A Rope to Hang Himself by Kathryn Ramage

After dinner, they all went into the taproom, where the usual group was gathering for their evening's amusement. A game of darts had already begun, and Pippin joined in. Everyone had learned by now that Frodo was aware of Ham's secret and they were more openly chatty to him; Maisie was the only one who still looked distressed.

Sam's cousins bought him an ale and apologized for keeping secrets. "I'm sorry we didn't say anything about Ham before, but it's better he told you himself than somebody went and tattle-taled," said Haltred. "We're relieved to know there's nothing in it after all. Mother and Father and Uncle Tigo will be glad to hear so too. It was upsetting for all us Gamgees, that one of the family was in the middle of this."

"We knew how it'd upset you, Sam," his brother added. "And we hoped that maybe, if Mr. Baggins didn't find out, he'd look elsewhere."

"He is looking elsewhere," Sam told them. "I'm off tomorrow, to visit some places where Malbo used to live." He turned from the bar to look over his shoulder and find Frodo had also gotten a mug of ale and was talking with Merry at one of the tables. They seemed to be in a serious conversation, and Sam wondered what they could be talking about. With a fresh blush, he remembered what Frodo had said about this inn being a 'disappointment'--and Merry was just the person Frodo would confide in precisely how he'd been disappointed!

"Does Mr. Baggins know who did it, Sherriff Gamgee?" asked Tully, who had come over to the bar after playing his round of darts the trio of Gamgees.

"I don't know," Sam answered honestly. "He's got some idea, but he only tosses hints to me and won't say what he's thinking. He will, though, when he's got it all worked out." He was still watching Frodo at the other end of the room, and did until he was urged by his cousins and Mr. Greenhills to take a turn at the dartboard. When he'd finished his set, Sam saw that Frodo had gone.

He stayed in the taproom for another round of ales and a second game, then went to his room to find Frodo had packed his bag for him and was now sitting on the floor, copying out the pertinent part of Mr. Bloomer's map for Sam to take with him on his travels.

"I don't want any of you to get lost. It's not as if we're familiar with this part of the Shire," he explained. "I've already made a map for Merry and Pippin and slipped it under their door. There won't be another chance to speak to them privately before breakfast."

"Then what were you doing sitting with Master Merry for everybody to see, if we aren't supposed to know them?" Sam asked him. "Was that wise?"

"I wanted to talk to him, and I thought it'd be safer to do so in public than try to sneak off for a secret chat," Frodo answered. "It'd look less suspicious than ignoring him and Pippin entirely."

"What were you talking about?"

"Hanging."

This was not the answer Sam had expected to hear. "Hanging?"

"Yes," said Frodo, and looked up from his work. "The idea of it's been on my mind lately, since this case began. It's been part of our law for as long as there's been a Shire--taken from the Big Folk's laws, I imagine--but it never was once carried out, not for hundreds of years. The Shire has always been a peaceable place, but do you think there was never a single murder in all that time, before we started to investigate them, Sam? No. But Merry's the first magistrate who's sentenced a murderer to hang. I wondered how he felt about it."

"What did he say?" Sam asked, curious in spite of himself.

"He said he thought he was more ready to see it done than any other hobbit, since he's seen Men and orcs die at his hand before, but it was different this time. It wasn't killing in the heat of battle, but a cold, deliberate judgment. He would've avoided giving the sentence if he could, if he'd seen any sign of shame or repentance. But it was clear that the hobbit before him was undeniably guilty of brutally killing two of our kinsmen and would've killed again if he'd been given the opportunity. It had to be stopped."

"He did try again. He would've killed you if me and the Buckland shirriffs hadn't come upon him when we did." Sam remembered this very well; he would have happily run the murderer through at that moment. "I don't blame Master Merry. I'd've done just the same if it was me being the judge."

"You may find yourself in Merry's position someday, Sam," Frodo answered with a small smile. "Go on as you have, and I expect you'll be a magistrate in Bywater, or even Mayor." He finished his map and waved it gently back and forth to dry the ink, then tucked it into an outer pocket of Sam's pack, which lay near the door. Sam thought that the conversation had come to an end, but as they undressed for bed, Frodo asked him, "What did you think Merry and I were talking about?"

"Er... Something else," Sam answered evasively.

"About our recent- ah- difficulties?"

"Well, you'd tell him about that, wouldn't you?"

"Under the right circumstances," Frodo admitted, "but not in a public taproom among a crowd of strangers!" He climbed into bed.

"He'd do what you was asking me to do," Sam pursued. "He did, didn't he?"

"That was a long time ago, Sam," Frodo answered wearily. "Please, let's not argue about Merry and me. I don't want to go over that same old quarrel again."

"Nor me either," Sam agreed; this problem had little to do with Merry Brandybuck. "Whatever you did with him don't matter--but you want the same of me and I can't do it, and it's disappointing to you."

Frodo drew his knees up to his chest and regarded his friend with large and sorrowful eyes. "I'm sorry, Sam. That was a spiteful thing for me to say, and I shouldn't have. I can't blame you for refusing to do something you don't care for. It's only that I hoped you'd be more adventurous."

"Now you know how I like an adventure!" Sam protested this unfair reproach. "Going out into the world and seeing some wonderful sights--and didn't we see some, Frodo! You can't say I ever hung back in having adventures with you. But what's that go to do with what you 'n' me get up to in bed?"

"Nothing, Sam," Frodo answered with a gentle smile. "It's a different sort of adventure entirely. You've shown some liking for other types of games with me. I thought that we might try something new."

Sam had to concede that he had enjoyed some of Frodo's games, but this was going too far. "Can't we just go on doing it in the usual way?" he asked. "You used to like that."

"I did--I do," Frodo assured him. "We can do it as often as you like, whenever you like. But I sometimes feel that it's rather- well- dull doing the same thing every time. Like having exactly the same food every day for breakfasts, luncheon, tea, and dinner."

"What's wrong with that? You get what you like, and like what you're getting."

"Like an old married couple," said Frodo, then sighed. "Oh, never mind, Sam. I won't push you to do anything you don't wish to. We're going to be parted for days, and I don't want this to lie between us while you're away. Come to bed."

He put both arms around Sam and wriggled close against him. They began to kiss. It was when Sam held Frodo tightly and pressed him down onto the bed that he was suddenly, painfully aware that Frodo was only offering to make love with him tonight in the old way to make up for the quarrel between them, but this wasn't what Frodo really wanted... nor did he. That remark about old married couples struck home. Sam didn't want their lovemaking to become an every-other-Trewsday ritual, like it had become with Rosie.

He'd long ago realized that he couldn't be shared equally between two people as Frodo had planned for him to be when he and Rosie had first married and the three of them had set up house together. Fortunately, he'd been spared the choice for many months; he'd been Rosie's alone for a year while Frodo was away, then Frodo's since his return to Bag End. All this past year, while Rosie was expecting their second child and afterwards, he'd dreaded the time when his wife would want him in her bed again. But when he and Rose had resumed their marital relations a few months ago, she had demanded very little of him. She didn't want half of his nights. They still loved each other, but the heat had gone out of it. That was only natural; after all, they weren't newlyweds anymore, but had been married three years and had two children to show for it. They'd become comfortable. Once every other Trewsday night was enough to satisfy them both.

Frodo, on the other hand, had never become comfortable. Although they'd been lovers longer than he and Rosie, Frodo could still make him feel giddy and dazed, just as he'd felt the first time Frodo had held out a hand and said "Come to me." Whatever else was between them, Sam always wanted to feel that way.

He let Frodo go.

Frodo sat up. "What's wrong, Sam?"

"I don't feel like it, that's all."

Frodo stared at him, eyes large and sad again. "Oh, Sam... I'm sorry. Don't be angry with me."

"I'm not angry," Sam answered, and turned his back. "But if I'm going to disappoint you, I'll do it in my own way, thank you."
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