Title: The Scandal of the Shire
Author: Kathryn Ramage
Email: kramage@erols.com
Pairings: Frodo/Sam, Sam/Rosie 
Rating: NC17

Summary: Rosie leaves Sam after she learns that he and Frodo have
been lovers, and the story of the scandal spreads quickly. 

Warning: This story contains some hobbit-on-hobbit violence and
occasional harsh language.

Disclaimer: The characters and overall storyline are certainly not
mine. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien's estate, and I'm just playing
with them to entertain myself.

!~|i|~!

Frodo was startled from his sleep when the door to his bedroom burst
open. Before he had time to do more than lift his head from the
pillow, the intruder grabbed a fistful of hair at the crown of his
head and dragged him out of bed. As he crashed to the floor, a
fema

He stared up at Rosie, who towered over him in her nightshift. Frodo
barely recognized her as the timid, polite girl he saw about the
house every day since she had married Sam and moved into Bag End;
her hair was in a wild tumble and her pretty face was red and
distorted with fury. Frodo was bewildered. Had she gone mad?

"Filthy slut!" She aimed a kick at him, and he scrambled out of the
way to avoid the blow; her foot just grazed his thigh. She was about
to fall on him with fists, when Sam rushed into the room and grabbed
his wife from behind.

"Rosie, that's enough! Leave him alone!" Sam bellowed as he
struggled to restrain her. "What's got into you?"

"Do you think I'm a fool, Sam? D'you think I don't see?" Rosie
twisted to try and free herself, but Sam held her firmly by both
elbows. "_He's_ the one you wanted all along, not me!"
 
"Rosie, don't be silly. I married you, didn't I?"

"And now I know why!" Rosie shot back. "You took up with me so there
wouldn't be talk about you and your gentleman, and nobody'd guess
what went on here!" She freed one of her arms from Sam's grip and
turned to face him. "What is it you do, Sam? After I'm abed and
asleep, do you sneak down the hall and come here to him?"

Sam gaped at her, stunned by this accusation. "Rosie, no! That's not
so!" 

"Isn't it? D'you think I can't see the truth, after what you told me
about you and _him_?" She flung her arm out toward Frodo, who was
still sitting dazed on the floor in a tangle of sheets. Frodo
flinched as if he expected her to strike him again. Sam moved to
protect him.

As Sam knelt beside Frodo, Rosie looked over them both scornfully.
"If _he's_ what you want, Sam, then have him! Leave me out--I want
no part of this!" And she turned and stormed out of the room.

"What on earth did you tell her about us?" Frodo asked as Sam helped
him back up onto the bed.

"Oh, you know how she's been brooding since we came to live here,"
Sam explained. "And tonight, when we were getting ready for bed, she
came out with it. She asked if there was somebody else before her. I
couldn't lie--I said there was. Then she asked if it was you, like
she'd guessed the truth of it already. She didn't seem angry at all
when I said it was, only said, 'I see.' Then she got out of bed and
came over here. I'm sorry, Frodo. I would've stopped her if I'd
known what she meant to do. She didn't hurt you, did she?"

"I'm all right." Frodo gingerly rubbed his scalp. The front door
slammed. "Aren't you going after her?"

Sam shook his head. "Not tonight. It's no use, not when she's in
such a temper. She must be going home to her family. I'll give her
time to calm down, and go by the Cottons' in the morning. She'll be
ready to listen to reason then."

!~|ii|~!

Mr. and Mrs. Cotton came by early the next morning, while Frodo and
Sam were still at breakfast. 

"We've come for Rosie's things," Mrs. Cotton announced bluntly as
soon as Sam answered the door, and headed for the bedroom he shared
with Rose.

Farmer Cotton remained with the astonished pair in the front hall to
explain. "Rosie's come home to stay."

"You mean, she's not coming back _ever_?" Sam demanded in disbelief.
"She's as angry as that over what happened last night?"

"She won't have it, Sam," Farmer Cotton answered. "She says she
won't stay another day in this house with you and your whore."

"I beg your pardon!" Frodo sputtered, shocked.

"Begging _yours_, Mr. Baggins," Cotton replied with mild, but
unapologetic deference. "It's only what Rosie herself said. Now, I
don't like to speak ill of gentlefolk, but if what Rosie told us of
the goings-on here is true, then a whore you are and there's no use
in dressing it up in fine words."

"Is it true, what Rosie says?" asked Mrs. Cotton, who had returned,
bearing Rosie's belongings in a bundle.

"It's not as Rosie thinks," Sam answered. "There aren't any goings-
on, Mrs. Cotton. There've never been, not since we married-" He
stopped there, but he had already said too much. The Cottons
understood.

Farmer Cotton looked at him, then at Frodo, and his mouth turned
down with disgust. "What goes on here an't no business of ours, Sam
Gamgee, but it wasn't fair to our girl for you to bring her into it.
You oughtn't've married her if your heart was someplace else,
`specially not..." His eyes went to Frodo again. "Well, it just
wasn't right."

"It's best Rose comes back to her own home with us," added Mrs.
Cotton. "As if she was never married to you at all."
 
Frodo watched the Cottons walk down the hill and out of the gate; he
was pale and looked disturbed. Sam thought he must be stunned and
outraged at the ugly things Farmer Cotton had said to him, but once
the pair had gone out of sight, Frodo only said, "Oh, Sam--I'm so
sorry. I never meant for anything like this to happen when I asked
you and Rose to come live here."

"It's not your fault," Sam assured him. "You haven't done a thing
wrong."

"I don't know if that makes any difference," Frodo sighed. "It's
spoiled your marriage just the same. There's going to be an awful
scandal when people hear that Rosie's left you. We can only hope
that there won't be any talk about _us_ to make matters worse."

!~|iii|~!

There was talk. That couldn't be helped; as Frodo had predicted,
Rosie's return to her parents was scandal enough--a newlywed hobbit
leaving her husband was unheard of!--but once the reason for it was
known, the story became more scandalous still. Whether it was the
Cottons who had first spoken of it, or Rosie herself, or one of her
brothers had carried tales, the news spread from one end of the
Shire to the other in a matter of days. 

Sam didn't realize how far the gossip had gone until his first visit
to the Bywater Market after Rosie had gone. He was aware of the
whispers that followed him from one shop to another, but it wasn't
until the greengrocer gave him a leering grin and asked, "How's that
pretty gentleman of yours, Sam?" that Sam understood exactly what
everyone was whispering about.

He couldn't think of staying in town after that, but hastened home
with his shopping unfinished and his face burning in shame. When he
returned to Bag End, he found Frodo curled quietly in the sitting
room, and told him what had happened. 

"Who do they think they are, passing remarks against you!" Sam
finished indignantly. "I ought've punched that grocer right in his
sniggering face!" 

Frodo shook his head. "You can't defend my honor by fighting with
every shopkeeper in Bywater, Sam. People will talk no matter what.
They can't help it. This is as ripe and juicy a piece of gossip as
they've ever heard, and they want to make the most of it. I've been
expecting something of the sort."

"You _knew_?"

"Not about the gossip in the market, no, but I guessed that we were
being talked about. I can see that something's afoot. I've noticed
that the neighbors have begun to stare at me whenever I go out into
the garden, and no one has called in days--I don't mind _that_ so
much, except that I know why they're keeping away. I've become a
pariah."

"Not you-" Sam protested.

"Yes, Sam. Me. As far as everyone's concerned, _I'm_ the one to
blame for all of this. I've seduced a servant and led a married
hobbit astray. One or the other would be bad enough, but both-! And
the fact that we're both male only makes it more terrible in their
eyes. Oh, the gentlehobbits won't use that awful word that Mr.
Cotton did, but they'll think it just the same, or words as ugly:
Decadent. Degenerate. Perverse."

Sam exclaimed in horror, and Frodo reached out to take his hand. 

"I'm not ashamed of having loved you, Sam," he said urgently. "Your
friendship has been one of the most dear and treasured things in my
life, and I don't regret anything that's ever happened between us.
If this is the price, then I'll pay it. I only wish it didn't have
to become public knowledge in this horrible way."

"I'm not sorry either," Sam replied. "I could bear people knowing,
if it was just you and me. Maybe there'd be talk about us in any
case, once I came here to live with you. But Farmer Cotton's right--
I shouldn't've brought Rosie into it. It looks like I played a dirty
trick on her, and now I've lost her for good." His voice choked at
these last words, and tears welled in his eyes. 

"You do love her, don't you?" Frodo asked gently. 

Sam nodded. "I wouldn't've given you up for anybody else."

"I know. That's why I let you go without making it difficult for
you." Frodo sighed. "I'm so terribly sorry, Sam. This _is_ my fault.
Yes, it is--I should have let you go completely when you married
Rose, but I couldn't bear to. I wanted you near me even if you
weren't mine anymore." 

"I wouldn't've gone and left you here by yourself, Frodo," Sam
replied. "I couldn't, not when you haven't been well since we came
home. You need somebody to look after you. That's why I wanted to be
here even- well, even if I didn't have any better reason."

Frodo looked up at him, and a small smile flickered at the corners
of his mouth. "Is there a better reason, Sam? You haven't stayed on
simply to look after me?"

"You know it wasn't just that," Sam admitted shyly. "I wanted to be
near you too." 

"That's what I thought." Frodo was still holding Sam's hand, and he
squeezed it now. "I can face the worst, if you can. It won't be easy
on us for awhile, but the talk will die down in time-"

There was a sudden, loud thump on the front door. When Sam went to
see what it was, he found that someone had thrown a rock at the
house. 

!~|iv|~!

The days that followed were nightmarish. No more rocks were thrown,
but nasty notes were left in the mailbox, accusing the pair of all
sorts of disgusting activities. "I didn't know hobbits could be so
vile," Frodo said as he crumpled a particularly filthy missive and
flung it into the fire. He reported these incidents to the Chief
Sherriff in Bywater, but it seemed that little would be done about
them.

Frodo rarely ventured outdoors anymore, but shut himself in at Bag
End, spending his days in his study, reading and writing. Even
though he insisted that he didn't care what anybody thought of him,
he obviously felt the weight of the neighbors' disapproval. The only
support he received was from members of his family who refused to
believe the stories they'd heard--but thought he ought to leave
Hobbiton until things had quieted down, or at least dismiss Sam from
his service. 

Sam only went out to do his shopping and to call on his father,
though those visits were far more distressing to him than any sly
remarks the shopkeepers might make. The Gaffer had refused to put a
foot in Bag End since the scandal, naming it "that den o'
corruption," but Sam had to see the elderly hobbit regularly to
ensure that he was all right. At each visit, the conversation was
the same.

"You get her back, Lad," the Gaffer advised him on his latest visit.
"It's not right, this living apart. A husband's place is by his
wife's side, and a wife's by her husband. That's how it's meant to
be. Go apologize to Rosie, Sam. Bring her back _here_, to your own
home, and not that house where you're staying now. `Twas a mistake
to take her there in the first place."

"She won't listen," Sam said glumly, not for the first time. "She
wants nothing to do with me."

His father made a dismissive sound. "Maybe Rosie'd come back t'ye if
you leave that house. You ought to come home in any case, Lad. It's
no good for you to go on living there, with all this talk. It pains
me to say such a thing of Mr. Frodo, but he's done an awful wrong
t'you, Sam. It was a sad day when you took up with the likes of him.
He ought to be thrashed for dragging your good name, and the name of
Baggins, through the mud!"

"He hasn't!" Sam insisted. "Don't you say that about him! `Tisn't
true."

"That makes no difference, Sam. It's what people are saying. Your
staying with him looks bad, even if it isn't." The Gaffer slowly
considered his son. "Is there anything to it, Sam?"

"What does it matter?" Sam answered. "The damage is done, just as
you say."

After he left his father's bungalow, Sam headed up the lane that
curved around the bottom of Bag End's garden toward the gate, when
he saw Rosie's brothers--Tom, Jolly, and Nibs--coming around the
hill toward him. He froze where he was. Unless he retreated back the
way he had come, it would be impossible to avoid them. He'd been
dreading this meeting, had been staying out of the Green Dragon
lately to keep out of sight of his former friends as much as to
avoid hearing the gossip. 

When they saw him, the three brothers also stopped. They stood
between Sam and Bag End's gate; he would have to go past them to
reach it. For a moment, they stared at Sam, uncertain if they would
let him pass, or if there was going to be a fight. 

Tom spoke first. "How could you, Sam? Poor Rosie's been crying her
eyes out every night since she come home. It was mean to treat her
so-"

"To trick all of us!" cried Nibs angrily, as if the whole Cotton
family had been betrayed. "Wasn't we friends? Didn't we all like
you? Mum and Dad was _glad_ when you asked to marry our Rose, and
happy to give you her hand. And you toss it all aside."

"Over that-!" Jolly picked up a stone from the lane and flung it
over the gate, where it clattered on the steps leading up to the
house. "That fancy-boy of yours."

"It's that Frodo Baggins," Tom agreed. "You was fine before you went
off with him to the far-and-wilds, Sam. _He_ did this to you,
changed you."

"He hasn't done nothing!" Sam insisted. 

"You're saying it's all your doing, then?"

"It is! You want to blame somebody for what's happened, blame me,
not Mr. Frodo. Or better yet, blame your sister--there was no
trouble afore _she_ started in on Frodo in the first place. Now, get
out of the way and let me by!" Sam ploughed forward as if he meant
to push through them whether they moved aside or not. When Tom
stepped to block his way, Sam shoved him; Tom shoved back.
 
Before he knew it, all three were on him, fists pounding. Sam had
wrestled in play with the Cotton boys before, and could pin any one
of them alone--but how to fight off all three at once when they
truly meant him harm? 

Sam flailed to strike back, landing punches wherever he could. He
heard Frodo shout his name from the hill above, then, "Stop! Let him
go!" 

He caught a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye as Frodo
raced down the hill and launched himself over the hedge--and more
bewildering, a flash of bright metal in the sunlight. When his
opponents drew back from him suddenly, Sam saw to his amazement that
Frodo bore Sting with him and was brandishing the sword to hold the
trio at bay. The tip of the blade pricked the front of Nibs' shirt. 

Sam had only seen Frodo like this once before, when they'd been set
upon by Gollum that first time in the Emyn Muil. The creature had
gotten its bony hands around his throat and Frodo had drawn Sting
then too, to make Gollum let go. Frodo had the same fierce look on
his face now, and he spoke to the Cottons in the same unyielding
tone:

"I _said_: Leave him alone."

That was enough to send the Cottons running in terror.

After they had fled, Frodo lowered the sword and came over to help
Sam up. "Are you all right?" he asked, and tentatively touched Sam's
lower lip, which was swollen and bleeding.

"A bit banged about," Sam replied, "but I gave `em as good as I
got." He had delivered split lips, bloody noses, and at least one
black eye to his old friends before Frodo had intervened. "But I
couldn't believe my eyes, when you came jumping over the hedge!" 

Frodo smiled. "Think of it as repayment for all the times you
rescued me." He took Sam by the arm to help him up the path into Bag
End.

!~|v|~!

They had not been in the house more than a few minutes when there
was a knock on the door--a rare event these days--and Frodo answered
to find a sherriff on the doorstep. One of the neighbors who'd seen
the fight had grown alarmed at the sight of the sword and run into
Hobbiton to fetch help.

Finding that the fight had ended before his arrival, the shirriff
listened to Frodo's and Sam's stories, and said he would speak to
the Cottons. "We can't be having brawls in the streets, disturbing
the peace. The Cotton lads know better'n that, and I'll have a word
with them. But all the same, you didn't ought to draw swords on
them, Mr. Baggins," he said reproachfully, and stared at the
elegant, elvish blade lying on the sideboard in the front hall,
where Frodo had set it down. "The lads was only defending their
sister's good name."

"And I was defending Sam's--not to mention his person!" Frodo shot
back. "Since this trouble has begun, we've had rocks flung at this
house, nasty notes pushed through the mailbox, and nastier names
shouted at us, all as much of a breach of the peace as what went on
in the lane today. I refuse to put up with any more. We will defend
ourselves from assaults by ruffians if _you_ won't do anything about
it!"

The sherriff was taken aback, and a little frightened, by Frodo's
vehemence. "We'll do our best to see it stops, Mr. Baggins."

"See that you do," said Frodo, and he showed the sherriff out. 

It was as if this effort had taken the last of Frodo's strength; the
moment he shut the door, the anger drained from him, and so did all
his color. He turned so abruptly white that Sam darted forward to
catch him by the elbow. 

"I'm all right, Sam," Frodo said as Sam saw him to the bench beneath
the coat-pegs in the curving wall. 

"You were about to faint," Sam answered. "You'd be on the floor
right now if I wasn't here."

"Just a little light-headed." Frodo let his head droop and rested it
in his cupped hands. "All this excitement... it's taken a lot out of
me." 

"You're not well, Frodo. You weren't before this trouble started,
and it's only made you worse."

"I'm fine." After a moment, Frodo lifted his head and looked up at
Sam, who was frowning down at him in concern even though his own
mouth was still bloody and a large purple bruise was rising under
his left eye. "Never mind about me, Sam--look at your poor face! I
meant to attend to that when we came in. Come with me." 

He rose to take Sam's hand and, ignoring his protests, led him to
the washstand in his bedroom. There, Frodo made Sam sit down, took
up a washcloth and poured out a little water from the pitcher into
the basin. "Hold still."

Sam held still, but winced at the gentle dabs on his injured face.
"I'm glad you came to my rescue," he told Frodo, "but maybe you
should've held back for your own sake. It _did_ take a lot out of
you--I can see that. This whole scandal's been awful hard on you.
Whatever made you do it, Frodo? You never fight. You hate it."

"Yes, I do, but I wasn't going to stand by while they beat you. I
had to put a stop to it. I'd be no good in a fist-fight, so I did
what I could to frighten them off. They won't dare lay a hand on you
again. All the same..." Frodo suggested cautiously as he patted
Sam's swollen lower lip with the damp cloth, "maybe it would be
better if you did as your father's been urging-" 

"No!" cried Sam.

"We can't silence the gossip," Frodo continued, "but it might not be
so bad if you weren't living here with me. If you return to the
Gaffer at Bagshot Row, you wouldn't have to bear the brunt of it." 

"I won't leave you!" Sam insisted, and took Frodo by the wrist to
lower the hand from his face. "I've told my dad so a dozen times,
and I mean to stand by it. D'you think I'd go and let you face this
trouble alone when it's all because of me? Leaving you won't make
things any better, now the worst has happened."

"It might be better for us both if we parted, Sam. My Brandybuck
relations have been pressing me to return to Buckland, to get away
from 'this unpleasantness'--and away from you, although they don't
say that. Even Merry, who first said we ought to stand up for
ourselves and never mind the gossip, thinks it's been too hard on
me."

Sam looked very much alarmed at this news. "You wouldn't go?"

"I might, if you went back to your father's house. There'd be no
reason for me to stay here." Frodo regarded him thoughtfully. "Is
there a reason for us to stay together, Sam?" 

"What d'you mean?" asked Sam. 

"It's not as if we were lovers still. We aren't. In spite of the
ugly rumors about what you and I are up to, we've really been quite
blameless. You haven't touched me once since Rosie left. You can,
you know," Frodo spoke frankly. "I've wanted you to. I've left my
door open every night, waiting. You have only to come to me, any
time you like. I wouldn't turn you away. I even thought about it on
that first night, when you sat with me on my bed and held me after
Rosie had gone."

"I couldn't then!" Sam protested in amazement. "How could I? Rosie
was barely out the door, and I thought she'd be back in the
morning." 

"It was too soon, that night," Frodo agreed. "And if there were any
hope at all of a reconciliation with Rose, I wouldn't wish to make
matters worse by putting myself between you. I wouldn't be saying
this to you. But, Sam, I have wondered. You've said it yourself--the
worst _has_ happened. If we are going to be punished, we might as
well live up to our reputation and do what we've been accused of.
Unless you don't want to. If that's so, then it would be better if
we separated and gave the gossip a chance to quiet down."

"It's not that I don't want to. I _couldn't_," Sam repeated, and
tried to explain: "It's just that, no matter what anybody's said
about us, I wanted to say it wasn't true. I didn't do what Rosie
thinks I did. I didn't lie to her and bed with you once I was
married to her. I can say that now."

"Say to whom?" Frodo asked. "To Rosie?"

Sam nodded.

"Do you think she'll believe it? You haven't given up hope that she
might return?"

"I know she won't be coming back," Sam admitted, "but it's hard to
stop hoping. Maybe I'm a fool-" Tears came into his eyes, and
spilled down his face. 

"Oh, Sam." Frodo set down the washcloth and put both arms around
him. Sam's arms went around his waist and he let his head fall to
Frodo's chest as he began to sob. Frodo held him, stroked his hair,
kissed his temple and murmured, "My poor darling. Hush, now. Ssh,"
and other soothing endearments. 

"I've lost her, and I won't lose you too!" Sam sobbed into his
collar. "You're all I've got, Frodo. You can't go away." 

"I won't leave." Taking Sam's head in both hands, Frodo lifted his
face to bestow comforting little kisses on his brow, eyelids,
cheeks, chin, tenderly taking the tears away. "Hush, my love. It
will be all right--I promise you."

Sam gazed up at him and, when Frodo kissed his mouth, careful not to
press too hard on the swollen lip, he kissed back with a
determination that took Frodo by surprise. 

The next thing Frodo knew, Sam stood up, fairly lifting him off his
feet, and they moved from the washstand to the bed. The backs of his
thighs bumped the edge of the mattress, and he sat down on it. Their
kisses grew deeper and more hungry, and they were both struggling to
get out of their clothes; buttons popped off and rattled on the
floorboards. 

Once Frodo had kicked his trousers off, he drew up his legs and sat
poised at the edge of the bed, balanced precariously on his
tailbone. With both hand on his raised knees, Sam spread his legs
apart and wrapped one around behind his own back. Frodo had to grab
Sam by the shoulders to keep from falling backwards across the bed. 

He cried out once when Sam first thrust into him--not in pain, but
at the sudden force and depth of the penetration. It came as
something of a shock after so long a time. Then he relaxed and gave
himself to it completely, offering the haven of his body. With his
arms and legs wrapped around Sam, he held on to him, rocked with
him, kissing Sam's face and murmuring comforts. He'd wanted this so
badly, and now that it was happening, his thoughts were not for his
own needs, but for Sam's. He'd been selfish in bringing the matter
up, goading Sam into saying why he wanted to stay--and had tapped
into more powerful feelings, and greater pain, than he'd guessed
were there.

He had to make up for it. He would give whatever was necessary to
help his beloved to heal.

!~|*|~!

Later, Frodo lay sated and drowsy. The windows over the bed had been
unshuttered the whole time, and the curtains fluttered in the
breeze, letting in glints of sunlight. Outside could be heard the
buzz of bees amid the flowers in the garden and, farther off, the
shouts and laughter of the neighborhood children at play. Frodo was
surprised that it was still daylight; not more than an hour had
passed since he'd brought Sam into his bedroom, but he felt as if
they'd been at it for an endless time.

It had been months since they'd last been together this way, but he
couldn't remember Sam making love to him quite so passionately
before. He hadn't realized how much Sam had been holding back, and
how much he too must have wanted this again. It was as if, after all
these weeks of restraint, every long-suppressed desire had burst
forth and Sam was determined to have him all at once.

Frodo still felt flushed and tingly right down to his toes.

And, more than that, he felt closer to Sam than he had in a very
long time. Being thought lovers when they weren't had put up
barriers between them. They had lived in the same house, but Sam had
always kept a careful distance from him. They might as well have
separated. Now that they _were_ lovers again, they had a reason to
stay together. Frodo would fight for it. He had found a new resolve
and inner strength--even as his physical strength was waning--and he
felt quite ready to face whatever came next. 

Sam lay spent, sleeping beside him. Frodo reached out to place a
hand on his upper arm and moved closer to rest his head on Sam's
shoulder and curl against him. Sam shifted sleepily and put an arm
around him. 

"We've done it now," he murmured. "There's no going back."

"Are you sorry?" Frodo asked him.

"No." His arm around Frodo flexed, squeezing him more tightly. "You
won't be going away?"

"No, Sam," Frodo promised. "I'll stay with you. We'll see this
through to the end together."

!~|vi|~!

After that day, things became easier. The harassment ceased
immediately. 

"The sherriffs must've done some good for us after all," Sam
observed after they had enjoyed a week of peace and quiet. 

"Do you think so?" Frodo went to the sitting-room window and drew
the lacy curtain aside to gaze out over the green hills and smials
with their brightly colored round doors and smoking chimneys; it
looked very peaceful, but it always had, even when things were at
their worst. "I wonder if it isn't because we've fought back. I
suspect that our neighbors, who didn't hesitate to express their
disapproval of a sickly and retiring degenerate, are a little more
afraid of a mad-hobbit with a sword." He chuckled. "Oh, they'll go
on whispering behind our backs, but they won't dare insult us to our
faces anymore--nor, I hope, through notes in the mailbox." 

"Maybe I should've picked a fight with the Cotton lads long before
this," Sam said. "When I saw `em at the Dragon the other night, they
ran like blazes."

Frodo turned to smile at him, delighted that Sam was regaining his
sense of humor. "One way or another, it seems to have put a stop to
this awful business," he replied as Sam joined him at the window.
"Besides, it's brought us together."

"I should've done _that_ long before too."

When Sam's arms went around him from behind, Frodo let the curtain
fall over the window and leaned back against his lover. He let out a
soft moan as Sam moved the hair from the nape of his neck to nuzzle
behind one ear, then nipped the pointed tip; his head fell back onto
Sam's shoulder and he reached up with one hand to touch Sam's jaw
and guide him into a kiss. This was even more delightful than being
able to laugh again. 

As if that first outburst of passion had set him free, Sam ceased to
be guilt-stricken and ashamed, and began to be defiant. He went out
boldly now, not only on his errands, but to his old haunts at the
Green Dragon and Ivy Bush, indifferent to the whispers and meeting
any taunts about his pretty gentleman with scorn or an offer to
fight the taunter. If he got into any scraps, he didn't tell Frodo
about them when he came home.

More importantly to Frodo, Sam made love to him at every
opportunity. True to his word, Frodo never turned him away. He never
wanted to. After so many weeks of misery, and in the face of so much
hostility, it was a relief to find some happiness for himself and
his beloved. He meant it to cherish it, and make it last for as long
as he could. 

!~|*|~!

One afternoon not long afterwards, as Sam went out to do his usual
market-day shopping, he found Rosie waiting for him in the lane
outside Bag End's gate. 

Sam regarded her warily. This was one battle he was not ready for.
He hadn't seen Rose in over a month, not since the night she had
attacked Frodo and stormed out of the house. He had no idea why she
was here. Had she come to fling more filthy words and accusations?
Was she intending another assault on Frodo or himself? 

"I was making my mind up whether to go up to the door," Rosie said,
as if guessing his thoughts. "I wanted to talk to you, Sam." 

"What about?" Sam asked.

"I wanted to say how sorry I was."

Sam would have once been overjoyed to hear Rosie say that, but now
he only boggled at it. After all she'd put them through, did she
think she could mend things by coming to apologize? And just as he
was putting his life into order again!

"I didn't mean half of it--I was only so angry when I thought you'd
been untrue to me. It hurt so terribly, it made me say cruel things.
Tell me the truth of it, Sam, please," Rosie went on urgently. "I
must know. Did you marry me to quiet the gossip about you and Mr.
Frodo?"

"It didn't work if I did!" Sam exclaimed, then told her, "No, it
wasn't like that."

"There wasn't nothing between you and him once we married? You
didn't bed with him?"

"I didn't," but honesty and a flash of new-found defiance forced Sam
to add, "but I do now. Every night."

Rosie's face went red. "You-!"

"Well, what of it?" Sam retorted. "There was no reason not to, since
you'd gone for good. We weren't husband and wife any more, except in
name, and people was already talking about me and Frodo. Why not do
as they was saying? The gossip couldn't get no worse!" 

His anger rose as he thought of how much he had loved her--so much
that he'd given up Frodo for her sake--and she had not trusted him.
She hadn't appreciate his sacrifice, but retaliated with horrible
suspicions and accusations once she'd learned of it. She'd destroyed
their marriage, and subjected him and poor Frodo to public disgrace!
If she wanted the truth now, he would give it to her. He'd make her
see what she'd done. 

"That's what your jealousy's got you, Rose! You didn't have nothing
to worry about. Whatever was between me 'n' Frodo, it was ended when
I married you. He let me go. He's that kind-hearted--and he isn't a
whore! I'd've been as true a husband as you could ask for, but you
wouldn't believe that. If I've gone back to him since you went off,
that's only my business. You've no say in it." 

He expected Rosie to explode at these home truths; he'd seen her
temper before, and knew what she could do in a rage. But Rosie
wasn't angry.

"You're right," she said. "If you've taken up with him, it's my own
fault. I left you to him. It wouldn't've happened if I'd stayed to
fight for you."

"There's been enough fighting," Sam answered, "and, besides, it's
turned out for the best. We weren't suited. We shouldn't've married
in the first place."

"You don't want me back?" Rosie sounded surprised and, to Sam's
utter confusion, dismayed. He didn't understand it. Did she want to
come back?

"I did," he answered. "But it's too late for that now." If Rosie had
returned as he'd first hoped, he would have been glad of it. But too
much had passed since then, and he had other obligations. "We can't
go back to things as they were. I've promised to stay by Frodo. He's
ill, and he needs me. You don't."

"You're wrong, Sam," Rosie said quietly. "I do need you."

"You got on fine without me all this time."

"I've been miserable. I've wept every night since I came away. And
you've got to know why..." she hesitated, then came out with it:
"There's a baby on the way." 

Sam's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Is that true?"

"'Course it's true!" Rosie cried. "I wouldn't've come here today if
it wasn't! My mum and dad said I shouldn't, and it was better I
never saw you again, but I had to tell you. A baby's got a right to
both a mother and father, Sam."

Sam was still angry, but he understood now why Rosie had set aside
her jealousy, swallowed her pride, and come to him. A baby changed
everything. Even if she never wanted to see him again, she couldn't.
The child would always be a bond between them. He had just as much
responsibility toward it as she did. 

But what could they do? He couldn't go back on his decision to stay
with Frodo, nor did he want to. He had torn his heart to pieces over
Rosie once, and there was no putting it back together in the same
way. And he couldn't see Rosie returning to Bag End to be his wife
in name only. She would find _that_ as intolerable as he would, and
it was no fit way to bring up a child. Whatever else, he meant to be
a good father.

"We'll have to work something out," he said. "Will you come into the
house with me? We can't go on talking here in the middle of the
lane--we've given the neighbors more'n enough to gossip about
already."

Rosie shook her head. "I couldn't, not while _he's_ there. I'm sorry
I said what I did about him, but I don't want to see him just the
same. I wouldn't've come--only you had to know about this baby." She
turned and quickly went up the lane in the direction of her home.

Sam forgot his shopping, and went back into Bag End to tell Frodo
his news.

!~|vii|~!

Elanor Gamgee was born at the Cotton farm the following spring.
Rosie stayed with her parents throughout her pregnancy, but she and
Sam had gotten to be on better terms during the winter months before
the baby came. Since Rosie would not come to Bag End, Sam had to go
to see her from time to time to discuss matters. After Elanor's
birth, he visited nearly every day. 

Rosie's family was grudging at first, and might have barred his
entrance, but Sam would not be turned away. He meant to see his
daughter, and as the child's father, he had rights they could not
refuse. With his repeated visits, Farmer and Mrs. Cotton slowly
began to accept his presence. They continued to believe that he had
done Rosie a great wrong by marrying her, but they adored their
granddaughter as much as Sam did and couldn't regret that she'd been
born. The Cotton boys remained hostile for a longer time and made
feints at Sam as if they meant to fight him again--but didn't dare,
for they remembered Frodo and his sword. In time, they sullenly
apologized for their behavior, at Rosie's insistence.

During those winter months, the scandal died down. There were no new
incidents to feed the gossip. The transgressors behaved no
differently in public than they always had--indeed, Frodo had almost
entirely disappeared from the public eye altogether. Some people
doubted that there was anything behind the ugliest rumors after all,
and began to say it was all a quarrel that had been blown out of
proportion. If the stories were true, would Rosie be speaking to
Sam? Once news of the expected baby spread, some even predicted that
the two would soon be reunited.

But in spite of their renewed civilities, there was no talk of a
reconciliation between Rosie and Sam. Rosie did not suggest it, and
Sam would not consider it.

The shopkeepers at Bywater ceased to sneer and make pointed jokes
when Sam went marketing, and some of the neighbors began to make
apologetic overtures to Frodo. If anyone called at Bag End, Frodo
was civil to them, but he couldn't look at these people in the same
way now that he'd seen them at their worst. He never did learn who
exactly had sent those filthy notes, and he always wondered what
these politely smiling hobbits truly thought of him. He was almost
thankful when his failing health made it impossible for him to
receive social calls.

For Frodo was growing very ill. He had a bad spell in March. This
was not unexpected, for the same thing had happened the year before
on the first anniversary of the Ring's destruction, but this time,
Frodo did not recover as quickly. It was many days before he left
his bed, and he was never well again afterwards, but seemed to fall
into a decline. He was always pale now, and there were faint purple
shadows around his eyes.

Even though he was no longer a pariah, Frodo continued to spend most
of his time indoors, working on the story of his adventures with a
desperate intensity, as if he were afraid he wouldn't be able to
finish. The effort sapped whatever strength he had left; when he was
not in his study writing, he returned to his bed. Sam, who had
become Frodo's nurse as much as his lover, was used to bringing him
his meals on trays. 

After that last bad spell, Sam was reluctant to leave Frodo alone.
Only the most important errands, and his visits to his newborn
daughter, could take him away. On his return from these latter
visits, he went immediately to Frodo's room to see if he was all
right, and to tell him about the baby. 

One afternoon when Elanor was about six weeks old, Sam sat at the
foot of Frodo's bed and reported on the baby's progress with
enthusiasm and a father's pride. "She's growing bigger every day,
and getting prettier too now she's left off being such a bald, red-
faced little mite. Her hair's growing in so fair and golden. She'll
be a beauty, mark my words. I wish you could see her, Frodo."

"I'd be delighted to meet this infant marvel," Frodo said with an
indulgent smile. "Do you think Rosie and her family will let you
bring the baby here?"

"When she's a bit older, I will," Sam promised. "I mean to bring her
to the Gaffer's for him to see, and nobody can stop me from bringing
her up the hill to you for a bit. Let `em try! She's _my_ baby as
much as Rose's." 

"Do you ever speak of me with Rose?" Frodo asked.

Sam didn't know what to make of this question. "No," he answered
after a moment's hesitation. "She won't hear your name, and I won't
push her to say something about you I don't want to hear. We're
getting on now, for Nellie's sake, and there's no point in starting
quarrels."

"I've never asked before, Sam," said Frodo, "but I've wondered: If
Rosie had told you about this baby before we'd become lovers, you
would have gone back to her, wouldn't you?"

"I suppose so," Sam admitted reluctantly. "If I hadn't given up my
hopes of her, and I wasn't promised to you yet, it'd be only right
to give her another chance." 

"Would you give her another chance now if she asked you, Sam?"

"I don't want her back now."

His feelings had been divided between Frodo and Rosie for so long,
but it wasn't in him to love two people at once; he had to give his
whole heart to one. He'd given himself to Rosie first, and when that
had gone wrong, he'd turned to rebuild his life around loving Frodo
and caring for him. Even if he still had some feelings for Rosie, he
couldn't switch his affections back and forth, nor could he try to
split himself between the two. 

"Not even for the child's sake?" Frodo persisted.

"No..." Sam shook his head briskly. "Rosie wouldn't ask, so there's
no use in saying 'what if?' She doesn't want me now anymore'n I want
her. She's happier with her family, and I'm happier with you. We
couldn't have a little baby here. I couldn't look after Nellie
properly--looking after _you_'s gotten to be enough of a job. As
long as the Cottons don't try 'n' keep my Nel from me, things're
fine as they are. There's no reason to change."

"You won't ever be able to marry again," said Frodo.

"I don't plan to." Sam knew he couldn't have the one he wanted on
those terms even if he was free. "But I feel sorry for Rose," he
admitted. "She ought to be able to get another husband if she wants
one. It'd be a worse scandal than the one we've already been in if
she was to take up with somebody else." 

Hobbits had no legal means to dissolve a marriage; the idea of it
was utterly foreign to them. It sometimes, if very rarely, happened
that a married couple found they couldn't abide each other and lived
apart. Even more rarely, one left the other, or ran off with someone
else, though this last was always a huge disgrace. But, no matter
what, no matter how far or how long the couple lived apart, they
were still married, and would be until one of them died. 

"Now what's all this about?" he wondered. "You're not afraid I'll go
back to her, are you, Frodo?"

"I'm not afraid," said Frodo, "but I've thought quite a lot about
it. You ought to consider it yourself, Sam."

"Well, I won't," Sam insisted. "Not ever."

Frodo said no more, but it remained on his mind--Sam was sure of it. 

And something else troubled Frodo. He grew more thoughtful as his
health declined throughout the summer. Sam began to worry that
something serious was afoot, and Frodo was keeping it from him.

His suspicions were further excited when Merry Brandybuck came from
Buckland in May, and was sent on an errand at Frodo's behest to
deliver a letter. To where? Sam didn't know, but he guessed it must
be Rivendell, for Merry was gone from the Shire for weeks. He
returned in August with a sealed note in reply; Sam, who answered
the door to Merry and accompanied him to Frodo's bedroom, saw the
'G' rune stamped into the bright red wax as Merry handed over the
message.

"Was it Mr. Gandalf you wrote to?" Sam asked Frodo.

"That's right," Frodo answered as he took the letter. "I needed to
reach him rather urgently. I hoped that, if he wasn't at Rivendell,
Lord Elrond would know where he was and see that my message was sent
on to him. Or perhaps he might answer it himself. But I'm glad you
were able to find Gandalf so quickly, Merry." 

"He _was_ there," said Merry. "He said he'd been expecting to hear
from you." He left to wash up, for he had ridden fast for several
days and was dirty, weary, and looking forward to a decent dinner. 

Sam remained in the room while Frodo broke the seal and opened the
letter. Frodo read Gandalf's message and, as Sam watched, his face
changed: he looked hopeful, relieved, and at the same time, Sam
thought, suddenly very sad.

"It's not bad news, is it?" Sam asked.

"No..." said Frodo. "It's good news, but it will be hard on us both.
It's much sooner than I expected, but perhaps that's for the best. I
don't know if I could endure another winter."

Sam didn't understand a word of this.

Frodo lowered the letter and considered him thoughtfully. Then he
asked, "Will you do something for me, Sam?"

"Yes, of course. Anything."

"I want you to make it up with her."

"With Rosie, you mean?" Sam was puzzled and surprised by this
request. "After all the trouble she's caused us--the awful things
she and her family said about you, and made everybody for miles
around say with their gossiping? And made you ill by it!"

"The scandal didn't make me ill, Sam. I have been, since the Ring
was destroyed. I daresay I'd be in this same position now, even if
there'd never been any trouble. I'd have to make the same choice. As
for the rest of it, it doesn't matter anymore. She's apologized, and
I bear her no grudge."

Sam sputtered, utterly astonished. "You don't-!"

"How can I? She was only fighting for the one she loved, and I can't
blame her for that. Oh, it was awful last year, when we had to bear
the worst of the neighbors' hatefulness, but I'm not sorry it
happened--not when it's brought us together. If it weren't for this
scandal, I might never have had you for my own again. We've had a
wonderful time, haven't we? I'm grateful for every moment we've
shared these past months." Frodo paused, and his eyes grew large and
very sad. "But, Sam, you can't hang the rest of your life on me.
You're young and healthy, and you'll no doubt have many long and
eventful years ahead of you. And I- Well, I won't be here much
longer. I don't want you to be left alone. Can't you and Rose make
things up between you? Rosie won't mind so much about me, in time,
and the scandal will be entirely forgotten after awhile... after I'm
gone."

Sam felt a sudden coldness clench his heart. Gone? Did Frodo mean
dead? He didn't want to think of such a thing, but Frodo's health
was undeniably growing worse; Sam had to consider the awful
possibility that it was so. Was this the secret that Frodo had been
keeping from him?

"Is it true?" Sam asked. "You're... going?" He couldn't bear to say
the more terrible word aloud.

Frodo was still regarding him with a sad expression. "You know that
I've been very ill," he answered gently.

"You'll get better."

"No, Sam, I won't. I can't, not if I stay in the Shire. But, Sam-" 

But Sam could hear no more. Try as he might, he could not keep a
loud, horrified sob from bursting forth. Impossible as it was to
hold his feelings in, his first instinct was to spare Frodo the
distress of seeing _his_ grief. He was also afraid of what he might
say once he let himself go. 

He fled Frodo's room. Frodo called out after him, but Sam did not
stop until he'd left the house through the kitchen door and gone out
to the back garden. From there, he climbed up the slope of the
house, flung himself down in the tall grass under the tree that
topped the Hill, wept broken-heartedly and pounded the earth with
his fists. A black cloud of helpless rage and wrenching pain was
cast over his mind, just as it had been that terrible day at Cirith
Ungol when he'd seen Frodo fall and thought him dead. He was losing
Frodo again--and Frodo hadn't seen fit to tell him!

When his anger had been spent, he lay in the growing shadows beneath
the tree with his knees hugged to his chest and his head down, and
went on sobbing until he could weep no more. It was some time before
he was able to rise. 

He returned to the house through in kitchen, and stopped to bathe
his face in cold water from the cistern. It wouldn't do to let Frodo
see him with a red face and swollen eyes. Then he went to Frodo's
room. 

As he approached the bedroom door, he saw that Merry was sitting
with Frodo. Frodo looked upset; Merry was holding his hand and the
two were talking softly:

"I thought you would have told Sam the truth by now."

"I couldn't, Merry--not `til I knew what would happen. It makes a
great deal of difference to _me_, but I daresay it won't be any
easier for him." Then Frodo looked up and saw Sam in the doorway,
and gave him a tremulous smile. "Are you all right, Sam?"

Sam nodded. "I didn't mean to fly off and leave you--but Mr. Merry's
right. You should've told me before. How-" Fresh tears welled in his
eyes, and he made a ferocious effort to keep control of himself.
"How long've you known, Frodo, and didn't tell me?"

"While we were still in Gondor," Frodo answered. "Long before we
came home, I knew that I would never really be well again. I thought
we'd have more time than this... but it's not to be." He glanced at
his cousin, and Merry squeezed his hand and discreetly left them
alone to talk. "I knew how painful it would be for you to learn the
truth, Sam. I waited- I hoped I might have some better news to give
you. I do now." Frodo reached for the letter, still lying on the
bed-sheets beside him.

"Is that what's in Mr. Gandalf's letter?" Sam asked. Frodo had said
it was good news, but it would be hard for them both to bear. What
could that mean?

"I have a chance to be healed--not by Gandalf, but by the Elves.
That was offered to me in Gondor too, but I didn't know until this
spring if I would accept it."

Sam didn't understand. "Why wouldn't you, if it means you can be
well?"

"Because," Frodo explained, "it also means I will have to go away
from the Shire, and from you, Sam. I promised once that I wouldn't
leave you, but it seems that I will have to if I am to live. There's
no other way." 

Frodo told him about the Undying Lands over the Sea, where the Elves
went when they were very old and tired, and didn't want to go on
living in Middle-earth anymore, and about the offer the Elves had
made him as Ringbearer. They would give him a place there, and
relief from his suffering, but he could never return. Sam didn't
understand it all, but he saw that if there was a choice between
this and Frodo staying in the Shire and growing weaker and more ill
until he died, then there was nothing else to be done. But that
didn't make it easier to bear; he was going to lose his love just
the same. 

That evening, since they had company, Frodo got up and dressed for
dinner. Afterwards, as Sam was putting him to bed, he sat up to wind
his arms around Sam's neck and give him a kiss. "Let's make love
tonight," he suggested softly.

"Are you well enough for it?" Sam asked back.

"I want to. Please? We don't have much time left, and we must make
the most of it." 

That night, Sam made love to Frodo as if it were the last time. He
committed Frodo to memory--the taste of his mouth and the skin of
his throat, belly, and thighs, his warm scent, the feel of the
different textures of the hair on his head and toes and private
parts. That soft little moaning sound Frodo made when he nuzzled
behind his ears. The way it felt when their arms and legs were
tangled around each other and their bodies joined. How much longer
they would have this together?

Afterwards, while Frodo slept, Sam lay with his head on his
beloved's chest and listened to the sound of his beating heart. 

!~|viii|~!

"What's wrong, Sam?" Rosie asked him the next day.

Even though he'd barely slept the night before, Sam had gotten up to
go out at mid-morning for his usual visit to the Cotton farm. His
distress must show, for Rosie had looked at him curiously when she'd
answered the farmhouse door. She'd taken him into the small and
overheated kitchen, where she and Mrs. Cotton were washing up after
breakfast; Farmer Cotton and the boys were out, busy bringing the
hay in from the fields. Elanor was in her cradle by the hearth, and
Rosie lifted the baby up and set her down in Sam's lap once he'd
taken a seat. Then she asked her question.

"It's about Frodo," Sam answered. It was the first time he'd spoken
Frodo's name to Rose since before Elanor was born.

Although her back was turned to them, Mrs. Cotton seemed to be
listening with as much interest as Rose. Sam lifted the baby up to
his shoulder and went outside. Rosie went with him.

"I've heard that he's been poorly," she said. "Is it very bad, Sam?"

Could he tell her? For all he knew, Rosie would be glad to hear how
ill her rival was. "He's sinking quick," Sam said bluntly. "He can't
live in the Shire anymore, so he's going away, off with the Elves,
he tells me. He says they can help him." Let her gloat about _that_
if she wanted to.

But Rosie only said quietly, "I'm sorry to hear it, Sam. I know what
he's been to you."

"Do you, Rose?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"You love him... more'n you ever loved me. I don't say as I like it,
but I can't help seeing it's so." 

She more sympathetic than he had expected, and Frodo's words about
making up with her flashed momentarily into Sam's mind. Then he
dismissed the idea. How could he think of it, when Frodo needed him
most? 
 
!~|*|~!

When he returned from the Cotton farm, Sam was surprised to find Bag
End full of people--seven guests, to be precise. With the exception
of Merry, who was staying on for awhile to help Frodo put his
affairs into order, they were all Frodo's relatives from the
Hobbiton area--Bagginses, Burrowses, Chubbs, and Proudfoots, the
ones who had been the most kind to Frodo during the worst of the
scandal. Frodo himself was dressed and seated on the best parlor
settee with a large sheet of best-quality linen paper filled with
close writing spread on the table before him. His guests were seated
around the room, taking glasses of wine Merry offered them from a
tray. Their business here had obviously been finished before Sam's
return; he didn't need to read writing on the paper, nor the names
in fresh red ink at the bottom--the signatures of the seven required
witnesses--to know what it was: Frodo's will. 

The visitors stared at Sam. Sam was used to that by now, even though
these particular people had always refused to believe the gossip. He
had heard raised voices as he'd come into the house, and now
everyone was silent; he guessed that he had interrupted some sort of
argument. He didn't know what it was about, nor understand the
reason for their looks, until after the guests had been thanked and
Merry was showing them out the door. While Frodo sat waiting for the
ink to dry before rolling up the will and returning it to his study,
Sam looked down and saw his own name on the paper beneath a list of
small bequests: 

"The remainder of my property, including the freehold estate 
of Bag End, I leave absolutely to my companion Samwise Gamgee 
as a token of my appreciation for his devoted service and 
unwavering loyalty during all the most difficult trials of 
my life."

"You can't do that, Frodo!" Sam protested. "You can't leave it all
to me. Tisn't done!"

"That's just what the others told him," said Merry as he returned
from the front hall. "They said that, after all the talk there's
been about the two of you, it'd be foolish to encourage more of it.
But Frodo would have it no other way."

"Who else should I leave my things to?" Frodo replied. "I won't let
all Sam has done for me go unrewarded. It's the least I can do.
We've weathered the worst of the scandal, and I've learned not to
mind how people talk--and neither should you, dear Sam. You'll be a
very rich hobbit, and master of Bag End. You can do whatever you
like." 

Sam did not find this consoling. There was little comfort to be
found anywhere. The next weeks passed in a bewildered daze, and all
he could do was go on with his daily routines--do his shopping and
his gardening, visit his daughter, and take care of Frodo--as if
this last task was not about to come to an end. Merry left them to
return to Buckland at the end of August, but Frodo remained busy
with the final chapter of his book. And every night, Sam put him to
bed and got in beside him to hold onto him tightly whether or not
they made love.

The time for Frodo's departure must be drawing near, but it wasn't
until the evening of September 21, when Gandalf drove into the lane
below Bag End in a covered horse-cart, that Sam realized with a
sick, sinking feeling that it had come. Merry and Pippin were riding
ponies behind him; they dismounted as the wizard climbed down from
his seat, and all three came to the gate. 

Gandalf looked up at Sam, who was at the front door. "We will not
tarry," said the wizard. "Is he ready, Sam?" 

"I'll go 'n' get him," Sam said hoarsely, and went into the house.

Frodo must have known already that today would be the day, for Sam
found him in his study, dressed in his best clothes and traveling
cloak, prepared to go. He had packed a few things, and had put his
papers neatly into order, but his book was left open on the desk,
the ink on the last paragraphs still wet. 

"Aren't you taking that with you?"

"No, Sam," Frodo answered, "I'm leaving it for you. There are a few
pages left--I want you to finish our story. Keep it. Read it to
yourself and to anyone else who will listen. The Shire may forget me
by and by, but you'll always remember." 

"I couldn't ever forget," Sam told him, "whether or not there was
any book to remind me."

Frodo turned to him with a smile. "I'm ready to go now. Will you
come to the Havens with me and see me off?" 

Sam wouldn't dream of doing anything else. He meant to spend every
minute they had left at Frodo's side.

They went out. After he had locked the front door, Frodo put the
keys in Sam's coat-pocket and put an arm around Sam to be escorted
down the steps. Sam, in return, put both arms around Frodo to pull
him close. 

"If you're going away," he said against Frodo's ear, "I'm going to
say g'bye proper, and never mind what anybody says about it." 

It was nearly dark and there was no one around except for their
friends waiting below in the lane, but Sam was sure that the
wizard's cart had drawn some attention as it had come through
Hobbiton. There must be curious hobbits peeking out from behind
their shutters and window-curtains to see what was going on. Well,
if anybody was watching, he would give them something to see!

He kissed Frodo--his very best kiss, and one for them both to
remember. Then he gave Frodo a brave smile. "Let `em talk about that
all they like!" 

Arm in arm, they went down the steps. Below, Merry and Pippin were
grinning; Gandalf's eyebrows had risen to his hairline, but he
lifted Frodo up into the cart without comment. Sam climbed up after
him.

He rode in the cart with Frodo resting in his arms as they left
Hobbiton. Frodo looked out at the last lights of the village. "In
spite of all that's happened here," he said, "I will miss it."

After they had traveled some miles on the road westward and evening
had fallen, they entered the woods; there, waiting for them, were a
number of Elves, including the Lady Galadriel, her husband Celeborn,
and Lord Elrond, each on a white horse. With them, on a little gray
pony, was a tiny and extremely ancient hobbit.

"Mr. Bilbo!" Sam exclaimed in surprise, and turned to Frodo. "Are
they all going with you--and Mr. Bilbo too?"

"The Elves have made Uncle Bilbo the same offer." said Frodo. "It's
fitting that the Ringbearers leave together."

Lord Elrond helped Bilbo off his pony and the two drew nearer with
the Lady Galadriel. As Bilbo was put into the cart beside Frodo, Sam
climbed out. He would ride the gray pony beside them the rest of the
way.

"And what about me?" he appealed to the Elven Lady and Lords in a
last, desperate attempt; he might be embarrassing himself and his
companions, but he didn't care. "Why can't I come along? I carried
the Ring too, for a little while."

"You may, one day," the Lady answered him, "but not yet. It is not
your time."

"You see that, don't you, Sam?" Frodo said gently, and reached out
over the side of the cart to lay a hand on Sam's cheek. "Your whole
life is before you, and you have to live it through. Perhaps years
from now, when you've grown old and weary, you'll follow after me."
He looked to the Lady, who nodded. "You'll know when it's the right
time. Besides, you couldn't leave now. There is one here in the
Shire whom you love more than me. It would break your heart to leave
her."

"Not Rose-" Sam protested. "That's all over and done with."

"I didn't mean Rose. Elanor."

Yes, Sam had to admit that Frodo was right about that. Much as he
ached to go away with Frodo, the idea of never seeing his baby
daughter again was as painful as the thought of letting Frodo go. He
couldn't do it. Once again, his heart was torn in two and he had to
choose between one person he loved dearly and another. 

!~|*|~!

Sam spoke very little as he returned from the Havens with Merry and
Pippin, until they parted company at Bywater. The two cousins
offered to come to Bag End with him, but Sam refused. As he walked
home, however, he regretted this. The prospect of spending this
evening--and all the evenings afterwards--alone in a house so
recently emptied of Frodo's presence was unbearable. 

Frodo had said that he might follow to the West when he was old and
weary of life; he already felt weary and heart-sick at the thought
of the long, lonely years that stretched out before him.

As he was about to go in at Bag End's gate, he heard a voice call
out, "Sam!"

He looked up to see Rosie coming up the lane toward him from the
other direction with the baby on her hip. 

"I was just at your father's, asking if he knew when you'd be back,
Sam," she said as she reached him. "When you didn't come to the farm
last week, I got worried. Then I heard that Mr. Gandalf had come for
Mr. Frodo, and you'd gone off with them. I was afraid you might be
gone for good." 

"I've seen him away, that's all." Sam took the baby from her and
cradled Elanor to his chest. 

"Is Mr. Frodo gone then--off to the Elves, like you said?" Rosie
asked him tentatively.

"He's gone, and not ever coming back," Sam told her glumly. "But
I've come back." He bent his head over his daughter's, resting his
cheek on the riot of golden curls. Frodo had asked him to read their
story; well, he would read it to her, as soon as she was old enough
to understand. Elanor would remember Frodo, even if she had never
known him. "He's left Bag End to me. It's my home now."

She lay a hand on his arm. "I am sorry, Sam. You'll be lonely,
living in such a big place all by yourself. Without him."

Sam glanced up at her with a flicker of suspicion. That sounded
almost as if Rosie were trying to wrangle an invitation to come
inside. She had never set foot in Bag End since the day she'd left
him, not as long as Frodo was there. Was she hoping to return now
that her rival was gone? Or perhaps he was being ungenerous; she
might only mean to be kind.

Could he actually make it up with her, as Frodo had requested? She
had been horrible to him and to Frodo, ruining their marriage with
her jealousy and blackening Frodo's reputation. But if Frodo could
forgive what she'd done, perhaps he could as well. Did he even want
to try?

His heart was too sore and grieved right now for him to consider
being with anyone else, even her, now that Frodo was gone, but the
thought of going up into those empty rooms tonight was more than he
could bear. 

"Would you care to come in with me, Rose?" he offered. "I'd like for
us to talk." 

Rosie nodded. "Yes, if you want to." 

Sam held open the gate for her, and they went into Bag End.

!~|end|~!