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“More hot cocoa, Sam-love?” called a gentle, inquisitive voice from the kitchen of Bag End. Frodo popped his head into an archway and smiled at Sam, who was sitting at the dining table and nibbling at a biscuit.
“Mm, wouldn’t mind a bit more,” Sam responded, unable to keep from smiling right back at him.
“Lovely.” Frodo disappeared for a brief moment before returning with a pitcher he’d just warmed up.
Sam reached to take the pitcher out of Frodo’s hands. “Let me—”
“Not today, Mister Mayor,” Frodo teased, grabbing Sam’s mug and refilling it quickly, before Sam could bluster indignantly.
“O’ dear,” mumbled Sam in resignation. Frodo had already turned to return the pitcher to the kitchen. “You’re quite energetic this afternoon.”
Frodo paused underneath the archway that led to the kitchen. He glanced back at Sam with a smile so fond it made Sam feel a little dizzy, as he often did around the lovely Master of Bag End.
“Everything’s alright,” Frodo said, consoling Sam’s unspoken concerns. “I’m happy, Sam.” Before Sam could open his mouth to respond, Frodo had hurried back to the kitchen.
I’m happy, Sam. How wonderful it was to hear those words fall from Frodo’s lips. How remarkable, that they’d both regained a sense of normalcy after their long and perilous journey. Sam felt like bursting into tears on the spot, so moved was he by Frodo’s simple joys. There had been a period in which Sam had feared Frodo would never recover his happiness. He’d even moved into Bag End and tried to support Frodo as much as possible. After that first year of rough adjustments, things had taken a turn for the better. Frodo had began to smile more, to take long walks with Sam, to go out to the bar with Merry, to go dancing with Rosie and Pippin. He’d begun to sing and write poetry again. He’d even helped Sam maintain the gardens of Bag End, especially since Sam was quite busy already with his new duties as Mayor of Hobbiton. It was a wonderful thing, to see Frodo happy, but Sam was always afraid of it slipping away.
Sam sipped at the hot cocoa appreciatively, lost in thought.
“Good?” Frodo asked as he returned to the dining room. He slid into the chair beside Sam’s.
“Very. Thank you, my dear.”
Frodo smiled. “Good, I needed to make sure you warmed up properly before you go back outside.”
“Oh! I forgot to tell you, the Noakes sent a message this mornin’—no need for me to head o’er today, anyhow. No more mayorly business for tonight.”
Frodo’s eyes lit up. Sam felt his heart ache at the sight. “In that case, would you like to go on a afternoon stroll with me, Mister Samwise Gamgee? Perhaps a nice dinner afterwards?”
“It would be a pleasure, Mister Baggins.”
“After cocoa, then?”
“O’ course. It’s too good to not finish.”
Frodo and Sam shared a soft smile for a long moment. Frodo looked down into his cocoa before taking a slow sip. “Sam, have you spent much time with Merry recently?”
“Not in a few days.”
“Before Éowyn arrived for her visit?” Sam nodded in affirmation. “Interesting,” mused Frodo.
“Why’d you ask?”
“I was with him yesterday, and he was just acting odd. I wonder—perhaps seeing Éowyn for the first time in a while is reminding him of the Battle of Pelennor Fields. When they visited each other earlier this year, Merry went to Éowyn in Rohan, so we didn’t see how he acted.”
Sam frowned. “When he told us about it that one night, he did say he and Éowyn rode together and killed together. Dark memories, those would be.”
Both hobbits stayed quiet for a moment. “That must be it,” Frodo muttered. “Unfortunate. He seemed so delighted to hear she would be visiting this winter…”
Sam sighed. “I told Merry to tell her that the Shire is more beautiful in the spring and summer, when everything is blooming.”
Frodo frowned at the younger hobbit, concerns about Merry briefly forgotten. “The Shire is just as beautiful in the winter! And don’t say nothing grows or flowers—in fact, on our walk we will go out of town to see the winter blossoms. They’re quite lovely.”
Sam laughed, and reached for his mug. He drank the last sip of cocoa, and stood abruptly. “Well then, Frodo-dear. Get your coat, then.”
Frodo grinned, and didn’t waste any time as he rushed off.
Once Sam and Frodo had both bundled up—Frodo had to make a real effort not to laugh at Sam’s hat, bright red with a pom-pom on top—they made their way out of the warm, cozy embrace of Bag End and into the wintery Shire.
Winter in the Shire really was beautiful, Frodo hadn’t exaggerated a bit. A blanket of crisp white snow lay over the land, and the air was clean and crisp. Frodo was glad that he’d bundled himself up with his thickest scarf. The main road had been diligently shoveled and swept with every new dusting of snow, a town-wide effort that Sam had organized and that made everyone’s lives significantly easier. Frodo felt a swell of pride whenever he thought of how far Sam had come in his leadership skills.
As they walked to the edge of town and into a wooded area, Frodo and Sam quietly conversed between occasional bouts of awed silence. At one point, Sam got thoroughly distracted trying to identify a plant that Frodo would have described as rather ordinary and nondistinct. At another, Frodo was caught up in admiring a woodpecker, high on a tree trunk.
“The clearing up here should have plenty of trees blossoming,” Frodo told Sam.
“Who’d you remember telling you ‘bout that?” teased Sam, raising his eyebrows knowingly. They both had a great wealth of knowledge on the lands surrounding Hobbiton, but some areas Sam knew better than Frodo.
Frodo had the decently to blush in embarrassment—or perhaps the blush on his cheeks was just from the cold, Sam couldn’t tell. Regardless, he thought Frodo looked darling.
The hobbits walked on a little longer in peaceful quiet. Frodo held Sam’s gloved hand in his own mittened one.
Then, in a whisper: “Sam… Do you hear anything? Voices?”
They paused. In the distance, they could hear people speaking, but the words were indistinguishable. Sam nodded, curiosity sparking within him. Most hobbits weren’t keen enough on walks in the snow to go out this far.
“I wonder…” Frodo mumbled, staring ahead. “That voice is familiar. Here, Sam-love, come on.”
The two proceeded with considerably more hesitation, but proceed they did.
“Frodo,” hissed Sam, tugging Frodo closer to him. “Here, behind those bushes we’ll be able to peak into the clearing.”
Frodo followed Sam’s lead, until they were bunched up and peering through a bush at two figures.
Frodo’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. In the clearing, a two familiar figures sat on a thick checkered blanket, with another blanket draped over their shoulders. A basket sat between them. A winter picnic.
“Is that—” Sam whispered.
“Merry and Éowyn!” Frodo whispered back in affirmation, grinning.
Merry was tall for a hobbit, taller than both Frodo and Sam were. He was still shorter than Éowyn’s willowy frame even as they sat next to each other, but he always held himself with the energy and confidence of Man, and had picked up a few Mannish habits from his time with the Rohirrim, too. He always carried his sword and had a fondness for horses not shared by any regular old hobbit. He had a great love for the kingdoms of Men, and a special affection for Rohan and the Rohirrim. And clearly, Frodo and Sam could now see that Merry had also picked up an affection for Rohirrim women, too—the person who sat next to him, laughing and blushing, was none other than Lady Éowyn, sister to the King of Rohan and the very shieldmaiden who had slain the Witch-king of Angmar.
“Oh dear,” Sam whispered. “Are they…?” Sam trailed off, but his unspoken question was answered shortly.
As the two spying hobbits watched, Éowyn covered her face with her hands, visibly laughing harder. Merry grinned, clearly pleased. Out of nowhere, he produced a blossom that must have been plucked from one of the surrounding trees. He leaned toward Éowyn, brushing her long, pale gold hair out of her face and tucked the flower behind her ear. Éowyn uncovered her face and smiled fondly at him. Merry’s hand drifted to her jaw, and he leaned in and kissed the White Lady of Rohan with such confidence and familiarity that Frodo was shocked.
Sam realized his jaw had dropped at some point. Merry was always full of surprises, and from what he’d heard about Éowyn, it was clear that she couldn’t be controlled or predicted but still—this hadn’t been the sight he’d expected to see on an ordinary afternoon walk. Sam felt himself shiver a bit—he was dressed for walking, not sitting and spying. He wondered how Merry and Éowyn were bearing it, but they were both clad in thick trousers and what appeared to be multiple jackets. Not to mention, they were sitting on a blanket and not in a snowy bush like Sam and Frodo were. Sam shook himself free from his musings as Frodo spoke.
“This explains so much,” Frodo whispered gleefully. “Should we interrupt? I have so many questions.”
Sam choked back a laugh. “Not now, darlin’ Frodo. Let’s leave them to enjoy their icy picnic, and we’ll jus’ invite them for dinner and interrogation tonight.”
Frodo smiled, delight sparkling in his eyes. “That’s perfect, Sam-love. Lead the way back?”
Sam shuffled to his feet, and offered his gloved hand to Frodo, who accepted it immediately. “O’ course, dear.”