Flowers in a Lightning Storm - fanfiction

An Autumn Interlude, Part III: Unwinding

"Sam."

"Aye?" Sam turned quickly, startled, and dropped the shirt that he had been about to put in his pack.

"I'm sorry," Marigold murmured. She stepped into Sam's room hesitantly and picked up the fallen garment.

"It's early yet," Sam said softly, accepting the shirt from Marigold's outstretched hand. "What's got you up and about?"

Marigold shrugged and sat down on the edge of Sam's bed. "Nothing. I just heard you," she said, her eyes still hazy with sleep.

Sam folded the shirt carefully and placed it in his pack. He moved the canvas satchel aside and sat down beside Marigold, reaching to brush her tousled curls behind her ear. "You should get back to bed. No sense in you losin' sleep because I can't move about quiet-like to save my life."

Marigold shook her head and looked up. "I wanted to say goodbye. You're leavin' a few days, aren't you?"

Sam smiled and nodded. "Aye, up to Buckland with Mr. Frodo. Mr. Fredegar and Mr. Folco, too."

"You're going to a dance." Marigold lowered her eyes. "The Cottons aren't having one."

Sam blinked in surprise, then reached over to pull his sister into his lap as he used to do when she was younger. Still a slip of a thing, he thought. Not like Daisy and May. Sam kissed Marigold's forehead softly. "If you was invited, Mari, there'd be no trouble," Sam soothed, brushing her cheek. "But Mr. Frodo could bring his one guest, and like as not those Boffins and Bolgers have got their own invitations. You're a mite young yet, besides. Why don't you and Rose round up a few more lasses and--"

"Too young? That baby Took will be all over the place, just you wait," Marigold sulked, turning her head over Sam's shoulder. "Don't tell me that you forget what a mess he made of Mr. Bilbo's petunias last--"

"How could I, seeing as I did the plantin' all over? He just might be, but he ain't my concern. If the Thain's good lady hasn't a maid to keep him inside, then..." Sam trailed off, turned Marigold's face back toward himself. "Have your own dance, sweeting. Have Mum make a pie. And you love bobbin' apples, if I'm not mistaken. Why, there's a party right here, courtesy of M. Gamgee!"

Marigold smiled in spite of herself, blushing. "I just...I wish you could help. Or that I could go with you." She tucked her head beneath Sam's chin and sighed.

"And it'd be right fun to have you, but there ain't much I can do," Sam said, and kissed her forehead again.

"If you asked Mr. Frodo..."

"I'd be assuming, Mari, if I did, and you know we oughtn't--"

"Oh, bother Dad's talk! It's just not convincing, coming from you, and besides--you're so tangled in Mr. Frodo's sheets that he'd refuse you nothing."

Sam almost dropped Marigold. "And just what's that supposed to--"

Marigold gasped and clung tighter. "Oh, I...I didn't mean..."

Sam heard the edge of tears in her voice and realized how angry he must have sounded. "Mari--it's just--I didn't think--"

"Oh, I know how you are about him!" she laughed unexpectedly, sniffling against Sam's collar. "You'd tear me to bits if I said worse than that."

"Wouldn't!"

"Well, maybe if I weren't kin," Marigold sighed, twisting free of her brother's embrace. She brushed her skirts out and walked over to the door. "I shall do that--have my own party. And I shan't save you any pie!" she said with a grin, and slipped into the hall.

Sam released his breath once Marigold's steps were out of his earshot. Yes, she'd have her own party, and have a fine time of it, too. In the meantime, he had his own to worry about. Where had those two embroidered waistcoats that his Mum had done up for his birthday gotten off to?

* * *

"Don't forget your pipe, Frodo-lad. Your Uncle Saradoc has a fondness for seeing his mathoms put to use."

Frodo reached over his shoulder without skipping a beat and took the pipe out of Bilbo's hand. He tucked it into his knapsack's inner pocket. "I know. He wouldn't look away till I had it lit. Aunt Esme about shoved his cake in his face."

Bilbo chuckled. "You send them my regards, lad. And if Saradoc asks after his book, you tell him--"

"I'll tell him it's been in my hands ever since it arrived, and no doubt, he'll rest easier," Frodo replied cheerfully, lowering the flap and cinching his pack tight. "Really, Uncle Bilbo. It'll be fine."

Bilbo sighed and lifted the knapsack for Frodo, held it while he slipped his arms through the straps and took its weight with a satisfied bounce. Bilbo turned him and set an index finger to the tip of his nose.

"Cloak?"

"It's warm!" Frodo protested.

"It won't be tonight, or tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night, I'll be dancing so much that I shan't feel it," Frodo pointed out.

Bilbo dashed out of the room with a huff, leaving Frodo to follow aimlessly in his wake. Frodo looked over his shoulder briefly before closing the door. Sam wouldn't be at the window, not this morning. At least he didn't think so.

Frodo found Bilbo in the front hall, running his fingers selectively over the odd collection of coats and cloaks populating the row of pegs just inside the door. He pulled Frodo's coat down and thrust it into Frodo's hands. "In the very least," Bilbo said sternly.

Frodo sighed and arranged it properly over his arm. "Of course, Uncle." Sam would have something to say about it, too. You've spared me that, Frodo thought, unable to keep from smiling.

Bilbo glanced distractedly at the clock. "Well, you're ready. Oh! This," he added with renewed vigor, selecting a walking stick and thrusting it into Frodo's hand. "Now, then, you're meeting Folco and Fredegar at--"

"The Dragon, they'll be there!" Frodo laughed, nudging Bilbo in the direction of the parlor. "And Sam will be here any moment. We'll meet them without a slip, and have second breakfast, and be off!"

Bilbo swatted Frodo's hand away affectionately, turning with a last look of caution. "Where are you staying tonight?"

"Frogmorton. We ought to get that far, at least. Folco's father's going to pay a visit to some family along the East Road, I told you: we'll ride with him that far!"

"See to it you're on the road early enough tomorrow. No dawdling," Bilbo warned mildly.

Frodo had turned for the doorknob, glad that Bilbo couldn't see him blush. "We won't."

"Frodo-lad."

Frodo turned on his heel with a sigh and met Bilbo's level gaze.

"Take care of Samwise. It's about time he oughtn't be all about doing for you, hm?"

Frodo smiled, couldn't hide it this time if he tried. "Yes, sir."

"Good, good--now, get out!"

Frodo stepped outside without so much as a backward glance. Take care of Sam? Oh, if Bilbo could have seen--which he wouldn't have wanted to, anyway, but still--

"What's got you grinnin' ear to ear?"

Frodo stepped down to the gate and unlatched it, stepping down casually. He was nose to nose with Sam. "This," he said matter-of-factly, leaning to brush his mouth against Sam's.

Sam snugged an arm around Frodo's neck briefly, lengthened the touch of heir lips. "I believe it, sir. Let's not keep them waiting."

* * *

"A bit to the left, Pervinca, dear--yes, there--just hold it, hold it--ah, beautiful!" Esmeralda exclaimed, pushing the pin into place, missing her niece's finger by a nail's breadth. Slightly shaken, Pervinca stepped back beside Esmeralda to admire their handiwork. The garland looked fine indeed, a colorful stringing of fallen leaves that they had sent the little ones to collect for finishing touches.

"It's a pity not many will see it," Eglantine remarked from the rocker in the corner, eyes drifting back to the embroidery in her lap. "There'll be far more interest in the dancing and ale."

"Yes, and we'll be treating half a dozen colds by the next morning. Ah, but I shan't think about it now!" Esmeralda replied cheerfully, stepping back up to arrange the leaves along the mantelpiece to her liking. "They'll most of them be only just arriving, come tomorrow. I'm far more looking forward to what visiting goes on before nightfall. Plenty of folk will see it then, Vinca. Don't let your Ma fret you so!"

Pervinca hadn't realized her brows were knit so tightly. She relaxed into a smile. "I shan't. It's not Ma, besides. I'm just...thinking."

Eglantine chuckled. "Aye, a favorite pastime of yours, when Peregrin isn't about to prevent it."

At that, Pervinca bit her lip. "Mum, have we brought someone to watch--"

"Oh, don't you worry," Esmeralda reassured Pervinca, patting her briskly on the shoulders. "We've plenty of maids about this place. I'll appoint one to the task, if you haven't," Esmeralda added, directing a sharp look at Eglantine. "At your age, it wouldn't be proper for a young lady to miss dancing of any sort."

Eglantine clucked her tongue. "I seem to remember--"

"Oh, never mind what you remember!" Esmeralda exclaimed and wheeled Pervinca toward one of the sofas with a wink. "It's just that your Ma never knew a proper spot of fun, see, even for a Too--"

"Mum still doesn't have any," Pippin informed them energetically, dashing into the room with a young Brandybuck on his heels. "Unless her needles and thread talk back!" Pippin thrust the toy cart he had been clutching into the little Brandybuck's hands, and Pervinca noted that the lad's temper improved vastly. Pippin tore over to the rocking chair and hung onto one carved arm, tucking his feet up so that he rode right along, setting the chair a bit off balance. "Mum, what do they say to you? Does the thread say all sorts of nasty things because you keep sticking it through the needle's b--"

"Off with you!" Eglantine cried sharply, tucking the needle into her canvas and dislodging Pippin from the chair almost in the same movement. "Peregrin Took, where are your manners--"

"He hasn't got any that I can see," Merry replied cheerfully, striding into the room with a brimming mug of something in both hands. He surveyed the room carefully before crossing over to the sofa where Pervinca sat. "Don't mind if I have a seat, Vinca?"

"No," Pervinca murmured, finding her hands folded in her lap of sudden, vast interest.

"Merry," Esmeralda warned, "what did I tell you about bringing that stuff near the upholst--"

"Merry!" Pippin wailed, tearing across the room, almost in tears, "did you hear what Mum--"

"Pippin!"

"Augh!"

"Oh, Vinca," Merry murmured, staring at the sodden mess his ale had made of her skirts. "I'm sorry." Pippin clung to Merry's arms, eyes wide, realizing what he'd done.

Pervinca glared at Pippin, rising stiffly to her feet. "No need to apologize, Meriadoc," she said softly, eyes fixed coldly on her younger brother. "However, you know who does."

"'Mmsorry," Pippin mumbled, his face already buried in Merry's waistcoat. Pervinca could hear the tears in his voice.

Merry rubbed Pippin's back uncertainly, staring back and forth between the top of the youngster's head and Pervinca's pale, angry face. "Yes...well...he said it, at least."

"I'm going to change for bed," Pervinca said tonelessly. "Good night. Mum, Aunt Esme."

Eglantine set her stitching aside and rose to follow her daughter. "Come along, I'll show you where our things are," she said comfortingly, certain to fix Esmeralda with another stern look on her way out.

"Good night, dear," Esmeralda sighed, rolling her eyes to avert Eglantine's scolding. She tugged one last leaf into place and turned to face her son. "Merry, clean it up."

"Yes, Mother."

Pippin looked up from his sniffling against Merry's front. "I'll help him, Aunt Esme! I promise!"

Esmeralda sighed and took a candle down from the mantelpiece. "Very well. Good night."

* * *

Merry stared over Pippin's shoulder at the floor for a while and wondered if leaving Everard and Ferdibrand to fend for themselves in the cellar had been worth it. They might've gotten lost if they happened to forget the trick turn that he always had to warn them of on the way down--and on the way back up. Some sense of humor his father had. Merry wondered if he truly shared it, and then supposed that he was about to find out.

"Pip," Merry began on not nearly enough breath for all that he had to say, "I know you didn't mean to make a mess, but that--"

"You should've listened to your Mum!" Pippin countered glumly, burying his face against Merry's chest again. "All I did was run from mine. She was mean, Merry. I was only askin' what her needle and thread say to her."

Merry managed a half smile, imagining what else must have been involved in Pippin's query to elicit such a shriek from his Aunt Eglantine. "Well, Pip, if she was busy..."

"She's always busy," Pippin complained, crawling into Merry's lap without preamble.

Merry sighed and settled back, gathering his cousin close. The mess could wait, he supposed. It had missed the upholstery entirely; the rug was battered enough that it could hold on for a while. Maybe indefinitely.

"Merry," Pippin murmured pathetically, winding his fingers in Merry's sleeves.

"Hm?" Merry felt the tickle of Pippin's curls against his neck, the warm puff of his breath. Gingersnaps. The boy had been eating gingersnaps. How such a sweet lad could get into so much trouble...

Pippin hugged him and nuzzled sleepily. "I miss you."

"Hush, don't say that! You just got here today. I missed you, too," Merry soothed Pippin, rubbing his back as much out of habit as out of affection. "And you'll stay a few days after the party's over, won't you?"

"Mmhm," Pippin murmured absently. "If Da says we are. I'll hide, though. I'll stay longer."

Merry chuckled. "Longer than you stayed last time, Pip? They sent for you, after a week."

Pippin sat up and fixed Merry with a surprisingly stern look. "Longer."

Merry tilted his head. "Are you sure?"

"Very very," Pippin said, tucking his head into the crook of Merry's neck again, clutching more fiercely than before.

Merry cleared his throat and nodded. "Well, that settles it, then."

"Longer than Everard and Ferdi."

"Probably," Merry said with a yawn. "They've been here nigh on a week already, anyway. Da's tired of them draining his ale."

"Good. Tell him to kick them out. It's his ale," Pippin said petulantly, words muffled against Merry's collar.

Merry frowned. "Pip, have they been mean to you?"

Pippin shook his head. "Not since swimmin'."

Merry frowned more deeply. "Good. But you seem a bit--"

"I don't like Everard."

"I know," Merry sighed. What Pip thought about that, Merry couldn't begin to imagine. Probably that it was an annoyance, Everard taking up so much of his time. "Well, I've really seen enough of them both to last me a while, so--"

"Good," Pippin said brightly, sitting up again. "Then you'll take me fishing tomorrow while they dance."

Merry started. "But, Pip!--I c--cousin Frodo's coming tomorrow," Merry substituted quickly. "With Sam. And maybe a couple of others that I haven't seen in a while, they'll expect me to..."

Pippin was frowning, but not harshly. "Oh. I miss cousin Frodo, too. Who's Sam?"

Merry smirked. "You ruined his petunias last year."

"I thought those were Uncle Bilbo's."

"Sam planted them, or his Gaffer. Either way, Sam fixed them up again."

"Sam was boring," Pippin remarked with a yawn of his own. "All he did was sit there and listen to Frodo."

"Sam can tell stories, too. Good ones, even."

"I didn't hear any," Pippin said. "I think he didn't like that we were tryin' to visit Frodo. I think he missed Frodo."

Merry made an exasperated noise and rose to his feet, hefting Pippin up in his arms. "That's nonsense. He lives a couple of holes down. He sees Frodo every day."

"I don't see you every day," Pippin argued sleepily.

"No, you don't."

"I wish I did."

"Why?" Merry asked absently, starting on the familiar path to his room. He hoped Everard and Ferdibrand weren't there waiting for a smoke. He was as tired as Pippin, and Pip had never been a fitful sleeper. As chilly as the nights had gotten, his warmth would be welcome.

"Mm--Merry." Pippin sounded distant.

"Yes?" Merry whispered, and made the last turn before his own door.

Pippin was fast asleep.

* * *

Sam woke with Frodo's breath warm behind his ear and Frodo's hand in a place it really oughtn't be, unless he planned on following through. "Sam," Frodo whispered again, tongue darting out to briefly catch his earlobe. "They aren't up yet. Let's get the washroom before--"

"Before you get it into your head to wake half of Frogmorton proper, never mind 'em in the next bed over," Sam groaned softly, brushing Frodo's hand away from his belly. It crept back surreptitiously, stroking him through his nightshirt.

"Come on," Frodo whispered, kissing the back of Sam's neck and pulling his hand away just as Sam decided he could manage to keep silence if it stayed. Sam grumbled as Frodo slipped out of bed, rolling reluctantly after him.

"Sh," Frodo whispered, nudging Sam ahead of him with a gentle hand on Sam's hip. Sam glanced over his shoulder at Freddy and Folco, glad that the two of them slept soundly on, and with quite a bit of willpower, at that: they lay back to back.

Once the washroom door was closed behind them, Frodo's hand didn't hesitate to dip low enough to lift Sam's nightshirt, joined by the other, which slid across his belly and held firm at his side. Sam leaned into the circle of Frodo's arm, closed his eyes with a whimper at the dab of Frodo's tongue behind his other ear, Frodo's free hand cupping him loosely, languidly.

"Well, I couldn't help it," Frodo whispered matter-of-factly, nipping at Sam's ear tip. "You were on the way there, anyway--"

"And you could've let me turn around, begging your pardon, but--but since you didn't--Frodo..."

Sam found himself stripped of his nightshirt and stretched out on the floor mat before he could say otherwise, but it was best if he didn't, as badly as he wanted to. He bit down hard on the side of his hand and fought the cry that welled up at the sweet, welcome warmth of Frodo's mouth, the tickle of Frodo's curls against his belly and his thighs. Against the fire that swept through him all too quickly, leaving him panting and a bit sore in the knuckles. Frodo crawled up and took Sam's hand, kissing it softly.

"Now, we have an excuse to wash."

Sam tugged at Frodo's hips. "But you--"

"I have plenty," Frodo whispered against Sam's mouth, and pressed close enough to prove it.

* * *

"Mmm. Merry."

Merry ignored Pippin's insistent whisper and tucked him closer against his chest. Too comfortable, and probably too early, besides. Mmm, indeed. Merry buried his face in Pippin's curls. Pippin squirmed.

"Merry!" Pippin said louder this time, kicking Merry's shin lightly. "Frodo's coming. We have to go and meet him."

Merry let go of Pippin and rolled away, yawning and snuggling deeper into his covers. "You go ahead, then. 'M still tired."

Pippin scooted up against Merry's back. "Don't want to."

Merry stifled a laugh against his pillow. "Thought you did."

"Not without you." Pippin kicked Merry's calf this time.

"It's too early. They won't get here till after noontime."

Pippin relaxed a little and murmured, "Oh." He curled up in a warm ball against Merry's shoulder blades.

They lay still just long enough for Merry to doze off again, just long enough for Pippin to find another reason to kick him.

"Merry."

"Pip, what?"

"M'hungry now."

"Then go get breakfast."

Pippin pouted, "Not without you."

Merry groaned and rolled to the edge of the bed, only to have Pippin latch onto his hand and yank him up and out the door.

* * *

Bilbo sighed and sat back in his favorite armchair, his pipe in one hand and Saradoc's book in the other. With Frodo gone, his breakfasts had been quiet, but it was welcome. He had spent a bit more time over cooking than usual, free to whip up a larger arrangement of things than Frodo's slight impatience would generally permit. Enough for another mouth, should the opportunity present itself, but so far, it had not. Bilbo sighed, propping his feet up on a carefully placed stool. With his belly full and sleep out of his system, he supposed that there was naught to do but read. Read and wait. After an hour had passed, Bilbo set the book aside and re-lit his pipe.

"The joke's on me, is it?" Bilbo muttered, staring half-lidded at the hearth, a bit drowsier from the text and the smoke than he had anticipated. "You've no intention of showing at all, and here I've gone and chosen to miss a party! Ah, well...I shan't be missing Saradoc, mark my words, not till he's over letting me...persuade him into sending..."

Bilbo woke to a puff of something warm and fragrant in his nostrils. He woke with a start and thought, My pipe!--

"You must have just dropped it," Gandalf said cheerfully, handing the pipe back, "not five minutes ago. You left the door open. Is Frodo out and about?"

Bilbo sat up, sputtering at the wizard seated cross-legged at his feet. "Yes, he's--no, no, he's not! He's in Buckland, as a matter of fact, and you, you--why, you've broken in again! It was locked, I tell you, lock--"

"It wasn't, but it hardly matters. No one in the Shire would dare rob a Burglar of your stature."

Bilbo sat back, energetically puffing on his Old Toby, not entirely certain what he ought to do about this intrusion. He'd been expecting the perpetrator, yes, but not certainly not while he was off his guard. "I'd at least hoped to have elevenses ready!" Bilbo told Gandalf, jabbing an accusatory finger.

"Well, now, I'll just have to wait around until you do," the wizard replied with amusement, shifting to recline against the adjacent sofa.

"You'd better be staying for dinner, too, and supper, for all the trouble you've put me to," Bilbo said sternly, even though he knew that their exchange had passed into the realm of teasing a handful of breaths ago. He heaved up from his chair and handed the pipe back to Gandalf with a softening glare. "Tea?"

"Would be lovely," Gandalf said courteously, taking a slow drag on Bilbo's pipe.

Bilbo dashed off to the kitchen with such a smile welling up in him that he thought he might pop.

* * *

Pervinca was busy watching Esmeralda stir a large kettle of what would later become mulled cider when Pippin came tearing breathlessly into the kitchen, red-cheeked and grinning ear to ear.

"He's here, Vinca! Cousin Frodo is here!"

Pervinca blinked and set the pot of herbs aside. "Baggins?"

"Yes," Pippin cried impatiently, tugging at her hands. "Come see! He's brought friends."

"I'm sure I'll see them soon en--"

"You ought to greet them," Esmeralda replied, frowning over a taste of the mixture. "I've kept you here long enough."

But I want to be here, Pervinca thought as Pippin dragged her toward the door. "All right!" she called over her shoulder, and Esmeralda waved.

Pippin dragged Pervinca through a maze of halls until they reached the airy parlor. Merry was there, as she had expected (and dreaded), releasing a flustered-looking Freddy from an energetic hug. Pervinca guessed that Frodo's servant had already endured it, as he retained a bit of a blush himself. She couldn't quite remember his name. Folco stood next to Freddy, but that came as little surprise: Pippin had chattered an earful about his spying episode at the festival, and Pervinca didn't have any reason to doubt it, not with Estella's talk as reinforcement.

"You're looking well, Pervinca."

Pervinca turned to Frodo, accepting his easy embrace with a smile. "So are you."

"What about me?" Pippin asked, hands on his hips. Pervinca eased out of Frodo's arms, about to chide, but one look at the self-assured smirk on Pippin's face told her that this was some long-standing joke and it was best left alone.

"Why, this time, you look positively scandalous, Pippin," Frodo remarked with wide eyes, swinging the lad up in his arms. "What's up your sleeve? You'd better tell me, quick, before I have Merry tickle it out of--"

"Nothingnothingnothing!" Pippin shrieked gleefully as Frodo's own fingers attacked his sides.

"Oh, what's this? You'll have me tickle what out of him?"

Before Pervinca knew what was what, she was laughing, too. Frodo and Merry had Pippin rolling on the floor, in gasping fits of laughter. Frodo finally sat back on his heels, grinning, and Merry tugged Pippin to his feet.

"No more," Merry said soberly. "I promise. But we still haven't gotten what's up your sleeve, so you be on your guard, do you hear? Sam's a better tickler than Frodo and I put together."

Sam, that was his name. Pervinca heard the poor hobbit mutter something that sounded like, "Begging your pardon, Mr. Merry, but I'm no such thing." He leaned and helped Frodo to his feet instead, and Frodo turned a smile on Sam that was enough to disarm the last of Pervinca's anxiety. She wished that Merry would smile at her like--

"Come on, lads! It's almost time for afternoon tea. We'll all kick back and have Frodo tell us a tale or two," Merry announced, and turned to lead them away with Pippin tagging along behind.

By the time Pervinca realized what she had seen, they had all filed away. "Pippin, wait!" she cried, and ran until she caught up with Frodo and Sam. She came to a halt just behind them, returned Frodo's quick smile over his shoulder. Their hands fingers were linked between them.

Just my luck, Pervinca thought. The whole bloody lot's boffing!

* * *

"One egg or two?"

"Two, thank you."

"Soft-boiled? Hard--"

"Poached, if you could."

"Of course!" Bilbo called.

Gandalf sat back and surveyed his surroundings, familiar though they were. Bag End had changed over the years--first Bilbo's steadily increasing library, and then his maps, papers, sheaf upon scroll upon folio of narratives and poetry. Gandalf hadn't supposed that an adventure with dwarves capable of rendering such a change, but since it had, no sense in asking why. It was a change for the better, certainly, especially since Frodo had come along. The lad would have found no such environment so perfectly suited to his tendencies at Brandy Hall. So pensive, at times, so inherently solitary, save for when one or two others held his attention. That young Gamgee did him more good than a passel of noisy cousins--

"More tea?" Bilbo poked his head around the corner.

Gandalf nodded absently. "When you have a moment. Take your time, dear Bilbo."

"Yes, well, I would--except you've caught me terribly off guard, and now I've got to make up for it!"

"There's no one to make you, least of all me. Finish those eggs and sit down, for pity's sake," Gandalf chuckled.

Bilbo huffed and ducked back into the kitchen. "Right."

Gandalf shook his head and picked up his teacup. He had drained it long moments ago, and the pattern had set him to thinking about the roses in Bag End's garden that past summer. They had been as spectacular as Frodo claimed; Gandalf had taken a closer look before leaving Hobbiton's Overlithe festivities behind him. He had found all the more reason to be grateful that Frodo and Samwise had found each other, too. As surely as those petals would fall--had fallen--Bilbo could not linger forever--

"Here!"

The combination the abrupt exclamation and a small plate slamming down on the table of its own accord gave Gandalf a jolt. The fork waved an absent flourish at his nose before settling down beside his hand.

"Bilbo..."

The hobbit appeared abruptly, hand busy tucking something back into his pocket. "Oh, bother. You're no fun. I shall have to come up with some other sort of revenge, when you're least expecting it."

Gandalf began, "I certainly wasn't expecting--"

"No, I know. But you don't show it," Bilbo said with a sigh, and in a heartbeat he was gone and back again with his own egg, soft-boiled and perched in a neat little cup. "If your cup had been full of tea, I would have appreciated a mess to clean up."

Gandalf picked up his fork and looked at Bilbo dubiously. "I wasn't touching it."

"No, which is why I asked you if you wanted more, and you refused like the poor sport you are," Bilbo pointed out, carefully cracking the shell of his egg.

"I would prefer if your sport didn't involve that magic ring. Keep it in your pocket, if you must, but don't wave it about. It's an uncommon thing, and an uncertain one."

Bilbo waved his fork nonchalantly, poking into the soft, exposed white. "And a convenient one. I know that Frodo's read quite a few books that he prefers I'd not know he's read."

Gandalf smiled in spite of himself. "You old rascal."

Bilbo chuckled heartily. "Frodo would say so."

"Frodo's taken Samwise, hasn't he?"

Bilbo's next poke into his egg was driven by fond frustration. "Aye, he has."

"They will be all right, you know," Gandalf reassured him, finally taking a mouthful of his own egg.

"I suppose so," Bilbo sighed, taking another bite just as some chaotic realization lit his features and his fork fell uselessly to the table. "Oh! Tea!"

Gandalf watched the hobbit draw the teapot carefully away from the fire and closed his eyes. Indeed, no matter how capable, Bilbo could not linger forever. And Frodo would need his Samwise more than ever, come that dreaded day, whether Bilbo be taken by death or some journey unforeseen.

* * *

"Oh, look at it," Sam breathed, tightening his fingers in Frodo's as they gazed out the window and down over the rolling green along the banks of the Brandywine. It was already dotted with a dazzling array of hobbit-folk, some from as far off as Bree. The fire was set back a ways, and already a ragtag ensemble of musicians played riffs and scattered snippets of melody amidst the drinking and conversation. Supper had just ended, and the cool breeze off the water was sorely welcome, or so Sam guessed. Frodo's room was warm, and they'd scarcely finished changing.

"I am," Frodo said, tugging his hand away with a laugh. "Sam, I'll never finish these buttons."

"I'll finish them for you," Sam said, and did. He smoothed his hand down the front of Frodo's weskit and sighed. "Oh, if it ain't enough to just..."

"Don't start, or we'll never get to the dancing, and I'd much rather we danced and--"

Sam blushed and silenced Frodo with a quick peck on the lips. "Let's get out there, then. Besides, that ale's just callin'--"

"Frodo Baggins, can't seduction wait? Ev and I are heading out, won't you come along?"

Sam felt his cheeks flush warm, but Frodo smirked and turned to face the unseen Merry just beyond their door. "Can't seduction wait?" Frodo called back evenly.

Merry made a sound somewhere between a growl and a laugh. "Yes, but only for the dancing, and it's starting soon! We've been shown up by a Bolger and a Boffin; they're already half sozzled on Father's best ale and clamoring for a tune."

Frodo glanced idly out the window, then met Sam's gaze with eyes alight. "Yes, we noticed."

Merry pounded on the door. "Well?"

"We've got to start the front row before Vinca and her lot do," Everard chimed in.

Sam took Frodo's hands, kissed them silently. "Ready, sir?"

Frodo tapped his knuckles affectionately, then kissed them in turn. "Yes, Sam."

"What was that, Frodo?"

"We're coming, Mr. Merry," Sam said firmly, nudging Frodo toward the door.

"Oh, I hope not," Merry muttered, and Everard--from the sound of it--spit a mouthful of ale.

Frodo opened the door and gave Merry a good shove backwards, narrowly missing Everard and his full tankard. Merry flailed for a moment before rolling to his feet, sizing up to Frodo with an indignant sneer. "That? Cousin, was uncalled for."

"No more so than your cheek," Frodo replied cheerfully, shoving Merry along after Everard, who had already turned down the hall, muttering something, hunched protectively over his ale.

The evening air swept over them like ripples through water on a cloud-covered day, crisp and clear. Sam walked beside Frodo and took in the sights and sounds with silence, only dimly aware of Merry and Everard's banter just ahead. Frodo's hand brushed Sam's every now and then, and Sam turned his head to one dazzling smile after another. Oh, the folk scurrying this way and that, laughing and embracing, they were gaily clad, to be sure, but no dash of green or spill of gold dappled with blue could measure up to the light in Frodo's eyes. Sam caught his hand next time it brushed his own, held it fast, twined their fingers. He blushed at his own boldness; there were Brandybucks and Tooks and Valar knew Who-Elses all over. But it didn't seem to matter, not when Frodo glowed like that.

"I'm glad we came," Frodo said softly. Not I'm glad you came. As if he never would have thought--not in an Age--of coming without--

"I'd begun to wonder if we'd see you at all!" the Mistress of Buckland called from a few feet off, dashing to meet them nearly at the expense of a glass of cordial clutched in her right hand. Sam stepped aside politely and watched Frodo throw his arms around her. Frodo laughed as if he were no older than that meddlesome Pippin.

"I've missed you, too, Aunt Esme," Frodo said, cheeks a bit flushed as he stepped back, aware that his aunt was sizing him up with a bit more mischief in her glance than usual. It's no wonder that son of hers turned out the way he did, Sam thought. Sam jumped when her quick eyes flicked unexpectedly over to him. She extended her hand and clasped his warmly.

"It's an honor to have you, Master Gamgee."

"Honor's mine, Lady," Sam mumbled, kissing her knuckles formally. The knowing twinkle in her eyes made him squirm.

Esmeralda released Sam's hand with a wink and swung around, catching Merry square in the shoulder with an affectionate tap. "You see to it they're taken care of, Meriadoc. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mother," Merry sighed, nudging at Everard and motioning desperately for Sam and Frodo to follow.

The four of them cut through a loitering, smoking bunch of Master Saradoc's fellows and endured a handful of new greetings, but with considerably less trepidation. By the time they reached the ale tables, Freddy and Folco had caught up with them, though how, considering their condition, Sam couldn't rightly guess.

"S'about time, you blockheads," Folco informed them, shoving his own newly filled tankard into Merry's unsuspecting hands. "Won't even have time t'properly drink your fill. Freddy, give 'im that," Folco said, pushing Freddy's tankard in Everard's direction. Freddy protested with a wordless squawk. "You two've got to fend for yourselves, m'fraid," Folco informed Sam with a jab of his elbow.

"We'll be fine, thanks," Frodo said with a bemused grin, tugging Sam over to where a vast array of drinking vessels sat on a table of their own. "Have your pick, Sam."

Sam reached for the closest tankard--simple earthenware--and took Frodo's own selection from his hands. "I'll fill them, sir," Sam said, staying Frodo with a touch to the wrist.

Frodo moved to take both tankards out of Sam's hands, but froze at Sam's touch. I love you, Frodo mouthed. Sam turned away quickly, and he was sure by Merry's smirk that he was scarlet by the time he reached the taps. He was grateful to find that Frodo had wandered a little ways off. He was just as content to leave the other four to their tomfoolery as Frodo was. He settled down beside Frodo on the grass and set both ales out in front of them. Frodo leaned over and skimmed Sam's ear with the lightest brush of his lips; his cheeks were already flushed, and he hadn't even touched his ale.

"Drink up," Frodo said softly, taking his tankard in hand and gesturing for Sam to do the same. Sam did, and he found that he had no words, only wordless wonder as Frodo raised his ale and waited for Sam to meet him halfway, the light collision enough to send rivulets streaming down and over their hands.

"Yes," Sam whispered, "we ought to--"

And before he could say anything else, Frodo had leaned over their glasses and back again, leaving a kiss that stung more wonderfully than the cold sip of ale to follow. "That's--That's to this. All of this. And--"

"To us," Sam murmured, and hid in another swig before Frodo's laughter could give Merry another reason to glance over his shoulder with a blatant tease in his Brandybuck eyes.

* * *

"Ah, simply wonderful," Bilbo said with satisfaction, patting his stomach. "Much better, then. It's almost dark, now--ought we to go out for a smoke?"

Gandalf stretched and set his supper plate upon the hearthstones. Bilbo already knew his answer. He set his own plate beside the wizard's and whisked his pipe off the arm of his chair.

"Well, then, what are we waiting for..."

The chill was pleasant, but not strong; Bilbo sprawled in the grass and fancied that it must be stronger on the Brandywine, perfect dancing weather. He imagined the youngsters with their drums and horns, their parents with ales and pipes and tales. Bilbo missed that sort of thing, to be sure--it came but once a year now, after all, at his own party. He had a mind for ventures, but not of the rambunctious sort. He preferred a lonely road, he supposed, when all was said and done.

"You're thinking again, Bilbo. And you've done entirely too much for my liking, of late."

Bilbo huffed and rolled over onto his side, facing his companion with a frown. "Whatever do you mean?" He blew a ring idly, scattering it with the mouthpiece of his pipe. "It's not as if I've another party to be planning, what with September off and gone--"

"You're always planning a party," Gandalf remarked with a chuckle, "never minding whether you have two months or twelve to plot the execution."

"You make it sound as if--"

"Bilbo, you're restless," Gandalf said firmly, catching Bilbo's free hand with his own against the grass.

Bilbo's heart skipped a beat. "I don't understand what--"

Gandalf hushed him, squeezed his fingers. "I don't know what it is I see, but whatever it is, I can only hope that it's the best thing for you and Frodo both."

Bilbo blinked and set his pipe aside. "Gandalf?"

The wizard regarded him thoughtfully, did not blink for long moments. "Hmmm, most interesting. That you don't quite know yourself..."

Bilbo looked at their hands and swallowed. Well, he did know what Gandalf had said. He had been restless for quite some time, there was no changing that. Frodo had been restless in his own right, but at least there was a reason. As far as Bilbo could see, for himself--well, there was none. Not beyond age and wanting, wanting to see--

"I suppose I'd like to go wandering again, before I'm unable," Bilbo heard himself say.

Gandalf nodded slowly, taking a thoughtful puff on his pipe. "Would you, now?"

"Yes. I suppose I would. I miss...I miss the mountains, the way it felt to..."

Bilbo gestured vaguely, blowing another ring as if to illustrate his nebulous point.

"I know, Bilbo," Gandalf sighed, watching the ring drift down and over the hill with pensive eyes. "I suppose there's something to it after all."

But what it was and what Gandalf meant by it, Bilbo couldn't say, so he lay back again and watched the first stars glimmer into view.

* * *

Pervinca should have known from the first tug at her skirts that the evening was getting off on the wrong foot. Pippin had appeared out of nowhere; likely he had slipped away from his appointed nurse while she responded to some call (or flirt) or another. At any rate, there he was, blinking up at her with bright eyes and an expectant smile.

"Where's the dancing, Vinca?"

"It hasn't started yet," she murmured, fishing for Pippin's hand and clutching it instinctively as she scanned the crowd. She spotted Merry and Everard down by the ale tables. The two of them were already engaged in raucous laughter with those friends of Frodo's. Frodo himself was behind the tables, seated on the grass with his servant. Oh, there was no doubt about them: Pervinca bit back a conclusive hmph as she watched Frodo lean over, quick as a blink, and press a kiss to Sam's lips. She supposed that she and Pippin were the only ones sober enough to notice, anyway. And perhaps Merry, whether he was sober or not. Oh, Merry didn't miss a thing. Not at all. When next she looked in his direction, he was waving--no, beckoning.

I can't! Pervinca mouthed, jabbing a finger down at Pippin, who was also waving enthusiastically.

Merry waved back, then flashed a helpless look at Pervinca, shrugging. Bring him down.

Pervinca opened her mouth, then closed it, heart aflutter. How could she--

"Mum!" Pippin squeaked, making a dive for Pervinca's skirts.

"Quiet!" Pervinca hissed, grabbing him by the shoulders and steering them off through the crowd just as Eglantine swept past them, waving energetically at their Aunt Violet over a handful of others.

I have no choice, Pervinca thought grimly. She pushed Pippin along at a steady pace and didn't stop until they almost ploughed into Merry's back, caught by an unexpected whirl from a tipsy couple's vigorous response to the ensemble's suddenly-struck prelude.

"Merry!" Pippin cried. "The dance is starting, isn't it?"

Merry yanked his hand away from Everard and crouched down in front of Pippin. "Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. Would you be a good lad and go sit with cousin Frodo and watch me take Vinca for a spin? I think that he and Sam are sitting this one out."

Pippin scowled. "That's not fair. I want to dance."

"I'm afraid--you can't," Merry said distractedly, glancing up at Pervinca, desperate for help. "The first one's for...for tweenagers onl--"

"You're not a tween! Neither is Vinc--"

"We're close enough," Pervinca said breathlessly, shooing Pippin off in Frodo's direction.

"Fine," Pippin said softly, and Pervinca watched till she was sure that Frodo wouldn't send him right back. She cringed and mouthed sorry and was met with a patient go on from Frodo. Sam didn't seem to have much of an opinion; his ale was suddenly very interesting.

"Vinca, would you like to?" Merry asked politely, extending his arm.

Everard cleared his throat. "I thought we were all--"

"This isn't lines yet, Ev. Why don't you find Berilac and give her something to smile about?"

Everard frowned. "I suppose I will. Is this the only--"

"Yes, and there will be another at closing, and if you don't find Berilac now, I expect you'll have the sense to find her by then," Merry said with a charming smile, and Pervinca understood, oh, understood why Everard had not one more word of protest after. "Come on," Merry urged her, tugging her out to where other couples already spun and clapped in gleeful circles.

Pervinca looked uncertainly after Everard, then nodded. Merry tilted his head, leaned close to her ear.

"Don't worry about him. He'll get his chance soon enough. Sometimes"--Merry broke off with a sharp laugh--"I think I've given him one too many."

Pervinca lowered her eyelashes as Merry set one hand upon her waist and took up her hand in his other. "It's none of my business," she said softly, and began to move with him.

Merry laughed again. "Oh, but it is--Pippin's probably complained to you, hasn't he?"

Pervinca looked up steadily. "About Everard..."

Merry spun her skillfully and pulled her closer on the next wheeling turn. "Yes, who else?"

Pervinca gave Merry a half smile. "He has."

"I just--well, I wish he were kinder," Merry said hesitantly, and Pervinca noticed that one of the ribbons along the waist of her bodice was tangled in Merry's fingers. Oh, but he was worried about something. There was no other explanation for--

"And, you know, if he had any younger siblings, I suppose me might understand--"

Pervinca covered his hand with her own and rubbed it soothingly. "Merry," she said with a laugh, "you haven't any younger siblings."

"No," Merry said shortly, "but as much as you and Pip are about, I might as--"

"Am I as bad as all that?" Pervinca asked before she realized she had said it, and so sharply.

Merry blinked in confusion. "I didn't say--you, Vinca? As bad as...?"

Pervinca felt her cheeks flush, and she led into another turn before Merry could protest that it was the wrong beat. "Nothing."

"No, you said..."

"It doesn't matter; I had no reason to say it. You're dancing with me, after all. Brothers don't like to dance with younger sisters."

Merry opened his mouth, then closed it again. "You're not my sister," he said soberly, and Pervinca wondered if he'd had fewer ales than she assumed after all.

"No," Pervinca said softly, letting her eyes and her hand drift to his shoulder. "No, I'm not."

They finished the opening dance in silence.

* * *

Their pipes had long gone out, by the time darkness was clear and frozen cold overhead and Bilbo's silence and steady breaths reassured Gandalf that the hobbit was truly asleep. The wizard sat up and leaned over, regarding the still figure stretched out on the dew-touched grass.

Gandalf had seen many creatures in his time, and most of them far exceeded this simplicity, this rustic ease and gentle stature. Elves knew no such quirks as oversleeping and waistcoats the color of goldenrod; dwarves knew no such fripperies as pipeweed and three extra meals a day. Even men could not quite equal this whimsy, this wonder in blowing fancies of smoke and starshine. They could not quite equal this hobbit, lying with his pipe abandoned at arm's length, carefree in sleep, the lines of his face far too easy for the advancement of his age.

Gandalf picked up Bilbo's pipe and rose soundlessly, tucking it with his own into a fold of his robe. Carefully, then, he bent and picked up the sleeping hobbit with little more effort and carried him quietly inside.

Bag End lay in darkened quiet, almost as if the smial itself lay wrapped in its own veil of slumber. It was difficult for Gandalf to bend low beneath the arched ceilings with his burden; he narrowly missed the chandelier in the entryway and the matching one in the study. He reached Bilbo's bedroom door at last, found the chamber lacking even the remnant glow of embers that was to be had in the parlor.

Bilbo's bed lay unmade as Gandalf had half expected. So simple to place him upon the mattress without disruption, so easy to draw up the sheet and coverlet with no more force than a breath. Gandalf knew that he would his usual guest room empty, knew that he must stay until dawn.

Bilbo would never have approved of Gandalf's going off without a proper goodbye, after all.

* * *

"I hope we've done the right thing, leavin' him with--"

"Pippin will be fine, Sam. And Pervinca's on her way right this minute."

"Where is he?" Pervinca asked haltingly, brushing at her forehead with the back of her right hand as Merry released her left with a nod equally as breathless. She stood panting for a moment, chasing her breath with shallow gasps.

"He's with Freddy. He has a clearer mind than Folco, at any rate, and it seems Pippin's intent on asking him a few--"

Pervinca's eyes flew wide. "Oh no--"

Frodo frowned. "Is everything--"

"Yes, Frodo. Thank you," Pervinca replied hastily, dashing over to her younger brother and Freddy. Folco wasn't that far away, but he was preoccupied by some acquaintance that Freddy obviously neither knew, nor cared about. Freddy was intent on Pippin's avidly moving mouth, his own still in a frown.

"He's enough to talk anyone from here to Bree, and that's sayin' something."

Frodo squeezed Sam's hand and laughed. "Yes, it is. Now..."

Frodo led Sam down to where the crowd ended, but they didn't stop there. Frodo tugged Sam along until they stood just in front of the musicians. Merry and Everard approached from Frodo's left, and Freddy and Folco were already there, chatting with a few young Brandybucks. Melilot turned her head in response to Merry's pointing and waved. Frodo returned the greeting; Sam ducked his head shyly.

Melilot pushed her partner away playfully, steadying him beside Everard before taking a step back and pulling Merry along with her, each across from their own partner. Folco and Freddy exchanged glances and stepped up beside Melilot and her young man respectively; Frodo turned to a sharp tug at his elbow.

"Here, cousin," Merry said under his breath. "You wouldn't want your darling stuck with Ev when it comes to the switches."

Frodo fell into line beside Merry, letting go of Sam's hand with a reassuring smile as Sam stepped back uncertainly and fell into line beside Everard. Frodo turned his head and whispered, "Why's that?"

Merry sighed, made sure Everard was distracted with exchanging formal glances with Sam as he appeared to be. "You'll find out soon enough. You'll be with him on the switches."

"Thanks," Frodo murmured dryly, turning back to Sam. "Is this all right? Would you rather be back--"

"Wherever you are, and the sound's best here," Sam replied firmly. Frodo heard Merry swallow a chuckle, and Frodo elbowed him as hard as he dared.

"Ladies and gentlehobbits, if you'd be so good as to follow the example of these fine youngsters here, we'll be perfectly obliged to start..."

"Louder, Marmadas!" Merry hollered through his hands, and the laughing applause that ensued only made the poor announcer's case worse.

Frodo cleared his throat and tugged Merry's left arm down. "He has the idea, if I'm not mistaken."

"You're no fun, Frodo. Marmy's wanted to do the calling for years. Now that he's finally gotten his chance, it's my job to see to it that--"

"Shhh," Everard hissed. Frodo looked at Sam and found his lips pursed, as if he'd been about to do the same thing.

"That's it!" Marmadas called, beckoning and encouraging the horde of new participants that sorted themselves into the double rows, stretching out in either direction till Marmadas shouted enough and directed the newcomers to form a second set behind the first.

"Oh, there's a lot!" Merry whispered excitedly, leaning forward a bit and turning his head in either direction. Frodo nodded absently and concentrated on the grass between his toes, on Sam's expectant eyes. "Lucky thing we got down here in time. They may have to start a third..."

"You were right, sir," Sam said softly, tilting his head in either direction.

Frodo blinked. "About--"

"It's mixed-up as fine as you please," Sam said with a grin that was pure delight.

Frodo laughed. "Yes, I told you--"

"Is that everyone?" Marmadas shouted at the top of his lungs. "No stragglers! No singles! Any last pairs?"

There weren't, apparently: the only response was a flurry of hoots and whistles from the onlookers, telling him to get on with it already. Marmadas flushed, waved them off, and turned to the players. "All right, then! For the first set, we'll have--"

"Buckland Reel!" Merry hollered.

"--Meriadoc, if you please, shut up! We'll have the Breeland Weave, and the Buckland Reel will foll--"

"Sod!" Merry yelled in disgust.

"--Not till the last, just for that, Meriadoc!" Marmadas shouted back, and he turned to face the musicians in a single, clean spin. "Right, then! One, two, and--"

* * *

When Sam stepped forward with the first swell of music, Frodo was there to meet him, ready with an arm slipped tight around Sam’s waist and his fingers laced with Sam’s. Sam held on and wheeled the complete circle with Frodo, laughing. He remembered how easily the Weave’s first figure always caught Marigold off guard.

"You’ve a sharper memory than my sister, and no skirts to trip on," Sam murmured close to Frodo’s ear before they separated and swung back into place, only to join hands with the hobbits to either side and dip forward with a bow and a kick. Frodo’s reply was almost lost beneath Marmadas’ fiddling.

"An improvement, I should hope?"

Sam hooked arms with Frodo just in time to peel into the switch. "In more ways than one..." A breath later, Sam was where Everard had been, and Merry’s arm was around him a beat early.

"Hullo, Sam," Merry greeted cheerfully, clearly intent upon showing up Frodo’s footwork as they turned.

"Mr. Merry," Sam said politely, letting go a beat early.

"Is Frodo treating you well? If he isn’t, I’m sure that Father would be happy to--"

"He is, and even if he weren’t, that would be Mr. Bilbo’s business, wouldn’t it?" Sam chided earnestly, but there was laughter in his voice, and he could see it reflected in Merry’s eyes, feel it in the sound-filled motion around them.

"I suppose so--but you tell me if he does you wrong, all the same," Merry said with a wink, hooking their elbows, and before Sam knew it, he was back in Frodo’s arms.

"Is Merry giving you trouble? If he is, I’ll--"

Sam laughed so hard that he nearly forgot what came next. "Oh, but if you two haven’t got it in for each other!" Sam leaned close enough to brush cheeks with Frodo before falling back, back into the clasp of hands and dizzying forward motion.

Simple, then, to give up speech and give over to the music entirely. Sam reckoned that it wasn’t so bad, having to meet Mr. Merry’s teasing eyes switch after switch, for sooner than not, it meant he’d see Frodo’s again, dear and bright and dancing all on their own. Frodo was, Sam supposed, a Brandybuck in his own right that evening, all laughter and nimble grace. And as each spin brought them closer and closer, Sam wondered if he could survive hours of this, hours of Frodo’s eyes and touch and breath in a whirl saying this is what loving you does to me, and later, I’ll show you all over again.

In the end, the Weave left Sam only a bit breathless, and while the musicians recovered themselves, he stood and laughed with Frodo and Merry over the dampened state of their shirts, picking at linen and cotton and brocade, not gaining much breath back at all.

"Melilot’s going to find herself a lass to dance with if we don’t straighten up," Merry informed Frodo, sticking his chin cheerfully over his cousin’s shoulder.

Frodo shoved Merry aside by the cheek, absently stroking up Sam’s forearm with his free hand. "I’d advise you to do the same."

Sam looked away from Merry’s consternation, biting his lip hard against some unwarranted addition to the conversation. “Why?” Merry ventured, and Sam thought that Marmadas’ tuning made fine accompaniment.

Frodo looked at Sam expectantly. Sam turned his head hesitantly and whispered, "Because you’re more like to step on Mr. Everard’s skirts than Miss Pervinca’s, begging your pardon!"

Merry snorted. "Aye, Ev’s got the rhythm of a cart pony, if that. If Vinca didn’t have to watch..."

Sam gave the crowd a quick scan and leaned close to Frodo. "She’s alone now. Ought I to tell him?"

"No," Frodo chuckled softly, taking both of Sam’s hands just as Marmadas announced something that Sam had never heard of. "Because that means he’d rush off to find Pippin, and you know that he must be in need of finding."

"I’m more concerned about findin’ my way through this one. I don’t know--"

"You’ll catch it soon enough," Frodo reassured him, and--soon enough--Sam had. Not nearly as fast as the Weave, and the steps a bit simpler, besides. This one was about looking Frodo straight in the eye, no matter how many sharp turns or snaps over the shoulder it took. After countless place-changes and promenades, there they were at the line’s end.

"And that’s it," Frodo said with a shrug, flushed and smiling as he ran his palms down his trousers. "We sit out until--"

"Brat’s on the loose. I thought you should know," Pervinca muttered in passing, leaving a pat on Sam’s shoulder, then Frodo’s. Sam tilted his head, frowning after her.

"D’you suppose we ought to get..."

"Merry’s just about to drop off. She’s waiting for him."

* * *

From his vantage point, Pippin could see everything, but only one thing interested him. The line-dances took forever, and by the time the second had finished, Pippin felt about like what his Mum would surely call cranky, and he was all cramped, besides. He waited until he saw Merry drift away from Everard and over to where Vinca was standing to slide down and make a dash for it. Pippin got tangled in half a dozen ladies’ skirts and tripped nearly as many gentlemen on his way there, but what did it matter? None of them were his parents.

Merry was standing beside Pervinca, and he smiled when Pippin snuck up from behind. Pervinca didn’t seem very happy to see him. "So, you’ve decided to come back?" she asked. Pervinca sounded like their Mum when she was irritated.

"I just wanted to watch for a while," Pippin murmured, scuffing his toes in the grass. He could feel the willow twig safe in his pocket, worried over a dozen times while he had been perched in the tree.

"What did you see?" Merry asked.

"Saw you dancing," Pippin replied sullenly.

Merry frowned and chewed his lip. "Didn’t--didn’t it make you happy?"

"I told you before, I want to dance."

Pervinca made an exasperated sound. "Merry, why don’t you--"

"You can dance with me after I’ve danced with Vinca."

Pippin scowled. "Again?"

"It’s a different kind of dance," Merry said firmly.

"Then I get two dances, too," Pippin insisted.

"All right," Merry agreed.

"Both after Vinca."

"In a row?" Everard cut in from one side, striding up with some ale. "Don’t you think you ought to give your poor cousin a rest, after all that?"

"A rest from what?" Pippin asked. "He won’t get tired. He’s not a baby!"

Everard fixed Pippin with a bemused grin. "I know."

Before Pippin realized exactly what had happened, Everard’s tankard was on the ground and he was half doubled over, rubbing his arm where Merry had punched him.

"What did I say about--"

"I remember--what--you said," Everard gasped, and Pippin stared in fascination as Everard fought to blink back tears. Merry must have hit him hard.

"You could have fooled me, whatever it was," Pervinca said dryly, but she fell silent when Merry gave her a warning look.

Everard stood up straight, still rubbing his arm. “If you’d seen to it that your brother was taken care of, we wouldn’t have this--”

Pippin flinched and backed into his sister’s skirts as Merry took another swing and stopped just short of Everard’s other arm. He was glaring. In fact, Pippin had never seen Merry so angry in his life.

"I’ll dance with them all night if I like," Merry said softly and backed away. "You’re lousy at it, anyway, and I’m not the only one to say so, if it’s any consolation."

Everard’s features seemed to collapse and harden all at once. "Fine, then. Do."

Pippin felt Pervinca’s fingers tighten on his shoulder as Everard walked stiffly away. "Merry," she said with care, "you didn’t have to--"

"Yes, I did," Merry said steadily, and turned around. He was grinning.

Pippin slid his fingers into his pocket and grinned right back.

* * *

"Pippin’s about to keel over," Frodo remarked softly, his breath coming with an effort. They had danced the Weave again, but at a quicker pace. Pippin had danced a full set before that, too, and he clung hard to Merry’s hands as if he expected to be dragged off the green.

"That’s a lot for him, and he kept up, too." Sam nodded in agreement and brushed Frodo’s hair back from his forehead. Frodo closed his eyes at the touch. "Don’t tell me you’re done in, too, me dear," Sam added softly, stroking Frodo’s wrist and pressing the hand to his heart.

Frodo opened his eyes, dazed with thoughts of shedding both damp clothing and the exhaustion of constant movement. "One more," Frodo said.

Sam allowed Frodo to tug him back into line, frowning uncertainly. "That means we’d miss the last--supposin’ we just sat a couple out, and then--"

"No, I’d rather..." Frodo trailed off and twined their fingers, clasping Sam’s hands firmly between them.

Sam smiled and squeezed back firmly. "I like it when you’d rather."

Frodo burst into laughter and glanced in Merry’s direction. "Sam, if he heard--"

"My dear hobbits, if you please!" Marmadas cried brusquely, waving his bow in the dancers’ direction. "Back to your places or leave the floor! It’s quite simple--"

"Would be a lot simpler if you’d just let them play!" Merry hollered, drawing a hum of laughter just as he had before. Frodo noticed that he wasn’t in line, and Pippin now clung to his leg, eyes closed tight. Pervinca stood talking softly with Melilot, her eyes flashing to Merry every so often, calm and hopeful.

Marmadas ignored Merry and gave the downbeat, and the melody took them by surprise.

"It’s too slow," Sam said softly, shifting his grip on Frodo’s hands. He shifted uncertainly, seemed wary of the fact that no one else was moving.

"It’s meant to be," Frodo said. "Just follow..."

Sam did, turning when Frodo turned, marching in slow forward procession as palms touched between them, turning in the opposite direction effortlessly when Frodo whispered turn. For all of the dances that Sam didn’t know, Frodo thought wonderingly, not a soul would notice. And when they turned to face each other once more, Sam’s eyes went wide as Frodo slid an arm around him and the lines broke without warning, no thought to form or place, only pairs in a scattered, unhurried waltz.

"Sir!" Sam whispered, frozen for a moment before allowing Frodo to turn them away from the musicians and off through the others, carried on the simple ebb of strings.

Frodo bent his head close to Sam’s ear and whispered, "It’s all right."

Sam bent closer, too, half shy and half grateful. "I didn’t suppose there’d be--"

Frodo chuckled. "Neither did anyone else."

"Bless Mr. Marmadas!" Sam breathed, a laughing sigh of relief.

Frodo tightened his hold on Sam, and their foreheads touched for a breathless moment. "Aunt Esme sees," Frodo said softly, and Sam’s eyes were wide and candid, so full of trust. "Merry sees. Pervinca sees, probably, and I wouldn’t doubt it if Pippin did, too. That’s beside the point, Sam. I...I really don’t care who..."

Sam’s released his breath tremulously, and the slow creep of his fingers from Frodo’s neck and into his hair made Frodo shiver exquisitely. "Me neither," Sam faltered, "so long as--so long as you--"

"How could I ever mind?" Frodo breathed, and for a moment, he wished that it were already over, wished that they were beneath the stars alone, or that they were tucked away...

"Some things, you’re just...you’re told so many times, that you believe..."

Frodo turned them off to the side, narrowly missing another couple in mid-whirl. "And what’s that, Sam?" he asked, tilting Sam’s chin up.

Sam’s grin about broke Frodo’s heart, that and the hint of tears in his eyes. "That things ain’t proper, but that’s so wide open that it could be anything, I reckon!"

"Dancing with me?" Frodo asked earnestly. "Two lads in a slow-dance?"

Sam shook his head, flustered, and ran his fingers back down to Frodo’s nape, a gentle caress. "Both. Neither. Oh, but it don’t matter, does it..."

"No," Frodo whispered, returning Sam’s timid smile. "Not in the least. Not to me--and certainly not to Peony and whoever that might be," Frodo added with a glance over his shoulder, and before he knew it, Sam was laughing, too.

"Pretty as a picture, though!"

Frodo lifted his head a bit and looked Sam in the eye, fighting a smile, almost challenging. "Oh, is she? Are you suggesting--"

"Statin’ a fact, sir, and so are you, and if I’ve anything to suggest, it’s that we ought to..." Sam stopped and leaned to press a kiss to Frodo’s jaw, and in a moment, their arms were reversed, and Frodo found himself caught more tightly to Sam than he’d been holding Sam himself. "I think you’ve been leadin’ us the wrong way, begging your pardon..."

Frodo could only close his eyes and wind his arms about Sam’s neck and breathe when he had the chance, and knew by the direction and length of their steps that Sam meant for them to break away even before the song was to end, and that anyone watching who could truly see might smile.

* * *

"Are they going where I think they’re going?" Pervinca sighed, running her fingers through Pippin’s hair. His curly head rested in her lap; the boy slept soundly, cradled between herself and Merry on the grass.

Merry grinned at the pair in the distance as they made their way steadily back to the smials. "More likely than not. Either that or Frodo’s shown signs of hunger, or tiring, or anything at all, and Sam has a mind to take care of it."

Pervinca poked him in the side. "You’re just like that, you know."

Merry raised an eyebrow. "I am?"

"With Pippin. You know that, don’t you?"

"I suppose," Merry said, looking down at his hands. "I just hadn’t thought about..."

"Had you thought about any of it?" Pervinca asked gently, ignoring the heat in her cheeks as she reached for Merry’s hand. He blinked at Pervinca’s slowly, then folded it in his own.

"Only about Ev. Letting him go, I mean," Merry said honestly, looking up at Pervinca tentatively.

Pervinca’s throat caught on something bitter and thick. "Why?" she managed, and had to turn away. Merry wouldn’t see her tears. He wouldn’t.

Merry’s hands tightened on Pervinca’s. "Well, because--"

The bitterness melted into a flush of honeyed warmth and trickled down Pervinca’s spine as Merry pressed not one, but two, no, three kisses along her knuckles, then a fourth, a bated breath. The tears were falling now. She didn’t dare--

"Pervinca." Merry’s voice was as broken as she supposed her own would be.

"Merry?" Pervinca turned her head and found that he was just as beautiful even if her vision swam, blurring his chestnut curls and clear eyes, the begging part of his lips.

"Quiet," Merry whispered with a glance down at Pippin.

And then Merry’s arm was about Pervinca’s shoulders and his mouth was against her own, and she could taste his tears, oh, and there’d never been anything half as sweet, and this time, there was no willow, no sunset, and neither of them stopped.

* * *

"Is there anything you need, sir?" Sam whispered as they slipped back the hall, Frodo’s hand held tight in his own. "Something from the kitchens? I’d hate for us to drift off and have you wake hung--"

Frodo stopped beneath one of the candle sconces on the wall, pressed a finger over Sam’s lips and watched the light flicker over his expression. He leaned and kissed Sam’s brow, then trailed down his temple to his cheek, murmuring, "The only thing..."

Sam gasped at the damp brush of Frodo’s lips against his own and nodded fervently. Their mouths clung for a moment, caught on words that murmured without voice or breath. Sam held Frodo’s head still for a kiss and whispered, "Then it’s settled."

Not as settled as Frodo wanted to be, not by far. He guided Sam away from the wall, tugging him the rest of the way. Frodo hadn’t had much use for his old room since leaving Brandy Hall; even on brief visits, the ancient four-poster bed hadn’t served him beyond breaking his exausted fall with a down mattress and fine feather pillows. Frodo flipped the covers down while Sam lingered at the door, worrying over the lock.

"It holds," Frodo reassured him, one hand on the bedpost as Sam tested the knob for good measure. Frodo beckoned impatiently, but there was no need. Sam was beside Frodo before his sigh could turn to words, murmuring his name between quick, gentle kisses. Frodo held Sam’s head at the crook of his neck, closing his eyes with a shiver.

"You’re all warm," Sam breathed, tugging at Frodo’s weskit for a moment before undoing the first button, moving down the line patiently, carefully.

"Yes, that’s...to be expected after..." Frodo wound his fingers in Sam’s hair and swallowed. Sam’s tongue teased a wet circle just below his jaw.

"Not warm enough," Sam gasped, and he unbuttoned Frodo’s shirt much more quickly, parting and tugging it free, palms light against Frodo’s belly, stroking up to his chest.

Frodo managed a tremulous laugh as Sam nibbled down to his collarbone. "And I think you might be too--"

Frodo skimmed his hand down Sam’s front, and Sam forgot whatever it was that he’d wanted to do to Frodo’s throat. They stepped apart for a moment, breathing hard, and Frodo crawled onto the bed, tugging Sam after him.

"Now, if you’re good," Frodo whispered, lips curving into a smile, "I shan’t wake you so early tomorrow." He batted Sam’s hands away and rid himself of his shirt and weskit, and didn’t give Sam any choice regarding the disposal of his own. Frodo cast the garments aside without any care for where they might fall. Sam’s response to fingers danced over his sides was far, far too crucial.

Sam caught Frodo’s wrists and eased him back against the headboard, slid one arm behind his back before crushing their mouths together desperately. Frodo whimpered and tugged at Sam’s belt. If Sam wasn’t about to wait, then neither was he.

"Now," Frodo gasped.

"Mm," Sam agreed absently, and bent for another kiss until Frodo had successfully gotten his breeches undone.

Frodo protested when Sam pulled away, but not for long: he slid down into the pillows, blinking hazily as Sam rolled aside and struggled out of his breeches, then crawled to settle beside Frodo, his fingers tentative over the buttons at Frodo’s waist. Frodo reached and set his hand against Sam’s cheek, threaded his fingers up through his curls. Slower, slow down just a little...

"Frodo," Sam whispered, and from that moment, it was slower somehow, dreamlike--Sam’s fingers almost hesitant as they smoothed his breeches away at last, then tugged them off completely. Frodo opened his eyes, and his vision swam for a moment. Sam leaned over him, one hand stroking at the tender flesh at the crease of Frodo’s thigh. Frodo closed his eyes again, breath welling up into a moan. "Frodo," Sam said again, whispering this time. His hand slid lower, caressing fondly.

"Come here, Sam," Frodo whispered, licking his lips. His mouth felt dry. He wanted--oh, he needed--

Sam pressed up close beside him, against him, tangling their limbs with a quiet cry of welcome. Frodo gasped and found Sam’s mouth again, delving carefully, finding the finest delicacy in all the world, the taste of Sam on his tongue. They paused after long moments, mouths pressed flushed to each other’s cheeks, breathing shallowly, resting. How stillness strung with tense, heated aching come to be so sweet--

"Am I..." Frodo fought for breath, but he couldn’t find it.

"You’re burning up," Sam whispered, and he kissed Frodo’s forehead.

It took so little--another kiss, a languid shift as Frodo pulled Sam closer. The heat between them burst and flooded, every last bit of tense exhaustion, every last cadence left unspun. Frodo buried his cry against Sam’s shoulder, grappling blindly; he hadn’t meant...

...but then, perhaps it was enough that he’d simply held on, called out, given in. Sam was already still and trembling, holding him, with him. Frodo shuddered and drew a single breath; it was enough to turn his head and nuzzle Sam’s jaw, murmur how much, how much...

"Oh, I can’t say," Frodo breathed. He stroked at Sam’s hair with weak fingers and set his other hand in an unsteady slide down Sam’s back. "If I could somehow--"

"You have," Sam murmured and pressed his lips breathlessly to Frodo’s ear. "And you do, every single..."

"Oh, Sam."

And there was nothing more to be said than that, nothing more than a yawning sigh and the slow, welcome trickle of sleep.

* * *

Merry closed his bedroom door as quietly as he could. He turned in the hall to find Pervinca waiting. "Will he be all right?" she asked. "Are you sure you don't want me to take him to Mum?"

"He's no trouble," Merry said, reaching for Pervinca's hand. "I kept him last night; he didn't kick."

"No," Pervinca said with a half smile. "He's a sound sleeper, but that's the only time he's ever..."

Merry drew a breath and tilted his cousin's chin up, studying her in the fractured candlelight. "I hadn't realized--I mean, I had--but I hadn't thought..." Merry struggled for words, and he gave up and let his fingers skim don her jawline instead. They kissed awkwardly, a soft laugh muffled between them.

"I had," Pervinca said proudly, chin set high as Merry drew away. "About you, I mean. It's...impossible to miss, and I'm quite afraid some part of Pippin knows that." This, she hadn't meant to say, and she pressed a hand over her mouth too late.

Merry looked thoughtful for a moment, but it was soon replaced by a charming grin--even the one she'd hoped for earlier that day, or very close to it. Merry pulled something out of his pocket and held it up. "He's young, Vinca. It'll likely pass--he hasn't got any brothers to look up to. And how am I to worry about such a thing when"--Merry made a gesture at Pervinca and smiled even wider--"and he carries twigs about in one pocket and stones about in the other."

Pervinca's heart quivered at the sight of the willow branch in Merry's hand, but she said nothing except, "Did you take the stones out, too?"

Merry nodded, and when he leaned to kiss her cheek, it was enough to dispel her sadness. Almost. She took his hands, and the bit of willow took a careless fall. Pervinca pulled away for a moment and bent to retrieve it.

Merry held out a hand and helped her up. "Vinca, we'll miss the last--"

"We won't," she said softly, tucking the bit of willow into the ribbon about her waist. "Not if we go now."

"Then, let's." Merry held out his arm this time, and Pervinca took it without a moment's hesitation.

--end--