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Frodo adjusted the substantial pack on his shoulders and gave a thoughtful glance back towards Sam. It had been his own idea, after all, and now that they were a day out from Bag End, he had no doubts as to a certain reluctance on the part of Sam regarding the direction in which they were heading.
Certainly, over the course of their lives together, they had taken numerous extended walking tours. Most had been during the benign months of summer, although winter weather had not slowed them down when needs be. But as the years went by, and Frodo began to near the age Bilbo had been when he left on his first adventure, he was beginning to feel a restlessness of spirit that only seemed to ease as he set foot upon the Road once again, and found himself far from Bag End. Up until now, their excursions had always been safely within the homely environs of the Shire, and even if the Brandybucks had on occasion not provided the warmest of welcomes, still, Brandy Hall was hardly a remote hinterland of hobbit society. Thus Frodo's proposal to visit Lake Evendim, birthplace of the Brandywine, had been quite a surprise to Sam, and though he sought to hide his unease, Frodo knew that the idea of being so far from the heart of the Shire was disturbing to him.
However, Frodo had found the thought of the furthest reaches of the Shire, if indeed that far land was still the Shire, oddly compelling, for he could not entirely suppress his belief as of late that hobbit society was irredeemably stodgy, and that the lands of other folk must hold wonders not to be neglected by an adventurous sort of hobbit. His own sense of freedom had become circumscribed by Sam's need to be supportive of his family and their own garden, and soon enough spring would be upon them with its blossom and clear skies and its uncompromising need to plant and sow. So even though this early in the year the weather promised to be none too pleasant, it was their last chance for an extended trip, and Frodo seized it. The winter had been rather mild, after all, and even this far from Hobbiton, the only snow to be seen was the occasional drift under the shadiest of trees, and was easily avoidable.
Sam tramped along at his side, and tried his best to hide his misgivings. He was well aware that it was less than a year until Frodo would be fifty years old, and he knew, just as well as Frodo, that that had been Bilbo's age when he had abruptly left the Shire in the company of dwarves. Sometimes, it seemed to him, that Frodo was seeking the least of excuses to be gone as well, and Sam was determined that if that day should come, Frodo would not be leaving alone. So he quietly walked at Frodo's side, and made no comment regarding the chill wind and misty clouds that were starting to gather on the low hills about them.
There was not much in the way of inns to be found along this great ruined thoroughfare that ran from the north, an artifact of days long since gone by. And that was not necessarily a drawback, for Sam and Frodo had both found inns, at least those in areas where they were not known, problematic. Sam was nearly always automatically assumed by the innkeeper to be the help, and thus shooed off to spend the night in the company of the stable hands or kitchen lads. Initially, Frodo had put his foot down about the matter, but Sam hated the fuss and icy scrutiny of strangers, and out of consideration for him, Frodo found himself alone on a hard cold straw bed on more than one occasion.
But that question seemed moot this second evening from Bag End, for there was little trace of hobbit habitation along the overgrown road, bordered by tall pine forests. There was the occasional gleam of a faint light, in the distance under the trees, but whether it was a warm hearth, or merely a trick of the rapidly sinking sun against bare rock, the answer was not worth the cost of making their way through the thick forest undergrowth, and they chose to stay near the road.
As darkness began to fall, they found a small clearing near the road in the midst of a thicket, close by the border of a small stream, and quietly and efficiently began to set up camp. Frodo looked about for branches and small bits of wood for kindling, and quickly had a small campfire crackling. Sam, in the meantime, had laid out their blankets just near enough to the fire to warm them, and had gone to the stream with both his pot and kettle to fetch water. He returned and deftly propped two large branches over the fire, safely out of the way of the flames, and hung the kettle there to boil. Into the pot, he neatly sliced a couple of potatoes, a carrot, and some onion, and a pinch of salt from his well-guarded salt-box. A sausage or two, as well as a touch of herbs, completed the soup, and by the time the sun had completely set, the two hobbits were comfortably wrapped in warm blankets by the smoldering fire, and peaceably feasting on tea and soup and the last of the brown loaf they had begun that morning.
"Looks to be a damp night," judged Sam, watching clouds beginning to cover the stars in the dark night sky, "but I don't think 'twill rain."
Frodo glanced up as well, and gave a confirming nod. "Just mist," he agreed, "and I don't doubt that it will be icy, before morning comes." He gave Sam a slight rueful smile. "I'm sorry I hauled you out into this sort of weather, my dear, but I was feeling rather pent up, you know, and we've never been up this way much…"
But Sam warmly returned his smile and, emerging out of the blankets to collect the cups and plates for a quick wash-up, let his hand gently brush against Frodo's cheek as he stood up. "Naught t'be worrit about, me dear," he murmured softly, before disappearing into the darkness in the direction of the stream.
It was not a night to sit about the fire for long, so in no time, they were lying wrapped tightly together under the blankets, beside the smoldering logs. It was also not a night to be shedding much in the way of garments, but somehow Frodo's hand had managed to slip under both Sam's jacket and heavy cotton shirt, and had found the warm smooth flesh of Sam's waist. Sam, for his part, was in his favorite position, which consisted of lying half across Frodo with his head firmly tucked against the hollow of Frodo's shoulder, and with a hand buried under Frodo's clothing, laying tenderly but possessively on Frodo's chest.
"One of your brothers lived this way, once, did he not, Sam?" Frodo's voice was soft in Sam's ear.
"Aye," murmured Sam, entranced as always with the gentle rise and fall of Frodo's chest.
"The same one your father wished to send you to, those many years ago?" Frodo persisted.
"Oh, aye," Sam couldn't help a bit of a smile at the memory. "Not that it came t'much, in the end."
Frodo was silent for a few moments, and Sam knew the recollection of that night was as vivid in Frodo's memory as his own. "Would you have come back?" came the quiet question, just as Sam suspected it would.
"I would have flown straight t'you, like the dove to her cote," he whispered without hesitation, turning up and kissing Frodo's cheek lingeringly. "As soon as ever I could." He could feel Frodo smile, and then turn his head as well so that their mouths met. It was a long slow loving kiss, something that had become as natural and essential to both of them as breathing, and even so, as they drew apart, Sam had to ask. "Would you have been waiting for me, Frodo-love?"
Frodo was silent for several moments, but Sam could feel his embrace tighten. And then his voice came once again, but with a curious catch in it. "I thought my heart would break forever, that night," he answered softly. "I knew I was in love with you, but I don't think I realized quite how much, until then. I don't honestly know quite how I would have borne it."
"Oh, Frodo," Sam exclaimed, immediately sorry that he had asked, "but it never happened, me darling, never at all. You are with me always, and always will be, and that'd be all there is to that. Naught t'worrit about, me own sweet dearie."
Frodo wordlessly answered with a more passionate kiss, and the campfire had quite died away before they were both asleep.
Sam awoke with a happy heart, but to a cold and misty morning. Carefully, he withdrew himself from Frodo's embrace, attempting to not awaken him just yet, and looked about the clearing for more wood for the morning's fire. They'd be on their way again before long, no doubt, but it would never do to be off without a mug or two of hot cheering tea, and at least a first breakfast.
The morning was shrouded in a cold white mist, damp and clammy. Thankfully, Sam knew where the stream lay, for otherwise he would have been quite at a loss. But he carefully studied his bearings and was away from the campfire and then back again without incident.
Silently coaxing the fire back to flame again, he hung the kettle on the branch to boil again, and sat close to Frodo, reluctant to wake him by crawling under the blankets with him. Taking the opportunity to study Frodo's relaxed expression, Sam realized that he lay evidently lost in pleasant dreams, for there was a faint smile on his lips. Not for the first time, he wondered at the youthfulness of Frodo's features, obviously a Baggins trait, for Bilbo always appeared far younger than his years as well. As much as Frodo would fret on occasion about being so much older than Sam, Sam always privately thought that a preposterous matter over which to be concerned. He had no doubt that, at this rate, the day would eventually come when he would appear older than Frodo, for he could never imagine those graceful features aging at all. It didn't take too long for Sam to resolve that the risk of waking Frodo must be faced, for the temptation of that tantilizingly warm body in his arms was impossible to resist any longer.
So under the blankets he slipped once again, folding his arms around Frodo, and smiling as Frodo, sleepily blinking open his eyes, returned the embrace. "I was dreaming about you," Frodo whispered, lightly kissing his cheek, "and here you are."
"Just startin' up the tea, dearie," Sam murmured, trailing kisses down the side of Frodo's neck. "Not so far away at all."
"Ah, Sam, you spoil me so," came a deep chuckle from Frodo, as he threw back his neck to Sam's most alluring invitation.
"No more'n you deserve, me dear," was the throaty response, as Sam's strong hand ran lingeringly up Frodo's side.
"Remind me, my dear, why we still have all this clothing on," Frodo asked rhetorically, promptly setting about divesting himself and Sam of the most significant portions of same.
"Well, it was that cold last night, Frodo-love," Sam felt compelled to point out, as he fell to assisting Frodo with alacrity.
"That was no reason at all, absolutely no reason," was the rather distracted reply, and feeling Frodo's hand suddenly wrap most significantly around himself, Sam could only manage a breathless gasp of complete agreement.
First breakfast was somewhat late that morning.
The mist showed no sign of letting up that morning, so first breakfast, and indeed, second breakfast passed by, and still the two hobbits remained, well-tucked into their woolen blankets, until late into the morning. For, as Frodo quite sensibly pointed out, with such an unfamiliar road as they were following, it made no sense whatsoever to go blindly stumbling about in the thick white fog. There was plenty of time, after all, and if they should choose to spend a day or two where they were, well, what of it? Sam had cheerfully assented, and only made the sporadic foray out for more water for the kettle, for indeed, spending the morning snuggled in Frodo's arms was pure bliss, no matter how hard the ground. Their conversation, occasionally desultory, had strayed from topic to topic but eventually had in time lit upon tales of the lands to which they were headed.
"So this was once the land of the Kings of Men?" Sam asked, a bit confused and still trying to piece together what Frodo was telling him.
"Well, a very long time ago, I suppose," Frodo replied thoughtfully. "That would have been back in the times before the Shire; when hobbits were still living in the east. But those times were hard, and they moved westward, out from the Misty Mountains into the West. They say that the great Kings of Men, in their Northern Kingdom, gave the Shire to hobbits in exchange for keeping the Bridge. And that we have done all these many years, while the Northern Kingdom faded away into memory only. So Lake Evendim would be the closest that hobbits came to those Kings of the West. And I've always wondered what was left of it all."
"And that'd be why we'd be here, rather than at our hearth," Sam smiled fondly at him. "Well, it does sound like a rather grand adventure, Frodo-love, for all that we are lost here in the mist."
"Why, Sam, not lost at all," Frodo answered with a teasing laugh, and a quick burrow of his slightly chill-reddened nose against Sam's warmly clad shoulder. "For are you not here with me? So how could I ever be lost?"
Direct conversation trailed off somewhat after that remark, and the hours of the rest of the morning passed by unnoticed, albeit in a most entertaining manner.
It wasn't until the height of noon that the mist had finally burnt off, and the two hobbits collected their gear, broke camp, and took to the road once again. The sky remained a whitened blank, but the forests, and more importantly the road, were clearly visible once again. "These are different woods, t'be sure," Sam commented with an interested eye. "Pine aplenty we have in the Shire, an' cedar likewise, but these other trees are a different lot."
"Spruce, I believe," Frodo gave the forest to either side a critical glance. "And fir as well, I think." He glanced ahead, where the road lay straight and open, and only partially over-grown to the sides. "This was quite a feat, this road. See how grand it still lies, even though those who made it are long since gone. They must have been mighty indeed, those old Kings of the West."
"And they gave us hobbits the Shire," Sam commented, somewhat wonderingly. "Well, that was uncommonly fair, and no mistake, for I doubt if wherever we came from could ever have been so fine."
Frodo smiled fondly at him, and walking closer, reached out and intertwined Sam's fingers in his own.
Sam's heart gave a leap at that simple action, as he returned the affectionate clasp, for it was something that Frodo did not often do, and he immediately cast any remaining doubt regarding this expedition out of his mind, feeling supremely happy.
A tall cloaked figure, as brown as the pine trunk he stood against and as equally unnoticed by the travelers, watched them pass with keen eyes and a mildly curious expression. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he vanished into the deep forest.
The small stream by which they had camped the previous evening grew as it ran beside the road, while they walked on that afternoon. After the side of the road had dropped away, falling into a rocky bed below where they were walking, they came to a fork where the stream had split up with a larger river, the Brandywine River itself. From where they stood, watching the mighty River in awe, they could see the major portion of the Brandywine surging over boulders and disappearing into a canyon that drew it away from the road. A bit of late afternoon's slanting amber light had finally broken through the haze and shone upon the fine mist that arose from the water, golden and glittering. Sam gazed upon the beautiful sight with awe. "Now isn't that fine?" he turned, commenting softly to Frodo, but Frodo's attention was fixed further up the road.
"Listen, dear, do you hear it?" he asked, giving Sam a delighted smile, and grasping his hand once again. "It can't be that far ahead."
And indeed, Sam could now hear the muffled sound as well, a sort of dull pounding. But before he had a chance to inquire as its nature, Frodo gave him an insistent tug, and started to walk on a brisk pace. "We should be able to make it before dark, Sam. What a glorious sight it must be!"
Sam scrambled to keep up, and as he did so, recognized the sound. It was water, but an unleashed and mighty sound, unlike anything he had ever heard before. It was something like he had thought the sea must sound, for his dreams had been disturbed as of late, but when they turned the rocky corner of the road ahead, he saw that it was something very different.
A tremendous burst of spray and pouring water came plummeting down from a cliff high above them. It fell foaming into a huge rock strewn pool far down from the side of the road, and burst wildly up again, surging into the river that they had been following. The road had changed as well, for no longer was it a broad sandy thoroughfare, but a jagged ledge, cut into broad steps, disappearing into the growing gloom, up the side of the rocky mountain wall of the falls to where it disappeared into the mist above.
"Oh, Frodo!" Sam gasped, shocked at the awesome sight. "Glory! Ain't that something! But surely, we'd not be trying to make our way up that? That ain't made for the likes o'hobbits, no ways!"
"It is rather breath-taking, isn't it?" Frodo exclaimed, with a broad grin. "And don't you worry, Sam dear; it's far too late this afternoon to be attempting any thing of the sort."
That was not the most comforting response to Sam, but there was no time to debate it now, as Frodo turned back again the rocky corner they had just passed. "I thought I noticed a decent enough spot to spend the night, but I was rather distracted…" he muttered. "Ah! Here it is." He turned back to Sam, who had followed him out of sight of the falls, and pointed toward a nook that appeared comfortable enough; well-wooded about, and sheltered from spray and most of the thunder of the falls. "It's too dark now to make any decisions tonight. We can get a better look at the whole affair tomorrow."
Sam nervously kept his apprehensions to himself as he set up camp, but that night, under the blankets, his grip on Frodo was unusually tight. Frodo said nothing, but stroked his curls from his forehead soothingly and kissed him warmly. "Don't you worry, Sam-love," he whispered. "If it looks impossible tomorrow, we'll just look for another way."
Sam nodded silently, but he heard the suppressed note of excitement in Frodo's voice, and kept his own doubts to himself. It wasn't long before he felt Frodo's body relax against his, as he fell into sleep, but it was much longer before sleep came for Sam. The howl of wolves that began late in the night did not help.
Strider looked up in surprise as a couple of his men deferentially escorted the wizard into their camp. "Radagast!" he exclaimed. "Seeing you is unanticipated. Gandalf, I expected, but I thought you'd still be in the lands to the south."
The old wizard, with his shaggy unkempt hair and decidedly dusty and tattered traveling garments, briefly shook his head. "Plans have changed," he pronounced in his customarily slow and gravelly voice; sounding, as always, as if the words themselves had to be remembered before they were spoken. "Gandalf will come indeed, but later than expected. And he has not the time to venture this far north, but bids me find you instead, to deliver a message."
"Indeed?" queried Strider curiously. "Then this must be a matter for close council. Let us retire," he motioned welcomingly to the visitor, and led the wizard to his tent. Some short time later, the wizard was comfortably seated before the central fire that burned continuously in the large tent, and was well-wrapped in a warm blanket with something hot and strong to drink in his hand.
"Ah," he rumbled, at last, as Strider seated himself on the rug at his side and patiently awaited the wizard's pleasure. " 'Tis a good life you have here, Elessar. Naught of the frippery of Rivendell. All the comforts that really matter. Good and trustworthy men about you. But there are matters to be addressed."
Strider nodded acknowledgement, for in fact the wizard spoke the truth, at least in all regards save one, which was closely guarded in his heart. Still curious, however, he tried to gently lead the visitor to the topic at hand. "You mentioned Gandalf and a message for me," he queried, deferentially. "Might I ask as to its nature?"
"Hmmm," Radagast growled softly, and then fell silent, staring into the flames. Long moments passed, as Strider tried his best to control his curiosity. He had learned a very long time ago that there was no point to trying to hurry Radagast on any matter.
At last, the brown wizard gave a soft grunt, and straightening in his seat, directed a piercing gaze at the man. "There is great evil abroad," he stated abruptly, his words for once clear and precise. "There has been treachery and betrayal, and Middle Earth may never be the same. One of the instruments of the Dark Lord himself, indeed, his most powerful invention, now lies in the Shire. Those who hold It know not what they have, and he is determined to seize It before It is lost to him forever. Before very long, evil will assault the Shire, and what you have guarded there for so long may well be irretrievably gone."
"Gandalf should have been here by now," the wizard continued, not noticing Strider's expression of dismay and turning his eyes back to the fire. He fell silent again for several moments and then abruptly glanced back to Strider. "It is a Ring," his words were once again meticulous and sharp. "Utterly evil and seductive. It promises everything to the bearer, and if that invitation is accepted, the bearer is destroyed. He will answer to the will of the Dark Lord alone, and any goodness that was in his heart is lost forever. Sauron," and at the mention on that foul name, Strider paled visibly, "is inexorably committed to recovering this instrument of his power, which he carelessly lost so very long ago, for when he does so, his power over Middle Earth will be unbreakable."
"But what is so very odd," he continued more slowly, sightlessly turning back to the fire once again, "is that the very hobbit who, albeit unknowingly, holds this device, is even now approaching us, far from his home. Frodo Baggins is his name, and he is camped by the falls, this very night, with a companion of his."
"Frodo Baggins?" Strider had finally found his voice. "Is he related to Bilbo Baggins, then?"
"The hobbit who dwells at Rivendell?" and even in the midst of his grim tidings, Radagast could not help a glance of amusement toward Strider. "The very same indeed. Bilbo's heir and cousin, I believe, point of fact. I'm sure Bilbo would be delighted to give you the precise genealogy, should he ever have the opportunity."
"Why does he come here, then?" persisted Strider. "And does he bear that of which you spoke even now?"
"I'm not certain of the first. And as for the later, I suspect not, and that is most curious," murmured the wizard, his gaze returning sightlessly to the fire. "Bilbo held It in his possession for many years, and the fact that drew It to Gandalf's attention was that Bilbo never seemed to leave It out of his pocket, but was forever handling It. It is most unlike a hobbit to be attracted to any manufactured device, especially one of metal, you must admit. A dwarf, perhaps, but not a hobbit. That is what aroused Gandalf's suspicions and caused him to journey to Gondor, where he discovered the truth of this seemingly innocent bauble. Bilbo certainly never had any idea of Its power, and it would seem that Its present owner does not either. For otherwise he would never be so far from home without It."
"But how can you know he does not have this device on him?" Strider queried, not understanding.
The wizard's dark eyes returned to those of the man. "His hand was joined with that of his companion," he mentioned briefly, with the ghost of a smile playing about his lips. "The Ring is, above all, possessive and desirous for all Its owner's attention. I daresay it's safe to assume that he has not brought It on this trip. Indeed, Gandalf told me that he had left quite precise instructions with Frodo as to the inadvisability of using It, and it seems as though the young hobbit has complied, quite fortunately for us all."
There were a few moments of silence as Strider tried to make sense of all this, and Radagast turned his attention back to the flames. Finally Strider gave a polite cough, to attract the wizard's attention again, and when he had done so, hesitantly questioned him. "You mentioned that Gandalf had a message for me?" he gently prompted him. "Might I ask what the message would be?"
"Hrrmph, certainly," Radagast blinked as if drawing his attention back from very far away. "Yes, the message. Quite nearly forgot that." With a long swallow, he drained the goblet, and setting it down near his seat, continued on. "Gandalf has sent word to me that he will, within the month, be journeying to the Shire to summon Frodo. The Ring must be brought to Rivendell, where Its fate shall be decided by the free people of Middle Earth. Every day It remains in the Shire, It imperils that fair land, for it will not be long before Sauron discovers Its whereabouts, and the Shire will never be able to withstand his wrath."
"Does Gandalf wish me to carry this thing to Rivendell, then?" Strider asked curiously.
"No!" exclaimed Radagast abruptly at Strider's question, and gave him a piercing look. "You are never to touch this foul instrument, Elessar, just as neither Gandalf nor I may. The more powerful the possessor, the more quickly he is turned to evil, and none of us may risk that. Indeed, Gandalf believes that only a hobbit may carry it and remain unharmed, and not even for long at that, for of all races on Middle Earth, hobbits are the least attracted to the seductions of power."
"So he is going to ask that this young hobbit bear this malevolent thing to Rivendell?" Strider asked, rather incredulously. "That seems rather an unjust request of him to make."
"There are other reasons," Radagast's gaze returned to the fire, and to Strider, it seemed as though there was sadness in that rough voice. "But your part, Elessar, is to meet this hobbit, and accompany and protect him, if needs be. Gandalf hopes to be accompanying him as well, but there is a mission that he must carry out first, and there is the possibility he may be detained. I warned Gandalf that he has always been stronger than we, but Gandalf persists in relying on old bonds of friendship, despite everything. Leave it be, I've told him, but he insists that he must see for himself…" the troubled mutter trailed bewilderingly off, but Strider dared not ask and waited patiently for the wizard to continue. "Late summer, in Bree," the shaggy head spun around towards him once more, his words again precise. "Inn of the Prancing Pony. Wait there as long as it takes. I will take you to see Frodo Baggins tomorrow, so that you may not mistake him then. It is essential, however, that he does not see us."
"I have been invisible to hobbits for many years," Strider responded wryly, rising from his rug. "It is not a skill that requires a great deal of cunning."
Sam reached the summit with decidedly wobbly legs and an undisguised sigh of relief. That tedious treacherous climb up the great stone stairs, too widely spread apart for the comfort of a hobbit, and slick with the spray from the falls, was an experience that he did not wish to repeat anytime soon. The thought of a trip back down those very same stairs, with the turbulent Brandywine roaring at the side of them, did not bear consideration. But Frodo had chuckled warmly, as he reached out and pulled Sam up the final step, giving him a quick reassuring and rather apologetic kiss, and quite logically pointed out that there must be another route. "That road would never have the supply route," he comforted Sam, "for nothing heavy or cumbersome could have ever been hauled that way. There must be another route, and that's what we will use when we return."
"An' I'd be thankin' you for that, m'dear," Sam responded with a quick grateful smile. "Sometimes, the long way about'd be the best, and those are stairs I'd not like to be goin' down, no ways." He shrugged his pack back up his shoulders and gazed about. "But 'tis another country up here, altogether now."
Frodo glanced about them as well at Sam's remark, and had to admit that Sam was right. The deep forests were sparser up here, and the banks of snow lay under nearly every tree. There was a decided nip to the air, as well as a bit of a tang that Sam could not place at all, and the dark grey sky indicated that winter was far from over in these parts, if indeed, Sam thought privately to himself, it ever left them.
The Brandywine still flowed to their right, swift and turbulent in the center before it disappeared over the precipice of the falls, but it was also considerably wider at this point. The water along the banks was much shallower, and splashed against the rocky shores in a far less violent fashion than it had below. In fact, there appeared further ahead some sort of ruined weir, half swept away by the relentless water.
"Look, Sam!" Frodo's excitement was unmistakable, as he pointed it out to his companion. "There may be remains of the ancient home of the Kings of Westernesse still here after all!"
Sam couldn't help a quick thrill of foreboding at that notion, however, Frodo's enthusiasm was beginning to be contagious, and it certainly appeared that no matter what this place might have been in the distant past, it was undeniably deserted now. "No way of knowin' unless we look," he gave Frodo a grin and, Frodo once again taking the lead, they began to follow the river's edge upstream.
Strider stood unseen under the trees next to Radagast, and stared thoughtfully at the departing travelers. "You're quite right, not an ordinary hobbit at all," he spoke softly to the wizard. "At least, the dark-haired one is not. Bilbo Baggins' cousin, you say? Certainly not much of a resemblance between the two."
"Not in appearance, that is true," the response came in a low murmur. "But in other ways, they are very much alike. Curious and brave, and not afraid of leaving the comforts of the Shire. Traits that he'll be needing quite soon, it would seem."
"And the other hobbit?" the ranger turned curiously to him. "What do we know of him?"
"Other than the fact he obviously means a good deal to Frodo Baggins, not much," Radagast gave a soft rumble of a chuckle. "However, Gandalf had mentioned that Mr. Baggins would likely have a companion with him, and I think that we may safely assume that is who he meant."
"Well, the first is definitely not a face I'm likely to forget," Strider nodded with a slight smile. "Tell Gandalf I will be awaiting him and the hobbits at the Prancing Pony from mid-summer on. I have no doubt but that Butterbur will be delighted to have my company for such an extended period of time," he added with a wry grin.
Frodo stood out on the carefully stacked stones which left a quiet pool to one side of the river, his strong toes carefully planted on the wet slippery rocks. "See how cunning this is, Sam," he shouted enthusiastically to the younger hobbit, who was standing on the shore, nervously watching him. "Fish feeding along the banks are swept into this pool, and cannot overcome the current to get out," he explained, pointing to the current-facing opening contrived by a few well placed boulders.
"Aye, 'tis clever enough," Sam had to admit as he held out a hand to Frodo, cautiously making his way back along the weir. "But who'd be takin' the fish these days?" he added thoughtfully, as he tugged Frodo ashore.
"Oh, I'm sure there's some sort of animal about that finds this a handy feeding ground," Frodo replied, with a careless shrug. "Weasels, or something of the sort, no doubt."
Sam thought of the howls of the wolves he had heard the night before and warily considered several more likely creatures, none of which he would care to encounter, but said no more as Frodo lifted his pack into place once again, and eagerly set off.
More and more rock ruins began to appear as they continued on; low stone walls, and what seemed to have once been small stone buildings, now open to the sky and with nothing but seared grass showing in patches beneath the snowdrifts within. The trees had become more scarce, and the land between was flatter and showed signs of having been tilled once. But any perishable artifacts of those who had once lived here were long gone, and it was only the wind-swept bones of a forgotten life that still lay exposed to the hobbits' curiosity.
When they stopped for a quick lunch, Sam hastily constructing, in the shelter of the corner of two tumbled-down stone walls, the fire necessary to brew a cheering mug of tea, Frodo took the opportunity to hunt through his pack. "Here it is, although a trifle worse for wear, I suppose," he laughed, brushing a smear of butter from the map he triumphantly produced from the depths of the crowded pack. "Oh, and also a jar of some of those toffees your sister May does so well," he added with a grin, handing it over to a startled Sam. "I thought I'd surprise you with a bit of a sweet, Sam love, you do have such a fondness for them."
"As if you wouldn't have the same, m'dear," Sam, smiling, scoffed gently and opened it, offering it to Frodo first.
"Too true, Sam dearest, all too true," Frodo chuckled, quickly accepting one. "But look where we must be," he added, smoothing the copy of the map, that he had made last winter in Bag End's study, over a flat stone. "This must be the North Moors at last, for see, these are the falls, and these ruins about us must be those of Annuminas." Looking up, he gazed at the deserted road ahead. "The Dim Hills lie before us, to the west, and then Lake Evendim itself. How I should love to see that," he added, softly and almost wistfully.
"Well, then, so we shall," Sam replied stoutly, handing him his mug of tea. "Here's some dried apple and cheese still left from second breakfast, and I suspect that if we spend only a moment or two by the weir, why, we might just end up with a fine trout to cart along with us for our dinner."
"What an excellent idea, Sam," Frodo smiled, gratefully accepting the mug and food. "It's not as if we've an appointment to keep, after all. I suppose reaching the Lake tomorrow or the next day will do just as well, and it never does to pass up one of your excellent fish dinners."
It was later that day, just after noon, when they reached ruins of Annuminas itself. The road had passed more and more of the stone ruins, and the imprint of the remnants of the buildings had been increasing in size as well. The road had been climbing for awhile, but as they topped a small crest and looked down, Frodo breathed the word, "Annuminas!" in wonder as suddenly, in the valley below them, were tall stone spires, great walls with majestic arched openings, and vast entryways, with nothing but the keystone left above them. All were magnificent, the relics of a kingdom more regal and splendid than any either of them could ever have imagined, and all was utter decay. Some of the walls had long since fallen into heaps of crumbling and lichen-covered stone, and some of the remains of the towers were crowned by the unmistakable nests of great birds of prey. Snow still lay drifted into the corners, and everything about this frozen and desolate land lay entirely still.
"This ain't never the Shire," Sam murmured, staring in awe at the sight in the valley below them. "It's as if we'd stepped into a tale of the past, Frodo-love."
"Oh, Sam, you're so right," Frodo's eyes were sparkling as his words formed small misty clouds in the frigid air. "Isn't it glorious? How grand it must have been! What a shame we could not have seen it then!" And the shiver he gave was not entirely due to the rapidly dropping temperature, as the setting sun was reddening the darkening clouds.
Strider walked with Radagast past the silent ranger sentries, and gazed to the east, where the dark night sky was veiled in clouds. As they stood somberly together, Radagast preparing to depart, the low mournful wail of wolves on the hunt pierced the silence. Strider gave the wizard an uneasy glance at that sound. "Should I guard the hobbits?" he asked uncertainly. "I doubt that they are used to creatures that fierce."
But Radagast gave a dismissive shake of his head at the thought. "It has not been a harsh winter; there is game aplenty. The wolves will not be bothering your guests. There are worse in this world, I tell you, Elessar," he turned with a grim expression to his companion. "Creatures have been created who take joy in the killing, even when they have no need to feed. We can only hope that they do not reach these lands. Many matters are coming to a conclusion, my dear young friend, and times will become much harder before they become better, if indeed they ever do. But we all have a part that we must play in this, and none of us may falter, or all will be lost. Hold true, Elessar, always, to what you know to be right, and may the Valar be with you, and indeed, with us all."
And with those words, he was gone into the night, leaving a startled and greatly concerned man behind.
Frodo dragged the heavy fir branch to the alcove, and surveyed it with satisfaction. It must have been snapped off by the weight of the snow upon it quite recently, since the needles were yet still green and fragrant. Snow had begun to lightly fall, during the course of the afternoon, and he expected the shelter that the branch, wedged between two stone walls, would afford them that night would prove most welcome. With Sam's assistance, it was shoved into place, and the pieces of branch broken off were carefully gathered together for their campfire. Sam had searched quite thoroughly, in the meantime, for some relatively dry wood, and managed to find a few such dead branches. So by the time it was dark, the hobbits had made a comfortable camp for themselves, fairly dry and protected from the chill winds and increasing snow. The flames were finally coaxed into life, and the fat trout was grilled to perfection, accompanied by some herbs and Sam's excellent fried taters. With the more than satisfactory meal in their stomachs, and a hot mug of tea in hand, it was quite an agreeable end to what had been an eventful day.
They had wandered through the overgrown and empty streets of Annuminas, gazing with wonder at the ruins, and trying to guess what they had once been. The great palace was unmistakable, but Sam had taken special interest in the streets of what appeared to be shops and the like. "A smithy!" he had called out in delight to Frodo, after one such discovery. "Just see this great hearth, and this cistern! And here, there are still bits of metal about. Iron, and bronze, seemingly," he added, picking up just such an object. Sam stared at it then, transfixed by the heavy piece and only able to faintly guess at its purpose, murmuring, "How old these'd be, I wonder?"
Frodo had walked over and examined them curiously as well. "Some sort of flattened ring," he hazarded a guess. "Used for a bridle, or a saddle, possibly."
Sam considered this, turning the bit of metal over in his hand. "Aye," he allowed at last, "but look how large it'd be. Are they that much larger'n we then, Frodo?" He looked at the remains of wall about them with a somewhat intimidated air. "Have you ever seen a Big Person, me dear?"
"No, not really," Frodo confessed, with a bit of a smile. "I've seen a dwarf or two, come to call on Bilbo, but they are not that much taller than a hobbit. But never a Big Person. Unless, of course, you consider Gandalf one, but somehow I think that wizards would be the grandest of all. Not that all the folk of Hobbiton would be agreeing with me on that matter," he added with an impish smile.
Sam gave a short chuckle. "Aye, true enough. But Elves, now," he got a sudden wistful look about him. "Elves, that'd be something right fine. But they'd not be in these parts, no ways." And then they both jumped, quite startled, as a lofty pine behind them suddenly let a drooping branch crack and fall under the weight of the snow that had once again begun to softly sift down on them. And it was well they did, for there had silently gathered a pack of creatures right behind them. Dogs were not that familiar a sight in the Shire, but they both immediately knew that these grey thickly-furred beasts were not dogs at all. At least five pairs of gold eyes watched them intently, but the wolves seemed as startled to see them as were the hobbits, and made no motion, at least for the moment, to approach them.
Sam's heart leapt into his throat at the sight, but even through his fear, suddenly realized what he held in his hands. "Frodo," he whispered, and as Frodo gave him a quick glance, deftly tossed one of the heavy metal rings towards him. Frodo caught it, the side of his mouth quirking confidently up, and Sam suddenly felt much better about their situation. No hobbit, with something heavy and solid in his hands, was entirely without a weapon, and he knew that Frodo's aim was absolutely unfailing.
The leader of the pack now slowly began to approach them, his head lowering and the fur on his neck suddenly bristling up. He gave a low growl, baring impressive fangs, and the others began to unhurriedly fan out around them into a semi-circle. But Frodo's expression did not change, even as he quickly muttered, "Another, Sam. Quickly!"
Sam tossed the other ring that he held at Frodo's command, and then watched as Frodo swiftly launched both of the heavy pieces of metal, one each at the ground on either side of the wolf. Even though neither had hit him, the wolf gave a terrified yip at the onslaught, and nearly instantly vanished, the rest of the pack along with him.
Frodo's laugh startled the ravens that had been perched on an arch high overhead, watching the proceedings with interest, and with shrill caws, they flapped heavily away into the leaden sky. "That ought to keep them from bothering us again," he chuckled, his eyes merry and his cheeks bright red in the cold. "Hobbits may not have much in the way of teeth, but we do have certain other skills. All the same, it might not be a bad idea to take some of this metal with us, at least for the time being."
Now, cozily snuggled against Frodo under their woolen blankets, it was easy for Sam to forget that moment of terror that he had felt. Remembering Frodo's face during the confrontation, he realized that he had not seen anything on those beloved features other than confidence, an easy assurance, and unmistakably, an undisguised enjoyment of the excitement. And it was then that he finally knew. Knew that Frodo was meant to leave the Shire one day. Knew that the anniversary of Bilbo's departure had nothing at all to do with it, really, but that it was a path upon which Frodo had been set his whole life. And he also knew, without any doubts, that Frodo would have left a very long while ago, if it weren't for him.
That was the moment that he realized that he would be leaving the Shire as well, with his family, his friends, all that he knew, left behind him. When this would happen, he did not know, but it would happen as inevitably as spring followed winter, even in a land such as this. But the one he would never leave was the one his arms tightly circled, as they both stared at the reddened embers of the fire, each lost in thought.
"You're far away, Sam dear," came Frodo's soft voice as Sam lay in his customary position on Frodo, his head tucked under Frodo's chin. The back of a gentle hand stroked his cheek once, tenderly, before disappearing under the blankets again.
"In five years, Frodo," Sam said slowly, unable to stop himself. "Ten years, mayhap. Will we still be at Bag End, do you think?"
There was silence for a few moments, and Sam fixed his gaze on the last of the burning embers, the golden core nearly all replaced by a red glow. Then came the quiet response, "Would you want to be, Sam?"
"I don't have to be," Sam's response came as swift as thought. "It'd not be what means the most t'me."
"Your family relies a great deal on you," Frodo's words were quiet and noncommittal.
"But I can't be makin' my life about that," Sam tightened his grasp ever so slightly. "The gaffer was going t'send me north to my brother's, once. They would have gotten used t'not havin' me about the place."
"Good point," Frodo had to allow at that, and Sam could hear the hint of amusement in his voice. "But still, Sam, you were but a young lad then, and not the hobbit you are now."
"Wasn't too young t'be knowin' my mind then, and ain't too obliged to my family t'be knowin' my mind now," and a slight note of truculence crept into Sam's tone.
Frodo's hand returned to his cheek and cupped it softly, but he said not a word.
The last of the embers gave a quick spark just then, and faded into black, and the night was completely dark. But Sam needed no light as he turned against Frodo and raising his head slightly, found Frodo's willing mouth. "I'll follow you the wide world over, Frodo me love," he whispered, when the long, slowly sensuous kiss had ended. "We'll find great cities, and dragons and elves, and great ancient forests, and lands where it'd be summer all the time. Everything out of those wonderful books of Mr. Bilbo's, dearie. And then we'll come back to Bag End, but when you like, we'll be off again. Just say the word."
He felt Frodo move slightly under him, adjusting to him, and then those familiar hands slid under his jacket, tugging his shirt upwards. "Would you do that for me, my dearest Sam?" he heard Frodo's muted voice in his ear.
"Oh, Frodo," he sighed, his own hands now slipping under waistband of Frodo's trousers, nimbly unfastening them with the skill of many years. "There's not a thing in all the world I would not do for you, my own love. And I'd be a'that happy, me darling, to be doin' it for you. The rest of the world'll have to be mindin' itself now, for I've no thought for it, no ways."
"Ah, Sam." It was too dark to see Frodo's face, but Sam knew he heard the slightest catch in Frodo's voice, and Frodo's hands, now finding the flesh of his waist, caressed his sides and, making only the briefest of pauses to unfasten his trousers as well, continued to glide downwards. "You are the greatest gift, Sam, a prize I don't know how I ever earned. I love you with all my heart, beloved, and always will." And with that, his mouth was on Sam's yet again, and their hands were on each other, and they sighed, and softly moaned, and rocked together, until they became one, once more.
It was the next day, when Frodo stood at the shore of Lake Evendim, that Sam glanced at his face, the chill tangy winds lifting and twisting his dark curls, and his eyes on the rolling, white-capped grey waves that seemed to stretch to the ends of the earth. Sam stood on the stony shore not far from him, watching the unfamiliar birds circle about, diving down from the pines that ran along the water's edge. But Frodo's gaze was focused far away, and Sam was not surprised to hear him murmur, "It's so very immense, Sam, I never thought. Do you suppose the sea looks like this?"
But before Sam's heart could feel its familiar twist at that notion, Frodo turned back to him, and smiled. "Not without you, Sam-love," he said quietly, holding a hand out to Sam, and for once, the expression in his eyes unequivocally and unquestionably devoted. "Not without you."