3. Seeing Out the Old Year

At Year's End Samwise put his foot down.

'You can't sit here in Bag End all alone, while everyone else in the Shire is celebrating!'

'Whyever not?' Frodo asked reasonably. 'It's my own way of celebrating, to be tucked up at home, surrounded by comforts.'

'But it's all that you do!'

'Life is a celebration for me, then,' Frodo said quietly. 'Why should that grieve you?'

Samwise shook his head in frustration, shouldering his cloak. 'I'm going to go check on the gaffer and hitch the ponies to the waggon,' he said to Rose. 'I won't be long.'

Rose started to get up to pour more tea, but Frodo waved her back to her seat. 'No, let me.'

She obediently sank down, but shook her head with a smile. 'Samwise treats me as if I'd break at any moment; now don't you start, Mr Frodo.'

'Ah, you'll only be expecting your first once in your lifetime,' Frodo said gently. 'Let yourself be pampered. Once Sam gets used to the idea, it'll be back to the salt mines for you...'

'Go on with you, now, Mr Frodo, you're a terrible tease!' She thanked him as he topped off her cup, and when he'd put the pot back and sat down again, she stared at him over her lifted cup, blowing gently across the top to cool the brew enough to drink.

'What is it, Rose?'

'I wish you'd come with us,' she said softly. 'It means so much to Sam. I don't think he'll feel much like celebrating, knowing you're here alone, and my parents did invite you particularly, you know.'

'I know,' Frodo answered, then looked up with a smile. 'I'm a selfish beast, Rosie, tucked in my lair amongst my treasures. Sam has been so good to me, and he asks so little...'

'Oh, Mr Frodo, don't speak like that--' but he put up a hand to stop her. They sipped their tea in silence until Sam came back to announce that ponies and waggon were ready.

Frodo put down his cup and arose. 'Samwise, if that offer is still open, I've changed my mind. I'd like to come along, if I may.' At the delight in Sam's eyes, Frodo inwardly cursed his own selfishness, and determined to have a fine time at the Cottons' Yuletide celebration, if it killed him to do so.

They piled into the waggon, laughing and joking, then drove the short way to Number Three and waited for Sam to escort the gaffer down the icy path to the waggon. Frodo shouted greetings, and the gaffer grumbled back quite cheerfully, for him.

The celebration at the Cottons' was cheerful, not too noisy, and "just family" as Rosie had said in an earlier attempt to persuade Frodo to come with them. No one pressed Frodo to dance, or to eat, or to play games, or even to make conversation, and he found himself relaxing and even being drawn into the fun.

They saw the Old Year out and the New Year in with much laughter and warmth, ending the party with a hearty breakfast to welcome the dawn. All too soon it was time to get back into the waggon and head back to Bag End. Once again they stopped at Number Three and Sam carefully walked the gaffer back to his door, the latter grumbling all the way. Sam bid his father a cheerful farewell and returned to the waggon.

'I could walk the rest of the way,' Frodo said.

'Might as well ride while you can,' Sam answered equably. 'It's pretty slippery out, and I mean to drive Rosie as near the door as I can.'

They pulled up in front of Bag End and Frodo stepped down from the waggon as Sam went to help Rose down. His foot skidded on a patch of ice, and he missed his hold on the waggon, to fall heavily on the path. Dazed, he heard Sam's exclamation, but he'd had the wind knocked out of him and couldn't speak at first.

'Mr Frodo!' Sam was beside him. 'Mr Frodo, are you hurt?' He felt Sam loosening his shirt to give him more air, and tried to put up his hands to stop him, but it was too late. He could see the dawning horror on Sam's face to see the empty space in the place of Frodo's right shoulder.

Pushing Sam away, he scrambled to his feet, muttering, 'I'm all right,' and went on into Bag End. Sam escorted Rose to the kitchen, where Frodo was hanging up his cloak, then planted himself in front of Frodo with a thunderous face.

'Sam, I--' he tried to say.

'When were you going to tell me, then?' Samwise demanded, in a tone as close to anger as Rose had ever heard him use towards his beloved master. 'Or were you going to wait until you couldn't conceal it no more, and then sneak off somewheres to hide the fact from me?'

'Sam,' Frodo said, his voice grieved, and Rose could see that her husband's words had truly wounded him, 'would you really think that of me? The last time I heard you using that word was talking about...' he didn't have to say the name. Gollum. It hung in the air between them.

Sam fell to his knees in front of Frodo, weeping in distress. 'No, Mr Frodo,' he gulped, 'I never meant...' He covered his face with his hands. 'O Mr Frodo, forgive me, I didn't mean...'

Frodo gently reached down to lift Sam to his feet, drawing him into a long hug. 'There's nothing to forgive,' he whispered. When he felt Sam regain control of himself, he stepped back.

'I was going to tell you,' he said gently. 'I kept putting it off. There never seemed to be a right time.' He paused. 'Well, at least it's out in the open now.' He looked from Sam to Rose and back again. 'Whatever happens, Sam, wherever this thing takes me, I know that we can see it through together.'

At Rose's wince, he chuckled in spite of himself. 'Well, all right, perhaps that was a poor choice of words.' Rose began to giggle, Sam looked at her in astonishment and then found himself guffawing. They laughed together until the tears ran down their faces; the laughter released the tension, and they spoke no more about the matter that day.