall. He returned before a mystified Frodo could become too worried, with a couple of puzzling bundles in one arm, and a bottle of what was unmistakably Old Winyards in hand as well. “I just thought…, well, we might as well have a bit of this, don’t you think?” he mumbled, dropping the bundles in the other chair, and crossing the room to draw a small table near to where Frodo sat. Frodo watched him, bewildered. It was so unlike Bilbo to be, well, almost nervous, it suddenly seemed to him. He nearly had the sense that Bilbo did not wish to meet his eyes, somehow.
The elderly hobbit was now fussing about with the bottle, muttering something Frodo could not quite catch, when Frodo finally had to ask, “Uncle Bilbo? Is there anything wrong?”
Bilbo stopped still at his words, and when he turned around to Frodo, after a moment’s silence, with the bottle still unopened in his hands, Frodo was stunned to see that there were tears in the old hobbit’s eyes. “I’m not very good at this,” Bilbo whispered shakily. “That’s why I didn’t have the courage to do this last time. This saying good-bye, you know.”
Frodo rose up without a word, and fondly embracing Bilbo, he gently took the bottle out of his hand and placed it with care on the table. “I knew that,” he said softly, with a slight smile. “I never held it against you, you know.”
Bilbo closed his eyes with a small breath of relief. “Well, I’ve felt guilty all these years about it, anyways.”
Frodo gave him a swift kiss on the forehead, and led him to the other chair. “No need,” he stated firmly. “I can’t say I ever knew why you left quite so abruptly, but I was always sure that your reasons must have been valid.”
Bilbo, looking somewhat calmer, gave him a wry smile. “Love of dramatics, most of all, I’m afraid. And there would be no point in the rest of that lot pestering you about where and why I had gone, if you clearly did not know yourself. But you had come of age, you know.”
Frodo, who had sat back down and was busily screwing the cork from the bottle, jerked his head up in some surprise. “What? Was that really why you left?”
Bilbo shrugged. “Oh, I must admit my feet were itchy to be off, and I was beginning to worry as to how long before I’d not be able to stand up to the road, but really, that was the reason for that particular piece of timing. It was rather obvious that you were never going to be able to take your rightful place as Master of Bag End as long as I was hanging about. Too many hobbits were still just seeing you as that Brandybuck lad I brought in purely to spite the Sackville-Baggins, not that that wasn’t a side benefit, I might add, but they seemed not to notice that you had quite grown up, and very nicely, too. It was a rather theatrical entrance into Hobbiton society, admittedly, but there you were, the Master, and there would be no choice but to treat you as such.” He paused for a moment and gave Frodo a suddenly suspicious gaze. “They did, didn’t they? Treat you properly, I mean?”
Frodo turned his attention back to the cork. “I’m afraid it did take some time for a few of them,” he confessed, popping it out and pouring wine into the pair of goblets that had been on a shelf nearby. “But eventually most of them gave in to the notion that I was the best they were going to be getting, along that line, and accepted me. Even Lobelia was beginning to bend a bit, by the end. Lotho’s been rather of a disappointment to her, I’m afraid.”
Bilbo accepted the glass Frodo held out to him, giving him a shrewd glance over the rim as he sipped thoughtfully. “I see I’ll have to be asking Sam, if I want more particulars,” he commented dryly.
Frodo took a swallow himself, and then gave his head a rueful shake. “He’s rather biased, you know.” He picked up the bottle then, giving the label careful scrutiny. “I had no idea, really, that Old Winyards had made it this far from the Shire.”
Bilbo gave a sudden snort of laughter at that comment, not at all fooled by Frodo’s show of nonchalance. “Oh, no, my lad, turnabout’s fair play, after all. My turn to ask a question or two. So how did all this business with Sam come about anyway? I can’t imagine old Hamfast was especially keen on the notion.”
“Erm,” Frodo began, continuing to study the bottle very closely, but quite unable to keep from flushing a bit. This was a conversation he had never thought to have. “I suppose it’s hard to say, really. How do such things happen, anyway? Sam moved into Bag End the summer after you left. His father, as you guessed, was more than a bit displeased, initially, but Sam felt that he was old enough to decide such matters for himself.”
“At what, twenty, twenty-one years of age?” Bilbo continued to question him softly.
Frodo’s flush definitely deepened. With a hint of defiance in his expression, he raised his head and gazed, with a sort of pride, directly at Bilbo. “It was not too young for him,” he stated firmly. “It was Sam’s choice. And I do know it’s a choice that neither of us has ever regretted, not for an instant.”
Bilbo, watching his reaction steadily, gave him a sudden smile. “Good for you, my lad,” he chuckled. “You always had a fine head on your shoulders, but it’s clear you have a fine heart, as well. Not that I had any doubts on that score, of course. Bold and brave, you have certainly turned out to be.” Then his face fell suddenly serious. “Which is just as well, given this business you are setting off upon.”
“I know, Gandalf doesn’t think I know the half of it,” he continued, as Frodo’s expression suddenly became somber as well, “but this old hobbit is not nearly as easily befuddled as he seems to think. It’s that Ring again, and if there is anything that I could wish for, it would be that I never picked It off of that wretch Gollum and brought It to you, putting you in harm’s way. It would only be right for me to take It off to wherever It has to go, and don’t think I haven’t suggested just that to Gandalf, several times too. But he thinks it would all be too much for me, and quite possibly he’s right, so It falls into your hands, my dear. It would seem that you have become my heir for both good and evil, and that is something I never would have wished for you, Frodo, never at all. You should be spending the rest of your days at Bag End, with Sam at your side, in the Shire that you both love so, instead of following your feckless uncle down all the byways of this world, trying to right the wrongs he has done. I am so very sorry to have brought this on you, lad.”
He rose to his feet abruptly then, before Frodo had a chance to respond, and walked over to the chair where the bundles lay. “There’s no use in me giving you any advice, I think, but perhaps there’s a few other things that I can give you instead.” Picking up one of the bundles, he drew off the cloth that wrapped it and held the object out to Frodo.
Frodo gasped in wonder, reaching out his hand impulsively to touch it. “Mithril,” he breathed.
Bilbo nodded. “A whole shirt of it, too. Made for an elf princeling ages ago. I just never liked the idea of it collecting dust in the mathom house in Michel Delving; somehow, it was just too pretty a thing. So I kept hold of it. But it seemed like it might be the sort of item that would come in handy if I had to barter my way out of a difficulty, so I took it along when I left Hobbiton. But it’s certainly doing me no good here, and I would just sleep a little better at night, knowing that you were wearing it, Frodo dear.”
Frodo took it from Bilbo then, still staring at it in admiration. “So light,” he marveled, turning it in his hands.
“And sturdy,” Bilbo added, beaming with pride. “There’ll be no arrows or swords piercing that, my boy, I can assure you. And that’s not all,” he turned back to the other bundle and produced a gracefully wrought sword, which he also held out to Frodo.
“Sting,” Frodo whispered, recognizing it at once.
“Quite right, my dear. It wouldn’t do to leave on this mission unarmed. No, no, my lad, no need to say aught about it,” he added hastily seeing the expression on Frodo’s face. “There’s really little that I can do to help you, but I’ll be easier knowing that you have these on you.” Frodo did not attempt to speak, then, but threw his arms around the old hobbit and held him tightly, letting both the coat and the sword fall unheeded to the floor.
“I’ll come back, uncle dear, and tell you about it all, I promise you,” he whispered against Bilbo’s white curls, fighting his tears. “You can add it to your book.”
Bilbo said nothing but held him just as tightly, his eyes squeezed shut but the tears running down his face regardless. Finally, with an obvious effort, he straightened himself up and took a furtive swipe across his face. “Mercy, but that fire is smoking something fierce tonight. But you can’t let an old hobbit keep you; it’ll be early enough that you leave tomorrow, if these elves have anything to say about it.”
Frodo nodded, and gathered the gifts back up in his arms, not trusting his voice to say anything. Leaning over to the shorter hobbit, he kissed him tenderly once again on the forehead, and turned to leave.
But Bilbo caught him by the arm just as he opened the door. “One more thing, Frodo,” he stated with deep feeling. “Never doubt that that which you carry is evil, Frodo, never let It trick you into thinking that the Ring can be used and a price not paid. I once thought so, but now that I have been away from It for a time, I know it is not so. Even now, even in the safety of Rivendell, though I know you carry It about your neck, I dare not look upon It again for fear of what It might yet be able to do to me. And I can’t forget the poor wretch that I took the Ring from, and what It had done to him. You have not had It as long, Frodo, and I’m sure that you have not been so careless with It as I was, but be as cautious as you can with It, my boy. If that thing should bring more harm to you…” He dropped his head down then, his words failing him.
“I will take all the care that I can, dear Bilbo. I will not let you down,” Frodo murmured, reaching under Bilbo’s chin and gently lifting his face. “I will see that the Ring is destroyed, not only for the sake of the Shire, but for both our sakes as well. Trust me, my dear uncle.”
Bilbo watched him leave, walking resolutely out into the darkened courtyard, until he was out of sight and then he crumpled against the doorframe, covering his face with his hands.
&&&&&
There was little moon this last night, but the room was dimly lit by a single taper, near the bed, when Frodo quietly entered. There were two neat packs by the doorway, one noticeably larger than the other, and Sam’s pans were carefully stacked next to them. Sam was sitting propped up on the bed, still wearing the elvish robe that had become their customary dinner attire, and his face was in the shadows, so that Frodo was not sure if he was still awake or not. But as Frodo cautiously placed Bilbo’s gifts next to the packs and quietly approached the bed, he saw Sam move, and the candlelight suddenly shone on golden curls and the eyes, dark brown in the flickering shadows, that watched him tenderly. “Come here, me dear,” Sam’s voice was low and soothing, with no questions, and Frodo drew near him with relief and gratitude, feeling protected from both his burden and his grief.
He stopped himself though, just before climbing upon the high bed, and impatiently pulled the robes that he had also been wearing over his head. Then, more slowly, he drew the chain from around his neck over his head, and glanced sadly at Sam. “I won’t be able to take this off again, once we leave this place, not even for the night,” he murmured, and held it out over the side of the bed, letting it fall unseen upon the luxuriant robes.
“I know, Frodo-love,” Sam replied quietly. “Let me see your shoulder, me dearie.” He reached out a hand to him, and Frodo saw that the small jar of salve was lying on the bed at his side. Crawling across the broad expanse of mattress, Frodo was at his side in a moment, and nestled back against the pillows as Sam’s strong fingers gently probed the pale disfigured shoulder. “It’s mended, I suppose,” Sam frowned, examining the knotted raised scar carefully, “but it never should have healed like this.” He started to say something more, but then shook his head, and opened the jar.
Frodo sighed and let his head fall back, closing his eyes. He could not deny that he felt rather drained, come evening, and the long days ahead were not the type of thing to which he was looking forward. From what seemed like far away, he heard Sam’s soft voice. “Does it still hurt, Frodo?”
“Not so much hurt,” he murmured truthfully, his eyes still closed, “as feel as though there’s a chip of ice lost somewhere inside, a bit of coldness that can’t be warmed from the outside. I expect a splinter of metal was left in, but I don’t think there’s much that can be done about it now. I’ll get used to it, I suppose.”
He opened his eyes then as he felt a light kiss brush it, instead of the expected salve, and found Sam watching him sorrowfully. “It should never have happened, Frodo, not to you, no ways.”
Sam said no more then, but with a comforting touch, rubbed the salve into the raised whitened skin. Frodo watched his face in the candlelight; Sam’s attention, as always, focused on what he was doing, and couldn’t help himself. “We had the perfect life, back in Bag End, didn’t we, Sam, dear?”
Sam gave him a sharp glance, but turned his attention quickly back to Frodo’s shoulder, and made no comment, waiting for Frodo to continue. “And most perfect things in this world can’t last forever, I’m afraid,” Frodo went on softly and almost unwillingly, but feeling the need to explain this melancholy mood that was settling around his heart. “So we must remember it, when we need to, for I fear that the days ahead will be hard for us to bear, sometimes.”
Sam’s hand stopped its movement at those words, and Sam stared at it without speaking, as if trying to collect his words. “It’s naught what we left behind as was perfect,” he finally said, almost gruffly, and not looking at Frodo’s face. “It’s what as is still with us.”
Frodo gave a slight gasp at Sam’s words, and then flung a greedy arm around Sam’s shoulder, bringing Sam’s willing mouth to his for a passionate kiss. “But what,” he breathed as Sam finally straightened up over him, his face in the shadows again and unreadable. “But what if we lose this? Nothing is permanent in this world, Sam, and there is danger and uncertainty everywhere. And if I lost you, Sam? Oh, if I lost you?”
“You could have lost me back in the Shire,” Sam replied, tenderly stroking his face. “Trees fall, lightning strikes, folk get sick. You can’t be thinkin’ that way, love; you‘ve got to trust that we’ll be gettin’ through this. You just see if we don’t.”
“What I trust is you, Sam,” Frodo whispered, reaching for him.
“Then trust me, me darling, for you’ll never have reason not to,” Sam answered with fervor, and reaching out for the candle, snuffed out the flame without looking at it. Frodo felt Sam’s hand now, in the dark, sliding down his side with its perfect knowledge of his contours, soft and rough both together, with that curious texture Sam’s hands always had against his skin. There could never be enough darkness for him not to know this touch in an instant, not to feel his skin delight in this caress, not to feel himself harden in anticipation.
“Sam,” he whispered, his own hands trying to brush aside the fabric that still covered Sam, seeking that welcoming body that had given him so much joy for so many years now. He heard an almost inaudible chuckle before those beloved hands left his side and gave a sharp tug to the fabric that he was struggling with. Then there he was, in Frodo’s grasp, gloriously warm and strong, with those compact muscles that moved so smoothly under the skin, and the rounded belly that Frodo had always secretly almost envied him. With a moan, he grabbed his shoulders, tugging and pulling him impossibly close, and over him. Sam’s hand had again found his side, but the movement was harsher now, greedier, and craving still more, Frodo arched up his back under the pressure of Sam’s body.
He knew what he wanted this night. It was going to be a very long time before they found another bed, that he was quite sure of, and there was no reason for them to waste this last opportunity. He wanted Sam, with no reservations about the next day’s journey, and he could feel by the answering response of the form writhing slowly on top of his that Sam felt the same. “The salve, Sam, the salve,” he gasped, and found Sam’s mouth again.
“Frodo,” Sam managed to get his name out between kisses, and there was a distinct note of worry in it.
“Scold me all you want tomorrow, dearest, but Sam, I need you so tonight.” Frodo’s yearning plea could never be disregarded by Sam, however, and despite what his hobbit common sense was reminding him about early starts in the morning, and Frodo’s none too robust condition at the present, his body betrayed his answering desire, and he ground himself slowly against Frodo.
“Ah, Sam,” Frodo cried out at that sensation, and his hand blindly flung itself out, groping for the small jar. Gratefully, he closed his fingers around it and lifting it up, stroked Sam’s arm with it. “Here it is, dearest. Oh, please, Sam,” he panted, arching his back higher.
Any thought Sam might have once had as to discouraging Frodo in this matter was now quite gone, however, and he grasped the jar eagerly, and rolled to one side of Frodo. The fragrant cream was slick to the touch, and dipping his fingers into the polished glass jar, he pulled them out quickly and found Frodo. With a wild choked cry, Frodo thrust himself up into Sam’s grasp, clamping his own hands over Sam’s, gripping them so tightly that Sam had a dazed thought that surely there would be marks in the morning. But the feel of Frodo was inflaming his body as well, and with a moan, he found Frodo’s mouth again, claiming it fiercely as his slick hands stroked down hard, and pulled up slowly. Frodo twisted in his grasp, and his hands moved upwards and seized Sam’s shoulders powerfully. With a hidden strength that never failed but to catch Sam by surprise, he tugged Sam close to him and threw himself into Sam’s caressing strokes.
With a groan, Sam grabbed blindly out for the jar again, dipping his fingers in the salve, but this time it was Frodo’s wiry hand that found his first, snatching the ointment from his fingers, and plunging itself between their bodies. This time, it was Sam who cried out and ground forcefully against the body under his own. Frodo gave a long shuddering breath at that, his body becoming taut.
“Oh, Sam, now!” he pleaded, breaking one hand away from Sam long enough to grab a pillow and thrust it under his hips. Sam sat back on his heels next to Frodo, not daring to touch himself for fear of not being able to last. Frodo’s knees were spread wide now, and as his hand neared Frodo, he felt Frodo snatch it, guiding the fingers in with a desperate urgency. With a near scream, Frodo jolted up as his fingers entered him, his hips arced above the pillow, in a wild attempt to force Sam’s hand in deeper.
Sam had no more restraint left. Tugging his fingers quickly out, he found Frodo unerringly in the darkness, entering him forcefully and without caution. He heard his name being gasped wildly beneath him, and felt Frodo’s nearly feral movements as he arched up again and again, his knees clasping Sam‘s body tightly. “Sam, Sam!” he barely heard Frodo sobbing out below him, as the blood rushed through his ears, and his body moved instinctively, all discipline quickly vanishing beyond control. He felt Frodo’s hand between them, jerking frantically, and the feel of it and the sound of Frodo’s harsh breathing in his ears was entirely more than he could bear. With a mighty groan, he drove into Frodo one last time, and froze, feeling the all-compelling pulsing pass the brink, and spill irredeemable forth. Hearing a last uncontrollable cry, he was aware of Frodo’s hips wrenching up one last time and coming to a quivering halt, and the warm wetness spilled between the both of them.
He collapsed to Frodo’s side, and held his hand as Frodo’s chest heaved in an attempt to catch his breath. It was only then that Frodo was able to roll against him, and bringing Sam’s hand up to his lips, kissed it over and over, whispering his name.
“Oh, Frodo, me darling, me own love,” Sam breathed tenderly, wrapping his other arm around the still too thin shoulders. “Don’t you worry, don’t you fret now, me dearest. You rest here, against your Sam, me love, and sleep well. I’ll always be here, for there ain’t nowhere else I ever want to be, Frodo-love, no ways. Sleep now, me darling, sleep.”
And Frodo drifted off into deep and dreamless sleep.
&&&&&
There was near silence the next morning as the company left Rivendell. Frodo was at the head of the procession, accompanied by Gandalf, with Aragon close behind them. The elf from Mirkwood followed next, his head proudly up, gazing straight ahead. Merry and Pippin, walking closely together, proceeded the man from the south, Boromir, and behind the rest trod the dwarf Gimli in his heavy boots, and Sam, bringing up the rear and drawing Bill along with him.
The morning was dreary, with grey skies, and the hint of rain in the air, and Frodo felt an unmistakable sense of loss as he left the path down to the Ford, at Gandalf’s direction, and proceeded up the less traveled road into the valley below the elves’ sanctuary. Trying his best not to appear too obvious, he gave a fleeting look back at those who followed him, but Sam was hidden by the rest of the company. With a concealed sigh, he turned back around again and set his feet upon the road south.
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Damn, girl, you are a speed reader! *g*
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Oh, what a lovely, lovely scene between Frodo and Bilbo, but it made me so sad to see Bilbo break down that way. It was wonderful to see Merry involved and valued, and neither he nor Pippin simply dismissed by Elrond.
Frodo and Sam- my heart is breaking for them already. I'm glad they had such a beautiful final night in Rivendell.
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And Merry would be, to Elrond and Boromir especially I think, the ranking hobbit among the four. He is of age, and is heir to the richest section of the Shire, a region that produces its chief export. Only the fact that Frodo actually has possession of the Ring, and that the other three hobbits clearly view him as their leader, would have caused those two to view Frodo as the candidate for Ringbearer out of the four hobbits, in my opinion. Pippin has not officially reached maturity yet, and Sam, of course, is not worth mentioning. He's just apparently joined at the hip with Frodo somehow. I suspect Aragon and Gandalf have a clearer idea of hobbit dynamics, Gimli is inclined to follow someone his father knew, and Legolas, of course, hasn't a clue.
And yeah, at least they had this last night. It's going to have to hold them for awhile. Thanks, and I'm so glad you enjoyed it.
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At least it looks like we'll have a couple of weeks, at least, to see it now.
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http://www.geocities.com/ebwinelotr/DangerousFruit.html
http://www.geocities.com/ebwinelotr/LeavingTheShire.html
*snogs you* I am particularly happy with the 'Leaving' pic. *grin*
And yes, I know I always give fb late and I'm always behind with the site and you're such a peach for being so patient.
I love your Merry. I love you Pippin. I love your Bilbo!! And of course, i love your Frodo and Sam. *hearts them all* Merry's resolve, Pippin's unwilling angst over his family, Bilbo's wisdom... Gah! It's all just so very lovely and you're lovely and I love you. *hugs*
(P.S. And 'twas hot as hell, me dear. Guh!)
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Hee, thanks, but face it me dear, I do believe you are rather fond of all hobbitsses! And it does surprise me that JRR didn't take time to sort some of this out, but I suppose he was waylayed by elves.
(And double thanks for the guh, oh mistress of hotness!)
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Loved this chapter very much - a favourite part of the book told in a slightly different way than Tolkien did. ;-)
Loved how you showed what the hobbits contribution to the quest will be - and loved your Frodo and Sam. I could see what will enable them to destroy the ring.
Wonderful chapter! Thank you.
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And of course it's their love for each other, as well as those around them, that gives Frodo and Sam such strength, Tolkien said so!. I just added a slightly more physical twist to it. ;-) They don't seem to mind.
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But I will persevere! *girds loins, desperately tries to find some time for writing*
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omg this is beautiful and perfect and this is why your Sam is my favorite forever-- so wise and always so true to what is in his heart. His love for Frodo is amazing and wonderful. What a gift to Frodo indeed.