Title: The Marble of Minas Tirith
Author: RubyNye
Email: shmi@bantha.org
Pairing: Sam/Merry; Frodo/Sam, Merry/Pippin and Frodo/Merry implied
Rating: Hard R
Categories: slash, canon, hurt/comfort, post-Quest
Summary: Sam and Merry understand each other.

Author's Notes: This story owes a great deal to Baylor's Fate and the High
King's Falcon (which may be found at
http://www.west-of-the-moon.net/servlet/ReadGenStory?storyID=72 ), not
least the list of specific
injuries and the hand exercises. It is not a sequel or a companion story,
though.


Though it was early May by the Shire reckoning, this day was cool and grey
and rainy. Merry had used to love such days, because Pippin had loved
them, had loved to explore a world silvered and washed clean, and had
loved to get himself and Merry thoroughly muddy in the process. However,
that was before half the bones in Pippin's body had been dislocated or
broken by a troll collapsing onto him, before all those healing bones and
joints felt the rain and cold. This morning, Pippin had woken ashen-faced
and aching; Merry had given him a medicinal tea given them by the King,
and stroked his hair gently until he slept again and for long minutes
afterwards, before rising and shutting the door of their room gently.

The sharp herbal scent of the tea had not diminished; in fact, it seemed
stronger. Merry realized why when he came into the kitchen to find Sam
rinsing a mug, a steaming pitcher of the tea cooling on the
table. "Frodo?" Merry asked quietly, and the drawn expression on Sam's
face was enough answer. "Mr. Frodo's asleep now," Sam replied. "He had a
bad night."

"And you, Sam?" Merry made sure to ask. Sam smiled at that with about half
of his mouth. "I'll be fine. It looks to be a quiet day, at that. Would
you join me in a bit of breakfast, Mr. Merry?"

"I'd be glad to, Sam. And call me Merry." He'd been telling Sam that for
over twenty years now. Sam answered his grin, the smile going up into his
eyes this time. "Toast and cheese and jam, then, Mr. Merry," he replied,
and Merry snorted, and laughed quietly.

They ate in comfortable silence; afterwards Sam checked on Frodo, then on
Pippin, while Merry began washing the breakfast dishes. Sam began drying
while he reported that both were still quietly asleep, and when they were
done Sam retrieved two pipes and a fistful of pipeweed, and they went out
onto the sheltered inner balcony to smoke and watch the rain falling in
silver sheets.

After a few minutes, Merry blew a smoke ring, then carefully asked, "Sam,
how is he?"

Sam sighed. "I don't rightly know, Mr. Merry. He's still mending, we all
are, but...there are hurts in him that are not healing. I--" Sam stopped
himself, and puffed a bit more on his pipe, his brow still furrowed. Merry
watched him smoke for a moment, fair-haired and solid and worried, then
got up and sat down beside Sam on his bench, close enough for shoulders to
touch. Sam sighed, and leaned against Merry just the tiniest bit. "I don't
know as I should tell you this Mr. Merry, except that you and Mr. Frodo
have been to bed yourselves." Merry nodded encouragingly, and Sam went
on. "Do you remember, the sides of his throat, where they meet his
shoulders?"

"Oh, yes." Nearly infallible spots they had been; a touch or a lick or a
bite there would drive Frodo wild, Merry well remembered. Sam shook his
head sadly at Merry's tone. "The Ring, its chain rubbed him raw there. The
skin is healed now, smooth as ever, but...I kissed him there, and he said
he didn't feel it. At all."

"Oh. Oh, Sam." Merry bit his lip, not knowing what to say, feeling
dreadful for Sam and for Frodo, and perhaps a little disappointed for
himself. "Is he, can he, well...?"

"It ain't as it was," Sam said simply, sadly. "Sometimes it's just lovely,
but sometimes...it's like he can't hardly hold me, like he can't feel
me. He said once that it was better so, that too much pleasure at once
felt like, brought to mind..." Sam trailed off, shaking his head, and took
a deep drag on his pipe, then turned his head, wearing a smile that didn't
reach his eyes. "And Mr. Pippin?"

Merry took the hint. "He thinks he's recovered, of course. Wants to do
everything. Falls asleep on me if I let him peak first, the little
beast." Sam laughed at that, even though he blushed, both the color and
the smile suffusing his whole face; Merry laughed with him, and smiled for
a moment, savoring the pleasantness, but truth deserved truth, and he soon
sobered. "Pip is still so fragile, though. His hand, his hip, his
ribs...sometimes I feel as if I don't dare touch him, lest I hurt him. I
told him that once and he laughed, and said that even if I hurt him he
wanted my touch." Merry sighed and shook his head. "But if I hurt him, how
can I touch him?"

Sam put his arm around Merry's shoulders. "Even if you hurt him you love
him. He can feel that."

"Just as even if Frodo can't feel your touch he knows you love him." Merry
wound his arm around Sam's waist and squeezed, feeling less flesh there
than the last time he had embraced Sam, but what he felt was firm and
warm. Sam paused for a moment, then laid his head on Merry's shoulder,
relaxing just a bit more. "It is hard, Mr. Merry, isn't it?"

"Harder than anything. Harder than being hurt myself."

"Aye." Sam's arm tightened a bit about Merry. "And yet, where else would I
be but by his side?"

"Nowhere else," Merry agreed, and turned his head to press a kiss into
Sam's hair. Sam sighed again, a rather different kind of sigh, and Merry
smiled.

Then a thought came to him, and he frowned at himself. "I owe you an
apology, Sam." Sam pulled away at that, but just far enough to look at,
his brown eyes round with surprise. "Whatever for, Mr. Merry?"

"Do you remember what I said at Crickhollow, about how you would jump down
a dragon's throat for Frodo if you didn't trip over your own feet?" Sam
nodded, but still looked surprised; Merry drew a deep breath and went
on. "Frodo told me, he was captured by orcs." Sam's expression finally
changed at that, to something between bashfulness and resignation. "He
told me you, alone, against all hope, stormed their stronghold to save
him." 

Sam looked at his hand, the one holding the pipe. "It needed doing," he
finally said. "It's done. I don't care to recall it."

"I know. Not all my memories of the last six months are pleasant ones,
either. Still, Sam, I had to say it to you, and to ask. Can you forgive
me?"

"'Tis naught to forgive, Mr. Merry," Sam said, still looking at his pipe,
but then he looked up, and the smile he gave Merry was genuine and
warm. The kiss was genuine, too, and unexpected. Merry felt himself
goggling at Sam in surprise when he sat back, just the smallest smile on
his lips. "Master Samwise Gamgee," Merry said slowly, his own smile
stretching further with every word, "I think I felt you kiss me."

"Aye," said Sam, shy and pink and somehow far bolder than Merry had ever
known him to be. "I thought you might feel it, Mr. Merry." 

"Can you feel this?" Merry threw both arms around Sam, pipe and all, and
kissed him hard, far harder than he'd let himself kiss Pippin since the
battle before the Black Gates. Sam was thinner, far thinner than he'd been
the last time Merry had embraced him, but solid and unbruised and
unbroken, and he returned the kiss strongly, winding sturdy arms around
Merry, pulling him in, nipping his lower lip  before releasing him. 

Merry sat back breathless, grinning at Sam, who smiled warmly back and
gently unwound Merry's arms from around his waist. "I should check---"

"You did the last time. Let me." Merry firmly patted Sam's shoulder as he
rose and padded back into the house.   

Pippin was sound asleep, and looking better, more color in his
face. Frodo, however, was tossing in his sleep, his face pale and lined
with pain; Merry sat down beside him and stroked his brow for a moment,
and the pale face smoothed into peace. Merry kissed Frodo gently, then
rose and shut the door behind himself, pondering. He ought to tell Sam of
what he'd seen, but then Sam would go back in to sit with Frodo, and Merry
would lose this all-too-rare opportunity to talk to the one friend he had
here who could fully understand his life at the moment. Besides, then
Merry would have to spend the rest of this grey morning by himself. And,
well, Frodo had calmed; Merry looked back into the room and saw Frodo now
sleeping as peacefully as Pippin.

So, he went back out to the balcony, where Sam was eating a pear. "They're
both sleeping peacefully," Merry said with a nod of thanks as he took the
pear Sam gave him. 

"I owe you thanks, Mr. Merry," Sam said, between bites of pear. "But it
concerns one of those memories you might rather not remember."

Merry smiled ruefully. "I have them, whether I would or no. What is it,
Sam? Whatever it is, I'm glad for it, if it pleased you."

"More than that, it helped us." Sam licked juice off his fingers and
looked out into the rain for a moment. "In the Black Land it was always
dark, awful dark. But there was a day when, just as me and Mr. Frodo
needed it more than we ever had, we had a bit of light. And in that, a
Ringwraith flew over, but for once it didn't strike that terror into
us; indeed, it was like it was terrified itself, screaming and crying. I
saw that, and it gave me hope, and that hope gave me strength I could give
Mr. Frodo." Sam looked over at Merry now, his brown eyes deep and
warm. "You gave us that hope, Mr. Merry, you and the Lady Eowyn, when you
struck down the leader of the Ringwraiths. That was what laid fear on that
Ringwraith, what gave me hope. That was a mighty thing you did."

Merry gasped. His recollection of the deed was half-shrouded in the mists
that drew across his memory directly afterwards, when he was ill and near
death with the Black Breath, and he had been content to leave it fogged
and unexamined. He had, truly, not ever thought of himself as brave till
Sam looked at him now with pride. "It, well, it needed doing." Sam smiled
lopsidedly to hear his words given back to him, and reached for Merry's
hand. It chanced to be Merry's weak hand, but Sam's strength seemed to
flow into it; Merry returned Sam's squeeze firmly, and they sat there for
a moment, hand in hand, finishing their pears. 

Still, despite Sam's anchoring warmth beside him, Sam's large and callused
hand enfolding his, Merry barely tasted his pear. Thinking on the battle
of the Pelennor had brought that chill mist back to him, the darkness when
he thought he would die and hardly had strength to care. "I nearly
died," he said softly, and Sam squeezed his hand again. "I nearly died,
but that wasn't the worst of it. The worst of it was what it did to
Pippin. He had to care for me. He's only twenty-nine. No tweenager's face
should have so many lines of care upon it.". 

"It is harder, to be cared for, Mr. Merry." Sam nodded
thoughtfully. "Naught near so awful befell me---" Merry snorted, thinking
_you walked to Mordor, Sam, and I saw you when they carried you back, I
thought you were dead_, but said nothing, and Sam continued. "But when
Mr. Frodo left he tried to leave me, too, and I near drowned my fool self
in the River following him. But he didn't leave me." Merry smiled at the
look on Sam's face, love and stubbornness woven together. "Not that I was
good for much that night, chilled to the bone and half drowned, my clothes
and gear all wet. Mr. Frodo had to do all the work, setting camp and
looking after me, and I had to let him. And that was hardest of all. "

Merry nodded."That is it, Sam. Thank you for understanding." Sam squeezed
Merry's hand again, his smile gone shy and pleased. 

The silence began to lengthen, and Merry thought that perhaps they had
wandered too long in the past. "Speaking of the Lady Eowyn", he said
cheerfully, "I hear she is to wed Lord Faramir."

"Ah, that's good! Lord Faramir is a great gentleman. He was good to me and
Mr. Frodo when by Gondor's laws he should have held us captive, when that
cursed Ring sang in his ear."

Something in Sam's tone stung Merry.  "Lord Faramir is a great man," he
said, hearing his own voice thin and waspish, "but he is not Boromir."

Sam's reply was a shocked look, his grip on Merry's hand slacking, his
brown eyes going round, then narrowing, and Merry's belly went cold. "I
mean," he stammered, but Sam's expression was already lightening with
sympathy. "Lord Boromir was your friend, yours and Mr. Pippin's" Sam
replied gently, as he withdrew his hand only to put his arm round Merry
again. "He was right good to you two."

"And he tried to take the Ring from Frodo."

"Mr. Merry, who told you that!"

"No one, Sam. I just, I put it together. I know why you may not remember
Boromir as fondly as I do, is all I meant by it."

"The Ring drove folk mad," Sam said quietly, pain in his eyes. "It ever
did. But Lord Boromir came back to himself, in time to fight to save you
and Mr. Pippin. I know, Mr. Merry. I've talked to Stri-I mean, the King."

Merry grinned at the slip, and put his arm around Sam. "That explains how
you know so much about our adventures." Sam smiled back, and laid his head
on Merry's shoulder again; then he regarded his hand for a moment, and
raised it as if to lick off a stray bit of pear juice, but Merry caught
Sam's wrist and licked his palm for him. It was indeed salty-sweet with
pear juice, and musky with smoke, and savory with Sam.

"Mr. Merry," Sam said with cheer in his voice, "Are you flirting with
me?"Merry winked at that and sucked two of Sam's fingers into his mouth,
twining his tongue around them while he watched Sam blush like the
dawn.  Still, even though he was smiling, and turning a tasty red, Sam's
voice was steady. "What's this about, Mr. Merry?" 

Merry recalled when Sam had first asked him that question, when they were
quite young and he was enticing Sam to play the tween with him; he smiled
at the memory, and let Sam's fingers go, and felt his smile tilt sadly,
but still stay a smile. "You're my friend, Sam. I can feel you, and you
won't break. You understand the ways I love Pippin, because of the ways
you love Frodo; we've talked too much of death, and I want to feel alive
and feel you alive with me. Besides, we're two of only four hobbits in all
Minas Tirith, and I'd need a footstool to kiss any of the ladies." Sam
laughed at that last, and slapped Merry gently on the back. "Hardly, you
giant, you're four inches taller than you ought to be."

Merry laughed at that, but his laugh caught in his throat when Sam laid
his damp hand on his cheek. "And you understand me, too, Merry," Sam said,
and kissed him again.  

It was sweet to sit there on a warming spring day, silver rain falling
past the balcony, Sam warm and firm in his arms. Merry slid forward as far
as he could, draping one leg over Sam's lap, feeling strong muscles
beneath his hands on Sam's back, feeling how Sam's face tilted up to his
now that he was so much taller. Sam kissed him more gently than before,
his lips soft and warm and caressing on Merry's, his hands holding to
Merry's shoulders. Merry kissed Sam until he felt warm all over, then drew
back for a breath, and smiled at his friend. "Let's go inside."

The house the hobbits shared had six bedchambers, each outfitted with
sawn-down bedsteads and chairs. Gandalf stayed with them, but he was often
out; only two of the bedchambers saw nightly use, so Merry and Sam had
their pick. Without even needing to discuss it, they opened the door of
the one in the middle, near enough to hear if Pippin or Frodo stirred but
far enough to not wake them. Merry sat down on the bed, feeling slightly
disoriented as he went from being half a head taller than Sam to being
shorter, and Sam kissed his brow and stepped out, going to check on the
other two hobbits. Merry heard  Pippin say something faint and sleepy, and
heard Sam bring him a mug of cool tea and something to eat; then he heard
Sam rummage again, and sat, feeling his heart pound, and laughed at
himself for being suddenly nervous as a tweener.

Sam returned with a bottle in his hand, which he put on the chair by the
bed as he sat down beside Merry. "Well, Mr. Pippin is awake, but he feels
like lying abed some more. I brought him a bite and more tea."

"Did you tell him what we're about?" Merry asked slyly, setting his hand
in the small of Sam's back. Sam closed his eyes, trembling at the touch,
but replied in an even voice, "and have him up and in here? He needs to
rest more."

Merry laughed, agreeing "He would be, too," as he leaned in to kiss Sam
again. Sam's arms wound about his neck and shoulders, such strong arms,
and Merry leaned into that strength, so glad Frodo had been able to lean
on Sam's strength throughout their ordeal, so glad he could occasionally
share in it himself. Sam lay back, and Merry went with him, remembering
the feeling of lying on Sam's broad warm chest; then Merry felt the
differences, and gasped, and leaned back a bit. "Sam?" he tried to ask, as
he raised his hands to Sam's braces; it came out a whisper.

"Merry?" Sam raised his hands to Merry's, stroking them as he took his
braces out of Merry's grasp to pull them down; Sam pulled off his shirt,
and Merry gasped again, laying his hands lightly on Sam's body, so much
thinner than it had been. "Sam. I never saw your ribs before, ever." The
last word was half a sob.

Sam raised himself to kiss Merry's forehead as he wrapped his arms round
him. "I'm fine, Mr. Merry. I'm fine. And you..." Sam kissed the brown scar
on Merry's brow, his lips warm and dry as he laid a line of kisses across
the scar, down the side of his face, as Merry sighed and leaned into the
kisses, turning his face to meet Sam's mouth in a kiss that tasted of
tears and survival. 

"I, Sam, I wish..." Sam was undressing him, unbuttoning his shirt, shaking
his head with a gentle smile, but Merry kept trying to push out the words
tightening his chest. "I am glad you were beside Frodo, he needed you, but
I wish..." Merry trailed his fingers through the golden curls scattered
thickly over Sam's chest, feeling his fingertips riding over the shallow
hills and valleys of Sam's ribs. "You're so changed, Sam."

"We all are changed, Mr. Merry." Sam's voice was gentle, implacable; his
fingers circled the wrist of Merry's weak hand, tracing the fading scars
from the orcs' ropes. "But we are still here." Merry looked up into Sam's
warm eyes as Sam's hands slid gently up his arms, and the tightness eased
in his chest as he leaned forward. "I am so glad my cousin loves
you," Merry whispered over Sam's lips, feeling them smile at those words
just before they pressed to his. 

They were no longer young tweens, to love each other quickly and
roughly. Sam and Merry held each other tightly, feeling their hearts
beating each to each, feeling the pulse of their entwined bodies as they
eased each other's clothes off and learned each other's changes with
gentle fingers and soothing mouths. Sam traced and kissed Merry's battle
scars, stroked his weak hand till it strengthened and warmed, stroked his
shoulders and chest and back and lower till Merry trembled; Merry kissed
every scar he found, from the orc-slash of Moria buried in Sam's fair hair
to the pale weals along his ankles and the sides of his feet where the
curls had not regrown, and then kissed his way slowly back up as Sam lay
with eyes closed, breathing huskily. Merry stroked Sam's thighs open,
nuzzling between, licking his way up to plunge his mouth down; Sam gasped
at that, tensing all over, his fingers clenching and flexing on Merry's
shoulders. "Oh. Merry, Mr. Merry," Sam breathed, and Merry would have
smiled if he could have; he settled for twining his tongue around until
Sam's breathless gasping shaded up into a hard-won moan.

"Mmmm." Merry pulled his mouth up, slowly, feeling Sam tremble, and turned
his face up to ask a timely question. "Sam. What do you want, Sam?" 

Sam lay thinking for a moment, stroking Merry's shoulders; then he grasped
those shoulders and tugged, and Merry pushed himself up Sam's body. His
blush glowed all the way down to his collarbones, and Merry couldn't help
but taste that blush, licking his way up Sam's throat and jaw to trace his
ear with lips and tongue. "What do you want?" Merry whispered again, low
in his throat, and Sam's eyelashes fluttered as his arms tightened, just
this wonderful side of crushing. "I want," Sam said softly, eyes still
closed, and Merry kissed his cheek encouragingly, kissed his lashes, his
closed eyes, his brow. "I want you to tup me, Merry."

Sam left off the honorific that time, Merry thought as he kissed him. "I
would be honored," he whispered over Sam's mouth, and Sam slid his hands
up into Merry's hair and kissed him hard, kissed him passionately, lips
and tongue stroking and pressing Merry's, as his knees slid up Merry's
thighs. Merry held him as tightly as he could, delighting in not having to
hold back, delighting in the taste and feel and strength and warmth of
Sam.

Somehow, Merry managed to disentangle himself and rise up on his
knees. "So," he said, trying to school his trembling voice into some
semblence of practicality, "we need---"

Sam smiled up at that, his hands gently stroking Merry. "The chair." Merry
reached out and found the bottle Sam had brought with him. Pulling a bit
of consciousness back into his head, Merry regarded the golden-green,
clear liquid. "What is this?"

"It's called olive oil, I think." Sam replied, his gentle hands never
stilling; Merry closed his eyes against the rhythmic surges of pleasure
and bit his lip, and Sam chuckled, deep and warm. "It's made from a fruit
that grows here, not a sweet one." It did smell fruity, as Merry poured a
little of it into his palm, fruity and savory at once, and it had a
heaviness to it, like walnut oil. "Sam, you know everything," Merry said
admiringly, and Sam closed his eyes again, blushing even more deeply, and
sat up to claim another kiss, as Merry corked the bottle one-handed and
dropped it somewhere out of the way.

When Sam would have pulled away Merry wound his free hand into his hair
and held him, drinking down Sam's moans as he smoothed the oil where it
needed to be with long slow strokes. Finally, Sam  put a hand up to gently
but firmly push Merry back and gasp for breath. "Ah, Merry, ah, you'll
steal away what small wit I have," he gasped, and leaned forward to kiss
the hollow of Merry's throat before wriggling around and pulling a pillow
beneath his belly. Merry was momentarily disappointed, as he'd wanted to
look into those brown eyes, until he reflected that, with his new height,
he's either be curled like a bow or have his nose to Sam's brow. So he
laid a kiss to the small of Sam's back, and kissed his way up as Sam
quivered and sighed beneath him, up to Sam's ear and into his hair, as he
stroked his way up Sam's firm thighs to hold him and sink into him.

Sam moaned again, a low rumbling moan deep in his chest, a moan that set
Merry's blood afire. He leaned forward, pressing himself into and onto
Sam, and found that their height difference meant that he could easily
hook his chin over Sam's shoulder and kiss him, as Sam turned his head,
eyes moving beneath the veiling lids, mouth working as if it could find
Merry's all on its own. Merry wound his arms round Sam's waist and kissed
him, sinking into the pleasure of the kiss, of Sam's warm flesh against
his, Sam's strength holding him firmly. Merry let himself go, knowing Sam
wouldn't break, holding him tightly, trading moan for moan, kiss for kiss,
stroke for stroke. He dug his hand down into the pillow to find Sam,
stroking the other up Sam's chest, and Sam's soft moaning shattered into a
head-tossing wail of sheer pleasure, his eyes rolling back beneath
half-draped eyelids, his body clenching around Merry until Merry
helplessly dropped his forehead to the back of Sam's neck, distantly
feeling tears running down his face as his peak burned through him.

"Ah." Sam's warm voice brought the world back to Merry. "My bones have
gone to soup." Merry sucked in a deep breath and eased himself off of Sam,
then let himself flop gracelessly to the bed. Sam heaved himself up and
flopped down beside him. "And that pillow's done for."

"I'm done in," Merry sighed, smiling weakly, turning his face to Sam's,
who smiled warmly and leaned over to kiss him once more, sweet and firm,
before dropping his head again. "We should check," said Sam, softly,
conscientiously. 

"It's my turn," Merry replied, laying his hand on Sam's chest to keep him
in the bed and to feel his heart beating. "Just let my bones come
back." Sam chuckled at that, and they lay quietly together for a moment,
warm and breathing, until Merry felt he could climb out of the bed and
walk. Finding his breeches, he wandered out to the occupied bedrooms. 

Pippin was sound asleep, and his injured hand was curled normally beside
his face, a sight that heartened Merry considerably. Frodo was awake,
though he lay with eyes closed; when Merry came in he turned to look at
him, and Merry noted how pale he was indeed, with barely more color than
the sheets. "Hullo, coz," Merry said cheerfully, as Frodo smiled at him,
holding out his uninjured hand and asking "What time is it?"

"Nearly elevenses," Merry replied, sitting down and taking Frodo's hand in
his. Frodo interlaced their fingers, regarding Merry with a smile that
unfurled into something right wicked. "Looks like you've already had Sam
for second breakfast," Frodo observed, and Merry felt himself blush as he
grinned. 

Then Frodo's smile softened into love. "Good. I'm glad, Merry. I know
watching over me isn't always easy for him---" 

"He'd be nowhere else," Merry interjected; Frodo's smile grew tinged with
sadness, as he nodded and continued. "Just as I know that watching over
Pippin isn't always easy for you." Merry opened his mouth to protest, but
Frodo's blue gaze stopped those words. "You'd be nowhere else,
either. That I know, just as I knew that night at Crickhollow that I
couldn't possibly leave you two idiots behind." Frodo's smile was a grin,
echoed in Merry's. "I know you love Pippin; I know Sam loves me. And I
know both of you understand each other, and I'm glad you are friends."

Merry smiled, his heart warm within him. "That's why we had to come with
you," he said, and leaned forward to kiss Frodo on his brow. "Can I bring
you anything, or send Sam in?"

"No, Merry, thank you. Sam has earned a break, and I think I will lie here
a bit longer and listen to the rain fall." Frodo released Merry's hand and
closed his eyes again, and Merry left him to rain and restfulness.

Of course, when Sam heard that Frodo was awake, he was up and dressed,
patting Merry on the shoulder even as he stepped into his breeches,
buttoning his shirt even as he left for Frodo's room. Merry sat on the
bed, and chided himself for feeling bereft, and considered the rest of his
day. Several of the books Frodo had brought to their house had sections on
the history of Rohan, and it might be a good idea to survey one or two, he
thought, carefully not listening to Sam and Frodo's soft conversation down
the hall.

Then, before Merry had even moved from the bed, Sam was back, looking
puzzled and worried and relieved all at once. "Sam?" Merry asked in
surprise.

"Mr. Frodo said he's fine," Sam replied absently, sitting down beside
Merry. "He kissed me and said he'd hear the rain, and that it was good to
see me have summat for my own." Sam looked up at Merry. "And he sent me
back here."

Merry smiled and put his arm round Sam's shoulders. "You don't mind
putting up with me for a little while longer, then, Sam?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Merry." Sam's smile was genuine and heartening. "Oh, not at
all.  It's just that"

"You worry for him." Merry tightened his arm, and Sam nodded and laid his
head on Merry's shoulder, and slowly, softly continued. "Aye. He's so
thin, and so pale, pale as the marble of this city, and some days I almost
think I can see through him, as if one day he might fade away to
naught." Sam's breath caught in his throat, an odd little choking sound,
and Merry realized he was holding back a sob, and began to rub his arm
gently, up and down. "I love him as best I can, and I care for him as best
I can, and I only wish it was enough."

"No hobbit could ever ask for more, Sam." Merry wound both arms around him
now. "Frodo is fortunate in your love."

Sam shook his head just a little. "I'm just his Sam. I've always been his
Sam. I just wish that was enough."

"It is." Merry eased them both backwards; fortunately, this bed, made for
Big Folk, left them plenty of space to not have to lie in the wet
spot. "It is more than he, than I, than anyone could ever say."

"Oh, Mr. Merry." Now Sam was struggling indeed, his broad shoulders
shaking. Merry held him as best he could and kept stroking his arm, a
little afraid and a little relieved and very much hoping that Sam found
ease in his clumsy comfort . "Mr. Frodo told you some of what befell us,
but did he tell you how he came by the scar on the back of his neck?"

"No." Merry had figured that whatever had caused that livid round horror
of a scar, it couldn't have been pleasant, couldn't have been something
Frodo wanted to recall, so he hadn't asked and had restrained Pippin from
asking. 

Sam's voice was low and grim. "It was a spider." Merry almost would have
laughed, but for the tone of Sam's voice, and his next words banished all
mirth. "A great, monstrous spider such as you would never hope to see, a
spider larger than the tallest elven-horse. A spider such that we were the
flies, led into the web by that Gollum." Sam's mouth was a tight line of
bitter pain, and Merry raised one hand to his brow to stroke it, thinking
how unfair it was that Frodo's sunny gardener lad should have seen such a
thing, or so many other horrors besides.

Sam's expression lightened, and Merry prided himself on his powers of
comfort until Sam spoke again. "There was a light in the darkness, though,
Mr. Merry. The Star-glass that the Lady of Lorien gifted Mr. Frodo, it
saved us then, the glass and Mr. Frodo's brave heart. Oh, glory,
Mr. Merry, you should have seen him!" Sam smiled now, waving his hand in
the air. "He stood like a silver torch, holding the Star-glass in his
hand, holding Sting burning with blue fire, facing down that dreadful
creature, as brave as any warrior in a song. You'd have been right proud
of him, Mr. Merry" 

"I am just to hear it, Sam! What a picture!" What Merry pictured was his
cousin, who'd given Merry rides on his shoulders and soothed his tears and
scolded him lovongly, who'd taken Merry into his arms and his bed and
later listened to Merry's lengthy agonies over loving Pippin, who'd looked
at Merry with relief and anger and gratitude that night at Crickhollow; he
thought of Frodo, his Frodo, standing forth against the darkness, defying
a massive monster. "I am proud of him."

Sam sighed, his face drawn again, and Merry guessed the next part of the
tale was not so lovely. "The spider, though, had more than one web, more
than one way, and she stung Mr. Frodo, caught him from behind, while I
struggled with Gollum. When I broke free, when I saw him, I thought he
was, I thought, I" Sam turned his face into Merry's shoulder, and the sobs
began in earnest.

Now Merry knew what Frodo had meant, when he said that the orcs took him
because he was so hurt Sam had thought him dead, and now he knew why that
was all Frodo would say about it. Merry remembered when Legolas and
Gandalf had finally let him in to see Pippin, and how he had thought, 'He
is dead, he is dead!' till the thought filled all his head, all the world,
and all he could do was weep. That was after they had bound Pippin's
wounds, cleaned him and straightened him, and Merry had had Gandalf and
Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn; what must it have been like for Sam, alone in
the wild with enemies all about, thinking his master and lover and friend
was dead? Merry felt his own eyes overflow, as Sam wept into his shoulder
and he held him as best he could, stroking his hair gently.

Finally, Sam snuffled to a halt and raised his face from Merry's shoulder,
scrubbing at it with the back of his hand. Merry pulled up a corner of the
sheet, and Sam took it, smiling gratefully; when he'd wiped his own face
Sam wordlessly wiped Merry's, then settled his head beside Merry's on the
bed. "Here I am, crying like a lass," Sam said ruefully, and Merry laughed
and punched his shoulder gently. Then, more soberly, holding the brown
eyes with his own, he said, "Sam, I understand." Sam nodded at that, and
smiled just a bit "Aye, Mr. Merry, you do, and I'm right glad of it. Thank
you."
 
"Sam, you're my friend. Merry squeezed him more tightly as he spoke, and
Sam leaned forward with the squeeze to kiss him again, warm and
sweet. Still kissing Merry, Sam rolled over him to climb out of the bed,
not letting go till his feet hit the floor; then he straightened his
shoulders and observed, "It must be nearly time for luncheon," seemingly
serene as ever. Merry sat up, but whatever thought he was forming into
words faded away when his stomach growled. "I suppose I could do with a
bite," Merry agreed.

"And it's past time for your hand exercises, Mr. Merry," Sam added,
folding his arms. Merry sighed; he had forgotten. "But I've been using my
hand all day!" he protested, lunging forward in an attempt to pinch Sam,
who nimbly jumped back, laughing, and went out to the kitchen.

Sam cooked, frying mushrooms and ham for omelet filling, while Merry
flexed his hand and buttoned and unbuttoned his shirt, and they spoke of
home, of all the little ways of late spring in the Shire, and eventually
of their lasses. "I wonder if Rosie has a new swain by now," Sam mused,
cracking eggs into a bowl as Merry sliced bread. "I told her not to wait
for me, that I could make no promises, but she's as stubborn as she's
fair."

"Nearly as stubborn as a Gamgee," Merry agreed cheerfully, and Sam
attempted to look cross before giving up and smiling. "And Miss Estella?"

"Oh, she's a lively lass, she has so many friends, she's likely forgotten
me," Merry said with transparent lightness; Sam set his mouth and shook
his head. "I think not, Mr. Merry. Have you kissed her?"

Merry thought, _she's noisier in bed than Pippin_, before deciding on a
slightly different reply. "Well, yes, of course."

"Then, I think I might say she's not forgotten you." Merry watched Sam's
eyes twinkle, and felt his own mouth fall open, before he threw his head
back and laughed. "Oh, Sam! I daresay you might!"

"What's all this noise, then?" Pippin said, imitating the crotchety tones
of a wakened elder, as he wandered into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with
the back of his hand. "And do I smell mushrooms?"

"I was hoping you would join us sometime this month." Merry held his arm
out, and Pippin slid into the embrace and leaned down to favor Merry with
a slightly sleepy kiss. "How are you, Pip?"

"Better for the tea and the sleep. I can still feel the rain in my bones,
but it doesn't ache nearly so much." Pippin leaned over Merry a moment
longer, then stood up, looking amused. "I see you and Sam managed to find
some entertainment. Did Frodo watch?" Sam choked at that, and Merry
pretended to punch Pippin. "Frodo has been ill in bed all morning, same as
you, you dirty-minded creature."

Pippin pulled a disappointed face. "I should have curled up with him,
then," he said wickedly, and bounded over with some of his old lightness
to embrace a spluttering Sam and kiss him on one apple-red cheek. "So,
what are we having for luncheon?"

"Omelets, Mr. Pippin, if you ever get off me," Sam replied, and both Merry
and Pippin laughed.

After serving Merry and Pippin their omelets, Sam vanished into his and
Frodo's bedroom, and Merry heard another soft conversation for a moment,
before Pippin captured his attention with a hand on his arm. "I'm glad,
Merry," Pippin said, all seriousness. "You and Sam take care of me and
Frodo so very well, it can't be easy. I'm glad you two are friends."

Merry smiled at his Pippin. "That's what Frodo said. And you should
eat." Pippin obediently shoveled in half a slice of bread, and Merry
leaned over to brush the curls back from that high dear brow and kiss it
before returning to his omelet.

Around then, Frodo emerged with Sam; he gave Sam's hand a squeeze and
joined his cousins at the table, stealing a piece of bread from Merry's
plate as he sat down. "Hey!" Merry mock-protested, delighted to see Frodo
in such good spirits.

"The loaf's right there," Frodo pointed out reasonably between bites. "So,
after luncheon, what shall we do?"

"How about going out to the lower city to explore and see the
repairs?" Pippin suggested; Frodo snorted, and Merry pointed with his fork
for emphasis as he said, "let's not overdo it, Peregrin
just-risen-from-bed Took."

"How about reading tales in the parlor?" Sam suggested as he put an omelet
before Frodo. "I would dearly love to hear you read the Lay of Luthien,
sir."

Frodo smiled up at Sam. "It's a long tale, Sam," he said, the warmth in
his voice having little to do with his words,"and full of pain and
sadness."

"Yes, but in the end, they came back to life, and they were together." Sam
finished cooking his omelet and came to the table, his free hand brushing
over Frodo's four-fingered one. Pippin laid his injured hand on Merry's
good one, and Merry turned his hand up beneath it, not clutching or
holding, just warmly palm to palm. Frodo kissed Sam's cheek, and turned a
look like a kiss on Pippin and on Merry. "Yes," Frodo agreed, "in the end,
they were together."