"In Tuckborough, sir?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Frodo replied, hardly looking up from his careful penning of a reply addressed to the Thain himself. "Have a look, if you like. The letter's right there."

Sam abandoned the rag with which he'd been dusting a bookshelf across the study and cautiously approached Frodo's desk. Usually, he was quite mindful not to stir or look at the papers invariably scattered all over it, not unless it bore an obvious resemblance to one of Mr. Frodo's translations or poems, in which case he might admit to hastily skimming his eyes over the delicate, precisely accented runes and tucking them back into the nearest book for safekeeping. Sam had never been invited to freely peruse Frodo's correspondence, let alone was he ever mentioned. As far as Sam knew, leastaways.

Sam stepped up beside Frodo and brushed his fingers tentatively along the curl of parchment. "This one, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo finished a line and dipped his quill with a sharp tap. "Yes, Sam," he said with a smile, waving the feather absently in Sam's direction. "Go on. I severely doubt that Uncle Paladin's in the habit of writing anything of secret or serious import in his invitations. Although he's certainly hoping that they will be taken quite seriously. This is the first year in at least ten that I shall make it back to Great Smials for Afteryule festivities, and I hope..."

Sam let Frodo's voice fade out, eyes running pensively over the page. It were an invitation, all right, and done up in a hand as jovial as the gentlehobbit that penned it, Sam warranted. Any and all guests who chose to attend--yes, a second blink proved that he'd read it aright--would be perfectly welcome to stay on for the remainder of the week, even beyond Afteryule eve! Sam set the paper back down; he could see the last lines plain enough. They were scratched out in a fashion he might call childish if his master weren't within earshot. It named both Frodo and himself as designated guests and claimed almost petulantly that the writer would be most offended if they didn't show up with bells on before the clock struck noon on Second Yule.

"...that you will join me," Frodo finished, glancing sidelong at Sam. "It's a lonesome journey, and I'm certain that I'll be able to convince your Gaffer that there's plenty to be learned of the Took's own gardeners, midwinter though it may be."

Sam opened and closed his mouth. "Sir..." I want to, I do! "But--"

Frodo put his quill down and cast another glance up at Sam, this one not unlike a look that Mr. Pippin himself might conjure after finishing off Frodo's current finest vintage. "You won't disappoint Pippin, will you?"

"The only thing to disappoint Mr. Pippin, beggin' your pardon, would be Mr. Merry's absence."

"Merry's already there," Frodo said matter-of-factly, tapping a smaller letter rolled up to his left side. "He tells me that Pippin insisted he be there in time for First Yule, and far before noon, at that."

Sam snorted. "First Yule's nigh a week off."

"Yes, well," Frodo murmured, resuming his quill with another tap, "Merry's learned his lesson where incurring Tookish wrath is concerned. Repeatedly." Frodo cast another meaningful glance at Sam before setting his pen back to his own parchment, almost hesitantly.

Sam shifted and sputtered, "Sir, my Gaffer thinks--"

"Nothing so fine of Tooks as he thinks of Bagginses, I know," Frodo said firmly, glancing up fully this time, heedless of the ink spot forming beneath the point of his quill. "Ah, but Sam--for a taste of this year's Tookland Stout, then, wouldn't you consider--"

That was more than enough. Sam reached behind Frodo and grabbed his left wrist, gently lifting it from the smudged paper. "I'll go for you, sir, and no other reason, whether that means Mr. Pippin's dissatisfaction or no."

"He'll be quite satisfied," Frodo said with a disarming half smile, "so long as we keep the real reason for your coming just between us." He looked at Sam's hand on his wrist thoughtfully, as if considering to write the gesture down.

Sam cleared his throat and let go abruptly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo. Just so that spot didn't grow any more'n..."

Frodo dropped the quill and took hold of Sam's hand in one swift movement, before Sam could pull away. He squeezed Sam's hand gently, by now smiling in full. "Thank you," Frodo said.

Sam tugged his hand away with a nod and a softly mumbled you're welcome, and went back to his dusting and tried not to think about how much finer the soft skin of Frodo's wrist had felt than even the square of worn cambric that accumulated dust beneath his steady swipes over the hardwood shelf.

* * *

"If I hear you've been assumin' on Tooks as ever you have upon Bagginses, son, then you'll be hearin' bells till the end of spring." The Gaffer gripped his mug just a bit tighter for emphasis, but Sam knew that the glint in his father's eye permitted a shared chuckle.

"I promise, Dad," Sam said soberly, brushing his own best mug out with a dishrag before stuffing it carefully inside and slipping the mug into his pack with a sturdy thunk. "And Mr. Frodo's plannin' to stay on no more'n a few days, so you needn't worry about--"

"Mind you look out for him, Samwise," the Gaffer said evenly, draining the rest of his ale and tapping some stray ash from his pipe into the empty mug. "Among them wild folk, there's no tellin' what fancies they might put into him that ain't already there to begin with, if you take my meaning."

"Yessir," Sam sighed, slinging his pack over one shoulder. "You've said plenty that there ought to be a dozens more elf-tales flyin' about the Great Smial than ever there was at Bag End. Not that I'd mind overmuch," Sam added tentatively, hoping that his edge of you've got to be joking weren't over the top. It made him uneasy when his Gaffer said such things, and not a little indignant on Mr. Frodo's behalf. His master's head was on straighter than old Mr. Bilbo's ever was, certainly!

"It ain't no laughin' matter, mark me," the Gaffer warned. "You remember your place, and that's seein' to Mr. Frodo. To your manners, Samwise."

"I'll pack 'em with my clothes, Dad," Sam muttered with a wave over his shoulder as he turned to make for his bedroom. "We'll be fine if you'd quit worryin' to no end!"

"There's no end of things to quit worryin' for, my lad! Never you forget it's Tuckborough you're headed for. Mighty strange ways, they've got at them Smials. Mighty strange indeed," the Gaffer called sternly, but Sam was already busy with shoving a change or two of clothes into his pack and recalling the sound of Frodo's voice in musical recitation from the evening before.

They would be departing early enough to miss First Yule entire.

* * *

The inn was a small one, but plenty comfortable. Sam hung back next to the entrance while Frodo made arrangements with the stout, undeniably Tookish proprietor and appraised their surroundings with a quick sweep of his eyes. Already the speech about them had changed, syllables tangled in a lilting dance of sometimes indecipherable peculiarity. Sam looked away when the two gentlehobbits smoking and conversing before the hearth glanced warily in his direction.

"Travelin' for the holiday, are you?"

Sam blinked a few times before he could sort out the phrase that the younger of the two had uttered, let alone realize that it was aimed at him. "Oh! I--"

"Have you got family here, then?"

Sam blinked at the elder of the two and stammered, "No, sir."

"Ah, but I have," Frodo interjected cordially, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Frodo crossed over to him, winking while his back was to the pair in front of the fire. He placed a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder and called back over his own, "I've come in answer to an Afteryule invitation, and I've brought the best company I could find."

Sam hoped desperately that he hadn't taken too severely to blushing while the younger gentlehobbit crowed, "I've got 'em now, Toddy! They're up from Bywater, they are."

"Nay," Toddy answered severely, about to match Frodo's barely contained laughter with his own. "My guess is a finer stock than that, right out of Hobbiton proper, though this one's got Brandybuck runnin' in his veins, or I'll hop headfirst into the Brandywine!"

"Too true, my dear fellows," Frodo said with a rueful grin and a courteous nod, "but I swear on my Took-blood that you'll find it much too cold for your liking. If you don't mind, we're much worse for want of warming and a rest ourselves, so we'll be off." Frodo patted his pocket, and Sam heard the soft clink of keys. "Good night!"

Sam followed Frodo around to the opposite side of the counter, and they hadn't gotten halfway up the softly-lit flight of stairs when a loud guffaw filled with a string of nonsense ending succinctly on Baggins reached their ears. Frodo paused, hanging onto the railing for dear life while he laughed. Sam stopped behind him and muttered, "If they know enough to recognize you, then they ought to know enough for showin' proper respect!"

Frodo turned around to face Sam, his eyes catching bright and pale for a moment in the candlelight. Somehow, they still weren't glory enough to match his sweet, tired smile. For a moment, Sam forgot why they stood in a cramped stairwell, but didn't mind the circumstances one bit, what with that dear, lively face so close to his own.

"If they've just realized that they're family, then chances are, they assume that a bit of familiarity never hurt. I do hope you'll forgive them, Sam," Frodo chuckled softly.

Sam blinked again, and that was entirely too many times for his liking. "I--sir?"

Frodo chuckled again and reached for Sam's hand unexpectedly, sending prickles across his palm and fingertips. "You're tired, Sam. Come along."

The room was small, too, but it held everything that a reasonable hobbit seeking shelter for a single night might wish for, except--

"There's only one bed, sir," Sam blurted before his pack hit the floor.

Frodo let his own pack fall and stretched with a groan. "If you're a fitful sleeper, Sam, then I'd be more than willing to take the floor."

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam gasped. "You're the one as deserves a mattress, so I'll just go ask--"

"I so tired that I doubt I'll kick, Sam--" Frodo paused, cutting himself off with a hasty glance to the single window, as if thinking better of what he'd just said. "That is, if you don't mind sharing. I certainly shan't. I'm far too tired to go badgering the poor gentleman for a change, besides..."

"It's been cold," Sam said hastily, turning to busy himself with putting another log on the already crackling fire. "So just you slip on into bed, and I promise I'll not disturb--"

"The fire's fine, Sam," Frodo murmured.

Sam set the log down and turned to find Frodo already stripped down to his shirtsleeves and breeches, braces carelessly tossed onto a nearby chair. His eyes were dark now, heavy with either pensiveness or sleep. Sam told himself firmly that it was the latter and rose to his feet. He padded over to the bed and slipped out of his weskit while Frodo pulled down the covers. He heard the mattress sag beneath Frodo's weight, heard the whisper of fine fabric against clean sheets as Frodo shifted to get comfortable. Sam dropped his braces on top of his weskit; he couldn't think clearly enough to set them away someplace. He sat on the edge of the mattress tentatively and slid beneath the covers, rolling over carefully to make sure that...

Frodo lay watching him with content, heavy-lidded eyes, face half hidden in the overstuffed cradle of his pillow. "Good night, Sam," he breathed, no more than a whisper as his eyes drifted shut.

Good night, sir, Sam thought, and realized that his breath was so far gone that he'd be lucky if sleep found him at all.

* * *

Sam stretched and nestled closer into his pillow, reveling in the feather-softness beneath the warm, clean linen crushed to his cheek. He didn't dare open his eyes, not yet. Sam was still half asleep, besides, and that sort of lazy comfort was hard to come by, especially under his Gaffer's roof. He shifted and curled closer to the warmth pressed up along his side. Besides, Mr. Frodo knew best when they ought to take to the road again, and if Frodo weren't awake, then--

Sam froze, eyes flying wide. He could feel Frodo's back pressed warm and solid to his upper arm and shoulder, and the gentle contractions of slumbering breath had lulled him, soothed him so that he hardly noticed the softer fullness cushioning his hip, the stretch of Frodo's thigh against his own, the back of Frodo's heel teasing at his shin...

Sam swallowed and lay utterly still. He ought to roll away, of course, and they'd hardly meant to end up like that, what with rolling in their sleep. Sam cursed himself silently; he ought to've thought of it the night before. If he tried to move, then he might wake Frodo from his deep, sorely needed rest. After a long, breathless moment, Sam shifted against his will, turning his head away from the silken tickle against his forehead. Frodo's curls were close enough that Sam could smell the traces of what soap Frodo must have used to bathe before they departed. And for violet, it seemed sweeter than it ought, but as mingled as it was with sweat and the faint, familiar traces of Frodo himself, and with woodsmoke from the hearth...

Sam's breath scattered with the warm, leisurely flush in his belly, the loosening in his limbs that urged him to curl closer to Frodo, to take comfort in something that he could scarce put a name to. Peace or ease, perhaps--the simple, familiar pleasure of Frodo's closeness in those moments when it was so freely given that Sam found himself wondering if Frodo even realized that he had given it. Sam bit his lip and rolled away; another moment or two of thoughts on nonsense like encircling Frodo's wrist with his fingers or the featherlight touch of Frodo's fingers to the back of his own hand and he might--

"Sam." Frodo's voice was low and soft, thick with sleep. He shifted until he faced Sam, whose quick movement had left barely an arm's length between them. Frodo blinked slowly, his eyes unfocused and gentle on Sam's, almost concerned. "Did you sleep well?"

Sam nodded mutely, letting his eyes drift half shut. If his cheeks had colored, then he hoped that it seemed as the blush of a long night tucked within overwarm covers, rather than...

"So did I," Frodo murmured, his lips parting on an unexpected yawn. Sam opened his eyes enough to watch Frodo's close again, to watch Frodo stretch with a lazy smile, nestling close into his pillow as Sam had done. "I could stay here all day."

"A fine thought, sir, but even if we're minded to sleep, we'd best be on the road in time enough to reach the Great Smial by noon," Sam said, sitting up with a hurried stretch as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Don't you forget that Mr. Pippin--"

"Oh, bother Pippin!" Frodo chuckled into his pillow, but he sat up with unexpected swiftness, stretching in such a way that Sam found he had to close his eyes again, lest he end up staring. "But you're right, Sam. We had best leave soon, or else we'll miss second breakfast on our way out!"

Sam simply nodded in reply, returning Frodo's smile with a small one of his own, lest Frodo's fair brow should crinkle in return. Sam extracted himself from the covers and climbed out of bed, grimacing at the wrinkled state of his shirt and trousers. He felt the brief weight of Frodo's eyes upon his back and turned without thinking. Frodo was standing now, too, examining his own garments with a look quite similar to how Sam felt.

"You're right, Sam. A change is certainly in order," Frodo said wryly, reaching for his pack.

Sam breathed out, relieved by the need to chuckle, to share this. "Unless you're keen on Mr. Pippin finding some cause for a tease, which I'm..." Sam trailed off, realizing a bit too late that what he'd said sounded wrong, all wrong.

Frodo recovered the awkward beat of silence with another soft laugh. He flipped the covers up over the empty pillows and said, "I'm sure you're not, Sam, but should he find some reason for harassment, I can assure you that I have far more offenses in my memory for turning against him."

Sam paused in the middle of extricating some fresh clothes from his pack and murmured, "I'm sure that you do, sir."

"Cheer up, Sam," Frodo said gently, and Sam froze as he rounded the end of the bed, coming up behind Sam with his own clothes draped over his arm. "We're not going to be late, and there's no reason for you to worry over my cousins' sharp tongues. That's my job," Frodo added ruefully, and before Sam could turn around to respond, he was already halfway through the washroom door. He paused for a moment and blinked at Sam, almost as if to apologize, and said, "Unless you'd rather take--?"

"No. Go on, sir," Sam mumbled, bending to retrieve his braces from the floor.

They dressed quickly and gathered up their things, making it downstairs just in time to catch the gentlehobbits from the evening before in the midst of their own second breakfast. Frodo graciously accepted their invitation to join, and Sam spent most of his time listening to the exchange of greetings and gossip. Though, Sam nearly dropped his fork when Frodo deferred to him on the matter of the most recent goings-on at the Green Dragon.

"Well, I--I reckon it's mostly the same, sir, if you say you 'twas Overlithe last you stopped by," Sam said hesitantly, addressing the elder Took. "There's no more trouble than there ought to be, and no more peace, neither, by Sandyman's way of thinking."

"You keep the old rascal in his place, I'm guessin'," the gentlehobbit chuckled, and much to Sam's consternation, there was a toast of clinking teacups in affirmation.

"He does, at that," Frodo murmured, smiling at Sam over the rim of his cup as he took a sip in recognition.

* * *

It was nigh on noon when the winding, upward slope of the road that took them through patch after patch of woods interspersed with gently rolling hills of farmland and the occasional modest house split at a crossroads, at which they took the broader and most worn of the two.

"This takes us directly to Paladin's front door, more or less," Frodo commented, his breath sending delicate puffs into the chilled air as they toiled up the steepest hill that they had yet come to. "With the time we're making, all things considered, Pippin ought to have no complaints whatsoever," Frodo added, glancing sidelong at Sam with a grin.

"I was only seein' to it that we arrive timely, sir," Sam replied earnestly, ignoring the blush that wanted to come rushing right back at the remembrance of that morning. "If you've need of more rest, then I hope they'll have sense enough to let you retire for a while, begging your pardon."

"Alas, no," Frodo chuckled, reaching to clap Sam on the shoulder. "I'm afraid that luncheon will be first on the agenda, and that followed by an inordinate amount of smoking and talking. You may have to prevent me from going hoarse, Samwise--just a nudge and I'll go quiet, I swear it."

Sam turned his head to look at Frodo and frowned. "But, sir--dinner will be a much bigger affair, what with it bein' Second Yule and all. You'll need your strength for certain, and surely they wouldn't deny you a rest after such a long tramp as we've made!"

Frodo's eyes softened to match his smile. "Supposing that I were to insist that you need your rest every whit as much?"

Sam glanced away, smiling against his will. "A fine bit of vengeance, I suppose, but seeing as I slept so well, I'd just be like to lie awake all restless till afternoon tea came about!"

"I'm glad that you did, Sam."

Sam blinked, as Frodo's response didn't quite echo his teasing train of thought. "Sir?"

"Sleep well, Sam," Frodo murmured, glancing ahead once more. "I did, too."

They exchanged scarcely another word until the most recent copse of trees that the road had led them into broke suddenly into fields that seemed to stretch for miles ahead, and against the horizon--hills, hills even farther than Sam had imagined them. Smoke rose from the Great Smials' myriad chimneys at a leisurely pace, painting the icy white sky with curling dashes of grey. Just ahead, the road split into three branches, and as far as Sam could tell, those branches split and wound as they were wont, winding their way up into the hills like so many dusty-colored snakes, dipping and hiding and appearing again ere they reached the distance.

"This way, Sam," Frodo said.

Sam followed Frodo up the path that stayed straightest, the one in the middle. Wouldn't have expected it if you hadn't said it, Sam thought, but Frodo proved his words true soon enough. No more than a handful of steps till the path narrowed and took a gentle turn, and Sam found himself halted beside Frodo, staring.

"The Old Took never heard the end of it from our Buckland kin, I'm told, when he put in that door," Frodo chuckled, clapping Sam on the shoulder. Sam allowed Frodo's touch to guide him the remaining short distance to the very thing that mesmerized him so: the door set into the high embankment was twice as large as it ought to be, by Sam's way of thinking, and carved so minutely that it made his head hurt if he tried to sort out what was what in the sprawling tapestry of a design. "It was a joke," Frodo continued, stepping up to the bell-pull and giving a good yank. "The Bucklanders honestly didn't think that Gerontius had use for such a thing. The mathom of mathoms, if you will."

"Oh, I will," Sam muttered, tracing the progress of a vine through a windmill, four trees, and about the handle of a pipe with his finger before giving up. "A less than sensible bit o' finery, I've never seen! The wood's so dark that you can't tell one thing from another, and that's assumin' you can't to begin with."

Frodo laughed. "I couldn't agree with you more, Sam, but you'll find that the Tooks are a stubborn lot, and--oh, it's about time!"

Sam let his hand drop to his side, quickly backing a few steps behind Frodo. The patter of feet from behind the ridiculous edifice reached their ears clear and sure. Several sets of them, from the sound of things. By the time Sam had a clear enough idea to guess, the door swung inward with a creak such as he'd never heard in his life.

"You're late, Frodo," said Peregrin Took, leaning out so far that he might topple onto the doorstep nose first. "It's half past noon. I oughtn't let you in, you know."

"Surely you must forgive us, Pippin," Frodo said, sounding falsely contrite. "You hardly expected us to make such a journey without resting and a bite to eat, did--"

Pippin clucked his tongue and shook his head, sighing heavily. "My dear cousin, you had fair warning! My invitation quite expressly stated--"

"Your invitation?" came an impressive roar from behind Pippin, and judging by the even more impressive cringe on Pippin's face, Sam could safely guess that it was the Thain himself. Frodo laughed aloud as Pippin was yanked from the threshold, and Sam blinked several times as the door swung open fully. A bright-eyed lady with a graying spill of auburn curls swept over one shoulder stood there gesturing them inside, her lips pursed on an apologetic noise. Paladin stood to the opposite side, panting as Pippin struggled against the arm held forcefully behind his back. None of them looked particularly proud of the whole fuss, Sam thought, but then again, they didn't look properly ashamed, neither.

Frodo gestured to Sam briefly, then stepped up to meet the lady without hesitation, kissing her on both cheeks. "Eglantine, I believe you've rescued us from a dreadfully long day of standing out in the cold. Master Gamgee and I thank you."

"Ma'am," Sam murmured, bowing hastily, trying his best not to stare at the decadence of the parlor that he had just stepped into. There were more silver candlesticks than he'd ever seen in his life, and if he wasn't mistaken, those were mirrors over the mantelpiece, reflecting a dozen or so strange objects that he'd have to ask Frodo about later. Even the tiles beneath his feet were stamped this way and that with flowered designs that had at least a bit more sense than the door now being closed behind them. Lily, tulip, daffodil, violet--

"Samwise, lad, how's your old Gaffer?"

Sam stood up and nodded at Paladin, a bit flustered. It was hard to look him straight in the eye while Pippin was still struggling against the hold that his father had on his arm. "He--He's been fine, sir. Ain't a thing gettin' to him this winter, 'less it's his knees."

"Ah, good, good!" Paladin exclaimed, turning his gaze on Frodo. "And you, Frodo Baggins, are as good as your word, never mind my son's nonsense."

Pippin huffed and struggled with renewed fervor. "Da!--"

"Oh, for pity's sake. Welcome back," Paladin sighed, glancing at Frodo with a look not unlike his wife's. He let go of Pippin's arm with a sigh.

"We've missed you, Frodo!" Pippin nearly knocked Frodo over with the enthusiasm of his embrace, and Sam had to step back, lest Frodo run into him and send them all toppling. "About that invitation, well, that part was mine, an' I still say you're late. We've had to delay luncheon."

"In which case, I'm truly sorry!" Frodo reassured Pippin, squeezing him briefly before letting go and straightening his jacket. Frodo removed his cloak and turned to Sam, holding a hand out expectantly. "Paladin, if we might..."

"Yes, of course," Paladin murmured, clapping his hands. "Adalfons!" he called over his shoulder, "If you'd come and take these cloaks..."

Sam struggled out of his own cloak and grabbed Frodo's hastily. "Mr. Frodo, I'll make sure these--"

"Yes, yes, come along!" Pippin cried tugging a bewildered Frodo away from Sam by his shoulders. "Merry's already at the table, silly prat; he wouldn't leave, so I made him promise to keep us spots with him and Freddy--"

"Freddy's here?" Frodo looked as if he didn't know which to respond to first, the unexpected presence of a friend or Pippin's sudden rush to move him along.

Sam found himself staring at the hobbit who must be Adalfons, who had appeared out of thin air and reached to take the cloaks from him without hesitation. Sam gave them up hesitantly, eyes darting to Frodo uncertainly. "Sir, ought I to...?"

Frodo took a deep breath and disengaged himself from Pippin, laughing between gasps. "Come with us," Frodo said firmly, taking Sam by the hand before he had the chance to follow Adalfons down a narrow side hall that he hadn't noticed before. "You're a guest here as much as I, and I say so, whether the invitation's Pippin's or not," Frodo chuckled. Paladin and Eglantine were already out of earshot, arm in arm as they disappeared down the central corridor. Pippin made an impatient noise.

"Yes, well, that's rather the point, an' it was mine, at least that part," he muttered. "I swear that Father can't remember up from down these days, let alone that he let me grab the pen while he wrote it. But, really, are you as hungry as your stomachs say you are? Come along!"

In a blink, Pippin was halfway up the corridor after his parents. Frodo leaned unexpectedly, startling Sam with the pressure of his forehead briefly against Sam's shoulder. When Frodo looked up, his glance was as frustrated as it was mirthful. Sam brushed at Frodo's arm hesitantly, partly out of instinct and partly longing to soothe. "I suppose...that we ought to follow Mr. Pippin, sir," Sam said softly. "Vittles will do you some good--'specially after the likes of that," he added, lowering his voice.

Frodo nodded in agreement, laughing as they started off in the direction that their hosts had gone. "Welcome to Tuckborough, Sam. You'll get used to it soon enough."

About that, Sam wasn't so sure. By the time they'd gotten through a greetings only slightly less boisterous from Merry and Freddy, getting situated at a corner table of their own proved more complicated than it ought. Frodo seemed determined to seat himself with both Freddy and Sam on the one side, but Pippin seemed determined to stick himself next to Frodo, and managed to do just that before Frodo could meet Sam's eyes and complete the gesture of patting the space beside himself. Frodo's eyes registered apologetic disappointment over Pippin's shoulder.

"Sam, why don't you go around and sit with Merry?" Frodo suggested evenly, and Merry had no protest. If anything, Merry was too busy looking annoyed at Pippin and hardly seemed to notice. Sam slid onto the bench, finding himself more or less across from Frodo, which wasn't so disagreeable at all.

"What news from Hobbiton, then?" Pippin asked cheerfully, spreading his napkin in his lap. He glanced at Sam expectantly.

Sam felt his cheeks heat and stared down at his empty plate, which was painted more elaborately than anything he'd seen at Bag End. "I'm sure that Mr. Frodo could tell you more rightly than I--"

"Oh, come now!" Pippin said, waving at a lass across the room who appeared to be bringing tankards of ale on request. "Surely you ought to know it's no secret that you Gamgees keep the best company for gossiping. Why, the Dragon's better for it than any we've got here--hoy, Holly! Be a dear an' bring us five?"

Freddy glanced over his shoulder and met Pippin's eyes mischievously. "Well, if they've brought us no gossip, then I say we ought to make our own: she's a pretty one, isn't she?"

Pippin snorted. "Holly? Oh, aye, but she's got a terrible spot for Addle, an' she won't give you the time of day on account."

"Meanin' Adalfons, Mr. Pippin?" Sam asked slowly, realizing that he finally hadn't had to think twice upon hearing.

Pippin nodded. "We may see a wedding, come spring."

"Has Adalfons noticed?" Frodo asked unexpectedly.

"He's tryin' not to," Pippin said with a grin. "He hasn't got the faintest idea what to do, as near as I can figure. Perhaps I ought to have a word or two with him."

Freddy muttered something under his breath that sounded distinctly like why?

"To save the poor lass her moonin', of course," Pippin said. "It wouldn't do to have her spillin' tea down Mum's nightdress again. Gets distracted, she does."

Merry made a dubious sound in the back of his throat. "As if you'd have the faintest idea of what to say, Pip. Poor Adalfons will like as not live up to his nickname, once you've gotten through with him!"

Sam met Frodo's eyes uncomfortably as Pippin shifted his gaze to Merry. "Says who I haven't? You? What would you know about what I know and don't?"

Merry narrowed his eyes. "Because you've only told me every bloody thing that you've ever done since you were old enough to talk?"

Pippin's eyes glinted mischievously. "Maybe I haven't."

"Is that so?" Merry said, sounding a bit strained beneath his tone of curious challenge.

Sam tried to return Frodo's indulgent smile and ended up staring at his hands as Pippin continued, "As a matter of fact, Meriadoc, it is."

"I'm of a mind to make him prove it," Freddy cut in, elbowing Frodo with a chuckle.

Sam could hardly believe his ears when Frodo turned his head and said, "That's not a half bad idea, especially after the trick he pulled with my invitation. Wouldn't you agree, Sam?"

Sam twisted his hands in his lap. "If--If you think so, sir."

"Oh, and how are you goin' to do that?" Pippin challenged, smirking. If Holly hadn't chosen that very moment to come bustling up with their ales, Merry might have let loose whatever appeared to be on the tip of his tongue.

"Ah, thanks, m'dear," Freddy murmured, accepting one of the flagons with a wink. Holly lowered her eyes and carefully passed Pippin's and Frodo's across the table.

Let her alone, Sam thought, accepting his own ale with a grateful nod. She needs time, is all, and I don't doubt that Addle does, neither.

"How?" Merry asked, raising his flagon to his lips as soon as Holly was gone. "Well, as soon as I've decided, I'll tell you. Cheers!"

What they were drinking to, Sam wasn't rightly certain, and knowing Mr. Merry, he wasn't certain that he wanted to. After that, conversation turned mostly pleasant, even boring, and by the time various tureens and breads and cheeses arrived, few of them were of a mind to talk. Frodo and Merry exchanged several bits of news that meant little to Sam's ears, but it was pleasant enough to listen to his Master's voice, to watch the remaining tension of travel ease from his posture. By the time their plates were cleared, Sam was certain that Frodo's half-lidded look meant more than that he'd had his fill of Pippin's tiresome responses to Freddy's even more tiresome questions over the plum pudding. Sam was tempted to take a chance at asking after Frodo's accommodations, but much to his relief, Pippin rendered that unnecessary.

"Oh, bother. You two're a worse quiet than the south parlor after midnight! I suppose I ought to have you shown to your rooms, oughtn't I, so you'll be well off enough by evening to last till dawn. There'll be no sleeping, you know!" Pippin scolded firmly. "Da's not makin' a grand party of this only to have cousin Frodo off workin' on his bedhead! You're the guests of honor."

"We are?" Freddy asked dubiously.

"If you like, but I meant those two, and they're more likely to've nodded off than to've heard me!" Pippin said louder, and Sam found himself temped to clap a hand over his mouth.

"Thank you, Pippin," Frodo laughed around a timely yawn. "Unfortunately, that's true--would you mind terribly if we took some rest?"

"Sam seems awake enough," Merry said, giving Sam an unexpected clap on the back. "Stay for another ale, why don't you, and let us know what your Gaffer's got cooking--"

"Are you tired, Sam?" Frodo asked, his voice firm and clear, eyes fixed on Sam's. Merry fell silent, looking almost sorry.

"A bit, sir," Sam said truthfully.

"Serves you right, Merry, speakin' where you've no right," Pippin said firmly, clucking his tongue. He rose and shook the napkin out of his lap. "Let's find Addle. I've told him where to put you."

"You, Pip, and not your Da?" Merry asked, almost chiding.

"Yes, in fact," Pippin said imperiously, and then gestured to Sam and Frodo. "This way."

Pippin led them back to the main parlor and shouted a few times until Adalfons appeared from the side hall looking a bit drowsy himself. "Show them to their rooms, would you?"

"Aye, will do."

"Just follow 'im," Pippin said and turned on his heel. "I expect you back for supper, Frodo, an' no later. Will you hold me to it, Sam?"

"If Mr. Frodo's minded to," Sam said a bit tersely.

"Pippin, you'd better get back to Merry before he claims your next ale for his own," Frodo said wryly.

"Rest as you please." Pippin padded away, his pace quick and light.

"Well, that took long enough," Sam muttered.

"Sir?" Adalfons said uncertainly, turning his eyes on Frodo.

"Ah, I'm sorry," Frodo said. "Please. We're right behind you."

Much to Sam's surprise, Adalfons led them whence he had come, down that narrow hall lit here and there with an ensconced white candle. A bit of daylight filtered from beneath a few of the doors, until they took a turn that headed them deeper into the smial. He paused in front of a set of double doors, patting the handle lightly.

"This here's where we stay," Adalfons said, turning to Sam, and Sam thought he heard a note of disdain in his voice. "I'll show your master along t'his--"

"Not to trouble you, but does Master Paladin still set aside those smaller rooms adjacent to the guest suites?"

Adalfons blinked, somewhat abashed. "Well, he--yes--"

"I would rather have Sam close on hand," Frodo said cordially, but with an unmistakable tone of command. He glanced sideways at Sam, and Sam hardly knew what to do with himself. "Unless, of course, Sam, you'd rather--"

"My Gaffer would never forgive me, sir, and I'm sure Mr. Bilbo wouldn't, neither," Sam said, narrowly preventing his voice from breaking.

Adalfons turned hastily, looking as if Mr. Paladin himself had just given him a scolding, or worse. "This way, sir."

Sam liked the look of Frodo's room well enough: the bed seemed large and comfortable enough from there in the doorway, and his things had already been taken there--along with Sam's pack. Sam nodded at Frodo and retrieved it hastily, drifting back to where Adalfons waited in the doorway as Frodo sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Just around the corner, if my memory serves me. Is it taken?" Frodo's eyes were fixed on Adalfons.

"No, sir."

Frodo offered Sam a tired smile. "You'll be fine, Sam. And if I oversleep, would you hold Pippin to his word and wake me?" Frodo looked back at Adalfons. "I'm dreadful, you know."

Sam protested, "Now, sir--"

"I'll see you soon, Sam."

Without a word, Adalfons closed Frodo's door, forcing them back into the hall. Instead of leading him on as expected, Adalfons shot Sam a pointed glare.

"You heard where it is. I've no doubt you can find it, if you've a mind to."

With that, Sam found himself alone outside Mr. Frodo's door, clutching his pack tensely. Yes, of course he could find the room--that was it, the glint of a doorknob just around the bend. Sam hesitated for a moment, almost afraid to approach on his own. They were a strange sort here, indeed, and while he thought he'd understood what Addle was getting on about, he'd rather not think--

The door clicked open behind Sam, and he turned to find Frodo blinking at him in concern with his weskit gone and braces dangling. Sam swallowed and stepped close. "Sir, don't trouble--"

"Don't trouble yourself, Samwise," Frodo said softly. "Rather, don't let Adalfons trouble you. I'm not certain that he's accustomed to..."

"Why he's jealous, I've no idea," Sam burst out before he realized what he was saying.

Frodo's smiled languidly, hiding another yawn behind his hand. "Perhaps he'd rather be serving the Thain directly. And if I'm not mistaken, that would take him all the closer to Holly. If what Pippin says is correct, she waits upon Eglantine directly."

Sam expected that he'd find it easier to breathe, but he didn't. "Makes sense enough," he murmured. Get your rest, Mr. Frodo."

Without thinking, Sam let his hand stray to the doorknob. Frodo's was already there, warm under his own. Sam tried to ease away, but Frodo slowly let go and tangled their fingers casually, except Sam's stomach didn't find it particularly casual at all. A moment later, Frodo's hand was already back at his side, and Sam looked away, realizing how foolish he must have...

"You too, Sam."

Frodo closed the door, leaving Sam to stand blinking at the hardwood instead. If Sam could count the number of times in the last few days that he'd been left with something more like to attract dust than need his touch, he was sure he'd have Mr. Bilbo's weight in gold at a coin for each. Sam sighed heavily and retired to his own room--half the size of Frodo's, but to his surprise the bed seemed of no less quality. Sam lay down with a heavy sigh and closed his eyes, and what came to mind weren't thoughts of how grand that eve's supper would be, or how he ought to unroll his best breeches and weskit from his pack. Instead, Sam tossed on the overstuffed, overlarge pillow and wondered if Frodo felt lost in his own.

At length, Sam slept. He must have. As he drifted, his thoughts' wanderings strayed dangerously close to places that he so often found that he couldn't avoid, and it was all that he could do to toss and turn them away, and when his distress broke and washed over him at last, he could hardly breathe--

"Sam..."

Sam cried out and sat up, breathing hard. Frodo stepped back, hand flung out, eyes wide. They stared at each other for several long moments, and it was all that Sam could do not to choke out just go, sir, please, I'll be out in--

Frodo bit his lip. "You...I heard--Sam, do you often have nightmares?"

Sam shook his head, still panting helplessly. He felt the warmth on his belly, and if the room weren't so dim--

"No, sir," he whispered, blinking to clear his vision. Frodo was already dressed as if for a party, and he realized how long that he must have slept. "Oh, but look at you--I'd better--"

Frodo nodded, but he still looked uncertain. "If you're all right..."

"I am! Tell...I'll be along..."

"I'll wait in the parlor, Sam," Frodo murmured, and before he turned to leave, Sam knew that his eyes were still troubled.

Changing proved a more uncomfortable venture than Sam had planned, but the washbasin by the nightstand was filled, and Sam reckoned as he pulled into clean breeches and buttoned his shirt that Frodo must have taken advantage of the same--to scrub his face; his cheeks had shone lovely with color, even by candlelight--

Sam shook himself and finished dressing quickly. As hard as it was to meet Mr. Frodo's eyes, Sam realized that if he didn't stop that nonsense, then Frodo would go on assuming he'd dreamed badly, and would pry it out of him if necessary. Sam found Frodo seated against the hearthstones with Merry and Pippin perched to one side and Freddy in the rocker across from them smoking his best pipe.

"Tiredest of all, Sam?" Pippin asked sympathetically, gesturing to the floorspace in front of Frodo. "You've sent cousin Frodo into a right fit of worry, you have."

"No more I meant," Sam murmured, seating himself before Frodo, whose eyes were still fastened on him with unchecked concern. "Sir?"

Frodo's smile wasn't forced, but it seemed thin and tight. "I'm glad you're all right, Sam. And you're not late, no matter what Pippin says."

"I didn't say he was--"

"Sure, but for all we know, you were about to," Merry cut in, grinning at Frodo.

Sam glanced at Freddy, whom he expected for all the world to join in, except Freddy kept silent. Sam followed his eyes to the other side of the room through a whole scattering of Tooks and other visitors, where they landed on Holly, who had changed into a simple gown of dark saffron and stood chattering with a few other lasses.

"Sharp eyes you've got, Sam," Pippin burst out, and Sam turned his head back to find Pippin splitting his glare between his cousins. "Freddy's out to luncheon again, isn't he? Spied a pretty bit of ribbon an' lace."

"Quiet, you!" Freddy sputtered, turning back to his chuckling comrades. "She'll not wait us again at supper, at the rate your babble carries!"

Once more, Frodo had no commentary but a bemused look in Sam's direction. Sam smiled back; it was difficult not to let the teasing mood ease his rattled nerves. Frodo thought everything was all right now. Everything was all right now. And Mr. Pippin deserved every bit that he got, if Sam had anything to say about it, which he did--but didn't.

Pippin stuck his chin up, and this time, his glare was for Freddy. "I'll have you know," Pippin said softly, "that she'll be warming--"

"My dear hobbits, do be quiet!" Paladin shouted from the far side of the room.

Freddy was left staring wide-eyed at Pippin, and Merry's sidelong glance at him was nothing short of shocked. "She'll be--what?" Freddy whispered, and Frodo hushed him with a cluck of his tongue.

"Supper shall be served presently," Paladin announced, and the rest of the room melted back into an energetic hum, a few groups of hobbits already drifting in the direction of the great hall they'd dined in earlier.

"Never mind," Pippin muttered, rising to his feet. "Shall we? I don't want to lose the table."

"As if there's any with a mind to take it," Merry said under his breath, and Sam chose to ignore that and stood before helping Frodo to his feet.

"Did you rest well enough, sir?" he asked, slowly letting go of Frodo's hands, the touch stirring recollections from the edge of his own sleep.

"No less than I expected to, Sam," Frodo said, the same tense smile still resting upon his lips.

Dinner passed in much the same fashion as luncheon, save for the fact that the entire hall had been decked out in more of those silver candlesticks--a set on each table, tied up with bows and greens to match those festooning the walls and chandelier. The wine certainly rivaled some that Sam had tasted from Bag End's own cellars, but didn't quite exceed, and Sam could tell from the glow in Frodo's eyes over the rim of his glass that Frodo was no less pleased by it. Merry and Pippin had much freer rein on their teasing of Freddy, too, what with the lass having taken to waiting the next table over, and Frodo took all of this in with thoughtful amusement. Sam couldn't do aught but follow; besides, seeing Frodo awake and smiling the easier was worth more than a few well-placed jests, however many times Sam saw the opportunity and let it pass. And he hoped that Frodo had forgotten...

"You're not to turn in on me this time," Pippin announced, wiping his chin with a flourish before dropping his napkin over his plate. "I forbid it."

"Supposing I'm tired, Pip?" Merry challenged, tapping the back of Pippin's head as he raised his glass for a drink.

Pippin choked and spluttered. "Meriadoc, don't you even think--"

"He wouldn't," Freddy said casually, setting his own glass down rather harder than was necessary. The teasing had taken its toll, apparently. "He hasn't yet decided how he ought to go about getting you to talk."

Pippin sniffed and took a proper sip of his wine, eyeing Merry warily. "Odds to none that he's lyin'," he muttered into the glass.

Sam set down his fork, watching Merry's eyes spark. He couldn't help it, and Frodo certainly couldn't, either, though his master's gaze held considerably less surprise than his own must have.

"I certainly wasn't," Merry said decisively.

"Oh?" Pippin asked indifferently, finishing off his glass.

"Indeed," Merry said, meeting Freddy's smirk with one of his own. Sam noticed that their eyes were fixed on Pippin's glass.

"That's cruel, Merry," Freddy said, barely managing to keep a straight face. Pippin set his glass down and regarded them with confusion. Frodo was watching with quiet, intense interest.

"No it's not," Merry said, reaching over to pat Freddy reassuringly on the shoulder. "We're all going to play."

"Play what?" Pippin asked impatiently. "If you think I'm still of an age for foolish parlor games, then you can just--"

"You're of an age for this one, I think," Freddy mused. "Provided you can hold your ale. Or wine, or whatever it is you choose."

Frodo set his fork down, and the sound made all of them jump. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"I don't know," Merry said, and his eyes rested on Frodo, full of amusement. "I've never played. And if you've managed to get another invitation since Overlithe four summers ago and not turned it down like you did your last, then you're made of sterner stuff than Buckland indeed!"

"Which means you haven't gotten another invitation, either," Frodo said dryly.

"Of course I haven't," Merry said simply. "But this time, I'm the one inviting."

The exchange happened so fast that Sam found himself in a spin. Could they really mean--

"Nothin' good's ever come of that, mark my words," Sam croaked. "I've seen a few rounds down at the Dragon, and I ain't never stayed to watch the end."

Freddy grinned. "You've never played either? Why, I'm amongst tweenagers!"

"Nothin' wrong with that," Pippin cut in tersely. "So, what's this that none of us've played except for you, Freddy, and that only once, if I'm guessin' right?"

Freddy guffawed and raised his glass. "You're right. Still new enough that I'd not be disappointed by a second round. And with a completely different crowd."

Sam shook his head. "Now, I don't think..."

"If you insist, then I insist on keeping some semblance of order," Frodo said.

Sam stared at him. "Sir, d'you mean..."

"No harm in playing," Frodo murmured, brushing his hands on his napkin. "You'll find me dull rather quickly, I'm afraid, though I can't say the same for all of you on my own account." Frodo's smile showed traces of mischief and faint amusement that Sam could trace back to his days as a lad in Buckland, as he'd seen those very shades in Mr. Merry.

"I still don't think we ought to..." Sam shifted in his seat. Frodo cast him a reassuring glance.

"You don't have to, Sam. And since those three are bent on it, I don't doubt that our entertainment is seen to for the night."

"Oho!" Freddy chuckled. "I believe we've been challenged, Master Brandybuck."

"Is that so?" Pippin mused rather faintly, looking as concerned as Sam felt.

"If you like," Frodo said, lips twitching.

"Fine," Merry said, rising from the table. "If you and Sam don't prove just as boring as Pip and I prove a riot within three rounds, then we'll stop. Freddy decides."

Freddy stammered, "But I want to pla--"

"Nothing's to stop you," Frodo said evenly. "You just don't count."

"You'll get laughs on my account regardless." Freddy was turning pink, and they hadn't even started yet.

"Well, what do we do?" Pippin asked. "I'm up for it."

"We don't play here, for one thing," Freddy said in a low voice, joining Merry. "Come on. Cellars first: we'll need a cask. Pippin, are any of the back parlors open?"

"I don't like this," Sam muttered, following Frodo around the table.

"They don't stand a chance, Sam. We'll be twice as boring as they are hilarious, mark me," Frodo said with a smile and a sigh that sounded almost rueful.

* * *

Sam stared into his ale uncertainly, swilling it around till he was certain that he could stomach a sip, if indeed he would be required to do so. Merry sat to one side and Frodo to his other, and Freddy and Pippin had settled more or less across from them, similarly cross-legged and intent upon the contents of their tankards.

Freddy licked his lips. "All right, then. I'll start. Never," he began, "have I ever"--he paused for a moment, thinking a moment before breaking into an alarming cringe--"had that...that sort of thoughts over a maid besides Holly." And all four pairs of eyes fixed on Freddy, three knowing what to expect and one utterly confused. Freddy let his breath out, and when he took a furtive swig of his ale, Merry and Frodo burst into unexpected laughter.

"What?" Pippin burst out. "What's funny?"

Freddy scowled and wiped his mouth on his cuff. "None of you drank. I can't believe--"

"It's because none of us have had thoughts about Holly in the first place, likely," Frodo chuckled.

Pippin narrowed his eyes. "Oh, that's clever."

Sam felt himself blushing on Freddy's account. "You've caught on right quick."

"Child's play," Pippin said, and tsked softly. "Though, let me get this straight--you drink if you have done it, whether you've told the truth or not?"

"That's right," Freddy sighed. "And apparently none of you lot want to fess up to having had thoughts over maids."

"Freddy, dear, the stipulation was Holly in the first place, and I severely doubt that any of us present have had thoughts on her, unless Pippin's lying," Merry said flatly, staring straight at Pippin. "He didn't understand till he saw an example, so how could we expect him to--"

"Well, it's a fortunate thing that I never have had thoughts on her, so I was in the right not to drink," Pippin said stubbornly.

Merry took his turn to tsk. "Pip, from the way you were talking before supper--"

"You don't even know whose sheets I was going to say she's warmin', so you can just take your ruddy guesses and--"

"That's enough," Frodo said sternly, and Merry and Pippin glanced at him, both chagrined. "I still say that if we can't play civilly, we shouldn't play at all. It's an amusement, nothing more."

Sam let his breath out in a short sigh. Frodo was right; this wasn't getting anywhere after all. Sam raised his flagon and said, "I'll drink to--"

"No!" Freddy said seriously, catching Sam's arm. "We've not even done one round. Who's next?"

"That'll be me, then, seeing as I've been cheated of my drink," Sam said irritably. "Never have I ever had--had thoughts at all," he said quickly, and took a long drink.

Merry and Freddy groaned and took drinks as well; Pippin and Frodo exchanged somewhat bewildered glances and took reasonable sips right along with them. "That's cheating," Freddy pointed out. "Far, far too general. I can't imagine that any hobbit worth his salt hasn't had thoughts at all."

Sam blushed, but found himself able to meet Freddy's eyes with the comeback, "All I wanted was a drink."

"And well you got it," Merry chuckled. "Listen, though, I've got one. Never...have I ever..."

Pippin made an impatient noise. "Go on--"

"Pulled your naked arse out of the deepest part of the Brandywine when you were past twenty," Merry chortled, taking a drink proudly.

Freddy and Frodo were far too gone in laughter, and Sam bit his lip in his best attempt at not joining in. If he thought about it, he felt a bit sorry--what with Mr. Pippin rather young and all, they could certainly expect--

"Never have I ever seen your naked...erm," Pippin swallowed, eyes blazing at Merry, "enjoy it!" Pippin took a swallow so huge that he choked.

Sam stared at Merry against his will, and realized that Frodo and Freddy were doing the same. Merry blinked and stammered for a moment, eyes wide and teeth clenched on the lip of his tankard.

Pippin doubled over, still coughing, and pointed an accusatory finger at Merry. "You saw it too," he rasped weakly. "You...You have to drink..."

Merry tipped his ale up curtly and swallowed with an effort. "Very funny, Pip."

Pippin sat back and cradled his ale as if it were a wounded thing. "Nothin's off limits, it would seem."

"No, nothing is," Freddy said curtly, coughing behind his own hand. "Er, well. We've all gone except Frodo."

Frodo was staring intently into his ale, but he looked up at the sound of his name. "In which case," he said carefully, "never have I ever seen such unruly behavior so early in this game."

Sam glanced sidelong at Frodo, who hesitated for a moment before taking a drink. Sam followed suit, savoring it while he could. Freddy joined in with a hum of agreement, and Merry and Pippin were still staring at each other.

"I thought you said you never played," Merry said to Frodo, clearing his throat.

"I haven't, but I've watched."

"So've I," Sam murmured.

"I've flat-out behaved," Freddy volunteered jovially, taking an extra sip.

"Quite the heathen, Master Bolger," Pippin intoned sarcastically.

"No more than your naked arse."

"If you insult his, you insult mine," Merry cut in.

"Gentlemen, please," Frodo sighed. "Sam, why don't you..."

Sam nodded, contemplating his ale. "Well, in best interests of keepin' the peace--never have I ever--"

"What about keeping even?" Pippin suggested. "Who says you've a right to be bloody boring just because you decided ahead of time that you won't tell--"

"Pippin!" Frodo said sharply.

"I mean, really," Pippin said angrily. "If Merry can go blowin' my cover left and right, leavin' me with no choice but to defend myself--and Freddy, Freddy's just no fun because he'll say any--"

Sam breathed out in a defeated gasp, "Been flustered by the likes of any of you!" He drank deeply.

Merry sighed heavily and exchanged glances with Pippin and Freddy, who drank nonchalantly. Frodo sat looking at Sam thoughtfully before taking a long, slow drink of his own.

"That's not fair," Pippin sighed. "That had so many open ends that I don't rightly know what he meant--did he mean the likes of us as in gentlehobbits, in which case, he wouldn't count in our case, or did he mean in the sense of all of us present--"

Frodo glanced down. "Pippin, I hardly think it mat--"

"No, but it does," Pippin said, his tone turning thoughtful. "I suppose you're a fair sport after all, Sam, and I think I've got it: you meant flustered just like you meant thoughts, didn't you?"

Sam wavered. "If you like."

Merry rubbed his temples. "I certainly didn't take it that way."

Freddy snickered. "Might as well have."

Merry took an ill-aimed swat at him. "Be quiet!"

"I did."

Everyone stared at Frodo, including Sam, though Sam found it increasingly difficult, what with Frodo blushing in such a way as he'd never seen. He wasn't certain that he wanted to know what Frodo had meant in taking it as such, either, and his stomach tightened. Unless, oh, unless...

"You can't say I haven't been honest. And I believe we've failed to bore you, so that weighs in your favor," Frodo said quietly, looking up again even though his cheeks were still the most striking shade of rosy that Sam had ever seen.

Freddy nodded, a smile quirking about his lips. "Right you are. Good show, Master Gamgee."

"Thanks, I s'pose," Sam muttered, and a quick glance told him that Frodo wasn't meeting anyone's eyes, neither.

"You know, I suppose this is why Vinca and Pearl locked me out of the back parlor on her birthday. They had a whole flock of girls back there, and three bottles of Hollowbottom Sherry, and I want you to know, I wanted some, but there wasn't a drop left when I checked the next day. And they made an awful racket."

"Yes, charming. Thanks, Pip," Merry murmured, rubbing his forehead with a groan. "Well, then, I think...hmm. Never have I ever...oh, bother, been tempted to actually tell you that I enjoyed it." Merry took a resigned sip, his eyes full on Pippin's as he swallowed.

Pippin blinked for a few seconds before taking a clipped swallow of his own ale.

"Oh, for crying out loud," Freddy sighed. "How am I supposed to answer to that?"

"I don't think that we can," Sam heard Frodo say, and looked up in time to see him shrug. The coloring in his cheeks had lessened only a little.

Sam closed his eyes and took an exasperated drink, wouldn't it just end--

"What was that?" Pippin blurted, eyes darting over to Sam.

"What was what? I just--oh, for cryin' out loud!" Sam echoed Freddy, making a confused gesture. "All I wanted was a--"

"Resorting to illegal drinks, are we?"

"Yes, Pippin, I believe we are," Frodo sighed, resting his forehead against the back of his hand. "Though, I don't think--"

Pippin pointed a finger at Sam. He tilted his head and said, "Now, just wait--"

Sam flashed Frodo a miserable glance, but Frodo was busy glancing rather miserably into his ale. Sam swallowed hard. His mistake had been a loaded one, and no mistake.

"I'm not waiting on anything," Freddy said, bent on ignoring Merry and Pippin. "If it's a foul turn, then it's a foul turn. I'll take mine. Never have I ever tupped--oh, for the hell of it--never have I ever not."

It took Sam a few moments to realize what Freddy had said, but when Freddy failed to drink, there wasn't a doubt in his mind. Merry and Pippin already had a fresh cast of dampness to their lips, no longer looking at each other, and as Sam raised his own tankard with a trembling hand, he looked up in time to see Frodo lowering his own.

"I take it back, you lot are worse than tweens," Freddy muttered in amazement, though he was staring straight at Frodo as he said it.

"None of us have lied yet tonight," Frodo said, eyes clear on Freddy's. "Why start? Never..." Frodo trailed off, staring into the remainder of his ale. "Never have I ever wished..."

Sam's mouth went so dry as he watched Frodo drain the remainder of his tankard that his own choked swig was as welcome as it was honest. He didn't notice whether Merry and Pippin made a particular show of drinking, nor did he care. When Frodo lowered his tankard, Sam looked away quickly. Frodo didn't; Sam could feel the pensive weight of his eyes.

"I swear, if I ever say that you lot haven't got an ounce of trust in me, you've my permission to toss my naked arse in the Brandywine," Freddy muttered around his own sip.

"So long as we don't have to enjoy it," Merry murmured, and Sam realized that he hadn't spoken in quite some time.

"You don't sound so keen on playin' anymore," Pippin challenged softly.

Merry looked up sharply. "Neither do you."

"Says who?"

Merry's jaw clenched. "I do."

Pippin's gaze went a bit unfocused. "Is that so..."

Sam bit his lip and closed his eyes. Oh, he'd warned them, hadn't he? Nothing but disaster, and now--

"Peregrin Took, whatever you two have gotten up to back there, I want you to know--"

Sam's head snapped up, and Pippin was gazing at them all by turns, saucer-eyed. "It's Vinca."

"So? If she opens the door, she'll see that we've taken this room and look for another," Freddy reasoned with a shrug. "Then again, seems as if we're more or less finished. Though, I am rather impressed that we managed more than--"

"Pippin, Father's sent me! You're wanted up in the hall!"

"Oh, bother," Pippin muttered. "For hanging the mistletoe again, I'll warrant. It keeps fallin'," Pippin said matter-of-factly, wiping his hands on his breeches as he stood. "I'm the only one who'll climb it. If you'll excuse me..."

"You've fallen plenty of times," Merry said quickly, struggling to his feet, ale forgotten. "I might as well make sure--"

"You won't be catching me, Meriadoc."

"Just in case."

Pippin smiled and dashed out the door, and Merry followed behind, trying to maintain some sense of dignity, though to Sam it seemed mostly gone. Freddy tightened his hold on his ale and flashed Sam an awkward smile. Frodo had drifted off again, but this time, his eyes were fixed on the floor, robbed of their usual clear sharpness.

"I suppose that's that, though there's no telling who won," Freddy sighed, rising to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, I think I've a mind to go for some wine instead. Care to join me?"

"No," Frodo said steadily.

Sam shook his head, eyes fixed on Frodo. "I--I think I ought to stay and make sure--"

"Right you are," Freddy said softly, and ducked out of the room with a curt nod.

"If he's feeling guilty, I don't see any reason why he should."

Sam's throat tightened around the nearest excuse that he could reach. "I don't think that's it, Mr. Frodo. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin made quite a fuss, and I can't see as I blame--"

"Merry and Pippin aren't here," Frodo said quietly, and Sam found those piercing eyes immovable upon his own.

"No," Sam agreed. "They're not."

Frodo's expressionless features suddenly relaxed into a smile, but the look in his eyes broke Sam's heart into pieces faster than it ever had. "Was it ever like that, Sam? At the Dragon?"

Sam bit back a nervous smile. "Well, sir, not--not quite--"

"My head's swimming, Sam," Frodo said more calmly than usual, closing his eyes.

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion, but he thought back to dinner and sighed at what he could remember. Almost two full glasses of wine, he'd seen Frodo finish, and as quickly as Frodo had finished off his ale--

"Sir, you'd better rest it off," Sam said without hesitation, never mind what they'd been on the brink of discussing or discovering. If Frodo was ill, then it hardly--

Frodo let go of a wry laugh. "I don't think I'll find my way without hitting a wall, or a hobbit or two in the process. Go on and join Freddy," Frodo continued, and Sam realized that he was stringing his words together with far too much care. "I'll just crawl to the sofa and--"

"No, sir," Sam said firmly, and crawled over to Frodo on all fours. He slipped an arm around Frodo's waist and somehow got them both the their feet. Frodo was stiffened, then swayed a bit, clutching Sam's free hand.

"Sam, I really don't think that--"

"I think you oughtn't think, sir, begging your pardon." Frodo blinked at Sam for a moment, then murmured, "Perhaps you're right, Sam. Lead on, if you're steadier than I."

"That I am," Sam said, steering Frodo through the door. "I had none of that fancy nonsense that ain't left you enough room for a proper ale."

"I don't think it was very proper," Frodo blurted, and Sam found his arms full of a collapsed, breathlessly laughing Frodo.

Sam held on tightly and recovered himself as best he could, settling Frodo back on his own two feet. "No, sir, it weren't, and this is just the sort of thing that my Gaffer warned me to keep you out of, I'll warrant."

Frodo hung heavily on Sam's neck, grinning with candid amusement. "Oh, Sam--did--did he really?"

Sam felt his cheeks heat, but how many times it made for that day, he hadn't a clue. "Yes, Mr. Frodo," he sighed, tightening his arm about Frodo's waist, urging their slow progress along. "He did, and it oughtn't shock you so."

"It doesn't," Frodo said, sounding so utterly sober that it was Sam's turn to stop and stare.

"Sir--if this is just--"

"Sam, I hardly meant to be trop--tripping all over myself before midnight arrived, let alone...let alone at all," Frodo said emphatically, his eyes open wide again.

Sam continued on, taking Frodo with him. "Can't say as I blame you for it, what with--well, sir, with Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin about, though I can't say as we'll see them for a while." Sam stared straight ahead and tried not to think of the implications of that; of course, he severely doubted that any more trouble would come of it than already had, what with Pippin's current whimsy.

"Merry wouldn't hear of it. At least not till all of this has cleared," Frodo murmured.

"I'm more concerned about gettin' you cleared," Sam said firmly, cutting ahead through a small throng of hobbits and tugging Frodo along by the arm. He was a bit steadier, at least, what with his dizzy fit seeming to pass. Sam had been holding him so close that he could feel it, a sort of strengthening all through him. "You've just got a bit of a rush, that's all."

"Yes," Frodo replied absently, catching up with Sam and clutching more firmly to his arm as they pressed their way into the entry parlor. "Though..."

Sam didn't bother to ask what until they were safely in the side hall, and even then, not till he was certain that Adalfons wasn't lurking about. "Sir?" he murmured, bringing them to a halt just past the door of the servants' quarters.

Frodo held onto Sam's hands and took a deep breath, staring at the floor. "Not as much of one as it...as it would require for me to forget the things that I've said."

Sam glanced away, painfully aware of the intensity of Frodo's grasp. "Sir, you've said nothin' that bears bein' ashamed--"

"No, but for embarrassing you, I'm afraid I can't forgive myself." Frodo was looking straight at him now, and Sam found that he had little choice but to look, too.

"Mr. Frodo," Sam began awkwardly, "you didn't..."

Frodo shook his head gently, unexpectedly releasing one of Sam's hands and pressing his fingers gently over Sam's lips. "I started from the very moment that I insisted you should have a room closer to mine."

"No, sir. That's not--"

"In fact," Frodo said softly, eyes wide and hazy once more, "I believe that I started when I insisted that we share a bed. It would've been so little for me to--"

"Sir!" Sam whispered harshly, and Frodo's eyes snapped back into focus. "I...oh, I..." Sam faltered, letting go of Frodo's hand and gently lowering the one that still hovered near to his lips. "I mean, no, sir...it's not like...you haven't..."

"Samwise Gamgee, I don't believe you," Frodo said sadly, shaking his head.

Sam felt the denial all through him gather in one last false effort at resistance before draining harmlessly away. "Me neither," he whispered.

Frodo nodded slowly. "So, then...if I've..."

"Not exactly," Sam said gently. "Not like you think."

Frodo blinked and pressed one hand to his temple. "Sam, if I'm not mistaken, which I well might be--you just admitted that I embarrassed you. Repeatedly."

Sam closed his eyes. "It's not you that did the embarrassin', sir, if you take my meaning. You were just--well, it was because of--" Sam was fairly certain that he knew how jumbled Frodo's wits must be feeling, because he could scarcely wrap his own around the situation at hand, let alone...

Frodo was blinking at him differently this time, more purposefully. "I think I understand."

" 'Course you do," Sam muttered. "I told you, you're not so far gone as all that, or I'm Ted Sandyman."

Frodo's eyes widened again, and for a moment, Sam doubted his own judgement--but not for long, and he supposed that what he felt was only the sensation of falling into them, and since when had he gotten so close often enough to notice--

"I certainly hope you aren't," Frodo laughed softly, "for if so, I'm too far gone to be telling you that I love you."

Sam's chest closed in on itself. He took Frodo about the waist again and pushed them forward, not quite believing what he'd just heard. Yes, Frodo must be too far gone, if only for the fact that he'd said--well, that he'd said what he'd said, and if Sam didn't get him to bed, then Adalfons would come along wondering--

"Sam--"

"Mr. Frodo, we're almost there," Sam said desperately, taking hold of the doorknob to Frodo's room. "Don't worry, once you've had the chance to sleep it off a bit, you'll feel--"

"I feel fine!" Frodo gasped frantically, and he twisted around in Sam's grasp just as Sam gave the door a shove behind them.

Sam barely heard the click of the door over Frodo's breath against his ear. He couldn't even consider it, not when the warm softness of Frodo's lips brushed fire against his earlobe, attempting to form words, but failing.

"Sam, if you don't...believe, then I...I really...I understand; I'm not--"

Sam closed his eyes against a sting so fierce that tears would come whether he wanted them to or not. "Oh, you are," Sam gasped. "It's just that--I'm not--"

"You are nothing more than you need be, Samwise," Frodo breathed, "that I have not wished..."

Sam felt his knees go weak, and he clutched at Frodo's shoulders. Oh, Frodo had meant--

"...stay with me, please stay with me, Sam--"

"Till you can't wish no more," Sam whispered, burying his face in the crook of Frodo's neck and finding skin softer than satin with his parched lips.

"Oh, but I've tried to tell you," Frodo whispered, a tremor passing through him as his fingers closed tightly in Sam's curls. "I've tried, and I'm no good with--words--"

The more that Sam thought about having said Frodo oughtn't think, the more he was certain that he meant it. Frodo tasted like rich ale and berry wine and the lingering flavors of supper, and of himself, Sam was sure, the deeper and surer his tongue delved. In all probability, the kiss was clumsy and laughable, worthy of scoffing from the likes of Freddy. But for all that Frodo clung to him tighter and winced so desperately with delight, Sam couldn't find the heart to fear, or to think any of those things. Neither of them had ever done this, after all.

"You're better with words than I'll ever be, and it took none," Sam murmured, brushing his lips against Frodo's cheek. "The fault's mine, what with bein' so blind..."

"Don't say that," Frodo said softly, tousling Sam's curls with gentle, insistent fingers. "You had every right to see only what you wished, and when."

"Wish I'd seen sooner," Sam whispered. "If I wasn't so caught up in my wantin'..."

Frodo drew back just enough to look Sam in the eye, his fingers still wound in Sam's hair. "What do you want, Sam? I'll give nothing that's not freely asked, you know that."

Sam swallowed hard and lifted a finger to trace the line of Frodo's temple down to his jaw. "Sir, if...if you remember..."

"Yes?" Frodo asked quietly, eyes full of that same fragile wishing.

"Th'other day in your study..."

Frodo nodded.

"And this mornin', and--this afternoon," Sam said with difficulty, and Frodo tipped his chin up with his free hand, tenderly imploring.

"It wasn't a nightmare, Sam?"

Sam saw the absolute trust in those eyes and thought he might burst with it. "No, sir," he whispered. "Only that you weren't..." Sam drew in his breath and closed his eyes. "Only that I didn't have you to hold."

Frodo's lips parted on a tremulous breath, hot and feathery against Sam's mouth. Sam leaned and opened eagerly to Frodo's silent plea, and if he weren't mistaken, this was better than the first, much better. Frodo was caressing him, the back of his neck, his cheek, his shoulders, and Sam was holding Frodo close, so close, and there was nothing to hide the heat of Frodo's body, as trembling and urgent as his kiss. Sam whimpered and slid one hand up between Frodo's shoulder blades, clutching him closer, asking if he was truly certain, if he could really mean--

"Sam," Frodo gasped, pressing quick, breathless kisses to the corner of Sam's mouth, "if--if you still don't--"

Sam swallowed with an effort. He could feel Frodo against him, hardness that set sweet warmth tingling in his belly. But I do!

"I love you," Frodo repeated, kissing him on the lips, soft and simple. "If all I could do was hold..."

"Please," Sam whispered hoarsely, reaching for him again. "Frodo..."

"Shhh." Frodo brushed another kiss against his mouth, this one slow and lingering, and Sam trembled as Frodo's hands moved to his own buttons. "So you know..."

I know, Sam thought, and reached for them himself. Frodo made a sound of surprise against Sam's lips, questioning gently with his own, but he quieted with a gasp when Sam's hands tugged his away and set about the buttons himself. Sam didn't stop till Frodo's shirt and weskit hung loose enough to push away, if he'd but had a mind to. Frodo's skin was so soft under his touch that it burned. Sam faltered, running his palms down to rest against Frodo's sides, drawing a choked moan from his master.

"Sam, I..." Frodo broke the kiss hastily, setting his fingers to Sam's buttons, tugging Sam's own garments free in half as much time. Frodo's fingers were fire against his skin as much as Frodo's skin had been beneath his fingertips; Sam gasped and pulled them together, blinking against the spill of Frodo's curls.

"This is ridiculous, I know," Frodo breathed, fingers clenching against Sam's back. "I don't even..."

"It don't matter," Sam whispered, pressing a kiss against Frodo's hair, soothing him with gentle swaying. "No more'n I do, and that's..."

"Like this," Frodo whispered with a breath that was half laughter, and before Sam knew it, those fingers brushed along his waist, tugging and seeking, leaving his breeches in the same state as his shirt. He drew shaky breath; the brevity of Frodo's touch was too little and too much all at once, and he kissed Frodo with a whimper of protest, tugging Frodo's hands away from his breeches and seeing to the fastenings himself. Sam slid his hands low against Frodo's hips, scarcely breathing as he traced down to the small of his back.

"Yes," Sam murmured belatedly, lowering his mouth to Frodo's neck. "Like..." Oh, he could hardly think, much less do this proper!

Frodo moaned at the touch of his lips and pulled away, and for a moment, Sam thought that perhaps he'd done something wrong, but that couldn't be, not when Frodo was shrugging hastily out of his shirt with no care for where it dropped. Sam supposed he ought to do the same, no matter how badly his cheeks colored as he bared himself to the cool air of the room. When he looked up, he fair lost track of what he'd been doing: Frodo had removed his breeches, too, and sat on the edge of the bed, watching him patiently.

Sam tightened his fingers at his waistband, gasping for breath. Oh, if the sight of Frodo weren't just enough, then what of those eyes on him--

"Sam," Frodo said gently, holding out a hand to him. Sam took it and stepped up to him, shivering. Frodo bent his head to Sam's chest and nuzzled softly, and his hands stroked down Sam's sides, smoothing his breeches back and away, pushing them down carefully. Sam hardly remembered them pooling at his feet; his vision blurred at the sensation of Frodo's arms wrapped around him, Frodo's mouth shaping damp, soundless things against his belly. Sam groaned and felt his knees give out again, but Frodo was there to steady him, holding him. He tilted his head up and blinked at Sam dazedly, stroking the backs of Sam's thighs.

"Let me hold you?" Frodo asked, his voice trembling.

Frodo scooted back and let Sam climb onto the bed next to him, but resting like that with their lips brushing and hands hovering didn't last for long. Frodo pulled Sam close and wrapped around him, gasping, and Sam cried out softly at the feel of Frodo pressed so fiercely close. He'd sought to imagine it on many a lonely night, twisting frantically in his unresponsive sheets, reaching--and now, his arms were tight around his master and his writhing desperation was not unmatched, and it was Mr. Frodo sobbing and clinging to him as they moved, his Frodo--

It took Sam first, surging through him like nothing that he could put a name to. He never could, really, not even when it were darkness and naught but his own wistful touch, but this--this was brightness that burst his vision into weightless shards reflected in glimpse after glimpse of Frodo staring up at him with his whole heart in his eyes, his whole life. Sam let his vision fade into the muffling softness of the pillow and Frodo's curls, gasping over and over again, shouting--Frodo, Frodo...!

And Frodo answered with a cry snapped clean in two, the break in his voice raw with the uncontrollable shudders that left him spent and panting beneath Sam, clutching as if he feared that Sam might drift away.

"Stay...Sam, stay with..." Frodo's shaken plea faded to a whimper, and when he pressed his face against Sam's cheek, Sam felt heat and wetness, unchecked tears.

Sam tucked Frodo closer, winding his fingers in Frodo's tangled curls. "I'm here," he whispered. I'm here!

"And for that," Frodo whispered, tightening his hold on Sam, "I am the most fortunate--"

Sam flinched at the abrupt knock on Frodo's door. Frodo tensed and brushed his lips against Sam's cheek before calling, "Who's there?"

"I'm sorry, sir--shall I leave you to your rest?" Adalfons sounded awkward. "I've just come about to do the straightenin'--"

"Yes, please," Frodo called. "And you're to leave...my companion to his, if you please."

A moment's silence. "Yes, sir."

Sam waited until the footsteps retreated to mutter, "Some nerve he's got, to come knockin'..."

Frodo smoothed Sam's curls. "I believe, Sam, that Master Addle's jealousy knows no bounds, and that Merry was indeed correct in saying he's aptly named."

Sam's cheeks heated, and he hid his face in the pillow. "Here I am just talkin' as if we hadn't just..."

"Talk all you please," Frodo said with a soft smile, stretching against Sam. "I'm not opposed to listening, though if I drift off, I can assure you that it's not out of boredom."

"Your cousins will be wonderin' when they can't find you about the party," Sam sighed, stroking his fingers timidly down Frodo's back as he settled fully onto his own. Still holding on, Frodo followed, sprawling over Sam comfortably.

"I don't doubt they'll be tripping over each other for the rest of the night, whether they trip into the same bed or not," Frodo murmured, stifling a yawn against Sam's shoulder. "As for not being found, they'll assume I've gotten off to some terribly boring conversations with relations that they see too often. I'd much rather...Sam," Frodo said softly, lifting his head and gazing at Sam with more seriousness than Sam had seen in quite a while.

"Sir?"

Frodo set a finger over Sam's lips, shaking his head.

"Frodo," Sam whispered, and kissed his finger.

"I would much rather turn the year over," Frodo continued, "just like this."

Sam blinked back tears. "With..."

Frodo nuzzled at Sam's lips. "Yes. If you've no objections to--"

Sam couldn't rightly say that he did, and besides, it said a great deal more if he opened his mouth to Frodo's and responded to the touch of Frodo's wandering fingers with the touch of his own.

* * *

"I was beginning to wonder when you'd turn up," Freddy yawned over his oatmeal as Frodo slid onto the bench across From him. "Your cousins were tiresome last night, especially after the fuss over the mistletoe."

Sam took a seat beside Frodo and nodded in greeting. If he'd thought that rising barely in time for luncheon with the feel of Frodo's mouth on him in places he'd never dared dream of still fresh in his skin, then half of the Great Smial must think nothing of such things. The dining hall was surprisingly empty, and most hobbits had straggled in without so much as a semblance of order--hastily donned dressing gowns and nightcaps abounded, and some looked as if they hadn't even changed out of what they'd been wearing the night before.

"What fuss?" Frodo asked, rubbing his eyes, then letting his hands drop to the bench. He covered Sam's with one of his own.

"You didn't hear? Merry stole a kiss no sooner than Pippin had gotten it up," Freddy chuckled. "Not that I didn't expect it, what with all those wild confessions," Freddy said absently, but suddenly looked as if he thought better of it, almost contrite. "Oh, and Frodo--about that, I hadn't meant to sound as if I think less of you for, well,--"

Frodo waved his hand at Freddy, as if it were of no consequence. "If you let me attribute it to the fact that we were all a bit worse for drink, I'll be more than happy to call it even."

Freddy breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Right. We were, come to think of it, except for steady old Sam here," Freddy said into a sip of his tea. "You've got a good bit of sense, and you'd do well to keep it. That way, you'll never regret a thing."

Sam lowered his eyes. "That I will, sir," he murmured, and glanced up at Frodo with a hopeful smile. "And I don't."

Frodo squeezed Sam's hand and looked straight at Freddy. "Neither do I."

-- end --