Chapter Text
"There's something not at all right about this, mark my words, cousin Frodo," Meriadoc Brandybuck gave a furious puff on his pipe. We were, the three of us, comfortably arranged about the Bag End study late on a damp autumn night with the fire crackling heartily in the fireplace, and small glasses of Brandy Hall's finest eponymous beverage before us, to take the chill off of our insides. I was, point of fact, beginning to get either rather muddled or somewhat drowsy, I wasn't exactly sure which, when the heir to the Buckland estates delivered himself of this heartfelt sentiment.
Baggins gave a low chuckle, and drew thoughtfully on his particularly noxious blend. The room was becoming unmistakably foggy, of that, I was most definitely aware. "Perhaps so, perhaps so," he murmured encouragingly. "But I don't think Gamgee here was in on the beginning of it, and it never hurts to put the facts, once again, in order. Why don't you lay it all out before me once more, and let us see where the particulars lead us."
"Humph," clarified the young gentlehobbit, and blew quite a decent smoke ring into the air. "Well, it's all had to do with the latest crop of Buckland's best. Pipeweed, obviously. We've always done quite a bit of business with Bree and indirectly, no doubt, lands beyond that, but we leave that matter up to the good folk of Bree. This last season, though, we kept getting reports that not all the weed we shipped to Bree was arriving there."
Baggins laid his pipe to rest on a small dish for the moment and nodded thoughtfully, his hands falling into their customary steepled position as he considered the facts of the case. "But it isn't just a matter of a bundle going astray here or there, is it, Merry?" he prompted him softly, his eyes lost in contemplation of the dancing flames.
"Indeed not," Brandybuck replied shortly. "A missing bundle or two of pipeweed is hardly a matter of great concern. A missing hobbit, however, is just that."
"It was old Tobias," he continued, staring at his pipe thoughtfully. "He's been around since I was a fauntling, and there's no hobbit my father trusts more. And yet, there has been no word from him since he left Brandy Hall to check into the matter over two weeks ago."
"Do you have any information as to whether or not he reached Stock, not to mention the Brandywine Bridge?" Baggins asked quietly, when it seemed as though Brandybuck had no more to say.
"He reached Stock, that we know," Brandybuck sighed, "for the innkeeper there was quite positive that he saw him in the common room the night after he left Brandy Hall. But where he spent the night, no one seems to know, and there's been no word since then from him." He fell silent at that point, and puffed hard on his pipe for a moment more, until he suddenly burst out, "Hang it all, Frodo, it's as if he's absolutely vanished from the Shire! There's just no call for that; he is a very decent sort with a family that's absolutely at wit's end about this. He must have gone somewhere; some one must know something. I personally could care less if a bundle of Longbottom gets pinched now and then, but when old Tobias goes missing, well, I take that quite personally!"
"As well you should," Baggins agreed, with a quiet but resolute emphasis. "Very well, my dear Merry, I shall look into the matter. Possibly Gamgee might be able to spare some time as well?" he added, with only the merest hint of a warm glance in my direction.
"Oh, absolutely," I agreed hastily. But then I would have agreed to parade into Hobbiton wearing naught but a coy smile for the sake of that look, as well he knew.
"Well, I'm coming with you chaps," Brandybuck declared fiercely, and I gave an inward sigh. Baggins' cousin had the awkward habit of tending to stick to Baggins like the veriest devil of a thistle. The whole affair immediately appeared to present certain logistical dilemmas. I had, however, the utmost of faith in my companion, and that surety had not yet gone amiss.
Brandybuck was safely stowed away in the guest bedroom, that Baggins had prudently had dug out last summer far down the hall at the other end of Bag End, and Baggins and I were finally together under the down coverlet. The edges of the bed were still a trifle on the icy side, so I kept myself tucked up close to that deliciously slender but sinewy body that I had, still fairly recently, come to know so very well. "Do you know this Tobias?" I murmured, watching Frodo's profile in the intermittent moonlight from the stormy night outside.
"No, he came to Brandy Hall after I left," he answered, turning to me with his mouth quirking into a smile. "So what do you make of it, Samwise?"
Feeling as inordinately pleased as I always did when asked for my opinion, I thought carefully before answering. "Either he is being kept away, or he is intentionally staying away," I answered after consideration. "And in either case, it may or may not be connected with the missing pipeweed."
"Quite precisely put, my dear," he chuckled, with a swift kiss. "And as usual with the Brandybucks, there is most likely more to it than one first might think, or than Merry can guess at. I suspect that the innkeeper might be our first point of inquiry."
"Very well, my dearest, we shall slog our way to Stock as soon as you like," I snuggled myself in a little closer, and wound one of my legs around one of his.
"Mmm," he hummed, responding in kind. "But not as ourselves," he stopped suddenly, raising himself up on an elbow and gazing down at me, with a distinct note of amusement in his voice. "No, I think you shall be a gentlehobbit unaccountably deciding to do a bit of fishing for pleasure before the winter sets in. It would be well not to appear to be connected with Brandy Hall, after all."
"Very well," I responded, blinking at the thought. "If you think that would serve our purpose. And you?"
"Ah, that is the question, is it not? I must think on that, I believe," he smiled.
"Baggins, you thrive on this sort of thing, don't you?" I could not help but smile in return.
"I am guilty as accused," he laughed, drawing me close once again. "After all, I can't very well languish in the study translating elvish text all my life, can I? How frightfully boring that would be! Well, Sam dearest, tomorrow we shall join in the chase once again. But until then, you have apparently brought up a matter of a good deal of interest. Let us see what we can be doing about that."
Baggins was, as usual, nothing if not perceptive, and the rest of the night passed quite entertainingly indeed.
It was two days later that the three of us approached the rather sizeable village of Stock. The rain had not let up, and it had been a long and weary tramp so I was thankfully anticipating the aforementioned inn and a hearty fire, but Baggins brought us to a halt and pulled us off the main road first. "Time to lay out our plans, my friends," he cautioned us with an undisguised expression of exhilaration. "Merry, you will stay at the inn, in the very best room available, and make sure that all the other patrons are aware that you are returning to Brandy Hall on the morrow. Indeed, that is exactly what you must do."
Brandybuck began to protest, but Baggins held up a hand to silence him. "I believe you mentioned that there was one last shipment headed to the Brandywine Bridge before the end of the season, am I not correct?"
Brandybuck nodded, waiting.
"Very well, then, you must accompany it. That would not appear unlikely, I should think, in light of what has been happening. When you reach Stock again, wait for word from one of us. At the very least, we will contact you by the time you reach the Bridge, so do not wait here overlong for us."
"Very well, Frodo, I will do as you say," Brandybuck conceded, with only the slightest air of disappointment. "Shall I tell my father that you are assisting us?"
"Did you tell him that you were coming to Bag End?" Baggins countered, frowning.
"No, I just left on my own," the young hobbit admitted at that question.
"Excellent," Baggins nodded approvingly. "The fewer who know of our plans, the best for all. One can get no information from one who does not know it. Very well, Merry, be off now, and Gamgee will be arriving not long after you. Mind, you do not know each other! And do have a care, Merry, these may be some very deep waters indeed."
"No worrying about me, my dear cousin," Merry gave a mock bow, with a grin. "Hold your cards close to your vest, if you must, then. Very well, Gamgee, I will see you soon, I suppose." And he was off in the late drizzly afternoon.
"As for you, my dear Samwise," Frodo now turned to me with a warm smile, catching hold of my hand. "You know that you can thoroughly act the part of a gentlehobbit whenever you wish to do so, and now is your opportunity. Find the inn, and the innkeeper, and ask if there is a smial available to let, anywhere near the river. Elaborate to anyone who should inquire as to your intense devotion to the art of the angler, no matter what the weather. Feel free, dearest, to even play the fool a bit, for they must find you absolutely harmless for my scheme to work. And make very sure you avoid speaking to Merry at all costs; I do not trust his acting abilities in the least."
"Certainly, my dear Frodo," I replied, trying my best to hide my anxiety about my role. "And you? Where will you be?"
"Not far, dear, trust me on that," he replied softly, drawing me near. "By tomorrow evening, I shall be with you, but this night, I must leave you for now." Wrapping his arms tightly about me, we shared a hungry kiss, heedless of the mizzle that ran down our faces and dripped off of our noses. "Until tomorrow, my love," he murmured tenderly, and suddenly lost in the dusk.
Brandybuck and I stood side by side, in the small room, both of our gazes irretrievably drawn to the single bed against the wall. "Well," Brandybuck finally found his voice, "I suppose it's just as well we were the only two travelers about tonight. At least it appears to be clean and comfortable enough for one evening; one really can't ask for more than that. So, then, Gamgee, right side or left?"
I hid my discomfort as best I could. Normally I would have resorted to the floor in the common room, but that would never have fit with my masquerade as a sporting gentlehobbit, and so I was stuck with Merry. However, my true cause for alarm was my very real fear that I might forget myself in my sleep, and cause an extremely awkward situation indeed. Trying my best to appear to consider the entire situation as an amusing predicament, I laughed lightly, and replied, "Whichever you wish, Brandybuck. It has been a long day, hasn't it? I don't think it matters in the least."
What a falsehood that was. I don't think I remember such an interminably long night ever. I clung to the edge of the bed, as Brandybuck snored obliviously next to me, and waited, with the last bit of patience that I possessed, for the light from the tiny window to eventually shade from black to violet to blue, and finally into morning.
Needless to mention, finding a smial to let, as Baggins had suggested, was at the very top of my agenda the next morning. Brandybuck had disappeared on his way back to Brandy Hall sometime after second breakfast, as requested, but I was not willing to tolerate whomever Stock might send me in the way of a errant traveler and bed companion for the next evening, so I was particularly sharp in my questioning of the proprietor, and was shown a dreary and damp smial by that very afternoon. I took it, of course, and then found myself looking about the place in dismay as the afternoon began to darken into evening. The memory of our snug hole at Bag End was particularly trying, so I flatly dismissed it from my mind, and concentrated on bringing some semblance of homeliness to my surroundings as soon as possible.
It is amazing, though, what a brisk fire in the fireplace, a thorough sweeping, and a kettle set to boil can do to remedy the situation. The small common room was soon warming up rather nicely, and I had just finished chopping up some sausages and vegetables that I had brought with me from the inn for a hearty pot of soup, when there was a sharp rap on the door.
An elderly hobbit was on the doorstep, wrapped in a tattered cloak, and with a bundle of kindling on his shoulder. "Pardons, good sir," he croaked out, with a subservient bow, "but might you be needin' a bit of wood for this mizzly night?"
"Really, Baggins, I thought you were never going to show up," I growled without a moment's hesitation, tugging him inside and quickly shutting the door.
Baggins, since of course it was he, laughed and stood up straight, immediately gaining about four inches in height. "You certainly don't let time go to waste, Gamgee," he commented appreciatively, looking about. "This is far more pleasant than I would have imagined."
"Doubtlessly, but we can discuss the smial later." I was not to be distracted, and wrapped him in my arms in the matter of an instant, and found his mouth with mine.
Delicious as we both found this pursuit, the scent of the soup was impossible to ignore for long, so with a certain amount of reluctance on both of our parts, we drew apart, at least for the moment, and returned our attention to our surroundings. "Out of the way, so none can survey who comes and goes," Baggins murmured with approval, touching an unpainted pair of shutters that closed up the one window, in lieu of glass, from the inside. "These are stoutly made, and secure the smial rather nicely. Apparently it stands vacant a considerable part of the year, and can be made quite impervious and weather-proof when not in use."
I was stirring the soup, which hung on a hook over the fire, and watching him with amusement as he studied the wood slats. "Really, Baggins, is Stock all so fierce that we must fortify ourselves here? The other patrons of the inn seemed like a placid lot to me."
Baggins gave a self-depreciatory chuckle at my remark, and shrugged a trifle self-consciously. "Force of habit, my dear. I suppose you are quite right. That does smell delicious, Samwise, I don't mind telling you so. I spent a cold and damp evening, last night, and there wasn't much in the way of food. I knew you'd put things to rights, though."
I beamed happily at his compliment, and motioned to a sack that was on the table. "Bread and cheese in there, Frodo, not to mention a bottle of wine. Why don't you hack some off and see what you can do about making us some toasted cheese? I'd best tend to the bedroom; I've had no chance to have a look at it, and I'm sure it's perfectly frightful. Let me have that broom, my dear, and that candle, and I will see if any mice have made their residence there."
To my great relief, there was no sign of animal residents in the only other room the smial possessed, and the bed appeared perfectly serviceable, if perhaps a bit dusty. There were good wool blankets stacked neatly on a small chair in the corner, and even a few plump pillows. And best of all was my discovery of a warming pan and brick to use to drive the chill out of the bed. So I quickly swept and dusted and shook out the blankets and plumped the pillows, and gazed at my handiwork by the candlelight with satisfaction. It was not Bag End, to be sure, but we could have done worse. Snatching up the brick, to nestle in the embers for a bit, I returned to the other room, where Frodo had just uncorked the wine.
What a merry evening we made of it; I remember it still with a smile. The simple meal was delicious, the room was warm and snug, and both of us were in the best of spirits. I told Frodo of my previous restless night, and my fears, and he simply could not stop laughing at the thought of it. "Poor Merry, what a shock that would have been for him. He thinks that I am the stodgiest of individuals, a veritable hermit, and the notion that I am otherwise would have shaken him to his core."
"He is not the only one who once thought so," I countered with a grin, taking another sip of my wine. "Why, I believe I can count on one hand the number of times I heard you laugh; in the time that you lived at Bag End with Bilbo."
"It was my tragic youth," his lean face grew suddenly quite solemn, the effect being only slightly spoiled by the quirking up of one side of his mouth. "I think I rather excelled in the role of the unfortunate stray. Bilbo had, at least most of the time, an enormous amount of patience, but I believe I tested him to the utmost more than once."
"I know," I grinned. "He would come down to have a word with my father, from time to time, to ask him how he managed to raise such a fine young son as myself, and what advice he could spare on the matter."
"Really, Sam, it's a wonder that you ever saw fit to associate with such a reprobate as myself," Frodo leaned back his chair, with a raised eyebrow, before finishing off his mug.
I shrugged, with feigned nonchalance. "You had your good points. As you still do."
"Good points? How very encouraging," he murmured, pulling his pipe out from his jacket pocket. "Do go on, I beg of you."
"I promise to do more than merely point them out, my dear Frodo, but don't light that up just now. Last night was really quite an exhausting one, and I shall be asleep on you before you know it," I warned him, rising from my seat, and walking over to the small fire to bank it for the night. "I don't want that to happen, I assure you, but the matter is quite beyond my preferences."
"Possibly one of my good points, then, is a sense of appropriate timing," and he put the pipe back into his jacket pocket without a further word. "Very well, Sam my dear, let us see what wonders you have performed on the other room of this smial, and I will do my best to keep you awake for at least a short while."
He proved to be good as his word, and we spent at least an hour in murmured endearments, delicious caresses, and sighs of bliss, until at last I could hold off the inevitable no long, and I fell asleep cradled in his embrace.
Baggins laid out his plan for my benefit early, quite early indeed, the next morning. "The next and last shipment shall be on its way from Buckland within the next few days," he muttered, hastily cutting off a chunk of bread and cheese, wrapping it in a cloth, and stuffing them into a well-worn satchel. "Both of us, therefore, must keep our eye to the river. I will find employment easily enough as an itinerant riverhobbit. Most of them have left, since the season is, for the most part, over."
I sleepily poked at the fire, and hung the kettle over it.
"And you, my dear Sam, shall be by the river as well, in a different capacity," he continued, finding us a couple of clean mugs, since apparently the dishes from the night before never quite got done. "Do find time to visit the inn, and have a chat with the gentlehobbits there. They may well have information that I will not be privy to, and it will be well to pool our information together."
"And when will I see you again, Frodo?" I queried him, awakening sufficiently to get to the salient point. "After all, we can hardly pool our information if we do not see each other."
He laughed at my question, and with a sudden move, drew me to himself and kissed me with enthusiasm, immediately returned, of course, on my end. "Not to worry, Sam my love, I plan on finding you at night when at all possible. But," he drew back, giving me a serious look, "if I can't be here, this is what I shall do. Do you remember the tree under which you and I and Merry stood before we entered Stock?"
I nodded. It had been a particularly tall and stately larch, and I remembered it well.
"If I cannot come, I shall notch it, one notch for each night I expect to be gone," he continued, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I do not anticipate that occurring, my dear, but it is best to be prepared." With an abrupt smile, he let his hand creep up the side of neck into my curls, and I felt the sudden surge of blood through my veins. "As I mentioned, Sam, my dearest love, I do plan on being here," he murmured tenderly. "Nights are irretrievably dull without you."
And as always, he left me craving his return.
I found myself, later that morning, on the banks of the Brandywine, not far from the Stock piers. No one else was about, in this drizzle, and I wondered briefly if Baggins had thought this thing out completely. I stared down at my hastily assembled kit of fishing gear, and felt hopelessly out of my element. But Baggins had mentioned something about not fearing to appear the fool, and clearly that was going to be a highly attainable goal.
With an inward sigh, I spread a blanket, which I had prudently though to bring along, on a flat boulder near the water's edge, at an angle where my view of Stock was unobstructed. Assembling my hook and line with a good deal of uncertainty, I fervently hoped that no one was watching this shambles. Foolish, I could definitely manage. I just hoped I didn't have to appear remotely competent as well. But at last, the line was in the water, and the pole was firmly planted in the ground, and I could afford to turn my attention to the riverside.
There really was not much to view. The piers, several widely spaced short affairs of weather-beaten timber, were empty, as were a ramshackle collection of sheds and other derelict buildings nearby. Not a living hobbit came and went about any of them, as far as I could see. There was, however, one small boat floating about in one of the coves on the far shore. It was too far away to know for certain, but it appeared to be a fishing vessel, presumable one containing fisherfolk who knew what they were about. I fervently hoped that it would come nowhere near me.
An occasional Stock resident would make his or her way along one of the waterside lanes, from time to time, but always well wrapped in a heavy cloak against the weather, and not a one looked in my direction. I got up on occasion, to shake the pole a bit, but more to relieve the tedium than for any other reason. I dreaded to think of what I would do if I actually caught a fish. Handling one that had been procured in the Hobbiton marketplace was one thing, but handling one that was wiggling at the end of a line was entirely a different matter. Privately, I resolved that if I managed to actually catch one, I would pitch the whole affair into the bushes and tell Baggins that he would have to come up with a new identity for me.
But the fish were wise enough to carry about their business elsewhere, and eventually I could tell by the intermittent dull glimmer of sun from behind the rain clouds that it was nearing noon. Surely even the most enthusiastic of anglers was due a morsel of lunch somewhere in out of the rain, I firmly told myself. It was time to make my way back to the inn to see what the proprietor did in the way of a hot meal.
The inn was not full this late morning, and those who sat at the table had the appearance of regulars, each in their accustomed seat, and not much of a conversation taking place anywhere in the room. I ordered a plate of shepherd's pie, and a half-pint of their best, and found my way to the first unoccupied table near the fire. A couple of hobbits gave me a curious glance, but none were interested enough to join me, and the silence continued unabated. The buzz of a fly near the window could be distinctly heard above the subdued crackle of the flames, and I felt my head nodding once or twice. It had been a long morning, and the warmth and my full stomach were conspiring to make a short nap seem like the best possible idea.
But the silence came to an abrupt halt with the entry of a group of hobbits, led by a tall and imposing individual. Instantly, the rest of the room snapped to attention with a low hum beginning as murmured conversation spread through the room, and I watched with surprise as the formerly somewhat surly proprietor turned into the most attentive of hosts.
"Spread out something tasty for myself and my lads," the new arrival growled, indicating the hobbits behind him with an imperious gesture. "Something better than that swill you served us last time. Had a stomach ache for a week." His dark eyes surveyed the room as he spoke, and caught sight of me.
"Certainly, sir," the host bowed, and his assistant sprang to his feet behind him with fearful eyes. "Will you be staying long, this time?"
"I'll let you know my business when I have reason to," the newcomer growled without a glance at the innkeeper as he made his way across the room to me.
Fascinated by his imperiousness, I rose at his approach, and gave him a courteous nod. "Aloysius Underhill," I introduced myself, using the pseudonym upon which Baggins and I had agreed, holding my hand out politely.
He flashed a striking smile in my direction, and promptly took my hand, giving it a firm shake. "Boll Nethercleft, at your service. May I?" He indicated the empty seat next to mine.
"By all means," I assured him, glad of the distraction. I wasn't too sure, still, regarding what exactly I was to be on the lookout for, but this character seemed to be someone clearly worth investigating. With pleasure, I realized that I would have something about which to tell Baggins this night.
He lowered his considerable self into the chair next to mine, and it suddenly struck me how large he actually was. Baggins was a couple of inches taller than I was, but Nethercleft had a couple more inches on him, not to mention at least two stone.
"So, here on business?" he queried, giving me a penetrating look from under his heavy black brows before snatching up the full pint that hastily set before him without a glance at the quavering young hobbit who had set it there.
"Bit of holiday," I responded mildly, taking another sip of my own drink. Whoever this Nethercleft was, he clearly held the local populace in thrall, and I was none too disposed to join in their trepidation regarding him. "Heard fishing was good hereabouts."
"Fishing?" he asked incredulously, setting down his mug on the table with a harsh laugh. "This time o'year? Not too many folk stop here for pleasure."
"Well, quite possibly I heard wrong," I laughed lightly. "In which case, I won't be around for very long, I suppose."
He continued to study me carefully, for a few moments more, with his unfathomable dark eyes, and then gave a derisive snort. "No accounting for gentlehobbits, seems like. Well, if you'd be lookin' for a ride up river or down, just you be askin' for me, then. Not much goes by on the Brandywine, these parts, without me knowin' about it."
"Ah, do you own a shipping venture, then, Mr. Nethercleft?" I asked, in my blandest tones. "I've heard there is a great deal of cargo that is shipped up this way, from Buckland. You must do quite well with that bit of business."
He stared darkly at me, and for a moment I felt the thrill of fear that perhaps I'd given too much away. But I continued to smile in what I desperately hoped was quite an idiotic fashion, and he finally grunted, and responded, " 'Tis somewhat of a shipping business, right enough. Strictly local, but I'd be glad to help you on your way, should you be leaving Stock." And I had no doubt but that he spoke the truth.
I spent the rest of the afternoon in my new lodgings, as the drizzle turned into a downpour, and I convinced myself that even the most dedicated of hobbyists could not be expected to stay out in that. For lack of anything else to do, and with the sneaking suspicion that we might be staying in the area longer than I had first anticipated, I set about making the long unused smial as home-like as possible. I had found a fairly decent shop in Stock, and loaded myself up with as many comforts of home as I could manage to carry back.
So there was a more substantial meal than just soup on the fire, and the front room now contained a substantial pile of kindling set to the side to dry, as well as a few more blankets, and even a couple of large cushions that I had managed to protect from the rain. The larder was now well-stocked with bread, honey, tea, taters, bacon and onions, and even a tin of ginger biscuits in honor of Baggin's sweet tooth. In addition, there were a few bottles of the wine I knew that he preferred to beer. The several trips I had had to make from the village to the smial were well worth the while, and what was more, I had discovered a battered shed tucked away behind the hill, from which I had scavenged some well-worn dishes, pans and pots, a bundle of miraculously dry candles, and wonder of wonders, a decently large copper bathing tub.
With this sodden weather, the latter discovery was welcome indeed, and I cheerfully dragged it into the smial, after allowing it to be half-filled with rain water, tucking it on the side of the room, near the fire. With a tasty meal in preparation, and with the room well-lit and far more habitable and cozy than it previously had been, I gazed about with pride. All it lacked now was the hobbit I loved so dearly.
He arrived not long after it became completely dark, with a rapid double knock on the sturdy door. I eagerly flung it open, and had to laugh at the spectacle presented to me. "I must say, Baggins, no need to throw yourself into your impersonation quite so completely. A river rat, indeed!"
I received a glower for my comments for exactly half a minute before the side of his mouth began to quirk upwards in that dearly familiar smile. "Very well, Gamgee, I stand so accused. And how might I be able to recover my gentlehobbitly demeanor?"
"By a warm bath, of course," I indicated the half-filled tub with a flourish, "as well as a decent meal."
"By the Lady, Samwise, you are a perfect treasure!" he exclaimed in response, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the tub, and inhaling the aroma of the stewed chicken in its pot appreciatively.
"Doubtlessly," I chuckled, and lifted the sodden cloak off his shoulders. "The kettle has been boiling, so I'll add the hot water now. You can't possibly be thinking of eating in this soggy state, now, can you?"
Since he had no objections whatsoever to this plan, he was quickly luxuriating in the tub while I finished off dinner preparations. "This is quite convenient, is it not, Sam my dear?" he soaped about his toes happily. "I can take the chill out of my bones, which I don't mind telling you I had thought to be a very nearly impossible proposition indeed, whilst you tend to the pots. Perhaps Bag End is entirely too large."
"Bag End is absolutely perfect," I responded, stopping by the tub to emphasize my point with a kiss on the back of his neck. "There isn't a thing about it that I would change."
"Not these days," he threw an arm around my neck and returned the kiss quite thoroughly. "It wasn't always so," he murmured slowly as he released me, tracing a light finger now my cheek, his eyes suddenly dark in the firelight.
Alas, the tub was not big enough for two, so I stifled my impulses, and gave him a smile instead. "Finish off, my dear, for the dinner is done, and I don't mind admitting that I'm famished."
"Oh, Sam, you have no idea," he gave a hearty sigh as he rose up and set about drying himself with the towel I had prudently thought to lay out. "The life of the single riverhobbit is not a pretty one, and glad I am that I do not have to impersonate one for long. At least I won't, if I find out no more information than I did today."
"Well, I ran across an interesting personage," I mentioned mildly, as I lay out plates on the rough table that was one of the few pieces of furniture that had been found in the smial. "Very likely he may have some bearing on this whole affair, but as to exactly what, I'll leave up to you."
"Really, Sam? Do explain, dearest. After you pass me that bottle, of course. Even the lowliest of river rats is due his evening drop, I do believe." He sat on one the straight-backed chairs with which the smial had been provided, wrapped in naught but one of the blankets that I had laid out before the fire to warm, and took the bottle of wine from me.
I ladled the stew into our plates and laid out bread, cheese, and a bowl of late autumn pears. "You know, Frodo, I believe he was actually trying to intimidate me, but I will let you be the judge of that." Sitting down to our meal, and accepting a mug of wine from him, I launched into an account of my meeting with Boll Nethercleft, earlier that day.
Baggins listened with rapt attention, asking the occasional question, and nodded thoughtfully when I had finished. "Perhaps today was more productive than I thought, then," he murmured, swirling his mug and staring into it. "There were several references by those with whom I spent my day to Black Boll, but not necessarily connecting him with activities here in Stock. But obviously he is well known to this hamlet. So then. What are the possibilities? That he is a thief, and has been the culprit in the disappearance of the Buckland shipments? That does seem likely, but on whose behalf? His own, or that of another party? And where is the missing Tobias? Is he dead or yet living and if so, is he connected with Nethercleft or not? Still so many questions, and yet the picture begins to form."
Well, this was beginning to range away from my ken, and then there was the case of the luminous white shoulder that appeared from time to time from under the blanket. One could really not be expected to keep one's mind on more sinister affairs in the presence of that enticement, I suddenly felt. After all, the previous evening had been entirely too short for my liking, and with the rain pounding out of doors the way it was, it was clearly time to let the rest of the world go by, stolen pipeweed and missing hobbits notwithstanding, and give one's attention to more imperative topics. Chief of which being precisely how long it would take to find ourselves in that bed which I had taken such care to warm.
The guttering stub of a candle dimly lit the room, for there was no window in this simple smial such as we were used to, but it was sufficient light for us. I lay beneath that beloved form, holding him tightly to my breast, and briefly considered how little it mattered that we found ourselves in this musty hole so far from home. We could have been anywhere, really, as long as I could draw him to me, and trace his eartip teasingly with my tongue, and thrust myself up against his exquisite weight, and sigh his name with adoration. All the world was, as always, nothing to me next to this miracle that had somehow found its way into my dreary life.
It was his long body pressed closely against mine, and his strong hands that ranged hungrily up my sides. It was his enticing mouth that found my neck, my throat, as I moaned helplessly and clutched him even more tightly to me. And it was his eyes, darkest and deep, into which I greedily gazed, made breathless by the extent of love and devotion that I saw there.
"Frodo," I gasped, drawing my hand between us, aching with yearning and desire. "I can't even tell you, my dearest, I love you so very much."
"I know, Sam, my Sam," came the tender response, as I felt his hand join mine. "But I promise you, my beloved, that I love you just as much. Hold to me, my dearest Sam, hold to me. I assure you that nothing, nothing at all will ever come between us if you but hold to me."
"Forever, Frodo, forever. I promise you that," I breathed, before words were no longer possible, and we fell into the delectable rhythm of flesh against flesh and heart melded to heart.
We parted early the next morning, well before dawn. I had my elusive piscine prey to pursue, with which I must pretend to be obsessively interested, and Baggins needed to resume his role as a potential hobbit for hire. He encouraged me to find myself in the inn by afternoon, since the Buckland shipment was due to arrive in the next day or so, and engage Nethercleft in light conversation if at all possible.
But as he left before me, he drew me close before opening the door and gave me a long and lingering kiss. "Have a care, Sam my love," he murmured soberly, drawing back and fixing his gaze upon me. "There is word that Nethercleft is an unmitigated brute. Let him think you insubstantial, a perfect idiot if at all possible. And remember, should Merry show up early, that you do not know each other, although that does not mean you cannot make each other's acquaintance. Be cautious, dearest, be wary. I will be back tonight if at all possible."
"I will be waiting for you, Frodo," I breathed, folding myself in his arms and holding tightly to him. "Don't make me wait too long to hold you again. Days apart are long enough as it is."
"I couldn't agree with you more," he smiled warmly at me, with another quick kiss of my cheek. "Until then, Sam love." And he was gone into the swirling mists of the chilly damp morning.