After dinner and a few quiet hours in the sitting room, smoking his pipe and talking with Merry and Gandalf of things unconnected to the citadel murders, Frodo went to bed, and found he couldn't sleep.
On his journey to Minas Tirith, he'd traveled at an incredible speed for days, and had scarcely had time to think at all. Since he'd arrived in the city, he'd been thrown immediately into the problem of finding out who was responsible for these poisonings, and that had been foremost in his mind. The last two nights, he'd fallen asleep as soon as he'd gotten into bed. Now, he was rested, and restless.
Since his talk with Gandalf before dinner, when he'd nearly told the wizard his secret, Frodo had been thinking about Sam. He'd begun to feel how much he missed him. They'd been parted for more than two weeks now, as long as they'd ever been apart since Sam's honeymoon. Feelings of longing had haunted him all evening, and lying in bed, alone in the darkened room, they grew more strong than ever.
Here in Minas Tirith, he thought of the first time he'd come to the city with Sam at the end of their Quest. He remembered what it had been like to fall in love.
He couldn't point to an exact moment during the quest when he'd finally realized the true nature of Sam's love for him, or when he'd understood his own feelings for Sam. That knowledge had dawned gradually during the long days and nights as they'd made their way toward Mordor. The details of that journey were vague to him now, for the Ring been slowly overtaking his mind; what he recalled most clearly was the warmth and strength of Sam's arms around him, giving him one last thing to cling to before he'd descended into darkness. He'd certainly known by the time Sam had rescued him from the tower at Cirith Ungol. How could he fail to fall in love then? And, when they'd sunk down together on the fiery ruins atop Mount Doom, expecting to die, he was almost happy. He'd wanted nothing more than what he had at that moment: to spend the rest of his life with Sam. He hadn't changed his mind about that since.
He thought too of a night nearly three years ago, not long after they'd first come to this house. He'd recovered enough from his injuries to be let out of the Houses of Healing; his maimed hand was in bandages and he still felt weak and rather fragile after all he had endured, but he was ready to invite Sam into his bed. Now that he truly understood what Sam meant to him, he hadn't wanted to lose another day.
He remembered the fumbling awkwardness of that first time, the tenderness, the thrilling flutters of fear... and the incredible joy of learning what it was to love so completely.
Afterwards, and on other nights that followed, they'd lain awake in the darkness, making plans for what they would do when they returned home to the Shire. Wonderful plans for their future together--and, for the most part, they'd made those plans come true.
Sam was home now, and he was here again, in this same room, in this same bed. Wishing that Sam were with him.
After he'd tossed and turned for an indeterminate amount of time, Frodo gave up. He'd never be able to sleep with such powerful memories in his head. He got up and went down the hall to Merry's room. After tapping lightly on the door, he went inside. "Merry," he whispered, "are you awake?"
It was a moment before a groggy voice answered, "I am now. What's wrong, Frodo?"
"I can't sleep. Do you mind if I stay with you tonight?"
"No, not at all. 'S a big bed. Plenty of room for two." Merry shifted over a little to make room for him.
Frodo climbed up and slipped under the blankets beside his cousin. "Thank you," he said. "I was feeling awfully lonely tonight. I've been thinking of Sam."
"I know what that's like," Merry said in a drowsy mumble. "Not about Sam, I mean. Well, you know what I mean. It's always worst at night."
"Yes, it is," Frodo murmured sympathetically. "Merry, I told Gandalf."
Merry lifted his head from the pillow. "Told Gandalf what?"
"About you and Pippin."
"Oh." Merry settled down again. He didn't seem upset about it, but Frodo felt he had to explain.
"He asked me why you left the Shire. I know it wasn't my secret to give, but I'm afraid I told him all about it. Do you mind very much, Merry?"
"No," Merry answered. "I suppose it had to come out sooner or later, and better you tell him than I did."
"Why did you never tell him yourself?"
"I would've, if he'd asked. I knew he wondered what brought me here, but he didn't pry and I was grateful for it." Merry was quiet for a minute before he went on. "It wasn't because I was ashamed, or was trying to keep secrets. I wanted to forget. When I left the Shire, I'd left it all behind me--left Pip and my father and everything, and I didn't want to drag it here after me. If you don't mind, Frodo, I'd rather we didn't talk about it anymore. It only makes me miss him."
"We don't have to talk," Frodo agreed. "G'night, Merry." He was feeling more drowsy now himself. The sound of another person's slow breathing soothed and calmed him. It wasn't Sam, but it was someone he felt very close to. Somebody warm and familiar, and lonely too...
He snuggled a little closer. Merry threw an arm around him, and Frodo soon fell asleep.
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