March 11, 2002
In The Night
In the night, Sam leans over me, so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. I do not move for I don’t quite know what he’s doing and wait, wondering if he is tempted by the ring, but no. He is merely looking at me, maybe wondering if I’m asleep.
“Sam?” I open my eyes and stare into his. He does not flinch or move away, just continues to gaze at me, his face just a hand’s span away from mine.
“Shhh,” he says and smooths the hair from my brow. “Don’t say a word.”
Then he leans down and presses his lips against mine and I am so shocked that I gasp and arch up against him, my mouth opening under his. When his tongue slips into my mouth and touches mine, I groan and wrap my arms around him, pulling him against me. He lies fully on top of me and kisses me deeply, his tongue exploring my mouth, our breathing laboured, our bodies grinding slowly against each other.
My hands explore up his strong back to his shoulders and then down to his full round buttocks, squeezing them and then pulling his hips down on me so he can feel what he has done to me with only a moment’s touch. On his part, Sam moves partly off me and strokes my body, his hand possessive, demanding, exploring my clothing to find entrance to my bare skin. When he does, his hand brushes lightly over my chest. A rough finger traces my nipple so that I arch and moan beneath him.
“Sam! I didn’t know--.”Hush.”
Then his lips move lower, to my neck and I stare up through the tall canopy of leaves. I can see a few stars still twinkling in the night’s darkness. As he licks the skin at the base of my throat, I wonder at his sensuousness –– he touches me everywhere that I long to be touched, his hand now exploring my groin, cupping me through the material of my trousers, his fingers tracing my length before stroking the end. Pulling open my shirt, he licks down my chest first to one nipple and then the other and my heart is beating so wildly now that I think I might faint, but I don’t, only moan softly, saying his name over and over again.
I can scarcely believe it as he unbuckles my belt and pulls open my trousers, his hand slipping beneath my underclothes to grasp me, his fingers spreading my moisture over the head and stroking lightly. I surge into his hand, my whole body trembling with pleasure as his hand forms a ring and lazily strokes down my length. He parts the fabric, pulling my trousers down over my hips and I lift up to accommodate his wishes, breathless in anticipation of what he will do next.
Warm wetness against my belly –– his tongue. Trailing around my navel, then dipping lower until I can feel his hot breath on my sack. Shivers through my whole body at the warmth of his mouth as he nuzzles against me. I can hear him breathe in deeply as if he is trying to breathe me in. Then a brief lick along the inside of my thighs before that tongue laps against the tip of my aching flesh and I can not resist. I prop myself up so I can watch him, see him licking me so brazenly. He squeezes me then licks, squeezes, licks, strokes, licks as if he can’t get enough of me and I am panting now, panting as the strokes become more insistent. When he closes his mouth around me completely, sucking me, the warm pull of his tongue on the underside, circling the head, I cry out. Pleasure burns in me, sweetness building until my whole body spasms and I come, spurting into his mouth, and he sucks, sucks . . .
I blink awake.
Lying on my side, my hand is tight around my rigid flesh and I can’t stop stroking, choking back the moan, my body tightening as I come in my own hand. As the sensations subside, I collapse, my muscles relaxing. If Sam has heard me, he makes no sound and there is no interruption in the rhythm of his breathing. I lie awake, the sticky wetness of my pleasure cool on my hand and wonder how I will bear this.
The eastern edge of the sky is now blood red. Dawn breaks. It’s time to get up and leave the Shire.
March 2, 2002
Warmth in the Darkness
Gandalf adjusts my cloak and I sling my pack over my shoulder, ready to go and take the ring away from here, out of the Shire. I’ll meet him in Bree. It’s better to leave quickly and without saying good byes –– they are too hard to even imagine, especially saying good bye to Sam. How could I face that?
I look around at the hole -- at the fire and at Bilbo’s chair, at my books and everything that’s become such a part of my life here. I’ll miss this place. I have loved it so much, despite how lonely it has become without Bilbo here, filling it with his warmth.
A noise at the window startles us.
“Get down!”
I fall to the ground without thinking, my nerves on edge from this night of dark tales but it’s only Sam, who is caught in this snare along with me. His curiosity got the best of him and while I feel bad that he’s being taken away from his home, there is a part of me that rejoices. Sam will be with me, at least until Bree. Gandalf will decide what to do with the ring and maybe then our paths will separate. I’ll go on to Rivendell to stay with Bilbo and Sam will return to his Gaffer and to Rose. At least I’ll have Sam until then.
“Stay off the road.”
The forest at night closes in on me and as I watch Gandalf ride off, I feel as if my own strength could never be enough. Facing this alone, even with Sam at my side, will be hard, but the ring must go. Who else will take it if not me? It came to me. I must bear it.
We walk in silence through the thick brush, guided by the moonlight--stopping to rest after tramping for some time. I don’t feel like stopping until we can no longer see Hobbiton. We sleep in shifts, with Sam keeping first watch and me taking watch deep in the night. I sit with my back against a thick tree trunk and watch Sam’s face as he sleeps. My scant few hours of sleep have barely refreshed me, and while we are still safe within the Shire, my heart tells me that we must take care.
The ring feels secure in my pocket and I pat it for perhaps the dozenth time. I consider removing it for a moment to feel its weight in my hand once again, but I resist. Best not to touch it too much, for it could fall and be lost in the thick carpet of leaves covering the forest floor. Gandalf said it wants to be found, so I must try to keep from touching it too much. Still, the smooth gold feels so nice against my palm as I turn it over.
There –– how strange. I’ve removed it without even meaning to, in spite of my determination to leave it where it is.
I look at it closely –– amazed that it could contain such magic that it would give Sauron the power to rule over all Middle-Earth. It sits quietly in my palm and appears so inconspicuous. I run my finger tip around the outside, enjoying the sensation of the smooth gold, careful to avoid slipping it on but my fingers tremble just a bit and I almost slip it on by mistake, only to drop it in my lap a the last moment, Gandalf’s admonition clear in my mind.
It betrayed Isildur to his doom. It betrayed Gollum. It could also betray me. Time to put it away. It’s far too dangerous to be handled.
I hesitate, though, and look at it once more, remembering the fiery elvish script revealed by the fire. One ring to rule them all... One ring to find them... One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them... An unblinking eye appears in my mind, its gaze searching through the darkness. Searching for this ring -- and me. I put it away and close my eyes, a chill running through my body.
Sam shifts in his sleep and turns his face towards me. The night is chill and I shiver, my teeth chattering as I pull my cloak more tightly around me.
“You’re cold, Frodo.”
I startle. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”No, I’ve been awake for a while. Take another blanket,” he says and takes one of his off and hands it to me. “I’m always too warm when I sleep.”No, Sam. I’m fine. If I was any warmer, I’d probably fall asleep.”Well, then, have a lie down because I can’t sleep so I might as well take the rest of the watch. All that talk of the ring has me spooked and I’ve been listening to every sound in the forest.” He sits up and moves over, motioning to his spot.
“No. You need your rest.”Take it. I can’t sleep. No sense in you sitting there all cold and unable to keep your eyes open and me lying here unable to shut mine.”
He has that look in his eye that says he won’t argue and so I comply without further protest. I do feel very tired and cold. I lie in his place and it is warm and soft.
“Thanks, Sam. You’re too good to me.”
He shakes his head and waves as if dismissing my thanks. “No thanks necessary. I saw you shivering and heard your teeth chatter. If you can sleep, you might as well do it while you can.”
I lie down completely and he tucks the blankets around me like my mother did years ago. Dear Sam. I’d like you to just lie down here with me and fold your arms around my body, keep me warm all the night long--and more. He stays close to me as if to reassure me that I’m not alone, and his body touches my bent knee. It’s such a little thing, to feel him close like that, but it does reassure me.
“I saw you holding the ring,” he says in a low voice just as I close my eyes. “Pardon my asking, but do you think you should be taking it out? No disrespect meant, Frodo.”None taken,” I say, but in fact, I feel incredibly guilty having taken the ring out so carelessly. Sam is right. Gandalf warned against wearing it. “I won’t take it out again.”
He yawns then and tries to stifle it for my sake. Oh, Sam.
“Lie down, Sam. You’re tired as well. We’re still safe in the Shire and we’ve got a long day ahead of us. We both need enough sleep if we’re to make good time.”
Sam looks at me and considers for a moment. I know he’ll probably protest, being always sensible and cautious in all things.
“One of us should stay awake, just in case.”In case of what?”I don’t know,” he says, looking around the darkened forest.
“In case something happens.”
“What could happen in the Shire? It’s when we leave here that worries me. Lie down, close. We’ll be warmer if we lie side by side.”
He finally agrees and lies down beside me, nestling down after spreading a blanket on the ground and rolling himself up in another. He lies with his back pressed against mine, and soon, his warmth penetrates the wool and warms me as well.
After a while, I hear his deep even breathing and know he is asleep. He is warm when he sleeps –– like a furnace burns inside of him and I imagine against my will how warm--how hot--he would be if we were to lie together naked, skin pressed against skin. As usual, my mind wanders to such images and I silently curse myself. His care for me is pure, brotherly--the love of a friend for another.
Mine? Mine is selfish. Mine is about desire.
I try to will away my desire, force my flesh to resist the images in my mind of he and I naked, of his mouth on mine, but I am weak. Some time later–– the moon has left the sky–– he rolls over and faces my back. His body spoons around me and I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. It would be so easy just to turn and slip my arms around him ... His proximity makes me hard and my body responds so easily to his nearness. I long to just slip my hand down and touch myself, relieve this ache with thoughts of him so close to me but I won’t, whatever I do, touch myself tonight, no matter how much my hard flesh aches. No matter how much I feel the need with him lying so close to me. I fold my arms, clasp my hands up under my chin and close my eyes, deliberately blanking my mind and trying to ignore my body.
I stare sleepless at the night sky as the first rays of the dawn warm its eastern edge and block out the light of the stars.
February 28, 2002
Leaving
"Why don't you stay and walk Rose home?"
I don't know why I suggest it for I really want to have him to myself, but something –– loyalty, guilt or a perverse love of pain –– makes me say the words. Maybe I really just want to test him, see if he will finally make a move and admit his attraction to Rose. Sam shrugs and takes one last sip of ale and gives me that withering look. He pushes back his chair and motions to the door.
"I don't think so. She and Bess walk home together. If I walked her home, who'd walk Bess home?"
I say nothing. Certainly not me. All Bess needs is a little encouragement and I expect she'd be busy planning our wedding. No, I don't argue with him and so, I have Sam to myself again on the walk home after another long night in the tavern. As we leave, Rose wipes her hands on her apron and shakes her head at me as we pass. I smile at her and shrug.
I tried, Rose. I really did. You can't expect more that that from me, considering.
I dread the day when he does actually send me off down the road alone while he waits for her. I dread the day when they steal a kiss and I am an unfortunate witness. Before that happens, I swear I'll sell Bag End, leave Hobbiton, and go live with Bilbo in Rivendell.
We stagger home, bumping into each other along the way. A comfortable silence passes between us and I listen to the night sounds and breathe in the cool fresh air. I laugh and throw my arm across his shoulder and he laughs with me. I laugh at nothing, just the pleasure I feel being with him, the ale in my blood, and a good night of talk between us. He doesn't move away from my touch, but that's just Sam.
It would be so easy just to enter Bag End like this, arm in arm. I wonder. Would I heat up some water for a quick bath and cup of tea and the two of us sit by the fire and speak in soft voices like an old married couple before falling into bed together?
Or, as I imagine, would we be unable to wait?
When I think of it, which is often –– more often that I like to admit –– I imagine opening the door, and letting Sam enter it first. I close the door behind us and turn. There Sam stands, a smile crooking the corner of his mouth, that look in his eyes.
I don't want to take a bath, at least, not right away, although the thought of his strong hands, slick with soap, moving all over my body makes me weak. I really just want to press him against the door and kiss him. Just the thought of it sends a stab of desire through me and I feel myself stiffen. I imagine pressing against him, feeling his hardness through the fabric of my trousers and he mine. I imagine looking into his eyes and seeing in them the desire I feel. Then his arms slip around me and he pulls me closer and I lean up just a bit and feel his lips press against mine, hear the sharp intake of his breath as I grind against him.
That image, along with the ale and the warmth of his body under my arm, conspires to make me dizzy. I stumble just a bit and he holds me up, laughing as he sets me right.
"There you go, Frodo," he says. "Where would you be without your Sam to keep you standing?"
Oh, Sam.
I have to leave this place.
*****
I get my wish sooner than I imagined.
I turn and watch as Sam walks off down the darkened path to his home. Bag End is dim and empty –– as dim and empty now as is my heart and I enter it grudgingly. When I do, I sense that something is amiss. I walk through the darkened halls, my breath held, my body tense. Have robbers broken in, searching for Bilbo's legendary dragon's treasure?
"Is it secret? Is it safe?”
“Gandalf!"
I rush to the chest in the hall and retrieve the envelope. It's still sealed for I have never given in to the desire I've felt to slip it on and try its magic powers. Gandalf casts the envelop into the fire and something comes over me –– dread at the thought that the beautiful gold might be damaged in the hearth. That my ring might be ruined and I've never even worn it.
"What are you doing?"
I want to run at him, to stop him from this madness, but he holds up a hand and takes the tongs, retrieving the ring himself and offering it back to me. The relief I feel as the ring drops into my palm, cool and intact, is indescribable.
What happens next is a blur. All I know is that I am infected with Gandalf's fear once he reveals the ring's true nature. It must be kept hidden and I search about for some safe place to hide it. It's safe here isn't it? No one knows it's here, do they?
"Do they, Gandalf?"
Fear grips me and I thrust the ring at him despite my desire for it, for the Shire is not safe as long as it is here and as provincial and small as it is, the Shire is where my heart dwells. Nothing can harm it. The evil of Sauron must not tarnish it. That I know with all my heart.
I hold the ring in my palm. Gandalf will not take it. He cannot, not even to keep it safe. Who will take this evil and keep the Shire safe?
It is mine. I take a deep breath and know what I must do.
Gandalf watches me like a hawk watching its prey. I close my hand around the ring. I will do it.
Fate has a way of working things out for the best. Sam will remain behind and will finally turn to Rose as he must one day. The loneliness that fills Bag End has become increasingly intolerable for me. I can't stay here any longer.
I will take the ring. I will leave the Shire, alone, if need be.
February 27, 2002
Of Soap and Dreams
Sam stumbles as we leave the tavern and I grab him and let him lean against me for a moment once we’re outside. The air is cool on my ale-flushed cheeks and Sam’s body is warm as we stand under the street lamp. He’s still chuckling, his breath warm on my neck and oh, how I’d like to stay like this forever, maybe slip my arm around him, pull him closer, but I don’t dare. I keep my arms to myself. He’d look at me with those eyes and instead of being filled with warmth and love, they’d be filled with betrayal and disgust. He’d probably never speak to me again if he knew how I felt.
So I just let him lean and do no more but wish.
Then the moment passes and Sam straightens, a smile of such endearing innocence on his face that my breath catches. Off we walk down the dark path toward Bag End. We laugh once again about Old Maggot’s rant against the“disrespectful ‘‘obbit boys wot stole my best cabbages”. I stole a few of my own in younger years, usually in the company of one Merry and Pippin. Sam would never join in. He’d stand watch on the edges of Farmer Maggot’s fields and when we’d return, he’d give me such a sour look.
I’d cook him up some mushrooms with garlic and leeks and he just couldn’t resist. It always made me feel a moment of triumph that I’d succeeded in getting him to eat some pilfered vegetables, like I’d corrupted him just a bit, steering him slightly off the straight and narrow path which he tries to walk with such admirable determination. I’d like to corrupt him in more ways than that, though, and my cheeks blaze at the thought and my blood warms just a bit thinking of his body next to mine. But he has Rose and I have no right to such thoughts and put my hands in my pockets and kick a stone, wishing we lived in a different world.
All too soon, we reach Bag End and go our separate ways. I watch as Sam shuffles off home, his gait unsteady. Alone in Bag End. I can barely face another night alone. I want to call him back, tell him not to walk home, that he should just stay here tonight. That he’s too drunk and could fall into a ditch and drown, but it’s a lie.
I just don’t want to be alone.
I’d let him sleep in my old bed. Just the thought that I had someone else with me would make the night so much easier to bear.
I enter Bag End and stand in the hallway, listening to the deafening sound of silence. The fire has died completely down to embers so I go to the hearth and rekindle the fire, stoking it to heat up some water for a bath. The kettle boils in a few moments while I strip and put on my robe, and I make a pot of peppermint tea to help me sleep, but I know that I’ll need more than tea to help me sleep tonight. Once the water is heated, I fill the copper tub. It’s been a long sweaty night at the tavern, and my clothes and hair reek of smoke and ale. While stepping into the tub, I hear something at the window and step back, pulling the robe around me. Outside the window, I see nothing –– just a squirrel or skunk or some other night animal on the prowl.
The bath is nice and hot. I duck under and come up sputtering, then take Bilbo’s favourite soap and lather up, enjoying the scent and the slippery feel of the lather on my skin. It doesn’t take long before my mind turns to other things –– what I’d like to do with this lather and whose hands I wish were soaping me up rather than my own.
Why am I so weak?
I vowed not to persist in this fantasy I have of Sam and I together but I can’t seem to resist. He’s so close, working all day in the gardens, stripped to the waist, his strong body sweating as he works in the mid-day sun. I sit at the window, reading my books, and watch Sam as he works. Sam -- he’s so warm and easy to be with. So honest and true. I feel comfortable with him. No-one else makes me feel so totally accepted.
I step out of the bath and don’t care about the water dripping off me onto the floor or the dark stains on the quilt as I lay sopping wet onto it, on my back, propped up against my pillows, my thighs spread, my need too strong to resist. I use no spit for my hand still is slick with soap and I am so ready, my aching length so hard, I barely have time to imagine him there with me, his hand around me instead of my own, his mouth on mine . . . It takes barely a moment of stroking before my release and as pleasurable as it feels, I feel sick and empty.
I collapse back against the quilt, and cover my eyes with my arm, hating myself for this weakness. If Sam knew what I do . . .
After my heart rate slows, I clean myself up and pull my robe around me, then pour a cup of lukewarm tea and sit in Bilbo’s chair by the fire. Even now, sleep won’t come.
As I sit there, sipping my tea, my mind is drawn to Bilbo’s ring, locked away in the chest in the hallway. I could slip it on and follow Sam home, watch him as he gets ready for bed. Does he also do this, I wonder? Touch himself as he lies thinking of Rose? I could go and get the ring right now and slip it on. Watch him bathe and get into bed, and maybe, touch himself. But no –– that would be such a betrayal. I could never do it and I don’t know why the thought even came to me.
Finally, I yawn and creep into bed, tired enough from the night and the ale and my bath that I don’t even bother to turn down the lamp.
February 25, 2002
Bag End
“Mad Baggins,” they say. “Pulling off some fool act like that!” No one grumbles louder or longer than the Sackville-Bagginses, yet they continue to drink Bilbo’s wine and eat his food. I have half a mind to tell them to go back to their own homes if they don’t like Bilbo’s ways but keep my mouth shut. It’s difficult to leave because everyone grabs me as I go, slapping me on the back or poking me in the ribs, wishing me good cheer or asking (already!) for some financial help. They really do think Bilbo’s hole is lined with gold, his chests stuffed with dragon’s treasure.
As soon as I can, I steal away and scurry up the pathways that lead back to Bag End. The darkness closes around me and sends a shiver up the back of my neck. I’ve never felt fear walking these pathways——not since I arrived here and came to live with Bilbo. It’s my home and I feel as safe here as if in my mother’s arms. Yet, something vague nags me and I glance around at the shadows, my heart rate racing.
I see Bag End ahead. The lamp is lit and casts a warm orange glow out through the window. A shadow moves across it and I hurry. Bilbo can’t leave without me. He just can’t. I’ll pack my bags and go with him, wherever he goes.
Once I reach the crest of the hill, I turn back once more and look at the pavilion. In the distance, the grounds resemble a large jewel sparkling in the hilt of a sword. The lanterns flicker and sway in the breeze. The voices of those down below filter up to me, their laughter and singing rises and falls like water in a fountain, the sound carried up on the breeze. The crowd remains, laughing and dancing, not a care in the world. They’ll stay for half the night, some of them.
Off to one side sits Sam, his nose in a mug of ale. Instead of dancing with Rose as he should be, Sam waits for Merry and Pippin as they finish another batch of dishes in penance for letting off Gandalf’s best cracker. I scan the crowd for signs of Rose. She’s still on the dance floor and has many willing suitors. Still, she pauses between songs and looks over at Sam. I sigh. One can only do so much and then, the lovers have to do the rest themselves. Maybe if I go with Bilbo, Sam will turn to Rose and things will be as they should.
I throw open the door and call out Bilbo’s name, hoping I’ve not waited too long to return. I enter but skid to a halt as if something stops me in my tracks——something dark which I cannot name. I look down at the floor in front of me and there it is--Bilbo’s magic ring. It sits there in the middle of the floor, almost waiting for someone to pick it up. Isn’t that silly? To think a ring waits for someone? But that’s exactly what I feel as I look down at it, smooth and round. It’s beautiful –– even in the darkness, the gold glimmers in the meager light from the fireplace.
I lean down. Why is it here? Did it fall out of Bilbo’s hand? I should pick it up, give it to him, for he’s very fond of it. I see him fingering it often as he ponders some question or other. It’s become like a worry stone, a talisman, perhaps reminding him of his journey long ago. Pleasant memories, I expect.
I turn the ring over in my palm. It’s such a simple ring, yet so pleasing to touch. The gold is smooth and cool in my palm and I long to just slip it on myself, feel its coolness circle my own finger. Would I disappear as well? I long to touch it, slip it on . . . Bilbo wouldn’t mind, would he?
A noise from the kitchen.
“Gandalf.”
Bilbo’s already gone. I know it as soon as I see Gandalf sitting there in front of the fire, waiting to tell me, that look on his face. Bilbo couldn’t do it himself.
He holds out an envelope and mutters something about Bilbo leaving me Bag End and I feel empty as I watch him and the reality of my loss finally hits. I feel as if some vice were closing around my chest and want to turn and run out and find Bilbo but something in Gandalf’s face stops me. He extends his hand and in it is an empty envelope. He says nothing but I know he wants me to drop the ring into the envelope, and I do, curiously sad to see Gandalf seal it up.
Before I have a chance to speak with him about Bilbo, Gandalf is off again, in a hurry, and with little explanation. I tuck the envelope away in a chest after Gandalf extracts many promises from me about keeping it secret and safe. Gandalf leaves, his robes billowing behind him. My throat is choked, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes as the door closes and Gandalf, too, is gone.
Now I am truly alone. I stand in the centre of the darkened room and let the tears fall. Who is here to see them anyway?
After a time, I go outside and stand at the crest of the hill again. The three hobbits are back at the dance floor. Sam still sits on the sidelines, but now Merry is dancing Rose around the dance floor. If Sam is jealous, he does not show it. Instead, he takes a long pull on his mug and looks up toward Bag End. I know he can’t see me, but I feel his eyes on me all the same.
Oh, Sam. Your Rose is right there in front of you, waiting to be plucked. You can’t rely on me any longer. You can’t use our friendship as a way of avoiding your own heart.
Maybe that’s why Bilbo left. Maybe I too have to let go, find my own way now.
It still hurts.
I should go back down there and spend the rest of the night with them all, but my heart is too heavy with grief. I hate to be alone but who could comfort me now? Who could put their arms around me and hold me so tight, the way I want to be held?
I sigh and turn back, entering the now empty hole. Alone.
Bag End is mine, every bit of it. Yet, the place is just an empty hole filled with sticks of furniture and the ghosts of old memories. I creep into the big bed in Bilbo’s room. It’s mine now, by all rights. He’s changed the sheets but I can still smell him on the down quilt –– a mix of leaf, soap and his favorite tea. As the fire dies down to glowing embers in the hearth, I nestle down into Bilbo’s quilt while loneliness envelops me like a mother’s arms.
February 23, 2002
Alone Again
The crowd swells around us and the music is loud, the laughter raucous. Sam is not happy, even after downing several half-pints of the fine brew Bilbo has brought in from Bree. Rose gives him the eye again and he just does not know what to do. He's such a dear hobbit-- bashful and earnest.
Dear sweet Sam.
Rose is slightly older and seems a lot wiser with those apple cheeks and full lips, not to mention everything else about her that is full-grown woman hobbit. I'll bet he's terrified of her——afraid he wouldn't know what to do if she got him alone. I don't blame him. I'd be a bit afraid of her as well, as sweet as she is. She looks at him with this hunger in her eyes. I watch her watching him. We both watch Sam, don't we, Rose and I?
Still, I push him out on the dance floor and into her arms, enjoying his blushing smile as they clasp arms and dance around the dance floor. He shoots me a scathing glance as he dances by and I'd like to just throw my arms around him and squeeze him, he's so endearingly sweet.
Sam and Rose. I bet they end up married some day. No one for me, I'm afraid. I'm too much like Bilbo——too much a dreamer with my head in books, my mind filled with bits of history, or with hopes of being off tromping in the forests and roads of Middle-Earth. I feel different——like I'm not at home in my own skin in some way. I can't explain it but it's there nonetheless. One day, I'll go on a journey like Bilbo's. Maybe he and I can go together, to see the elves and travel to Rivendell and beyond. After tonight, I'll suggest it to him, once this all calms down. Planning a trip like that would be a dream.
Later, as we're enjoying the fireworks, I get a smack in the face with my own foolishness. Dreams indeed--that's all they are. I've been reading too many books filled with stories of dragons and dark demons from the deep for my own good. One of Gandalf's best fireworks had me fooled. I turned and saw its fiery form plummeting down from the sky towards the pavilion and panicked, calling out to Bilbo to hide. We all panicked and fell to the ground only to find it was a firecracker and no dragon. I felt such a fool. Everyone else laughed and I tried to but it took a long while for the shock to wear off, for the fear to retreat and my heart rate slow.
What kind of traveler would I make? What kind of adventures would I be able to withstand? Bilbo stood up to a real dragon and stole his most favorite possessions. What do I do when faced with a dragon, even if only one of Gandalf's design? I run and hide my face.
Some adventurer.
Later, my heart breaks.
Bilbo is on the dais, gracing those gathered around him with his wit and words of thanks when he does it. He breaks my heart.
He stares out across the pavilion to where I sit, listening to him speak, my heart filled with love for him, my foster-father, my friend. I can see his face fall just a bit, and those warm eyes, even at this distance, say it all. "I'm sorry." He's going and leaving me alone. After the hubbub dies down from his disappearance, one of the Bracegirdles elbows me and laughs. "Guess you'll be getting Bag End, much to Lobelia's disgust."
I don't want Bag End. It will seem a dark and lonely place without Bilbo--a hollow hole in the ground with all the warmth gone. I'm alone again. Alone in the crowd of people, they way I've always been.
February 22, 2002
Something's up.
Something's up.
He doesn't want to admit it, but I can tell by the way Bilbo averts his eyes when I bring it up. I'm young, but I'm not stupid. He's been so distracted of late, pottering about the hole, muttering to himself. When we sit together after supper, he becomes even more nostalgic and talks about my family and when I first came to live with him. I feel as if something great is going to happen to him and I won't be part of it.
He rustles through his manuscripts, counting them and cataloguing them as if he feels some great need to make sure they are all accounted for. And his maps –– he frets over their health and worries about the small tears and patches worn from so many hands sliding across them, tracing the routes and roads. When I ask him what's up, he looks at me with those warm eyes and I see such sadness in them, I feel a catch in my throat. He looks away.
"Nothing's up, my dear Frodo. Why would you think that?" He smiles but all the same, he doesn't look at me--not in the eyes. "Oh, it's just this birthday of mine and those bothersome Sackville-Bagginses nosing around like weasels after an easy meal."
I don't believe him, but it's not in me to push. Not today.
It's later in the afternoon. I'm immersed in a different world--in another age where strong men and stout dwarves and beautiful elves fight against encroaching darkness. Their bravery and sacrifice capture my imagination and make my heart beat faster. I imagine myself high on a great warhorse, sword in hand, helm on my head, and the image is at once so ridiculous, it sputters like the wick of a candle snuffed out by wet fingers. No. Hobbits weren't meant for adventure, but some of us love to read about them and occasionally, even our hearts yearn for more.
As if from some great distance, the sound of cart wheels creaking over the ruts in the road pull me out of my reverie, and back to the forests and my tree. I hear a deep voice humming and then I know –– it's him. Gandalf.
While I'm overjoyed to see him, I thought I could prod him and get him to tell me what Bilbo has planned but he just smiles and looks away, urging the horse on along the road back to Bag End. He is such an enigma--a mix of a dear old friend and exciting storyteller and grandfather all in one. Yet, I know he is a wizard and involved in the goings-on in the world outside of the Shire. He's also just about the best friend Bilbo has in all the world. There is much he doesn't tell me about what happens outside the boundaries of the Shire as if in telling me, he'd corrupt me, if that makes sense. I just know by the way he looks at me--with a sympathy he can't hide--that something's up.
Ah, well. I'll find out, sooner or later, I expect. There's much to do to prepare for tonight's party and while I'm expected to help out, greeting guests and making sure everyone has enough food and drink, I'm free until later. I'll just go back to my tree and finish reading my history of Middle-Earth--a book I borrowed from Bilbo's large library. The sun is warm and the air tender and green. I want to delay my work just a little longer and enjoy the afternoon, dreaming of brave men and dire deeds, and worthy sacrifice.
