Chapter Text
The message arrived from Tuckborough only three weeks before Yuletide. It was a miserably cold and wet morning, and the unexpected knock on the door was a surprise to both Sam and Frodo as they sipped their second breakfast tea in the cozy Bag End kitchen. Frodo was loathe to leave the warmth of the kitchen, but he hurried down the halls, and quickly opened the door to find an extremely soaked and red-nosed young hobbit standing deferentially on the front doorstep.
"Hello," he greeted him kindly. "Come on in out of this wet, lad, before you do anything else."
"Well, if it ain't Toby!" came Sam's surprised voice from right behind him. "Old Tom Bellows, as keeps the Green Dragon," he added parenthetically to a bemused Frodo, "This'd be his youngest," he added, nodding towards the scrawny tween, who was occupied in simultaneously shivering, bowing deferentially to both Frodo and Sam, and trying to unobtrusively survey the wonders of the fabled smial.
"Ah, that's it," Frodo smiled in recognition. "Thought I'd seen you before, lad."
"Brought a message, sir," the young hobbit ventured timidly. "Me dad told me as to be bringin' it right on by, please, sirs," he added with another deferential nod.
Sam's eyes opened a little wider at the novelty of being included in that plural, but Frodo laughed, and quickly took the startled visitor's cloak from him. "How kind of your father to be sending you out in a morning like this," he replied with a smile, "and surely he won't expect me to be sending you back until you've had a chance to dry out a bit. Weren't you just putting on another pot of tea, Sam?"
"Aye, that I was," Sam grinned, and hurried ahead back to the kitchen to do just that. The young hobbit followed Frodo, who was still carrying his dripping cloak, down the hall, with both his eyes and mouth open wide in awe.
And, as he told his enthralled audience at the Green Dragon later that day, "A'fore I knew it, I'us sittin' at the table w'the Master o'Bag End, and Sam Gamgee, a'sippin' tea and a'eatin' a scone, just as if I'd be a'callin' on them any time I choose."
"Now then," Frodo said comfortably, after he had carefully hung the noticeably patched cloak up on a hook near the kitchen hearth, and had regained his chair next to Sam, "I believe you'd mentioned a message?"
"Oh, aye," Toby gulped down a full half scone as he reached inside his jacket and drew out a small parcel wrapped in oilpaper. "Me dad 'ad it covered up tight-like, so as not t'be gettin' it wet. Came up on a wagon from Tuckborough, it did, yesti'day night. He said as t'tell you he'us that sorry he couldn't get it out to you last night, but there'us a crowd around the place, and he'd be needin' me."
"Oh, I hardly think it's urgent," Frodo said kindly, placing it on the table.
"Well, I'd best be off," the young hobbit stood up, bowing again. "Me dad needs me back, an' me mam still has work for me t'be doin'."
"Here, Toby, take the rest of these, and keep 'em well tucked under your jacket now," Sam, who had been sitting quietly next to Frodo, said, as he wrapped the rest of the scones up in a dry dishcloth and handed them to Toby.
"And tell your father that we'll be sure to be by for a mug, as soon as this shows any signs of letting up," Frodo added, as he wrapped the still wet cloak around the tween.
With a last nod, and bow, warm scones securely tucked under his jacket, and a wealth of information with which to regale his companions, Toby darted from the kitchen door down to Bagshot Row, and was soon lost in the thick foggy drizzle.
Sam stirred his tea, watching Frodo with curiosity as he unwrapped the thick coated paper. Two envelopes fell out of the parcel, the first a rather large one, with what Frodo immediately recognized as Pippin's large scrawl on the front of it, addressed without ceremony to Frodo and Sam. But there was another smaller envelope, in a smaller and much neater handwriting, with a request on it to be forwarded to Miss Daisy Gamgee, Number Three, Bagshot Row.
Frodo picked up the smaller envelope first and stared at it inquisitively. It was not the first such envelope that had arrived at Bag End. Indeed, there had been a number of such messages received during the summer, but the last one prior to this had been delivered about the time of the Harvest Festival. He handed it without comment to Sam, who put it down with a small sigh, and turned his attention to the other.
It was an invitation to both Frodo and Sam to spend the Yuletide this year in Tuckborough. The body of the message was penned in the careful hand of Eglantine Took, but the more exuberant scrawl of Pippin was under it. "Merry's coming too!" it announced enthusiastically. "Please come!" But there was another sentence written directly underneath that puzzled Frodo. "Bring along as many as you like, there's plenty of room."
"Now what would that be about?" he asked, looking up at Sam, mystified. "Both of our names are on the envelope, so it isn't you he's talking about." But then, both of their glances fell on the other envelope.
"Mayhap I need to be askin' Daisy," Sam responded, quietly.
It had been about three weeks after their return, earlier that summer, from Brandy Hall, where Frodo and Sam had gone on their mission to return the errant wandering young Took that the first such envelope had arrived. Both Sam and Frodo had been greatly puzzled by it, but when Sam had stopped by the Row to deliver it to Daisy, she had snatched it out of his hands, nearly trembling, and turned such a bright pink and then pale by turns, that Sam did not dare to ask anymore. He mentioned to Frodo that Daisy had seemed rather excited about the letter. For the next few days, he had waited for Daisy to mention it, but she didn't, and as the week went by, he forgot the incident.
Until the next letter arrived. It was a couple of weeks after the first, and was addressed in the same manner. Daisy grabbed this one up in the same agitated way, but then threw a quick forlorn glance at Sam. She said nothing more, but after carefully tucking it in a pocket behind her apron, returned to her task of sweeping out the kitchen.
But late that afternoon, as Sam was clearing off the tea things, and Frodo had retreated back to the study, there was a gentle rap at the kitchen door. Sam opened it to find a distinctly flustered Daisy. He greeted her warmly, and immediately made a new pot of tea for her over all her protests. Then he sat himself at the kitchen table, across from her, and, giving her a level look, quietly said, "Tell me about it, Daisy."
Daisy slowly brought her eyes up from her tea cup, and looked into her brother's patient eyes, which were not a little concerned, and so very like their mother's. "I need t'learn my letters, Sam," she murmured. "Will ye no teach me?"
Sam stared at her in surprise. Truth be told, he had forgotten that he was the only one of the Gamgees who knew his letters. But then the question of the mysterious letters came back to him, and he suddenly realized Daisy's motivation. "Would y'like me t'be readin' aught for ye, Daisy?" he asked hesitantly. "I'd not mind."
"No!" Daisy blurted out, and then immediately turned very rosy indeed. "No need, Sam," she added diffidently. "I'd just like t'be learnin' them, that's all. I'd be learnin' more herb lore, I'd be thinkin', if I could be readin' what as is in books."
"Oh, aye, that'd be true enough," Sam agreed quietly, not pursuing such a sensitive topic any further. "Of course, Daisy, it's pleased I'd be t'help you out."
So it was, that summer, that early evenings found Daisy with Sam in the kitchen, after supper, working her way through the same letter books that Sam had used with Mr. Bilbo, years ago, when the former Master of Bag End had taught Sam his letters. At first, Frodo did not sit with them, for Daisy would quickly get flustered, and make mistake after mistake. But gradually, as the weeks went on, Frodo stayed a little longer and a little longer, until by the end of summer, it was quite a snug threesome to be found about the kitchen table of an evening.
As summer wore on though, the letters came less and less often, and Sam never knew of an answer returning for any of them. And after the letters ceased coming, Daisy's lessons seemed to be ended as well.
The night was fearsome cold, this close to the end of the year, and the fire in their bedroom just barely took the chill off. Both hobbits had taken to wearing their nightshirts, for it was warm enough under the covers, but the odd arm that was accidentally stuck out during the night was quickly chilled without some sort of covering. Frodo warmed his cold knees against Sam's back as he snuggled next to him, earning a muffled squawk from Sam.
"Ah, me dear, you need proper warming, true enough," Sam sighed in mock protest, turning around to face him.
Frodo smiled expectantly at that, pushing up closer to Sam. "I hope so," he murmured, thrusting his chilled hands under Sam's warm backside.
"Bless me, Frodo," Sam gasped, with a slight flinch, "but how'd those hands of yours be gettin' that frozen?"
"I don't have your warm blood, my dearest," Frodo gave a throaty chuckle. "But you, now, you, Sam …," leaning forward, he met Sam's mouth with his own.
Sam gave a wordless hum at that, and rolled Frodo around in his arms until he came to rest on top of him. "Aye, you want proper care, you do," he gave a low, husky laugh. "An' what'd you be doin' wi'out me, that's what'd I like t'know."
"Be all alone, in this bed," Frodo answered to that, somewhat breathlessly, staring up at Sam's face above him in the dying light of the bedroom fire. "Be cold, with no-one to warm me." Unconsciously, his grip around Sam tightened. "Be lonely, and wanting you so much that I could dream of nothing else."
Sam bent his head to Frodo's again and found his mouth, for there was really nothing he could say to that which could have made any sense at all. "Ahhmm," was Frodo's satisfied purr to that response, and he drew his knees up around Sam only to be stopped suddenly short.
Sam correctly interpreted Frodo's grunt of annoyance with a quick laugh. "Aye, entirely too much cloth between us, I'd be thinkin'," and he lifted himself off of Frodo slightly in order to hike up that which lay between. Instantly, Frodo's knees rose again, and this time Frodo's legs were quickly wrapped tightly around Sam's back.
"Ah," Sam gave his immediate approval, and adjusted his position just a trifle.
"Oh, yes," sighed Frodo, in agreement, and rocked slightly under Sam.
"Mmmmhpf," Sam was in absolute concord as he found Frodo's mouth again, having no intent whatsoever this time of parting from it until absolutely necessary.
Frodo gave a sigh that might have been interpreted as Sam's name, if his tongue had not been quite so busy, and one hand was flung out from the blankets toward the side of the bed, in order to improve his leverage.
One of Sam's arms was quite wound about Frodo's neck at this point, but the other was firmly planted on the bed next to Frodo's face, to allow just the optimum amount of elevation.
Somehow they were managing to bury themselves deeper under the bedclothes, as they rocked intently against each other, but there really was no time to adjust that, for the thought of withdrawing from each other's touch had passed the threshold of possibility several moments ago, and now it didn't matter in the least if they ended up thoroughly buried under blankets, or barely clutching to the side of the bed, or, indeed, off of it altogether and in a heap on the floor, for the all-consuming pleasure of their joining was now beyond rational thought.
At last, it was Sam, this time, who could no longer hold himself from the edge, and shoved himself one last time into Frodo's expert touch. Frodo gave a pleased grunt at that before he, too, arched his back up, and tightened his legs around Sam even more, and threw his head back, gasped, and stiffened.
They both lay in a tangle afterwards of sticky limbs, and damp nightshirts, and the most delectable lassitude. "Frodo, me dear," Sam was finally heard to murmur, from under a well curled and by now quite warm hobbit, "these shirts really should be goin' on afterwards. Now we'd need to be changin' them all over again."
"Don't you think of moving, Sam, love," Frodo chuckled sleepily. "Plenty of time in the morning to be doing that."
Sam found that Frodo's logic was reasonable enough, at that, and the cold rain outside was heard no more by the two hobbits, as they fell into a very satisfied slumber.
The next morning, preparations were begun for the trip to Tuckborough. Although it was still three weeks to Yuletide, snow had been predicted within the week, and the first snowstorm of the season usually stopped all travel for several days. Fortunately, this time of the year, there was not much to consider as to the care of the gardens of Bag End, so it was really only a matter of leaving a message as to their whereabouts. Sam headed down Bagshot Row midday, to deliver that information.
Daisy was in the kitchen, rolling out pastry dough, when Sam arrived, shaking the drizzle from his hair as he entered the smial. May was also home for the Yuletide season, and was occupied, as she sat by the kitchen fire, in adding a new strip of lace to the bodice of her green dress. The sisters both greeted Sam with a smile, but when they heard Sam's news, Daisy's face suddenly grew pale, and she bent over her flour-dusted hands without a word.
"Would I," she began hesitantly, and then looked up bravely at Sam, "would I be able t'come w'you and Mr. Frodo, Sam?"
Sam looked at her in amazement, but then he suddenly remembered the second envelope. "Why'd ye be askin' that, Daisy?" he asked gently, watching her carefully.
Daisy's face colored violently at that, and her gaze returned to the pastry. "I've been asked," she murmured, almost inaudibly.
May was watching this exchange with fascination, her dress and needle forgotten in her lap, but she remained silent.
"But, Daisy," Sam began, uncertainly, "You canna be goin' w'Mr. Frodo and myself. T'would not be seemly…"
"I could go too," came May's sudden and unexpected offer. Both of the others turned quickly to face their sister, who had been forgotten up until now. "I could go along with Daisy," she repeated in a firm voice. "There'd be naught unseemly about that, Sam. If the lass has an invitation, then she has the right to go."
Sam could see at once that Daisy's surprise over May's unexpected support was as great as his own, but she said nothing, merely nodded, and turned back to Sam.
"But Da…" Sam began weakly, using his final argument.
"Can stay with Marigold," May added firmly. "I'm sure she would love to have him about. Naught to worrit about there, Sam."
Sam definitely had his private doubts on that score, but bowed his head to his two sisters. "I'll ask Mr. Frodo," he temporized hastily, and quickly made his exit.
Frodo found the proposed travel arrangements highly intriguing, to Sam's secret dismay. "So that was an invitation for Yuletide?" he asked Sam curiously, turning around at his desk, and stretching out his toes before the study fire. "Who does your sister know at the Great Smials?"
Sam stood before the fire, holding out his hands to warm them, for the day had come up misty wet, and bone-chillingly cold. "I wouldna have thought a soul," he answered with a frown, "but it must be Pearl Took herself. Although why she'd be invitin' the likes o'Daisy, is anyone's guess."
"Oh, yes, that's right. Hadn't Marigold mentioned that Daisy and Pearl had got on surprisingly well when she was staying here, while we were gone?" Frodo asked calmly. "Then it must have been Pearl who was sending her the letters earlier this summer. Why would it be so odd, then, to ask her to Yule?"
Sam gave a sigh at that, and gave a short worried shake of his head. "She'd be gentry, Frodo," he tried to explain, giving him a quick glance.
"As am I," Frodo mentioned mildly. "And?"
Sam couldn't help give a chuckle at that. Crossing over to stand behind Frodo, he wrapped his arms around him and, leaning down, lightly nuzzled Frodo's dark curls. "Ah, but you'd be special, you would," he whispered into them.
Frodo gave a laugh at that, and reaching up and throwing his head back, met Sam's mouth with his own. "I remember Pearl Took as being rather unique, herself," he responded gently, as he drew his mouth finally away from Sam's. "Let's bring the lasses along, Sam. They'll enjoy a bit of a holiday, I'm sure."
"Oh, aye, me dear," Sam agreed, unbuttoning Frodo's collar with ease and running his hands firmly down Frodo's chest. "Whatever you'd wish, Frodo-love."
"Well, in that case," and he gave Sam's arms an insistent tug, "you're much too far away. Come down here, and I'll show you exactly what I wish."
Frodo lay on the hearthrug afterward, head propped up on a pillow, with Sam lying beside him, his arms around Frodo and his head on Frodo's chest. Contently, Sam listened, eyes closed, to the crackle of the fire, the soft dripping of the rain that had now begun to fall from the eaves, and the steady beat of Frodo's heart. It was in moments such as this one, that it suddenly struck him how extraordinarily lucky he was, and how there was nothing at all he could ever wish for, other than what he already had. He held Frodo just a little closer, at that, eyes still closed, and felt a slight hum of happiness from Frodo in response. A gentle hand rose, to briefly stroke the side of his cheek, before returning to its clasp around his bare shoulder.
"Why'd you always be sayin', Frodo," Sam said dreamily, as he suddenly remembered the night before, and what Frodo had said then, "that you'd be all alone wi'out me?" Rolling to his back, but still resting on Frodo, he looked up into Frodo's face.
Frodo's dark hair hung around his face, as he gazed down at Sam with a slight smile, and the firelight lit the ivory planes of his face with gold. "Because I would be," he answered simply.
"But you could be havin' anyone you wanted, Frodo-love," Sam continued softly, still watching Frodo's expression. "Be it lass or lad, none would ever say you nay."
Frodo's smile broadened a bit at that. "You may be just a bit biased, my dearest Sam," he responded fondly. "I never did look to the lasses, as I told you, and I always felt that Bilbo's gold was my biggest attraction in their eyes. It definitely was, in their mothers' opinions. And as for a lad, well, that was not that easy either."
"Why not, Frodo?" Sam questioned quietly.
Frodo gave a small sigh at that, and lightly brushed the curls back from Sam's forehead. "More a matter of the wanting than the getting," he answered, after a few moments. "I'm not terribly trusting, Sam. My past experiences before coming to Bag End didn't particularly lend themselves to making me so. And I had found myself very reluctant to let anyone that close to me. Only you could have broken past that, Sam."
"Why me?" Sam whispered, watching Frodo in fascination.
Frodo leaned down at that, and lightly kissed Sam's forehead. "Because you can make me laugh in bed," he said softly. "No-one else has ever done that. I'm always home when I'm with you."
Dinner was very late that night.
That same afternoon, at the Gamgee smial, May was looking for answers, and felt that she was due some. "Well, now, Daisy dear," she said quietly, after Sam had left. "Seems there's summat as you ought t'be tellin' me."
Daisy kept her eyes on her hands as she deftly rolled out the pastry and laid it in the dish, but she couldn't help the fact that the color was beginning to rise in her face again.
"This'd be Pearl Took inviting you, I'd imagine," May continued on, relentlessly, standing up and walking over to the kitchen table where Daisy stood. Without being asked, she picked up a pared potato and began to slice it into the dish.
Daisy merely nodded at that, and grabbing an onion, cut it up with rather surprising vigor, and added it to the potato.
"The eldest of the Took lasses, Daisy," continued May with a smile, still watching her sister, as she started to slice the second potato in as well. "And they the eldest family in all of the Shire, not to say mayhap one of the richest. An unlikely friend for one of us Gamgee lasses t'be havin', I'd be thinkin'."
" 'Tis unlikely, truth enough," Daisy said softly, still not looking at May. Carefully, she poured in the bit of gravy left from last night's meat, and then laid the top crust on, skillfully twisting the crusts together around the edge. But as the pie went in the oven, Daisy finally looked up at her sister. "We got on well, I'd not deny it. But I need t'see her again."
"Why, Daisy?" May asked gently, starting to clean the flour and pastry scraps from the table.
"Because I don't know. I don't really know," Daisy answered simply, turning from her sister to stare out of the round open window, into the dark foggy gloom. "I need to be fetchin' Da from the Cottons. I'd best be lettin' him know."
May said no more, but watched her sister leave, and privately resolved to learn more before they arrived at the Great Smials.
The foursome set out the next morning, a breathlessly chilly one. Their breath formed white clouds about them as they walked, when it wasn't swept away by the occasional icy gust. The two lasses strode ahead, arm and arm, in easy conversation. Frodo and Sam fell slightly back, walking quietly together, and it wasn't long before they were unobtrusively hand in hand.
Frodo had planned on renting a wagon, upon reaching Hobbiton, but to his dismay, there were none to be had, once they reached town. The cold weather and the upcoming holiday had taken up all that were available. Sam was almost relieved to think that they might have to turn back, but when he saw the disappointment on Frodo's face, he thought better of it. "It'd still be early enough," he said quietly, laying a hand on Frodo's arm as they left the last of the Hobbiton stables. "If we'd step out smartly, we should be makin' the Laughing Cow 'ere dark."
"But your sisters?" Frodo asked, glancing with concern at the two lasses patiently waiting in front of the Green Dragon.
"Don't you ever think of tellin' them that you'd be turnin' back on their account," Sam advised him with a slight smile. "They'd be country lasses, they would, and not be mindin' a bit of a good walk."
Frodo gave a chuckle at that. "Well, if you think it'd be best…"
"Aye, that I do," Sam confided with a grin. "I'd not want t'be the one t'stand between May and the Great Smials."
But the afternoon's walk did prove long and wearisome, and the road seemed much longer than Frodo ever remembered it being. In addition, by late afternoon, the air had turned white and dense, difficult to breathe, and flurries of wet snow were starting to blow by their faces. There was no-one else about, on the road south from Bywater, and all were quite glad to see the inn appear in the late afternoon. Indeed, Sam privately felt they were quite fortunate to have reached shelter in time. Unfortunately, they were not the only travelers who had found shelter there.
The Laughing Cow was far more crowded than Frodo had ever seen it before. Their entrance went undetected for several moments, in the general crowd that was seated at the tables and leaning against the walls, until the innkeeper, shoving his way genially through with a tray of empty mugs held high over his head, happened to notice them. "Ah, good sirs, and ladies," he cried out, handing off the tray to a plump female hobbit behind the bar, and wiping off his wet hands on the well-used apron about his waist, "I'll be w'you as soon as may be."
Frodo gave a cheerful nod, and stood near the door with the three Gamgees until the innkeeper could squeeze his way over to them.
"Bless me! If it ain't Mr. Baggins, Mr. Frodo Baggins," he exclaimed cheerily, upon getting a better look at the travelers. "On your way out to see your cousins, no doubt?" he smiled, with the born innkeeper's infallible memory for names and connections. " 'Tis been a while, 'tis been a while, indeed." He bowed to Frodo heartily, and held out his hand to take his wet cloak. "Nasty bit of weather, now, isn't it," he added merrily, and then he glanced curiously at Frodo's companions.
"My gardener, Samwise Gamgee," Frodo indicated politely at that, "and his sisters."
"Lovely to have you all, yes, lovely, indeed," the cheerful short hobbit added, starting to look a bit distracted, giving the Gamgee sisters a curious glance. ""My good hobbits, we are but a small place here, and what with the bad weather and all, I'm not sure, well, of course I have a room for you, Mr. Baggins, but…"
"Not to worry, Mr. Bottleby," Frodo hastened to interrupt, while the innkeeper brightened at the mention of his name. "For now, I think a warm meal and a mug of your finest would be at the top of our minds. We can sort the rest of it out later."
And so it was that the four travelers from Hobbiton found themselves squeezed together at a back table, happily enjoying a fine steak and kidney pie and roasted taters. Other travelers about them took notice immediately of the addition to the general company, and both Frodo and Sam soon found themselves being genially pumped for news of Hobbiton. Daisy and May kept quiet, but several other travelers gave an amiable nod in their direction.
Finally, though, as the evening wore on, the proprietor of the Laughing Cow returned, with a rather anxious expression. Bowing to Frodo, he murmured, "A word with you, Mr Baggins, if you please?"
Frodo stood up willingly enough, and followed Mr. Bottleby to a quiet corner table in the back where a well-dressed older hobbit with a peeved expression, sat. "Mr. Baggins, Mr. Bracegirdle," the innkeeper bowed, introducing the two gentle hobbits to each other. "I'm that sorry, sirs, but this'd be a smallish inn, and I've but two rooms, that'd be worthy o'the likes o'hobbits such as yourselves. So those as'd have come with you, they'd be welcome enough t'the common room, but I'm afraid it'll be a mite crowded tonight." He turned to Frodo, then, with another bow. "The lasses, now, they'd be more than welcome t'the kitchen, as me girls'd be puttin' up for the night there, seein' as they'd be no goin' home for any body this night."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Bottleby," Frodo responded amiably, "I couldn't ask for better. And, as a matter of fact, my companions are more than welcome to share the room with me for the night. That will ease the strain a bit, I should expect."
"Well, I'll not be sharing with anyone else, be they mine or not," growled the older hobbit. "Most likely a cramped ill-favored room, at best." He gave a suspicious squint at Frodo again. "Baggins, is it? No relation to that old crackpot that used to live up near the Water, now, are you?"
"He was my cousin," Frodo answered evenly, "and that he was not. I won't be taking any more of your time, then." Turning briskly away, he returned to the table where the Gamgees awaited him.
"Well, we do have a room for the night," he announced, "but I'm afraid we'll have to share it." Sam gave him a quick glance. Something had put the color in Frodo's cheeks, but he was giving no indication of what it might have been.
Daisy and May had started to politely decline, but Frodo quietly added, "They really need all the room that can be spared for the rest of the folk here," and then, of course, there was no further protest.
May awoke in the frosty silence of the early morning. She was quite comfortable, actually, warmly curled against the sleeping form of her sister in the rather narrow bed, and lay quietly, savoring a mattress that was distinctly more comfortable than the one she and Daisy shared at Number Three. It wasn't until she realized that the faint sound she was hearing was the familiar quiet snore of her brother that she was suddenly swept with curiosity, and raised herself up cautiously, to peek over Daisy without awakening her.
There had been no question, the night before, as to giving the two lasses the bed. Frodo had laughed off any other solution, insisting that he had been on too many walking trips to be bothered by sleeping on the floor, and as long as the snow stayed out, and he stayed dry, he was well content. So Daisy and May had the bed, and most of the blankets, and Frodo had settled down in front of the small hearth, with the rug under him, a blanket over him, and Sam at his side. Sleep had come quickly for all four of them despite the unusual circumstances.
None of the four had shed any more than a jacket, what with the cold night and close quarters, and Frodo and Sam had begun the night chastely enough, lying close together for warmth under the blanket, but side-by-side, with only their hands twined together. But by morning, habit had had its way, and they had turned to each other in sleep, and May saw that they were, quite clearly, wrapped tightly around each other under the blanket. Frodo's head had come to rest in the crook of Sam's neck, and even their curls were, dark against light, woven together. May studied the two of them in silence, until her brother sighed, and stretched an arm out, eyes fluttering open. Quickly diving back behind Daisy, she successfully feigned sleep, until the rest were stirring, and it was time to look for first breakfast.
As the four left the room, a raised voice could be heard in the other guest room, next to theirs, and a harried-looking hobbit quickly exited, rapidly closing the door behind him, and nearly knocking Frodo over as he did so.
"Oh, many pardons, sir, I was not watching where I went," he exclaimed, bowing hurriedly, his face instantly fearful.
"My fault entirely," Frodo responded immediately, reaching out a hand to steady the flustered hobbit. "My thoughts must have been on breakfast rather than where I was going."
The other hobbit stopped short at that, and gave a rapid discerning glance at Frodo, and the party standing silently, though amiably, behind him. With another quick bow, he muttered another apology, and scurried on ahead to the kitchen before them.
"Not much of an employer, I'm afraid," Frodo cast a look of scorn toward the closed door, behind which growled imprecations could still be heard, as he remembered his exchange with Mr. Bracegirdle from the night before. "Probably didn't think much of the way his bread was toasted, or some other trivial matter. No call for treating the other fellow like that." Sam cast a curious glance his way as he walked alongside of him down the narrow passageway, for it was quite unusual for Frodo to actually express a negative opinion of someone he scarcely knew. He normally saved that sort of thing for Lobelia and her brood. But there was no time to go into the matter, for the kitchen, when they reached it, appeared to be in turmoil.
Orders were being shouted into the kitchen by both the innkeeper, and a lad who, except for being as bony as the innkeeper was plump, was a dead image of him. The female whom Frodo had noticed behind the bar the evening before, apparently the mistress of the establishment, was busily directing three agitated lasses in breakfast preparations, and occasionally reaching out and flipping the contents of a pan herself.
And once the four travelers saw the common room, the reason was clear enough. Apparently, other passers-by had managed to find their way through the snow the night before, and the room was well and truly packed.
Sam took one look at the room, and immediately turned to Frodo. "What did you say this fellow's name is, as owns this place?"
"Mr. Bottleby," Frodo answered with a smile, already knowing what Sam had in mind.
"Well, it'd be lookin' like Mr. Bottleby'd be havin' that much on his hands that he might be appreciatin' a bit o'help," Sam gave a quick glance around the room, and then to his sisters, who both nodded in silent agreement, and with a smile. "So if you'd like t'be examinin' our prospects to be leavin' today, I think we'll be givin' him a bit of a hand before we eat."
Frodo's smile broadened at that, and he gave Sam a nod. "Excellent plan, Sam. I'll ask about the state of the roads, and let me know if I can help." But Sam and his sisters had already returned to the kitchen.
It was soon clear that no-one would be leaving the shelter of the Laughing Cow that morning. Snow was falling heavily, whipped about by a biting wind, and all of the outdoors was nothing but white. After the flurry of first breakfast had subsided, Frodo and Sam joined Mr. Bottleby and his son, as well as various other local hobbits who had been trapped by the storm, as they cautiously opened the front door a crack, and stared out.
"Ponies'd need feedin'," mentioned an older hobbit laconically. "Wasn't expectin' this bit of weather yesterday afternoon."
"True enough," Bottleby stared in the direction of the invisible stable with a worried frown. "But a body could get right lost in that, just tryin' t'make it back."
The others nodded. Snow storms like this were rare, and definitely not to be trifled with. But Bottleby's son suddenly looked up with a thoughtful expression. "Ropes, Dad," he mentioned, rather shyly. "If we'd have enough rope, we could be makin' our way out and back w'out getting' lost."
Bottleby gazed at his son proudly. "Aye, we could do that," he agreed quickly. "And I've enough rope about, sure enough."
So it was that Frodo found himself in the midst of the snowstorm. Some hobbit, whose name he did not know, held to the other end of the rope that he had in his left hand, and at the end of the rope in his right was Sam. He stood in the swirling, biting, whiteness, feeling his toes starting to tingle with the chill of it, and tried to breathe under the woolen scarf that was wrapped around his face. There was nothing audible in all of this colorless world; all sound had been deadened and hushed, except for the wind whistling past his ear tips. It was disorienting, and for a moment, he almost felt frightened. But then he thought of Sam, just at the other end of this rope, and really, this was the Shire after all, and he was only standing in an innkeeper's yard. It wasn't as if he had gone to the ends of the world and back. He wasn't suddenly alone and bereft in this world, for he only had to give the slightest of tugs upon this rope, and there would be Sam. And as he was berating himself, the rope that connected him with Sam suddenly slackened, and there, in the pale light, Sam did appear, smiling warmly at him. And then behind him were the rest of the hobbits who had formed the chain, and they were once again back in the warm, noisy, crowded inn.
The Gamgee lasses had been warmly welcomed in the kitchen, for they had an air of capable assuredness that was more than appreciated. But after the initial onslaught had subsided, and most of the patrons were contentedly trying to fill the corners with the odd bit of toast or two, the proprietor approached them once again.
"Mistress Gamgee?" he asked hesitantly. "Would y'be Daisy Gamgee from over Hobbiton way?"
"Aye," Daisy replied uncertainly, "that'd be true enough."
"Ah, now, lass, I've heard tell that you'd be havin' an uncommon way w'healin' those in need," he continued in a tentative manner, "and if that be true now, why, I'd wish you'd be havin' a look at my little 'un, for his cough fair worries me, I don't mind tellin' ye."
"I have studied a bit of herb lore," Daisy answered cautiously, as she rose from the table where she had finally had a chance to eat her own breakfast. "I would be glad to try t'do what I can for your lad."
"Ah, bless you, Mistress Gamgee," the proprietor's face cleared at once. "He'd be in our back room, and I'd be thankin' you ever so much." Daisy followed him immediately, and May, with a quick nod to her sister, left with her.
It didn't take long for rumor to spread that there was a healer in their midst, and all afternoon, hobbits throughout the crowded inn found their way to the back room, for a quiet word with Mistress Gamgee.
Sam, Frodo, and the rest of the hobbits who had made their way out to the stable and back, had returned to the common room in time for second breakfast, and it was generally agreed that there'd be no leaving the Laughing Cow this day. Most of the patrons decided to treat the unexpected captivity as an unexpected holiday, and gladly settled in, forming congenial groups and ordering the first half-pint of the day. But Sam had noticed, as he and Frodo had made their way back into the crowded room, that Frodo had been wincing slightly as he walked.
He unobtrusively laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder, and gave him a silent inquisitive glance.
"Nothing really," Frodo responded, turning to Sam with a rather sheepish smile. "I think my toes might just be a bit frozen, but I'm sure they'll thaw out soon enough."
Sam gave him a quick discerning look, and muttered, "Then you should be goin' back to our room, Frodo, and I'll be meetin' you there soon enough."
Frodo had, as usual, to cave in to Sam's good hobbit sense, and made his way back to the small room. Sam followed shortly, carrying a basin of steaming water in his hands, and a towel under his arm. Setting it down carefully on the small table in the corner of the room, he turned to Frodo, arms crossed over his chest.
"All right then, let's be seein' it," he grumbled, softening the effect entirely with the glance he cast at Frodo.
Frodo, who had been sitting at the edge of the bed, lifted his feet up on the bed, and gave Sam a wry glance.
Sam, frowning at what he saw, gave a low hum of concern. Frodo's toes were too pale, a sure sign of possible frostbite. Picking up the pitcher of cold water that had been left behind that morning, he carefully mixed it with the basin of hot water, testing it until he was satisfied with the adjusted temperature.
Then he turned towards Frodo, who had been quietly seated on the side of the bed watching him, and piled up the blankets behind him.
"Lie back," he ordered, in a preemptory manner, and Frodo willingly did so. Then Sam carefully grasped one of Frodo's feet, and gently manipulating the toes as he did so, carefully submerged it in the basin of by now warm water.
Frodo unavoidably gasped at the sensation. At first it stung and shocked him, but Sam continued to gently, lovingly massage his toes, his arch, his sole, and indeed the entire foot, until Frodo gave an unavoidable moan at the sensuous caress, and leaning back against the blankets, closed his eyes.
Sam did not miss anything, and his smile widened, but his first concern was still Frodo's well-being. Carefully, he removed Frodo's foot from the basin, and laid it back upon the bed, to the side of his own leg. With great care, he dried it, testing and exercising the foot until he felt completely assured no damage had been done. Then slowly, methodically, he repeated the procedure with Frodo's other foot.
It was then that he glanced back over to Frodo, and a smile lit his face again. "You all right then, love?" he queried softly, and the smile only broadened when Frodo's eyes fluttered back open and, gazing at him breathlessly, Frodo quickly muttered, "Lock the door, Sam."
Gladly and without hesitation, Sam rose and examined the door of their room. There was, indeed a rudimentary bolt, and Sam quickly shoved it into place and turned back to Frodo. Frodo had already, in that short period of time, removed the towel and basin to a small chair by the side of the bed. He looked up to Sam, his gaze frank and hungry. "Come to me, Sam," he whispered, and Sam never needed any more invitation than that.
Unconsciously, he stripped himself off his jacket, never taking his eyes from Frodo, and the white cold light from the small window shone about Frodo's pale face, glistening and shimmering, and Sam felt his heart clench with the longing and wanting of this gloriously fair creature.
Dropping down beside Frodo on the narrow bed, he reached out, wrapping that beloved presence in his arms, and there was Frodo in his embrace, and Frodo's passionate kisses were falling on his mouth, the side of his face, oh, everywhere. And then Frodo had rolled him on his back and had his arms pinned to the pillow on either side of his face, and was looking down at him, his eyes dark and serious as the pale light shone from behind his head, touching and frosting his dusky curls.
"Frodo," cried out Sam at that, his voice husky with the wanting. "Frodo, please, love."
There was a sudden wondrous answering smile at that, both tender and knowing, and bending over Sam, Frodo kissed him again, long and lovingly. "Of course, dearest," he murmured at last, his hands now moving to Sam's clothing, quickly unbuttoning and unfastening, clearing the garments to the side, for it was too cold to remove them altogether. And now it was Frodo's kisses on Sam's sun-browned throat, down to his chest, and down further yet, playing, teasing, tasting those darker sensitive areas, until Sam could not help gasping, crying out, straining against Frodo's firm hold.
Frodo stopped for just a moment at that, giving a low and guttural laugh. But without any further hesitation, he then continued his trail down to Sam's navel, his tongue lapping it, teasing it. And how Sam moaned at that, arching his back, thrusting himself up, almost wild with the desire, the craving, until at last Frodo had pity on him, and closed his mouth around Sam.
Then, indeed, Sam bucked up, and with all the control left to him, fought to keep himself from wailing out in his need, and bit his lip, and threshed up again and again, to be met every time by Frodo's own craving for every bit of Sam that he could take into his mouth, until, at last, there was no further boundary to cross, and Sam gave himself over to Frodo's own need for him, completely and wholly, choking back the wild cries in his throat, and shuddering under Frodo's very touch.
They lay together for several moments in silence, except for Sam's quivering sighs, and Frodo's heavy breathing. It wasn't until then that they heard the cautious turn of the door handle, and then nearly silent footsteps receding down the hall. Frodo, who had been draped heavily over Sam in the aftermath, raised himself up with reluctance, and stared down at Sam, with a fond smile.
"We'll have our own room at the Great Smials, Sam, my dearest," he murmured, lightly stroking Sam's damp curls back from his forehead. "I'll wait, Sam, my love." Quietly then, his hand glided up Sam's cheek, passing behind his head again, and into his curls. With a last kiss, he rested his forehead against Sam's. "Always yours, Sam," he breathed, "always yours."
By the next morning, the storm was gone, and that midday, the four travelers had arrived at the Great Smials.