elderberrywine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elderberrywine) wrote2008-05-26 08:47 am
elderberrywine) wrote2008-05-26 08:47 am
The Shadow on the Wall, Part Two
Possibly it was the draft at my side that awoke me the next morning, for it certainly wasn’t sunlight. The fog had returned, and it was by the grey early morning light that I saw him standing near the railing that ran along that side of the loft, looking out through one of the cracks between the slats, but his expression contemplative and lost in thought. I must have made the straw beneath the blankets rustle, as I moved my arm back under the covers again, and he glanced my way and gave me a warm smile.
“I’m sure you have no idea how delightfully mussed you look just now,” he murmured and then laughed as my blush confirmed that fact. Quickly returning to my side, he caught me up in a tight embrace, and our kiss was leisurely and thorough. It was with a reluctant sigh that he broke from me at last. “We must join the others, I’m afraid, Sam, my love. Merry is nothing if not curious, and I don’t think first breakfast will delay him all that long. And having him pop in just now would never do, I’m sure you would agree.”
That was certainly incentive, so I found myself up and appropriate clad in a matter of moments, folding the blankets, and endeavoring to leave the loft as we had found it. And then a thought struck me. “The ponies, Frodo. Are they all right, then?”
“Oh, yes,” he answered, starting down the wooden ladder. “As you can see,” he indicated, as I joined him below. “No, I do not expect them to be disturbed at this time. We will be needing them, for I am expecting a message of sorts quite soon.”
“But where are we going then?” I asked curiously, standing at his side in the stable doorway and gazing out into the chilly morning. There was not a body in sight on the streets of the small town, and even the inn next to us seemed abnormally silent, nearly as if deserted.
“Where we are meant to go, of course,” he gave me a sharp glance. “Barleycorn’s smial.”
“Do you still hope to find evidence there?”
“Not a good deal, considering the length of time since the crime was committed, but then we are not necessarily attempting to solve that particular puzzle. It is Saradoc Brandybuck for whom we are searching, after all.”
“But you believe these events to be connected,” I pursued the point.
“Precisely, Sam,” he drew me back into the shadows of the shed for a moment, embracing me and resting his forehead against mine. “These are dangerous waters indeed, my dear, and we must use the greatest of care. You and Merry should probably have stayed back at the Hall, but it’s useless to wish what’s done to change.”
“I would not have stayed behind, Frodo,” I whispered, and his arms tightened about me.
“I know, my love.” His voice was soft and touched by an unmistakable note of sadness.
But the side door of the inn then opened with a scrape and creak and young Willie came out with a pail for water. It was time to present ourselves for breakfast.
&&&&&
Brandybuck was sitting alone at a table, as we entered, hunched up against the wall in the corner, and dunking his scone in the teacup in a forlorn sort of way. The other resident guests were nowhere to be seen as he glanced up at us. “I was nearly on my way out to check on the both of you. I thought you must have both frozen solid out there last night. Surely it was cold enough to do so,” he muttered, sitting up a little straighter as we joined him at the table.
“No need to worry, really,” Baggins sat down at his side, and reached for the teapot as Brandybuck passed a still-warm platter of bacon and fried toast in our direction. “A little brisk, I suppose, but not that bad, was it, Gamgee?”
“I must have been too tired to notice,” I sat next to him, deliberately yawning behind a polite hand, trying to not notice the amused twitch at the corner of his mouth. “This bouncing about on ponies is not the way a hobbit was meant to travel, in my opinion. Quite takes it out of a fellow.”
“Where should we look for my father now, Frodo?”
Well, that rather brought me around with a jolt, for I had nearly forgotten what had brought us here in the first place. But Baggins had obviously been considering the matter, and he rose from his barely begun breakfast. Laying a gently reassuring hand on Brandybuck’s shoulder as he stood up, he signaled to the innkeeper, who was just entering the hall with a tray in hand to clear off the used dishes, and see what else we might like in particular. “Look here, my good fellow,” he began, motioning to him to join us. “Oh, I’m quite sorry; I don’t believe I caught your name last night?”
“Wills,” responded the innkeeper immediately. “On account of Willie being the younger, you see.”
“Of course, I should have guessed,” Baggins smoothly continued. “We’ll be needing the ponies saddled up this morning, as soon as possible, and some supplies as well, if you don’t mind. But it was that reference of yours as to there being more than cold weather involved that strikes me as curious. You couldn’t possibly explain that a bit, now, could you? After all, with the Master’s son being involved, it is best to be cautious, wouldn’t you agree?”
“T’be sure,” warily responded Wills, giving a quick glance to ensure that his son was nowhere about. In a low voice, he continued, “I know you’ll shake your heads, good sirs, when I say as I’ve heard tales that Men are all mixed up in this. But I’ve been to Bree; indeed, I have a cousin there as I used to visit often enough, so I’ve seen Men. And I’m here to t’tell you, as sure as I’m standin’ here, as it ain’t Men who are creepin’ about these parts these days. Leastways, not just Men.”
“Why do you say that, Wills?” Baggins asked quietly, his face impassive.
“I’ve seen a shadow on the wall, and it were never hobbit, nor human, neither,” Wills’ face betrayed his fear, and his voice gave a nearly imperceptible quaver. “Tall as a Man, it was, but misshapen something dreadful. It was on a back street of Crickhollow where I saw it, late at night, just past the light of the lantern I was holding. I made my way back to the inn as fast as my legs would bring me, sure enough, and I don’t allow Willie out at night no more, neither. And I know I ain’t the only one who has seen such a thing.”
“Do you remember exactly when this was?”
“Less an’ a fortnight, just as those fogs started to get really thick of a night.”
“And Mr. Barleycorn met his end when?”
“ ‘Tis three days past. At least, that’s when he was found by the posthobbit. Didn’t have many visitors, old Barleycorn, so can’t be all that certain o’it.”
“And how long has it been since the crops started going missing, Wills?” Brandybuck spoke up suddenly, as both Wills and Baggins gave him a startled glance. “My father came this way about five days ago. Did you see him?”
Wills scratched his head. “Well, those crops, must ha’been about a month now, I suppose. An’ I never saw the Master, noways. He alus stops by for a pint, too, so I must say as I was that surprised when you said, last night, you’d come this way a’lookin’ for him.”
“Very well,” Baggins interposed decisively. “Thank you very much for your assistance, Wills, and I do believe another hot pot of tea, and some fried mushrooms if you have such an item, would not go amiss.”
Wills gave a nod and hurried off, as Brandybuck gave the both of us a troubled look. “You don’t think these two matters are mixed together, do you, Frodo?”
“Undoubtedly, although precisely how is still uncertain. However, I suspect Barleycorn’s smial may hold some answers.”
“What are you looking for, Baggins?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“I never look for anything in particular, Gamgee,” he responded, with a raised eyebrow. “I merely examine the evidence that presents itself.”
But as I continued to give him a skeptical look, he couldn’t help but give a slight smile and admit, “Very well, you have me. I must admit I am quite curious as to why a letter to be delivered by post was the cause of his body’s discovery, when by all accounts Barleycorn could not read. That would suggest the sender had a different audience in mind, and that, I must concede, has me quite curious indeed.”
&&&&&
We reached Barleycorn’s smial an hour later. Barleycorn was, of course, no longer in residence, but there was every indication of his exit being an untimely one. The smial itself, probably not tidy under the best of circumstances, was quite decidedly in shambles. The door was half off its hinges, and windblown leaves and debris had been blown within. Furniture was overturned and tossed about, mud tracks covered the worn wooden floors, and there was an unmistakable stain on the bedroom floor that could have been caused by nothing other than blood.
Baggins gave a regretful look about the room, and murmured, nearly to himself, “If only I could have seen this sooner.”
“Nothing to be gained from this, Baggins?” I asked sympathetically.
“Very little,” he sighed. “Other than the fact that his assailants knew of his drinking habit, and chose the opportune moment in which to strike.” He indicated an empty wine bottle on the other side of the bed, which I had not noticed until now. “You’ll notice that Barleycorn did not bother with the niceties of a glass. The bed is stripped, so there is no information to be gained there, but the bloodstain suggests that his body must have been hanging over the side of the bed and dripping on the floor below. I’m referring to the exceptionally regular shape of the stain, of course. That would indicate not much of a struggle, since there are no signs of blood elsewhere, adding to the hypothesis that he was most likely taken unaware.”
Brandybuck appeared slightly pale as Baggins looked thoughtfully about the room, and I must admit I did not care much for the images he was conjuring up in my mind, either.
“That’s all very good, but now where is it?” he muttered, leaving the bedroom, and re-entering the ruin of a front room, both Brandybuck and I in tow. Then, giving a curt bark of triumph, he dove into a pile of debris in the corner, producing a scrap of dirty paper. “Exactly,” he pronounced, quickly scanning the message and, with a curious expression, handing it over to me.
Eagerly, I read it out loud to Brandybuck. “If the reader of this message is who I expect it will be,” the hasty scrawl read, “you will be seeking word of Saradoc Brandybuck. At the moment, he is unharmed, but a week from this date, that may no longer be the case. That would be regrettable, but he would have, at that point, no more value. If you wish further information, find the smial nearest the Wall. I am but seeking one. No one else need be concerned in this matter.”
“What does that mean, Baggins?” I asked, mystified, as Brandybuck clutched the note tightly in his hand and reread it with alarm.
“The message is meant for me,” Baggins replied softly, giving me an odd look. “And there is only one who could have written it.”
“When was Barleycorn killed, again, Frodo?” Brandybuck looked up abruptly, stricken with fear.
“No more than four days ago, Merry,” Frodo immediately wrapped his arm around the young hobbit. “Don’t worry, my dear, they’re not likely to hurt him. I very much doubt if it would suit their purposes to have all of Buckland rise up against them, as would undeniably happen if the Master were injured in any way. Empty threats, my dear lad, but it would be best if we did not delay in seeking them out, anyway.” His voice was assured and reassuring, but the glance he gave me over the top of Brandybuck’s head was concerned.
&&&&&
Baggins led his pony at a rapid pace through the foggy forest that lay on the other side of Crickhollow as if he knew exactly where he was going. Brandybuck and I kept our own ponies close at his heels, for there was no question that matters were beginning to slip from our comprehension. There was a battle of wills being set into play, and it had nothing to do, in the end, with either of us. Brandybuck was, of course, deeply concerned about his father, and I was beginning to realize that the dangerous waters to which Baggins had earlier referred were far more treacherous than I had ever dreamed. Both of us, though, understood that this was not a time for questions, and let him lead us on through white mist and tall grim pines over an almost unperceivable road. There was a muted roar in the background as we rode through increasingly rocky terrain, and I recalled from the maps of the Shire that hung in Baggins’ study that the Withywindle, out of the Old Forest, joined with the Brandywine somewhere in the vicinity.
After traveling what seemed like days without count, the sound of rushing water was thundering quite close at hand as a thickly wooded hill arose before us, and Baggins halted his mount. “The smial before the Wall,” he murmured to us. “Use caution, both of you. These are desperate foes we now face. Do not,” he turned around on his pony, giving me a stern glance of unmistakable warning, “dismiss them lightly.”
And without another word, he dismounted, tying the pony quickly to a low branch, and walked purposefully toward the seemingly abandoned smial’s entrance. We followed, of course, without a word.
The smial, at first glance, appeared empty and derelict. But Baggins just glanced down at the floor, and then even I could see the marks of footprints, as well as something being dragged, in the deep dust. They led into a dark hallway, which Baggins warily entered. There was a doorway, at the end, with a half-opened door, and as I followed him, I could see that we had come to the right place after all.
Saradoc Brandybuck sat on a wooden chair, bound tightly to it, and his head drooped forward on his chest. Behind me, I could hear his son give a stifled gasp of pain, and both of us rushed forward with no other thought as to who else might be in the room. Merry rapidly pulled a small knife from his pocket and set about cutting through the cords as I withdrew a flask of water from my pack and moistened his lips with it. The victim had obviously been suffering from a lack of food and drink, and I found it hard to reconcile my memory of a handsome and imposing Master of Buckland, with the emaciated creature that was before me now. It wasn’t until Saradoc gave a weak cough and began to groggily lift his head that I heard a perfunctory clearing of the throat and spun around to see who else was in the room with us.
Lotho Sackville-Baggins was standing slouched against the back wall of the room, an unmistakable smirk on his face. “Touching,” he drawled sarcastically. “Extremely touching. And entirely predicable.”
“Lotho Pimple-Face,” I gasped in shock, without thinking.
“It would be well, Gamgee, to retire that nickname,” he snarled, and I remembered, perhaps a little too late, Baggins’ warning.
Fortunately, I was not the object of his interest at this moment and he turned to Baggins, who had been standing silently behind us up until now. “For such a vaunted intelligence, dear cousin,” and the malice in his voice was unmistakable, “you certainly are easily manipulated.”
“When I choose to be,” Baggins replied softly, with no change of expression. “Very well, Lotho, you’ve drawn me here. What is it that you wish to accomplish by that? What benefit have you told your associates that I will provide? I really can’t imagine that we have much to discuss, after all.”
“Then perhaps I have suppose you to have a better imagination than you actually possess,” Lotho sneered, a condescending smirk on his face. “I suppose you think you have worked out who my, as you call them, associates are?”
“Renegade Men, from without the wall,” Baggins calmly stated. “Controlled, as are you, by a power that wishes the Shire ill. In addition, of course, to some sort of fell creatures that I suppose they have brought with them for their own purposes. The same lot you were connected with the last time I saw you in Frogmorton. That was an unpleasant affair, to be sure,” he added, with a cold gleam in his eye, “And it seems as though you have not yet learned your lesson. But then, cousin, intellectual affairs have never been your strength, I believe.”
“My, aren’t we arrogant for someone in such a poor strategic position,” Lotho sneered, his deep anger only revealed by the whitened knuckles that were clutching a sturdy cudgel, which until now he had hidden behind his back. “Pretty words for one whose companions are entirely reliant on my good will at the present. But I don’t think you’ve seen the entire picture, cousin. Let me present it to you.”
I noticed, with a quick glance, that Saradoc Brandybuck had lifted his head, and despite his unhealthy appearance, was following this conversation intently. Merry Brandybuck, while still ostensibly caring for his father, was also listening. But if Baggins was aware of this interest, he gave no indication, treating his cousin as if they were having an inconsequential dispute in the drawing room before tea. “Do as you wish, Lotho,” he sighed, glancing down as he brushed imaginary dust from his jacket. “Just make it concise, I beg of you. It’s a bit of a ride back to Crickhollow if we are to make tea.”
“I suppose you think it’s all about the pipeweed, don’t you, Frodo,” Lotho hissed, obviously irritated by Baggins’ calm manner. “But then you never have been one to think strategically, have you? You’ve never considered, I suppose, the Shire’s location as the Elves’ exit from Middle Earth? Surely you know they are in the process of leaving, abandoning this world for some supposed Western Home. And I very much doubt if you’ve ever considered what clout it would give the Shire to control this passage, rather than let them run as they wish over our land. But others have, Frodo, indeed they have. And hobbits with a certain amount of intelligence and ambition may find it prudent to align themselves with those interests. The pipeweed? Merely a favor, a gift. There’s far more value in other contributions, I can assure you.”
“You traitor!” I could not help myself, and Frodo quickly gave me a second glance of warning.
“Are you not concerned that you may have over-emphasized your importance in the Shire to your new clients, Lotho?” he calmly mentioned, unobtrusively moving himself between Lotho and the other three of us. “That might be rather dangerous to your continued good health, I should think.”
Lotho gave him a look of pure hatred at that question. “You may be a thrall of the Brandybucks and Tooks, dear cousin,” he spat out with venom, “but I’ll not be their toady. You may be perfectly content to see the once-proud name of Baggins dragged through the mud, associating with those decayed families and that half-wit gardener of yours, but I am of a rather more progressive turn of mind. Times change, cousin, and those who change with them prosper. I plan on being one of them. This is your one warning and one chance to leave well enough alone, Frodo. It will not be offered to you again.”
“Very well. And if you are quite through, I believe I did mention that tea really will not wait. The ride was quite invigorating, and I believe we are all just a bit famished. And if you, Merry, and Gamgee likewise, will give the Master a hand, I believe we will be taking him along as well.”
&&&&&
I left the inn, to rejoin Frodo in the shed, quite late that night. He had left Saradoc’s sickroom early on, and I knew that he needed time to think. But my attention, at this time, needed to be with my patient. Saradoc Brandybuck really was not in good condition at all, and that cough of his had me bothered, although I tried my best not to let on to that fact with Merry about. However, winter fever is insidious and has a way of coming over those in a weakened condition rapidly, and often with dire results. I enlisted the support of young Willie, to round up any needed ingredients that I had not thought to bring, and the two lads as well. Quite fortunately, they had a store of medical lore locked away in their extensive memories, since it seemed that their respective states of health had been a focus of their attention for many years now. They cheerfully set to work grinding herbs, bringing water to just the proper temperature, and were, in general, pleased as could be to be assisting the renowned healer (I suppose that was me) in helping the Master of Buckland recover from his horrible accident.
Rather than give the full particulars out, we had decided to imply that Saradoc had met with a fall, and had been trapped in a remote location, until we had so providentially happened to hear his voice. Fortunately for our tale, the Master was known to be fond of riding out on his own. Merry, of course, refused to be separated from his father, and sat with him through the cautious cleaning off of dried blood and the careful examination, the administering of salves, and the bandaging. Even after Saradoc, only having managed a small bite of food, lay wearily back against the rough but clean sheets and fell into an exhausted sleep, Merry still had his hand closely held in both of his own.
The lads took all the bowls and cloths off to be cleaned, and I gave the young hobbit a careful look. “He’s had a bit of a rough time, but he’s sturdy enough. He’ll come around, Merry,” I said quietly, trying to make myself sound more assured than I actually felt. “You need to be getting some sleep as well. He’ll be needing you to be strong for him.”
Merry gave a weary yawn, and rubbed his eyes with the hand that was not in his father’s. “I know, Sam,” he murmured in exhaustion. “I’ll be all right. This bed is large enough; I’ll just take up a corner of it. That way I can be here if he needs anything. But you go find Frodo now. The both of you will have to decide what’s to be done about Lotho, I’m afraid. I’ll be needing to get my father home.”
I nodded, and helped him swing his legs up onto the bed. Placing a warm blanket over the both of them, I snuffed out the candle and left the room. Merry was already asleep.
&&&&&
Frodo was standing much where I had seen him this morning, when I had first opened my eyes in the grey dawn, but now he was looking out into darkness, with only the weakly flickering light of a lantern at his feet. There wasn’t anything that he could possibly have seen, in that inky night, but he was apparently lost in thought, as I climbed up the ladder, and it was nearly a moment before he blinked suddenly and turned to me with a private smile, acknowledging my presence. “What is your prognosis, Healer Gamgee, for the Master and his son?”
“Saradoc Brandybuck needs to rest quietly for at least a day or two,” I wearily leaned against the railing, suddenly feeling all energy drained from me. “He has been severely weakened, and I do not like the sound of that cough. If he is fortunate though, a few days will be sufficient, and as long as all is well then, he can slowly make his way back to Brandy Hall without undue consequence.”
“Merry will see to it,” Frodo murmured. “His part in this, at least, is now done.”
“And what of yours, Frodo?” I could not help but ask, watching him and feeling utterly spent.
“Not over yet, my dear Samwise; indeed, how could it be?” he responded somberly, moving over to where I stood. “Have a care, my dear, you are going to collapse in your tracks, and over the railing if you are not more cautious.” Catching me up in his arms, I felt myself very nearly collapse against him, all fear, worry, and dread suddenly being more than I could bear. “There, now, my dear,” I heard him whisper in my ear, “that is all for tomorrow. Come, lay in my arms now, Sam, for tonight we have each other.” And he reached down and snuffed out the lantern.
There was no hesitation this night in shedding our garments, for I was starved for the feel of him against me, a desire that was obviously mutual. We shivered involuntarily together for a little while, but soon were able to relax into each other’s embrace, and the frosty night faded from our awareness. “How could he turn to such evil, Frodo?” I at last murmured, still filled with the day’s events. “I cannot fathom it. He’s had every advantage. There’s no justification at all for this treachery.”
Frodo stroked my back as I lay wrapped in his arms. “There has been a lack in his life, I suppose; of love, more specifically,” he quietly answered at last. “And it’s odd, I have found, what a lack of love will do. That is not a logical reason, but it is undeniably true that the heart is frequently illogical.”
I could not help but smile at this statement. “I don’t believe I have ever heard love equated with logic, Frodo. In fact, I have found it rather frequently defies it entirely.”
“Ah, my dear, are we not living proof of that?” his voice, near my ear, was warm and tender, and yet it seemed to me I detected a note of sadness in it as well.
“But does that lessen our love?” I lifted a hand and gently stroked the side of his face, unseen in the gloom, but so dear and so familiar under my hand.
“Nothing ever could, my beloved,” he breathed fervently, and with that, he rolled me to my back and found my mouth with his. His kiss was passionate and unsparing, and I found myself tightening my grip about him, pushing myself toward him, yearning and craving him as if we had never met in love before.
Oh, the feel of him over me, the pure want for the sensation of his touch, the all-consuming need to join myself to him in every way possible. In no time, I could not have told you where I was, nor the reasons we were in this rustic shelter rather than our own bed back in Bag End, for it did not matter, none of it, in the least. All I knew, all I wished to know, was that I had never known this joy before I found my way into his heart, by some great miracle, and there never had been any happiness in my life that had ever compared to this.
I do not know what he knew that night, for he kept his fears and concerns from me, but he was more tender, more giving, than he had ever been before. If only I had asked, had wondered a bit more, but I did not. I accepted and returned his caresses, his whispered professions of love, and never knew how soon I would ache, with all my heart, to hear those words but once again.
&&&&&
The rest of this tale is difficult to tell, but I must put it to paper while I am still able to do so. I left with him early the next morning to return to the smial by the Wall, after having first checked in on my patient. Saradoc Brandybuck seemed to be recovering, but I was still wary, and instructed Merry to on no account leave his father, instructions that were actually quite unnecessary, and also instructed him to send word if anything appeared to be going amiss.
I knew that Frodo was planning to meet with Lotho Sackville-Baggins again, but for what purpose, I could not have said. Nevertheless, my place was at his side, and I rode with him without hesitation. The roar of the Withywindle once more was to be heard, as we approached the seemingly deserted smial, and Baggins pulled his pony to a halt. He turned to me, as if to say something, but just then there was a shout on the trail from which we had come, and I could see a small figure with bright red hair running toward us. “The Master!” he shouted out, barely heard against the rushing water. “He’s been took ill! Come quick!”
I turned to Baggins with alarm, and cried out, “I was afraid of this! I need to go, Frodo. Come back with me now; the rest of this can wait.”
With a sad smile, he gave me a searching glance. “Yes, you do need to go back, Sam,” he replied softly. “But I need to go on. I’ll return to the inn as soon as I can.” And unexpectedly reaching out, he touched my face softly. “Take care of them, Sam, my love, and yourself,” he whispered, and then with a sudden heel into his pony’s side, was gone.
I stared after him, for a moment, in confusion, but then turned my own pony about and hastened back to Crickhollow. There was something wrong about all of this, it seemed to me, but it wasn’t until I reached the inn at Crickhollow, and young Willie stared at me in confusion, that I realized I had been tricked.
With a howl of anguish, I whipped my pony about, and kicked his side heedlessly, urging him back to where I had left Frodo. But it was too late. There was no sign of anyone outside the smial, and as I desperately ran through it, inside either. There was a trail behind the smial, and I ran down it, not knowing what else to do, and heedlessly calling out Frodo’s name. The thundering of water grew louder as I ran, and quite suddenly, nearly before I could stop, the ground gave away before me, falling into a yawning precipice as the river spilled, from where I had halted on its banks, to a pool far below, dashing itself upon jagged rocks with a great spray and din, almost enough that nothing else could be heard but its watery commotion. But I heard, just barely, the sound of a harsh cry, and just out of the corner of my eye, glimpsed the sight of dark curls far below me before they vanished into the mist.
I know I called out his name, over and over, and that it was a matter of hours before I finally moved away from that ghastly sight. It was only then that I caught a glimpse of white paper fluttering under a rock, at the top on the chasm, and unthinkingly made my way to it. With trembling hands, I picked it up, and read, through the veil of my tears, a final message to myself.
“Dearest Sam,” it read. “If you are reading this, then it has not gone well for me. Lotho is quite considerately waiting, whilst I write this, and he has agreed, upon his honor as a Baggins, that you are not, come what may, to be harmed in any way. I do believe that I may, at least, rely on his word on this point.
So I must bid you good-bye, Sam, my dearest love. Do not grieve over long for me, beloved, for I’ve had perfect happiness in my life, and none of us can wish for more than that. You were meant to love and be loved, Sam, my own, and I wish, with all my heart, that you will have cause to be happy again. Remember me in years to come, dear one, and know that there was once a hobbit who loved you with all his heart; who thought you were the most beautiful lad he had ever seen, who was utterly grateful for all you gave him, and knew you were beyond all compare.
Do well and be well, my most beloved Samwise, and let love back into your heart. No one has ever deserved it more than you.
Yours forever, your Frodo.”
It wasn’t until Merry found me, the next day, that I left the side of the river.
&&&&&
It is my calling that has saved me, I suppose. There was Saradoc Brandybuck to be considered, and it was several days before he was fit, with Merry’s assistance, to make his way back to Brandy Hall. I declined their very kind invitation to continue on with them, and started back to Hobbiton alone, but found myself in the smial of that kindly couple who had offered us tea, on the chilly morning that seemed like such a very long time ago. I stayed here for a week or so, for the need for a healer in this area was undeniably great. And possibly, I was awaiting news; that there had been a mix-up, a blunder, that I had not interpreted events correctly. Yet no such news came my way, and at last I returned to Hobbiton, and Bag End.
It is mine, of course, and yet I very nearly can not bear to stay here. But how could I leave when every room still bears his impression. It is as if I only have to raise my head, in the evening in the study, and he will be there in his corner chair, smoking that infernal pipe of his, and giving me a warm and intimate smile as he looks up over the top of some tattered volume. It is as if I could start a kettle for tea, in the homely kitchen on the Widow’s night off, and he will wander in, and remind me that he would like three spoons of honey, not two, and give that delighted bark of a laugh of his when I playfully warn him that that much honey will make him stout in no time. And every night, when I lie alone in our cold bed, it is as if I only need to roll to the side, and he will catch me up in his arms, and give me a lingering kiss on my throat and murmur my name, and I will close my eyes and sigh with delight and desire, and let myself be swept away to where every want is mine, every request is granted to me, and every dream I ever had is gloriously fulfilled.
But my bed is barren, and the night is cold.
I do not know, Frodo my beloved, how I shall ever endure this.
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I had just noticed today that I had only posted the link in my journal, but not the story itself. So I was editing it, to have the actual fic there instead of a link, but realized I'd have to sneak another LJ entry in too for the second half of the story.
Did it show up on the current flist but with an old date on it? That sort of defeats the purpose of backdating, I should think. :(
but I'd glad you liked it enough to reread! ;D
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Added an ETA.