Nothing was left of Saruman except for his robes. The hobbits, agreed that they couldn't leave the body of Wormtongue lying out, so they carried it out of the house for burial. It was grim and unpleasant work, and Sam made Frodo sit it out.
"Your part in this is finished. What's left isn't for you to do," he said firmly and, now that the emergency was over, Frodo submitted without protest. After his ordeal at Saruman's hands, he did feel very tired, more weary than he wanted Sam to know. While the others went to work behind the house, he hid the ponies in the ramshackle stable and sat on the grassy slope out front to keep watch through the rest of the night.
As the sun rose, he could see the land for miles to the south, and thought how beautiful it was: the green trees bright with the first leaves of spring; the rolling hills cut with dark lines of hedgerows and swaths of freshly tilled brown earth; the homey little cluster of cottages at the crossroads below with gray wisps of smoke rising from their chimneys. Even the white mists that hung low over the marsh glimmered dazzlingly when the dawn's light touched them.
Not long after daybreak, Sam came to join him. "You're all right, Frodo?"
"My neck feels a bit bruised," Frodo answered, gingerly touching the tenderest spots, "but I think I'll be fine."
"You're not going to have a bad turn over this, are you?"
"No, I'm not upset. Rather, the opposite." He looked up at Sam, who stood over him, still looking concerned; the wizard's taunt about his never growing old remained on both their minds. "I know that Gandalf would have wanted us to give them a chance to redeem themselves and be healed, no matter what they did. Nevertheless, now that they are gone, I can't help but feel... relieved. Almost light-hearted. The last taint of Sauron's evil has finally been banished from Middle-earth. We are safe." As Sam sat down on the grass beside him, Frodo leaned against his shoulder. "I feel very hopeful for the future."
Merry and Pippin came out from behind the house. Like Sam, both had mud on their trousers, grimy smudges on their hands and faces, and cobwebs in their hair.
"Where did you put- ah- him?" Frodo wondered.
"In the old family crypt out back," said Merry. "We agreed that he deserved a decent resting place, considering what he did at the very end. He must've hated Saruman more than he hated us. Besides, it might be noticed if we buried him in the garden and left a mound of turned-up earth. He won't be found in there."
"No one'll know they were here at all," Sam added.
"No one will ever know!" Pippin echoed in amazement.
"It felt good to be fighting again, didn't it?" said Merry, and put his fingertips to a dark red smear high on his cheek, where the tip of Wormtongue's dagger had nicked him and the blood had long ago dried. "For a little while, we were heroes once more. We put a stop to Saruman's plans for the Shire."
"Yes, but we can't tell anyone about it!" Pippin protested. "They'd never believe us even if we did."
"It's best that way," said Frodo. He was sitting with his folded arms on his knees, still gazing at the green hills in the morning light. "I'm sorry for Lotho. It isn't right that he should be called a suicide and held responsible for Daisy's murder, when he did love her, but to explain who really killed her--and him--would require further explanations. We'd have to tell not only who his murderers were, but how he brought them here, and why. All the Shire would know what he truly planned for them. They would know how close they came..." He shuddered. "No, I don't want them to know what happened here. The Shire must never be touched."
While he was still afraid that he did not have much time left in Middle-earth, right at this moment, he was determined to stay in this beautiful place, his home, and to hold on to the people he loved best for as long as he could.
"I don't want it to change." Tears welled in his eyes and, on an impulse born of resurgent hope, he threw both arms around Sam's neck and kissed him. "And I don't ever want to leave it!"
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