Title: Pocket Money
Author: Ruby Nye
Author's email: shmi@bantha.org
Rating: R
Pairing: Physically speaking, Lotho/Sam. Emotionally speaking....
Summary: Sam would do anything for Frodo.
Warning: coerced consent, emotional cruelty, angst, Sackville-Bagginses
Disclaimer: The characters and setting in this story, and the works they
are drawn from, are the work of Professor J.R.R.Tolkien and belong to his
estate. This is a work of fanfiction written only for love and
appreciation. (Really)
*
As he strolled smiling down the path to Bagshot Row, cane swinging in his
hand, Lotho thought over the plans he was about to set in motion to gain
himself something he wanted. After all, he knew that anything he desired
he deserved to have. Any toy, any sweet, any piece of clothing or land,
any lass or lad. "No" was not a word said to Lotho Sackville-Baggins.
What Lotho wanted this fine autumn day knelt in the dirt weeding his
father's garden and laughing up at his sister. The elder Gamgee lads were
stolid solid chunks of hobbit, but the lasses were fair peasant creatures;
so was the youngest lad, and as a boy he'd be easier to get alone. If
Lotho remembered correctly, he was that Brandybuck's favorite as well,
which made him all the more desirable. But how to approach him without his
fleeing to Bilbo like a frightened chick to the fat mother hen? After all,
the old rogue did have to be kept sweet, till he rid himself of the
Brandybuck whelp and willed the Baggins headship and Bag End to Lotho's
father as he ought.
The Gamgees caught sight of Lotho and promptly did obeisance, falling
silent; the boy stood as he knuckled his forehead, leaving a smudge of
soil that somehow was an ornament. Lotho nodded to them as he strolled
over, standing near enough the lass to feel her breathing hasten.
"Beautiful day, is it not?" he asked, smiling as they gaped at him like
fish on a riverbank.
They were saved from finding a reply by a high call from above. "Lotho!"
cried Frodo, running down the path with ill-bred haste. "You left this,"
said the Brandybuck, voice and jaw and arms rigid as he thrust forward
Lotho's cloak.
From the corner of his eye Lotho watched two pairs of brown eyes go round;
Frodo, not yet recovered from high words they'd exchanged earlier, was
bristling like a cat. It was glorious. Lotho inclined his head graciously
as he replied, "Please thank Bilbo for me." Frodo clenched white-knuckled
fists at his sides and nodded once, but as he turned to go Lotho added,
"Such a lovely day puts me more in mind of gardens than cloaks, don't you
think? And the Bag End gardens are quite the envy of all Hobbiton. Who did
you say your gardener is again?"
"Hamfast Gamgee," the Brandybuck said, slowly and warily. "May and
Samwise's father."
"Indeed!" Lotho was enjoying himself even more than he deserved, really,
with Frodo obviously wondering what he was about and the Gamgees openly
staring at him. "Then young Samwise here must know all his father's tricks
and trade. How fortunate that you caught me before I left! He's just the
hobbit my mother wanted me to ask after, and here I nearly forgot."
Frodo's jaw actually dropped, perhaps an inch, before it firmed from shock
to anger. Lotho bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud.
"What do you want with Sam?" Frodo snapped.
"Mother thinks old Pindy could use a bit of a hand. Perhaps one or two
days a week? There'd be extra pay in it, for our young Samwise here."
Lotho turned his head slightly to smile at the hobbit under discussion,
whose eyes, brown as the dirt on his fingers, looked almost frightened.
Did he suspect? Did Frodo? No matter, as neither of them could prove it
well enough to say a thing.
"I'm certain Sam has enough work already," Frodo objected, and Lotho
gritted his teeth with as much anticipation as frustration as he composed
his reply. But luck was with Lotho that day; who should come round the
bend that moment but Samwise's father himself, half-bent beneath the tools
on his shoulder? Lotho took a step back from the lass and smiled
generously at the old Gamgee; Frodo could do nothing but shove his fists
in his pockets and glower as Lotho laid out his offer, pleased to see the
gardener's eye brighten at the mention of extra pay. "Well, Samwise," he
said, turning to his son, "next Monday then?"
It wasn't really a question. "Yes, Dad," said Samwise, wide eyes downcast.
Lotho's squeezed his cane in private triumph.
"Perhaps Halfred might also be of use," suggested Frodo, and when Lotho
glanced over Frodo's eyes were narrowed, their glare directed at him. "Can
you spare both lads once a week, Master Gamgee?"
The old Gamgee hemmed and hawed while Frodo stared defiantly at Lotho and
Lotho smiled sweetly back; before Samwise's father had even thought to
decide, Lotho said, "what a splendid idea!" and grinned ear to ear as
Frodo's challenge faded to confusion. "I'd be glad of both lads' help, and
I'd be glad to keep them in pocket money."
That settled it, and Lotho shook the gnarled hand on it. He could handle a
chaperone, and keep him in pocket money indeed.
*
Pindy was fine, of course, and Mondays were his half-day; Lotho's parents
were out visiting with friends, so their smial was at his disposal. When
Samwise and his elder brother arrived, Lotho watched Pindy set them an odd
task or two; when they were done and Pindy gone, Lotho gave the elder
Gamgee a coin, directions to the nearest low-class watering-trough, and
the afternoon off. To Samwise, he gave instructions to wash up and to join
him in the kitchen, and a mug of tea when he did.
There Lotho just sat, and regarded his new toy for a few moments, tracing
smooth curves of cheek and shoulder with his eyes while the lad turned the
mug in hands that were already big and gazed back nervously at him.
Anticipation, always a better sweetener than honey. Finally, when he was
certain his voice wouldn't shake, he leaned back in his chair. "Samwise,
do you know why I asked you here today?"
"No, sir, I mean, you hired us to work, but there's hardly work t'be
done." Samwise blushed an appetizing red and looked down into his mug.
"Oh, but there is work to be done. Work only you can do." Lotho leaned
forward slowly. "Frodo is your friend, is he not?"
"He's my Master with Mr. Bilbo, sir," Samwise replied dutifully; Lotho
felt his grin tilt with amusement. "But you are fond of him?" he asked,
and Samwise nodded eagerly. "Well, I need for you to help him."
"Help him, Mr. Sackville-Baggins, sir? Me?"
"Call me Mr. Lotho." Lotho's hand slid across the table, inch by inch.
"Frodo is in a precarious position, Sam." That was his nickname, wasn't
it? It seemed so; the boy nodded, and volunteered, "Mr. Frodo's been right
cross lately, out of sorts and moody. When me brother Ham was like that,
me Mam said that it happens to tweens sometimes, they come through it
again soon enough."
"Ah, but will Frodo still have a home when he does recover? Bilbo's rather
fed up with our dear Frodo's sulkiness." Lotho only wished that were true;
they went at it like hammer and tongs sometimes, and had had a delightful
row during Lotho's last visit, but then Bilbo enjoyed nothing so much
sometimes as a good shouting match. He doubtless thought it showed spirit.
This comely peasant lad wouldn't know spirit, and thank goodness for that.
His eyes grew round again, and Lotho restrained himself from surging
forward and pouncing to lick a line from that smooth brow, past the round
eye, over the plump cheek. "Bilbo is on the verge of sending him back to
Brandy Hall," Lotho said, fighting hard to keep a serious face over his
delight as Sam regarded him with horror. "So, you see, he needs our help."
Sam nodded fit to make his head fly off. "Anything, Mr. Lotho, sir,
anything I might do for him!"
"Good boy." Lotho slipped his fingertips over Sam's strong wrist, slid his
thumb beneath the appetizing pulse. "I'll talk to Bilbo, of course; I'll
cheer him up, keep him sweet. But I can only do that if someone keeps
me sweet, Samwise."
"Sir---!" Not so dull, this one; he blinked, understood, jerked back even
as Lotho's hand clenched round his wrist. "Don't you want your Master
Frodo to stay at Bag End?" Lotho said softly, tugging just a little; after
a stubborn moment, Sam's mouth softened, his whole face softened, his arm
gave to Lotho's pull. "Come here," Lotho said, as kindly as he might,
though his own blood was roaring in his ears and below his waistband; even
peasants have a little pride, after all.
Sam obeyed. Eyes narrowed, jaw trembling, he came round the side of the
table, and at Lotho's tug he obediently knelt. Not so dull, and not so
innocent, for all that wide-eyed look. "I think you know how to keep me
sweet, Samwise," Lotho said, unbuttoning with one hand. Sam closed his
eyes, and his trembling shook the wrist in Lotho's grasp, but he nodded.
"Have you done this before?" Sam nodded again, tender lips pressed
together, and didn't volunteer who with besides. What a treasure the lad
was; no wonder old Bilbo and that Brandybuck so valued him.
"Good," Lotho said, winding his other hand in soft curls, pressing down.
"Good lad."
*
Lotho was not unkind, of course. Afterwards he gave Sam afternoon tea, and
two pennies for his own pocket money, as promised. Halfred came back
cheerful with ale, and obviously didn't notice his brother's quiet mood.
Lotho watched them depart, and wondered if he'd hear from an angry Frodo
or Bilbo, and how long it'd be before he might bugger the lad.
He rather doubted the former. "This is our secret, our deal," he'd said,
hand still in Sam's hair, looking down into the boy's eyes. "After all,
who else needs to know of it? Bilbo? Your father?" Sam had gone pale
beneath his golden tan, shaking his head vigorously, and Lotho had smiled
and ruffled his hair, murmuring, "good boy."
For the latter.... as yet the lad shook like a leaf in high winds whenever
Lotho touched him. It might take a few weeks to cure that, but meanwhile
Lotho might lie abed of nights, remembering soft lips and sturdy shoulders
and downcast wide eyes, and grin with anticipation.
Sam, meanwhile, lay awake in bed, watching his brother add coins to a
rag-wrapped bundle which he kept beneath the loose floorboard. A day's
pay, coin to drink up, and an extra pair of pennies for each of them, all
for---- Sam's mind flinched away from the thought, pushing away memories
of a smooth floor beneath his knees, a smooth hand clenched tight his
hair.
His body flinched, too, and Halfred looked up as he climbed into his bed.
"You well, Sam?" Sam nodded, and Halfred yawned. "That Mr. Lotho's right
generous," he said contentedly. Swallowing bile, Sam clutched his quilt
and said nothing. "What'd ye do while I was off at the Sheaf?"
"Sums," Sam said woodenly, reciting the lie he'd been given. "He taught me
sums."
"Gentlefolk do take a shine to you, Sam," said Halfred with sleepy wonder.
Sam thought hard on not retching. "Well, some hobbits have the luck. Sleep
well, lad."
"Sleep well, Hal," Sam muttered, curling up round himself. Gentlefolk
do take a shine to you. His brother's words echoing in his ears, Sam
bit his lip till the taste of blood drowned out fouler memories.
Gentlefolk... such as Mr. Frodo, like Mr. Bilbo. If Mr. Lotho would help
them be friends till Mr. Frodo's tween moodies blew over, whatever he
asked of Sam would be worth it, Sam reminded himself, even as he curled up
tighter, sucking on his bitten lip.
*
The next morning was bright, and the day after that and after that. Sam
kept himself too busy to think, and nearly forgot, till he stepped by the
kitchen window of a morning and heard Mr. Frodo's sleepy petulance, Mr.
Bilbo's answering bark. He remembered, then, and his stomach rolled within
him as if it'd empty up his first breakfast; gasping, Sam leaned his brow
on the cool window-glass and desperately thought, Mr. Frodo, please
come through this soon.
Then it was Monday again.
Lotho settled back in his desk chair with a sated sigh, tingling all over.
He mopped his sweaty brow with his sleeve; unfortunately, when he lowered
his arm he saw a smudge of blood on it, and swore, grabbing at breeches
that lay pooled round his knees.
A handkerchief was pressed into his hand, and as he pressed it to the
burst pimple he looked down with mild surprise "You're well trained,
aren't you, boy?" Lotho asked the hobbit kneeling between his legs;
Samwise smudged his own handkerchief across his mouth, but didn't look up
or respond.
Well, that just wouldn't do. "Come now, Sam," Lotho said, laying a hand on
Sam's shoulder, feeling Sam's flinch, "I'm certain Frodo doesn't care for
silence at a time like this."
That won a response; Samwise tossed his head up, the look in his brown
eyes almost dauntingly insolent. "Mr. Frodo's never!" Sam cried, before
recalling whom he spoke to and ducking his head again. "Mr. Frodo's never
asked aught of me, sir," Sam muttered. "Not this. Never this."
"He doesn't know what he's missing," Lotho said, patting Sam's cheek; it
was a compliment, but the boy just kept looking down. "I know what the
matter with you is," Lotho continued, tugging Sam's shoulder. Sam
obediently rose, and Lotho pressed his hips back towards the desk,
ironically giving the lad the higher seat; but then, the desk could be
cleaned much more easily than upholstery. "I'd be quite selfish to leave
you aching, after all." He reached up to undo the lad's buttons.
A hand that quite matched Lotho's for strength clamped round his wrist.
"Sir, no, please." Sam's eyes were wide, and he dented his lip with his
teeth as he demurred. "Really, sir, you needn't----"
"Don't be a fool, Samwise." Lotho made his voice brisk; Sam's hand fell
away and his eyes shut, a tear rolling from one corner. "You're young,
it'll do you good." Indeed, the strong young stalk in his hand stiffened
with just a few jerks; Sam clutched the edge of the desk and kept his eyes
shut, till he peaked, burst into tears, pressed his hands to his face. It
was rather girlish, but Lotho generously let him be; such a reaction to
peaking happened even to lads sometimes, after all.
*
Sam didn't bother trying to close his eyes, not that the darkness looked
much better. When his brother's snores filled the room, Sam rose and felt
his way to where he'd tucked his pocket-handkerchief beneath his bed, then
up the hall to the kitchen. His heart pounded, and he worried with each
step that his Gaffer'd call out to him, that one of his sisters would be
wakeful, but he found no one up, nothing but darkness till he came to the
dim red glow of the kitchen fire.
He winced as he threw the handkerchief onto the coals; it was nearly new.
But he couldn't've borne to wash it himself, considering its last use, and
he couldn't've put it in the household laundry and borne Marigold's
teasing on who his new kissing-friend might be. Let alone if his face gave
him away.... how could he tell such a tale to his small sister? To any of
his sisters?
Whom could he tell?
Sam eased the door open. It was chilly in the October evening, and he only
in his nightshirt, but the breeze felt cleansing as his bath hadn't. Sam
sat on the stoop and hugged his knees as he looked through the trees'
fingertips at the stars.
He wished his Mam were alive still. Not that it didn't stand to reason
he'd miss her, they all missed her, his Dad still looked blankly around as
if not really seeing anything but her lack. But Sam wished now for her
warm arms around him, her soft bosom beneath his cheek to catch his tears
and hide his face, her kind ear to hear his tale of the deal and how
heartsick he felt at it. This wasn't play, and it surely wasn't fondness,
and the way Mr. Lotho's eyes glittered at Sam made him feel like a small
caged thing, every time. It couldn't be right.
But Sam had agreed to it, hadn't he? And Mr. Lotho had called at Bag End
again that week, and was surely smoothing matters between Mr. Bilbo and
Mr. Frodo; the other day when Sam came in for luncheon they were even
smiling at each other. Soon Mr. Frodo'd be secure again, and then surely
Mr. Lotho would release Sam from the agreement?
Even so... the family could use the extra coin. Could Sam refuse it, when
it meant fewer cares for his Dad, a pretty thing or three for his sisters?
How could he explain it, turning down easy extra work?
The wind blew over Sam, as tears slid chill down his face and the stars
glittered like shards of ice above him.
*
"Sam, come here."
Sam jumped, nearly dropping his rake, his heart thudding painfully. "Mr.
Frodo, sir?" Swallowing against a flare of fear, Sam recalled Mr. Lotho's
idle comment on how Mr. Frodo didn't know what he was missing, his hand
sliding on Sam's cheek; the memory made Sam's skin crawl so that he
shuddered.
But Mr. Frodo had called him, here and now. Getting a hold of himself, Sam
went to his master, who tilted his head and looked at Sam keenly, as if to
gaze to the bottom of his soul. Sam struggled, but he couldn't keep his
eyes up to meet that gaze, couldn't now face the young master he'd loved
nearly all his life, the friend he now almost resented...
Sam surprised himself by flinching, and realized that between his face and
Frodo's startled one was Frodo's hand, on its way to touch him. "Sam,"
Frodo said, just a little huffily, "Sam, I won't hurt you. Come here and
let me look at that lip. What happened to it?"
"Bit it, sir." Frodo's touch, featherlight on his bottom lip, nevertheless
set Sam shaking all over; Frodo pulled his hand back and his eyes narrowed
further, then widened. "Sam, you're trembling. Are you well?"
Not trusting his tongue, Sam merely nodded. Frodo turned his hand and laid
it on Sam's shoulder, where the weight and warmth of it burned. "Are you
certain, Sam? Are you ill? Has anyone hurt you?"
Not strictly speaking, no, Sam thought, shaking his head. Frodo
stared at him a moment longer, then released him. "Let me get some salve,"
he said, and went in.
He was clearly meant to stay and wait, but Sam took the moment to make
himself scarce.
Hot tears prickling in his eyes, Sam abandoned the rake and the raking; he
fled for the oldest apple-tree, which had a comforting hollow he could
still squeeze into if he folded himself small. What was wrong with him,
that a look and a handful of words from Mr. Frodo could make Sam go all to
pieces?
Sam shook his head at himself. He knew what ailed him.
Curled up in the tree, fists pounding on resilient wood, Sam let himself
shake and weep. Nothing could be right that made him so heartsick, that
made him run from his own Mr. Frodo. No matter what deal he'd made, what
work he'd been given or what he was paid, it couldn't be right to do this
with a hobbit he thought so little of, gentry or no. It was doubtless not
his place to think so, but Sam did indeed think less yet of Mr. Lotho
every Monday, and his anger felt almost like justification. It couldn't be
right to be mixed up so, and Sam wanted nothing more but to end it and be
himself again.
And yet
. As Sam dried his face with his sleeve, a terrible thought came to him.
Perhaps he felt so awful because he was indeed stepping above his place,
meddling even if indirectly between Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo. Was that the
problem?
No, Sam told himself, looking up into the apple's branches. Even getting
above himself couldn't make him so sick all through with shame, make him
feel so sure he was tangled in something he could never tell of. Though he
had no guide, only his own scant wits, Sam was determined to get out of
this awful agreement and be able to look Mr. Frodo in the face once more.
*
The next Monday, when Hal came to wake him Sam gave a weak little cough.
He'd been rehearsing it for the last three days, and it sounded as frail
and false as anything, but he still had to try. Just the thought of the
day ahead made him feel queasy.
Hal looked at Sam as unsympathetically as only a sibling could. "Ye look
ruddy enough," he said, shaking Sam to and fro. "And I'll not lose a day's
pay, and ale and pocket-money besides. Get up, Sam, or I'll get Dad to say
ye ain't ill."
Sam growled and sat up, wanting to strike Hal as he hadn't in years. He
couldn't imagine how his sick dread didn't show in paleness of face; he
was never a shirker; couldn't Hal let him be this one day? One look at his
brother convinced Sam of the uselessness of pleading, so he groaned and
swung his legs out of the bed.
"What's wrong wit'ye, Samwise?" Hal asked, shaking out his shirt. "'Tis
easy work indeed, and it ain't like you t'be idle. Don't you care for
sums?"
"I'd rather read," Sam muttered, clipping his braces. "But I'm up, so
we'll go."
Sam plodded through the morning by putting one foot before the other and
thinking of nothing at all, shaking off May when she tried to ask how he
was. The day aided him by being cool and cloudy, neither sunshine nor
rain; he might have been able to get through all of it in this blank state
if it weren't for Mr. Frodo catching them on the path.
"Sam!" Mr. Frodo's cheerful voice, which usually made Sam's heart lift,
now made him feel worse yet. He forced himself to turn, to smile, as Mr.
Frodo ran down to them, waving a letter. "Good morning, Hal, Sam, I have
news! Merry's coming to visit, he'll be here in a week! We'll have so much
to do---" Frodo stopped short, giving Sam that keen look again, and Sam
felt a quiver start deep within him. "Sam, are you well?"
Sam stood dumb as a post. "He's well enough, Mr. Frodo, sir," answered
Hal, his tone clearly conveying his impatience with lazy younger brothers;
his words broke off on a little gasp when Mr. Frodo gave him a fierce
glittering glare before turning his gaze to Sam again. "Are you well,
Sam," he asked again, and for a moment Sam thought his eyes might burst
with tears, that he might throw himself to his knees before Mr. Frodo and
beg pardon for meddling and pour out the whole awful mess, just to not
have to bear it any longer.
But the moment passed, and Hal cleared his throat. "I'm fine, Mr. Frodo,"
Sam managed, voice near a whisper, then amazed himself by adding, "We'd
best not be late." Hal snorted.
"You've been looking peaky half this month," Frodo replied, eyes wide with
concern, but gave a little nod of dismissal. Sam turned, feeling those
eyes still on him as he followed Hal down the path.
*
Lotho laughed. "Stop, Samwise? But we've hardly begun!" Sam's only answer
was a fine tremor, his back pridefully stiff despite Lotho's hand on his
shoulder. Lotho knew he ought to take the lad down a peg, for his own good
and his masters', but he let another indulgent moment pass. The lad was
intriguing in his pride.
What's more, he was just a delight when Lotho spun him round and stared
him down, till the wide brown eyes sank beneath long-lashed lids to regard
his toes. Lotho stood straighter as Sam wilted before him, noting that Sam
didn't shake half so much as he'd used to when Lotho set both hands on his
shoulders. "I think we might keep this up for awhile yet, don't you? Find
out what else there is to get up to?"
Sam glanced up at that, alarm sparking in his eyes. The sight of it, the
surge of power, made Lotho more lightheaded than ale ever could; even so,
his father's snores, though still audible from down the hall, were fading,
and his mother had raised him to prudence, so Lotho reluctantly released
the lad. "You must be tired. I'll dismiss you early today, and you can go
down to the Barley Sheaf and hoist a pint with that brother of
yours? You can make it up to me next week."
"Begging your pardon, sir," said Sam, still looking down, "but I shan't be
here next week. Mr. Merry Brandybuck's coming to visit Bag End."
"One Brandybuck to another," Lotho sniffed. "I don't see why they'll need
you to fetch and carry, but I suppose I must spare you. Your brother will
miss his ale, I'm sure." Sam said nothing, but his shoulders were
relaxing, so Lotho grasped them tighter, pressing his fingers in as he
leaned closer to say, "but you will be back the following week,
will you not? I wouldn't want to have to tell your father you're shirking
your duties, after all."
That tensed those shoulders up nicely.
*
Sam sat on the mudroom steps, smiling as he listened to the laughter
indoors. Mr. Merry, true to his name, had Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo laughing
and smiling and at ease, and Sam blessed him for it. The kitchen was as
clear as he could make it before dessert was done, so Sam took a moment's
ease, listening to the wind in the trees and watching the Moon sail
crescent through glowing clouds
The door behind Sam opened, and Mr. Merry emerged to sling an arm round
Sam's shoulders as he sat beside him. "Sam, what are you doing out here?"
"Looking at the Moon, Mr. Merry," Sam replied, and Merry laughed. "You
missed a most entertaining row," Merry said with incongruous cheer. "Bilbo
and Frodo were going on together, and you'll never guess who about?"
Sam shrugged, trying to imagine an entertaining quarrel, but Mr. Merry
seemed completely untroubled, so such a thing must be. "Why, Sam, they
were discussing a fine young hobbit, and how well he's grown, and how
he'll be a tween soon. Sam, they were talking about you!"
Sam gasped, and Merry laughed again and poked him. "Come now, Sam, don't
look like that. You were the cause of harmony in the end, you know; they
agreed that they're both quite fond of you."
Sam guiltily ducked his face, his cheeks hot and his eyes wet. Mr. Merry
didn't know, none of them did. Beside him, he felt Merry's bounce fade to
worried stillness. "Really, Sam, it's all good," Merry assured. "When I
was little I didn't understand why Frodo went away, but now I watch them
getting on together as only Bagginses can, and I think of what a foolish
chit I was."
"They're getting on?" Sam could smile at that; indeed, he hardly could not
have. "That's good to hear, Mr. Merry. They'd been at odds awhile."
"Oh, Frodo likely just had a fit of the moodies," Merry said with grand
confidence, patting Sam on the back. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to watch!
Bilbo likes a good fight every so often, he thinks it shows spirit."
From surprise to shame to shock, Sam was beginning to feel dizzy; Merry
stared back at his openmouthed wonder. "He does? But Mr. Lotho said---"
"Sam, you know Bilbo! And don't heed a thing Lotho Pimple says, he
only opens his mouth to eat and lie."
That was nearly too much for Sam, who gripped the edge of the step,
willing its bite into his palm to distract him enough to keep the tears
back. "Sam?" Merry asked in confusion, and then it was too much;
Sam heard himself saying, as if from a great ways away, "Mr. Lotho, he
hired me'n Hal to garden on Mondays, and he said to me, he said Mr.
Bilbo's cross with Mr. Frodo and, and he'd help---"
"Lotho help Frodo? You believed him?" Merry asked incredulously;
Sam pressed his eyes shut as he nodded, knowing himself for a fool. "Did
he make you work for no pay?"
Sam shook his head, realized that now he had to explain, and silently
cursed himself. "No, he pays us right well, and pocket money too, but he
told me, he's made me
."
Merry gasped. "He's made a warming-pan of you." His arm round Sam's
shoulders suddenly tightened. "That foul
. Sam Gamgee, you're a sturdy hobbit."
Sam shook his head. "I'm a fool," he muttered, eyes still closed. Merry
shook him slightly, squeezing him tighter. "You didn't know the lies that
Pimple tells," Merry said, "and you're a good lad."
Merry fell silent, and Sam wished the friendly earth he worked with every
day might do him the favor of rising up and swallowing him whole. Then
Merry turned a little, his arm still round Sam's shoulders, and said,
"There was a case down in Buckland, some months ago, where a wealthy
farmer made three of his maids work in bed for him, till one lass caught a
babe." When Sam looked up, he found Merry smiling lopsidedly. "I
sometimes help my father with the cases. I've likely told you too much
already, but
. You're not the only hobbit this has been done to. I thought it might
help, to know that."
Sam nodded, unable to find words; Merry gave him another little shake.
"You don't have to do this," he said. "It's wrong of anyone to ask you to
bed for pay or favors or anything. From when I was small I've been taught
this, I know we all have. You can quit, he can't hold you to it."
"And have him tell me Dad I'm shirking?" Sam was bleakly realizing that
the trap still bound him even though it was built on lies. "My word
against a gentlehobbit's?"
"We have to get you out of this, Sam," Merry insisted. "It's just wrong,
and now I know why you've been pale and quiet all my visit. Tumbling with
Lotho Pimple couldn't be good for anyone. Oh, Sam, I beg your pardon."
That last was in reply to Sam's wince; Sam nodded helplessly, eyes pressed
shut again, trying to know whether he was sorry he'd said aught, or
relieved. Perhaps he was both.
"Frodo can tell him not to tell your father," Merry added, and now Sam
flinched. "I can't---"
"He's worried about you," said Merry, flat and merciless, and Sam was
heartily sorry he'd ever opened his fool mouth. "He said you've been
avoiding him, and you don't look well. You don't, Sam. You look miserable,
and I'm not at all surprised."
"But I can't tell Mr. Frodo!" Sam insisted, hands clenched to keep them
from flinging Merry's leaden arm off his shoulder. "How can I lay such on
him?"
"How can you bear it yourself?" Merry snapped. "You hardly even speak to
him anymore, Sam, and he's spent my whole visit worrying to me about you.
This can't stay between the two of you forever."
Sam opened his mouth to object, and realized he couldn't, as Merry put
both arms around him. "This can't go on," Merry insisted. "You're my
friend, Sam, and I won't stand for my friends being so misused."
It wasn't as if Sam wanted to keep on with it, either. He nodded, and
Merry grinned ear to ear and hugged him. "I'll get Frodo," Merry said, but
Sam clutched his arm. "Mr. Merry, wait." Merry drew down his brows and
opened his mouth, so Sam hastily continued, "I'll tell him, on my word,
but, just, in my time."
Merry shut his mouth, and nodded, and smiled. "Merry-lad?" Bilbo called
from inside, and Merry released Sam and got to his feet, not without a
significant eyebrow waggle that made Sam smile.
When Merry had gone in Sam wrapped his arms round his knees and looked up
at the Moon again, soaring in the sky. He wanted to run home and hide
himself forever, but Mr. Merry was right, he had to tell Mr. Frodo.
Soonest begun, soonest done.
So, after a deep breath of night air, Sam got up, and, setting one foot
before the other, pushed himself steadily through the mudroom and into the
kitchen. Frodo walked in at nearly the same moment, and when he saw Sam he
smiled ear to ear. "Hullo, Sam."
"Hullo, Mr. Frodo," Sam said slowly, each word like a step. "D'ye have a
moment?"
*
Lotho felt rather out of sorts. His mother had scolded him for spending so
much money, and his father had asked nosy questions about the weekly
gardeners. But finally his mother gave him his allowance and set off for
another day of gossip and tea, and with a bottle of brandy and a couple of
pages of accounts he lulled his father to sound snoring sleep.
Now he sat in an armchair, creasing the pages of a dull book of fanciful
tales. The Gamgees were coming, in fact they were a bit late, and Lotho
had plans for the lad, that he did. Perhaps today he'd see if he could get
him entirely out of his clothes, dressed only in that tasty-looking blush.
Lotho wondered idly how long he could keep their little arrangement going,
and what he could manage to get Samwise to do before it ended. Someone
would eventually grow curious, after all, not that the elder Gamgee lad
seemed to think on anything beyond his ale-money and half-days. Still, it
would likely be most prudent of Lotho to end this on his own timetable,
though, of course, not before squeezing all the pleasure he could out of
the lad. He really ought to drop a hint or three around the Brandybuck, he
thought. Nothing enough to be a clue, just enough to rattle; it should be
great fun, indeed.
Lotho was thinking up phrases when a knock sounded at the door. He nearly
called for the maid, before recalling that he'd sent her off so he might
have privacy; with a little groan he hauled himself out of the chair and
crossed the hall to open the door.
Samwise stood there, uncharacteristically smiling. Before him stood not
his grinning older brother, but a frowning, glowering, almost
dangerous-looking Frodo Baggins.
Lotho took a step back before he could catch himself, then reminded
himself that this was his home, and squared his shoulders. "Frodo!
To what occasion do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"This is no social call." Frodo pushed past Lotho into the front hall. As
he followed, and despite being more thickset, Sam flattened himself
against the doorframe. Lotho was tempted to grab the lad, mostly to see
Frodo's reaction; as his shock faded Lotho realized that Samwise must
finally have confessed to Frodo, who, brash as any Brandybuck, had now
marched right down to confront him. Perhaps, Lotho wondered with a dawning
smirk, he could goad Frodo into a fight over the boy; he'd likely win, and
even a bruise or three would be worth all the trouble that could stir up.
For the moment, he raised an eyebrow, and Frodo didn't keep him waiting
long. "I have come here to tell you that Halfred and Samwise Gamgee no
longer work for you, not even one day a week."
"Jealous of their service, are you?" Lotho replied, smirking at the pair
of winces that won him. Frodo recovered first, growling a little; his
shoulder tensed oddly, and Lotho's smirk widened to a grin as he saw that
Frodo's wrist was wrapped in one of Sam's broad hands. "So I see."
But Frodo, instead of growing angrier yet, seemed to still, and he twisted
his hand free of Sam's with a motion both quick and gentle. "You are not
going to lay a finger on Sam, ever again," Frodo said, so calmly Lotho
actually believed for a wavering moment that it was up to the Brandybuck.
Just one moment, of course. "Will you have him sue me before the Mayor?"
he asked, leaning forward. Disappointingly, neither Frodo nor Sam gave
before him, but Lotho was sure he'd see that they did. "Whose word will he
take, a gentlehobbit's or a serving lad's? And I'm certain the old Gamgee
would love to hear all the details of his son's little deal with me."
That won another wince from Samwise, but Frodo stood annoyingly
straighter. "Where's your mother?" he asked, one corner of his mouth
turning up. "I can hear your father's snores. I doubt either of them knows
of the deals you make with hobbits who can't say no, do they?"
Lotho gritted his teeth, thinking of how his mother would lay into him
with words and umbrella, and how far she'd dock his allowance, for how
long. Frodo had him there, damn him. "She wouldn't believe you, nor that
little mud-grubber," he retorted, but he heard his voice catch on the
words, and watched Frodo's mouth turn up at both corners.
"This ends now, Lotho," Frodo said. "Stay away from the Gamgees." With
those words he turned and let himself out; Sam, following as ever, paused
to give Lotho a cool look, and did not tug his forelock before shutting
the door behind them.
"I was tired of him anyway," Lotho said to the closed door.
*
Sam sat on the mudroom steps, this time at sunset, watching the sky fading
through blue and rose to purple. Frodo sat beside him, a careful little
space between them occupied by a pipe and a small pouch. Bilbo had put
them all out there, the pipe and the pouch and the two lads, saying he
needed quiet to read a letter written in runes, but his eye had twinkled.
"You ain't told him, sir, have you?" Sam blurted, and wondered what had
come over him, but Mr. Frodo somehow understood. "Bilbo? No, Sam, I
didn't, I won't. I promise. But he does have sharp eyes, you know. He
knows there was more to it than we told him."
"All the same, if you don't mind, Mr. Frodo...." Sam drew his knees up
beneath his chin; he was filling out a bit much to fold up like that, but
it felt comforting all the same. "I'd rather he not know that last bit.
It'd be near as bad as..."
"As your father knowing? Or as my knowing?" Sam turned his head to find
Frodo smiling at him. "I do wish you'd told me, Sam, when you were first
propositioned. I wish you'd told me you were worried about me before
then."
Sam dropped his burning face to his knees. "I know, sir, an' I'm sorry.
You must think me a fool."
"No." Frodo's voice was both warm and emphatic. "No, I don't, Sam. I think
you're my friend, who suffered something dreadful for my sake, and tried
to bear it all alone as well." Sam felt a touch on his shoulder, and
managed to suppress his startle into a shudder; Frodo pulled the hand back
but still held it out, the question clear in his eyes.
Sam took a steadying breath, tamping down the little flare of fear, and
reached to pick up the pipe and pouch as he slid over into the curve of
Frodo's arm. Frodo sighed into Sam's hair, pulling him close against his
side, and they sat there for a moment before Frodo asked, voice strangely
small, "are you going to go to Tighfield, then?"
Sam blinked, and then understood. "I'd never leave you, Mr. Frodo, nor the
lasses or me Dad. Uncle Andy has Ham, he don't need me, and how'd we
explain it to Dad? 'Tis enough that Hal's gone to the Northfarthing, who
never before cared to roam. Dad's grateful to the Masters Baggins for
finding such a good place for him and all, but it's still a bit much."
"Better than he deserved," Frodo muttered."He should have kept better
watch over you, Sam. And so should I." Frodo's long-fingered hand slid
down to cup Sam's elbow. "And so I will."
Sam nodded, his cheek rubbing Frodo's velvet vest; he could hear Frodo's
heartbeat beneath his ear. They sat silently for a little while, Frodo's
arm warmly wrapped round Sam, as they watched the first stars appear in
the violet sky, and Sam felt, slow but sure, contentment welling up within
him.
Then Frodo murmured, so softly Sam almost didn't catch it, "You didn't
need to go through this, Sam. Not for Bilbo, surely not for me."
Sam shook his head. "Mr. Frodo, I'd do anything for you, don't you know
it?"
"That's what I'm afraid of," Frodo said, sighing a little; he kissed Sam's
brow and rested their heads together, and the sunset deepened to starlit
twilight.