"He isn't!"
"He is so--and if you weren't such a fool, Frodo Baggins, you'd see it for yourself."
Frodo stared at his cousin in disbelief. It was just like Merry to tease and play silly pranks; surely this must be a joke. "That's nonsense, Merry," he answered. "Sam is a good, dear, loyal friend--no one knows that better than I do. He'd walk through fire for me, but just because he's shown that kind of devotion doesn't mean that he- well, that he's..." Frodo lowered his voice so that the hobbits seated at the tables around them at the Green Dragon would not overhear, "what you said."
"In love with you," Merry repeated. "It isn't a dirty word."
"No, but it's ridiculous to suggest that Sam feels that way about me. You can't be serious, Merry! Whatever gave you such an absurd idea?"
"I've watched him. I've noticed how he looks at you. His whole heart is in his eyes, plain to see. At least, I've seen it, even if you haven't. When you were in the Houses of Healing after they brought you out of Mordor, he used to watch over you while you slept, even though he had as much need to rest as you did. He'd sit by your bed all night, holding your hand. He did the same in Rivendell--I wondered about it then, but I wasn't sure. I am now. Sam loves you."
"As a friend-"
"It's more than friendship," Merry scoffed. "For you as well as him. You have to have closer feelings than that for someone who's held you naked in his arms."
"Mer-reee-!" Frodo blushed and glanced quickly around at the other tables--embarrassing as this whole conversation was, he would be utterly mortified if anyone had heard that. But, if anyone had heard, they gave no sign of it. "Who told you about that?" he hissed.
"You did," his cousin replied cheerfully, "and Sam. You didn't put it like that, of course, but I've heard enough of the story about how you were captured by orcs, and what happened when Sam rescued you, to put the pieces together. After all you've been through, you've got a special bond with him. Don't tell me it's only that you're dear friends, because I know better and so do you. It could be a lot more if you'd let it. Why are you holding back?" Merry sipped his ale, and after a moment's consideration, went on: "Your trouble, Frodo, is that you're too fastidious. Even when we were children, you wouldn't play like the other boys. I used to think that meant you only liked girls, but I've never seen you take an interest in any girls either! You've never liked anyone." He gave Frodo an impish, provoking smile. "I wonder now if you aren't simply as cold as a fish in a creek."
"I am not!" Frodo protested indignantly. "Just because I don't play around like you do-"
"Then prove it!"
"What do you expect me to do, Merry--throw myself at him?"
"Why not? Sam will be certain to catch you, and it'll do you good if he does. Have you ever given him a bit of encouragement, let him know that you feel the same way? You do, don't you, Frodo?"
Frodo didn't answer. He hated the way Merry was smiling at him, as if his silence were answer enough. "What difference would it make if I did?" he said tersely. "You're wrong about Sam. He doesn't care for me in that way. If he did, why hasn't he said so?"
"He wouldn't, not to you. You know how Sam is--he wouldn't dare say a word unless you spoke first."
"He's going to marry Rosie Cotton."
"He will," replied Merry, "unless you give him a reason not to. Why don't you say something to him? Give it a try, and see what happens."
"What will happen," Frodo retorted, rising to his feet and setting his half-finished mug of ale down on the table, "is that I will make a fool of myself, and possibly lose the best friend I have. I refuse to do it."
And, with that, he left the pub.
It was a clear, still evening, cloudless and with no moon. There wasn't much light to see by once he left the cluster of buildings that made up the heart of Hobbiton, but Frodo knew his way home and went swiftly down the dark lanes toward Bag End with only the starlight to guide him. The walk alone would clear his head and calm him down.
He'd been so delighted when Merry had shown up on his doorstep a few hours ago, saying that he was going to Tuckborough to visit Pippin but had decided to take the long way around to see Frodo as well. Frodo had welcomed his cousin warmly, made up a guest room for him and, after dinner, went out with Merry to the Green Dragon for a half-pint or two of ale. They'd talked as they always did whenever they met about their adventures--and, as always, they focused on their happier memories: of Rivendell and Lothlorien, of the days of celebration in Minas Tirith after the war was over, and of the journey home.
Then, Merry had asked him, "Are you happy now we've come home, Frodo?"
"Yes, of course I am!" Frodo had responded, surprised by the odd question. "Why do you ask?"
"You seem so lonely. From all I've heard, you shut yourself up in Bag End all day-"
"I've been writing."
"You can't write all the time. You've practically become a recluse. 'Tisn't natural for a hobbit to live alone. We aren't dwarves, meant for solitary lives."
Frodo had laughed. "You think I ought to get married? Who do you have in mind?"
"Not married, exactly," said Merry. "I was thinking of Sam."
"Sam?"
Merry had nodded, and made that incredible statement: "Why not Sam? He's in love with you, you know."
Now, Frodo was sorry his cousin had come to see him at all. How could Merry say such a thing about Sam? And how could Merry possibly suggest that he fling himself at his friend? No. He wouldn't dream of it. He couldn't.
Was there something wrong with him? Was he a cold fish, as Merry had said? It was true that he'd never been sweet on anyone, boy or girl. He didn't take the same keen interest in exploratory sex-games that the other lads did, and rarely participated in kissing games with girls at parties or flirted with them. It was natural for hobbits of his age to pair off and get married; most of them had already made their choice in their tweens, and it was only a matter of waiting for both partners to be of an age to wed. He'd never thought of marrying anybody. He'd never been in love.
There were occasionally odd hobbits in the Baggins family--hobbits who were slow to feel, and who only found love late in life. His own father, for example, had not wed until he was in his fifties. And there were even odder Bagginses like Uncle Bilbo and Aunt Dora, who never married at all. He must be like them. It was in his blood. Perhaps he was destined to be alone.
As he reached the end of the lane, pools of light cast from the cottages on Bagshot Row ahead showed him that he was almost home. At the entrance to Bag End's front garden, he stopped and leaned on the gate. Maybe he was a little drunk? He certainly felt confused and unsteady, but he suspected that had more to do with Merry's stupid idea of a joke than the Green Dragon's ale.
"Are you all right, Frodo?"
Frodo jumped, startled at the unexpected voice so nearby. He looked up as Sam stepped toward him from the shadows of the tall hedges that curved around the foot of the hill.
"How long have you been there?" he asked.
"Barely a minute," Sam answered. "I was standing in the dooryard, having a last pipe before bed--" he pointed with the long, curved mouthpiece of his still-smoking pipe in the direction of his home in Bagshot Row, "and I saw you coming up the lane. You looked a bit wobbly on your feet, and I thought I'd best go 'n' see if you needed help."
"I'm fine, Sam," Frodo insisted. He unlatched the gate but, as he went inside, stumbled on the lowest stone step.
Sam quickly caught him by the elbow. "I think you had a drop too much to drink," he scolded.
"Only two or three ales."
"That was at least one too many. Here, I'll help you up." Still holding Frodo's arm, Sam escorted him up the steps on the hillside. "You shouldn't be out walking alone in the night in such a state," he went on scolding. "You might've fallen down in the lanes and been hurt, and no one would've found you 'til morning. I thought Mr. Merry was with you?"
"He is- was," Frodo answered. "I left him at the Dragon."
"You didn't quarrel with him?"
"No, but he was being an insufferable ass tonight, and I wasn't in the mood to put up with his foolishness."
They were now at the top of the hill. While Sam went to open the front door, Frodo sat down on the bench nearby.
Sam turned back to him. "Aren't you going in, Frodo?"
"Not just yet. I'd rather sit out here awhile, in the fresh air." He let his head fall back. The sky was as dark, lush, and soft as a bolt of black velvet spread over him, and the stars seemed huge and remarkably bright, so close that he felt as if he might reach up and pluck them down. The house was dark behind him and, except for a light here and there in a cottage window or a lantern hung at a door, the valley below was likewise in darkness. Except for the chirp of crickets in the garden, the night was quiet. "Isn't it a lovely evening?"
"Lovely," Sam agreed, and came over to stand beside the bench. He knocked the smoldering ashes out of his pipe and tucked it into his coat pocket before sitting down; Frodo moved over a little to make room for him. When Sam stretched out an arm along the back of the bench behind him, Frodo leaned back against it. It felt rather nice to sit like this. He had not been so close to Sam in some time, and it came as something of a surprise to Frodo to realize how much he'd missed it. The arm around his shoulders was warm and sturdy, and Sam smelled pleasantly of pipeweed and, since he'd been working in the garden all afternoon, his tweed coat held the scents of it: turned earth and fresh-clipped grass, lavender, roses, and juniper.
Frodo turned his head to look at his friend, who appeared as no more than a shadowy shape silhouetted against the starry night sky. No, he wasn't as cold and uninterested in love as Merry said he was. Perhaps he didn't have to be alone after all. He might be one of those slow-to-love Bagginses, and he'd been waiting all this time for something... someone... special.
Was anyone as special to him as Sam?
Give Sam a little encouragement, Merry had told him. But what would happen if he did? Would he only humiliate Sam, or himself? Could he try it...?
Frodo gave his head a brisk shake. Oh, he must have had too much to drink if he was considering taking Merry's advice!
"Sam?" he asked. "Why didn't you want to come and live here with me? I would've been glad of the company, you know." He had invited Sam soon after they'd returned home, but Sam had refused.
Sam seemed startled by the question. "I would've liked to," he answered, and sounded sincerely apologetic, "but I'm needed at home. Somebody's got to look after the Gaffer. He's getting on in years, and there's only Marigold left to care for 'm, and she'll be going off to get married one day soon."
Sam had said something similar when Frodo had first asked, but this time Frodo wondered if it weren't merely an excuse. The Gamgee bungalow was just down the hill; Sam could keep an eye on his father easily from Bag End, and be home within seconds if he was urgently needed. After she married, Marigold would only be a short walk away at the Cotton farm, and the Widow Rumble, who lived in the Row, was an old family friend and willing to look after the aging Gaffer. Sam could have come here, if he'd wanted to.
"And what about you?" Frodo asked.
"Me?"
"Aren't you planning to marry soon yourself? Marigold's marrying Tom Cotton, and you'll be marrying his sister Rose."
"I'm thinking of it," Sam admitted. "I suppose I will sooner or later, if she'll have me."
"You don't sound very keen on it." Was Sam reluctant to marry Rosie, or was Frodo hearing things in his voice that weren't really there? Blast Merry for putting these ideas into his head!
He was about to apologize for the personal remark, when Sam answered thoughtfully, "Rosie's a nice enough girl, pretty too. I like her a lot, and have since we was children together. We get on together. I might've said something to her before if we hadn't left the Shire. Now I'm home, it's expected. You've got to marry somebody."
Sam was reluctant. It wasn't all his imagination! Was Merry right after all? Frodo had to find out. "There's no one else you'd rather have?" he asked, probing further. In spite of himself, his heart had begun to beat hard.
Sam turned to him; it was too dark to see his face, but Frodo knew that his friend must be staring at him. "Who d'you mean?"
"Did you ever think of me?" Frodo blurted, scarcely believing the words coming out of his mouth. He must be drunk!
Sam didn't answer. Too shocked for words, Frodo thought. Well, he had said more than enough already. He couldn't retreat. The only thing he could do now was go through with this and see it to its finish, for good or ill.
Tentatively, he reached out to place the tips of three fingers on the curve of Sam's jaw and used this touch to guide him into a kiss. He fully expected Sam to push him away and ask what he thought he was doing. But Sam didn't--only made a small sound of surprise as their lips met, then began to kiss him back.
"I've been wanting to do that for so long," Sam said when Frodo drew away a minute later.
"Why didn't you before?"
"It wouldn't've been right. I couldn't go around grabbing you, not if you didn't want me to. I never thought you would."
"I didn't know it myself," Frodo confessed, "'til tonight. I do want you to, Sam-"
He got no farther, for Sam needed no more encouragement than that. The next thing Frodo knew, his head was thrown back onto Sam's shoulder, a hand was stroking the hair away from his face, and Sam was kissing him--a wet, sloppy, inexperienced kiss, but so enthusiastic that Frodo no longer had the slightest doubt: Everything Merry had told him was true. He'd never been kissed like this before, but then, he'd never really kissed anyone. All he could do was cling to Sam in return, and kiss him just as sloppily, but with the same enthusiasm. It was a wonderful, frightening, dizzying feeling. He didn't know how he would be able to breathe if it went on much longer.
The kissing stopped when they both heard the clink of the front gate being unlatched, and feet padding up the steps.
"It's Merry!" Frodo hissed, and quickly shoved himself out of Sam's arms. He sat up straight, folded his hands in his lap, and took deep breaths to try to compose himself. Beside him, Sam took out his pipe and fumbled to find matches in his pockets. As his cousin reached the top of the hill, Frodo was more glad of the darkness than ever; he must be in a state--his face felt flushed and was probably bright red, his clothes were rumpled, his hair mussed--and Sam must be just as tousled. If Merry could see them, he would know instantly what they'd been up to.
Merry approached the front door, then stopped when he realized that someone was sitting on the bench. "Frodo? Is that you? Haven't you gone in yet?"
"No," Frodo answered as casually as he could. "I was- ah- waiting for you."
"I'm sorry I didn't come along sooner. The way you left the Dragon, I didn't think you'd want me for awhile. But I see you had company to wait with you." Merry stepped a little closer to peer at Frodo's companion. "Hullo, Sam. Fancy finding you here." Frodo could hear the amusement in his cousin's voice.
"Sam was kind enough to see me up," he explained.
"Did he?" said Merry, still amused. "That was very considerate of him."
"'N' now I've done it, I'd best be on my way home," Sam mumbled as he rose from the bench. "It's getting late. G'night, Mr. Merry. G'night, Frodo." He paused, then asked, "Shall I come by tomorrow?"
"Yes, do that." Frodo tried not to sound too eager, but his voice quavered in excitement. "Please."
As Sam went down the hill, Frodo listened to his footsteps and sat trembling at the prospect of his return tomorrow. When the gate clicked shut, he got up and went into Bag End.
Once inside the darkened front hall, he felt along the curved wall until he found the sideboard, and lit the candles on it. Then he turned to find that Merry was standing in the doorway behind him, grinning broadly.
"You did it, didn't you, Frodo?" he asked. "You threw yourself at him."
"Yes," Frodo admitted.
"And he caught you?"
"Yes, he did, just as you said he would." Frodo regarded his cousin shyly. "Merry? Thank you."
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