Autumn’s Requiem – Part 2 of the ‘Seasons in the Shire’ Trilogy

By Ariel and Aratlithiel

Rated: R for sexual content

~Chapter 3~

Rose woke to a stream of sunlight through the open curtain and the sound of the doorknob twisting in its casing.  She lay perfectly still beneath the soft weight of the down coverlet and the possessive arm about her waist.  Her heart beat a little faster and she held her breath, thanking the stars that she had had enough wits about her the night before to pull the catch.  Sam finding her shawl hanging from a peg in Mr. Baggins' hallway was one thing, but actually finding her in his bed with nothing on her naked skin but Mr. Baggins himself would have been entirely another.  Whether Samwise had decided she was not his cup of tea after all or not, she had no wish to hurt him by exposing to him her illicit evening activities with his master.

There was a soft knock and Sam's muffled voice came through the door.  "Mr. Frodo?  Are you up, sir?"

Frodo stirred beside her and lifted his head from where it had been resting in the nest of her hair.  "Good morning, Sam.  I'm afraid I've had a sleepless night," he said as his eyes caught Rose's and danced a little in the soft gold of the early morning light.  "I think I'll stay in a bit today if you don't mind."

"’Course not, sir," came the reply.  "I'll be in the garden if you decide you'll be wanting a bit of breakfast.  Just call out, sir."

"Thank you, Sam," Frodo answered and Rose could hear Sam's soft steps retreating down the hall.

Rose breathed a light sigh of relief and mused to herself that Sam's voice seemed to have had a slight tone of mirth to it.  He probably knew exactly why his master had had a sleepless night.  Rose found herself wondering if anyone had thought to ask the discreet gardener of Bag End the whereabouts of one Miss Pearl Took during the three days of her scandalous absence.  Sam's innocent reply that he had no idea where the lass might have stashed herself would have held that same amused tone.  She thanked the stars that this time Sam truly had no idea who might have been the cause of his master's feigned bout with insomnia.

Frodo shifted beside her and leaned to place a soft kiss on her lips while under the warmth of the coverlet his fingertips wandered in slow circles about her waist and sides.  Rose tensed a bit at the easy touch and he drew his head back to catch her eyes.

"Good morning, Rose," he said quietly, his brow slightly furrowed.

Her returning smile was small and a little embarrassed.  "Good morning, sir," she replied.

Frodo looked at her for a long moment, a small, chagrined smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  He pulled back a little more and propped himself on his elbow, his head resting in his hand.

"Ah," he said, the hint of disapproval in his voice belying the easy sweetness of his face.  "I see we're back to 'sir' again."

Rose said nothing, only looked at him with a growing sense of discomfort.  The evening had been the most amazing of her life.  It had left her with a sweet fulfillment she had not dared dream possible let alone entertain the notion that she could have felt that way herself.  The things he had done to her were beyond description and when they lay together afterwards, spent and exhausted, the vastly ridiculous fantasy had flitted through her head of a lifetime of nights snuggled under this very coverlet with the warmth of this hobbit embracing her.  Wouldn't that give the wagging tongues of Hobbiton something new to flap about!  A lovely dream it was, that it could be possible to overcome differences in station and background and become the mistress of his smial.  A lovely dream, yes - until the doorknob had turned and Rose was made fully aware of who had been on the other end of it.

The reality of her situation came crashing down on her.  The thought of the hurt and pain in Sam's eyes should he discover that she had seduced his master and allowed herself to be seduced in turn was more than she could bear to think about.  Last night's magical experience was her treasure and she refused to allow the wanderings of her silly mind to sully it, but she could not now help feeling the tiniest sliver of apprehension imagining what it would cost Sam if he ever found out.

A single tear slid from the corner of her eye and she felt a gentle finger lightly sweep it away.

"Rose?" Frodo asked.  "What is it?"

"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered, clenching her eyes shut to prevent more foolish tears, "It's only…oh, sir-"

"Here now," Frodo interrupted, his voice gentle but a touch stern.  "I'll not have you lying naked in my bed and calling me 'sir.'  I thought we'd agreed on that."

She couldn't help a laugh at the light jest and opened her eyes to drink him in.  She had thought him lovely last night with the rosy glow of the firelight and his own passion coloring his skin.  He was just as beautiful with the strengthening beam of sunlight caressing his face and turning his dark hair a warm russet with its heated rays.  A lovely dream, yes…but only that.

"I am sorry," she said.  "Truly.  It's only that when I heard Sam's voice I…I don't know, I…I wouldn't hurt him for the world is all."

Frodo continued to look closely at her, troubled.  "Neither would I," he said slowly.  "Perhaps you could tell me how your courtship came to an end."

Rose let out a heavy sigh.  "That's just it, you see," she said, her tone exasperated and her face pulled into a sudden frown.  She turned her gaze to the rounded ceiling.  "It didn't exactly come to an end - more like it just…ended if, you understand me."

"No," said Frodo, his troubled countenance deepening, but his voice maintaining its softness and soothing quality.  "I'm afraid I don't understand.  What do you mean?"

"Well," said Rose, trying to frame her thoughts so that it would not appear that she blamed Frodo for Sam's gradual withdrawal, "Things were well up until the spring came and went.  Then Sam seemed to find one excuse after another to not come calling.  Finally even the excuses stopped and he just…just quit coming altogether.  I thought at first that maybe you were keeping him extra busy, what with your move and all, but even the clearing out of Bag End wouldn’t need that much of his time.  Maybe he's turned his eye to some Buckland lass, or he's just plain grown tired of me.  I just don't rightly know," she finished, lifting her eyes to Frodo.

Frodo seemed to pale a bit and his gaze drifted over her shoulder to fix upon a point seeming a hundred miles away.  His face fell and took on a blank expression that Rose immediately decided she didn't like one little bit.  He closed his eyes and let out a low moan.

Rose was startled at his reaction and propped herself up on her own elbow until her damp eyes were even with his closed ones.

"Sir?" she said, concerned.  She hadn't meant to cause him such distress and couldn't fathom what she had said to upset him so.  "Mister Baggins, sir, what is it?  What have I said?"

He opened his eyes and they drifted to hers but there was no light in them and they seemed to look right through her as if she wasn't there.  He dropped his head to the pillow and rolled onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes.  He lay very still and the sudden quiet of the room was broken only by Rose’s small, rapid breaths and the sweet sound of birdsong lilting in from the garden where Sam was beginning his chores for the day.  The silence spun out, making the air heavy and her blood thump unpleasantly in her ears.  Frodo was still and unmoving for long enough that Rose began to wonder if he had drifted back to sleep.

"I see now," he whispered suddenly, his voice holding a slight tremor and a sad resignation that pained her heart.  "I should have inquired further last night."  He didn't shift or move his arm.  "I am truly sorry.  I understand now."

"Understand?" she asked. "Understand what, sir?"  She lifted her hand to touch his arm and he flinched - almost imperceptibly, but enough for her to draw her hand back with a start.  "Mr. Baggins, please sir," she said, worried now that she had said something terribly wrong.  "Whatever I said, sir, I didn't mean to-"

"Not to worry, dear Rose," he said quietly from beneath the shelter of his arm.  The sadness in his voice was enough to tear at her heart and make her curse herself for whatever she had said to upset him so.  Of all the things in the world she wanted, hurting this miraculous hobbit who had given her so much in just a few short, blissful hours was certainly not one of them.  She closed her eyes and, fisting her hand, pressed it hard to her lips, pushing painfully against the sob that wanted to escape.

"Wait for him, Rose," he said.

His voice in the oppressive quiet of the room startled her and she opened her eyes with a small gasp to see that he had removed his arm and was staring intently at her.  His eyes were glittering and wide and there was a sense of urgent regret behind them.

"What, sir?" she asked, although she had heard perfectly what he had said.

"I said wait for him, Rose," he repeated, reaching his hand up to stroke her cheek gently.  "You may hear rumors and tales in the coming weeks and you may feel that there's no hope at all in seeing him again.  But wait for him.  For as long as you can."  He dropped his hand from her face and sat up, looking into her eyes with a burning intensity for a moment before he reached to draw her into a firm embrace.  "I promise," he said into her hair, "that if it is within my power, I shall bring him back to you whole and unscathed."

She was still for a moment, not understanding but allowing him to draw her close and place her head on his shoulder.  She breathed in deep, emblazoning his scent and the feel of his strong arms around her into her memory; his fingers in her hair, his breath on her shoulder, his heart beating against hers.  She lifted her arms to wrap them around his waist and closed her eyes, savoring his warmth and thanking him silently for the gift of his love - however brief, and the hope - however small and inexplicable, he had bestowed upon her in the last moments of their magical time together.

~*~

'Wait for him, Rose,' Frodo had said and so she did.  Only it wasn't just Sam she waited for and thought about over the long difficult year.  She waited for him as well.  She often found her thoughts drifting back to that early September evening, so filled with passion and magic that it sometimes seemed more like to a dream than anything she had actually lived.  And the following morning he had whispered a promise in her ear; 'Wait for him.'

She had soon learned that he had gone not just to Buckland - but Away…Beyond.  And had taken Samwise with him.  They had disappeared into the night to the echoes of warning bells ringing throughout Buckland and Fatty Bolger's panicked cries and rumors of Big People skulking in the darkness of the September twilight.  Now they were both gone, and Rose had no way of knowing if they were alive or dead or would ever return.  Either of them. 

'Wait for him.'

And what of you? she sometimes thought.  Who is waiting for you?  But Rose's own swirling thoughts would often answer that question for her with a mix of a soft, tender love and a spreading heat through her loins - she was waiting for him, of course. 

Silly fantasies of discarding stations notwithstanding, Rose understood that she loved Frodo Baggins and whether he ever knew it or not or returned her love was beside the point.  It was a different kind of love than she had for Samwise but none the less for that.  She often wondered, when she lay alone in her bed at night, her father pacing to and fro in the kitchen and her mother worrying after him, while they both worried over the ruffians threatening their home and the seeming indifference of their fellow hobbits.  She often wondered if given a choice, which she would choose.  And then she would laugh at the absurdity of her thoughts;  a choice - ha!  That she had a choice was a fantasy just as silly as the ones she entertained about being the wife of a gentlehobbit - but one that continued to visit and torment her through the long months of the Travelers’ absence.

And the worst part about this soothing/torturous dream was that she really didn't know which way she would choose if given the opportunity.  She had loved Sam for years and before her world had begun to unwind last spring, had been certain that she wished for nothing more than to live and sleep beside him for the rest of her days.  But then September had come along and with it the wonder that was Frodo Baggins.  He had awoken passions and deeper, undeniable feelings in her that she could not disavow.  She was no longer sure she could live the rest of her life without his touch against her skin and his breath in her hair.

It was a choice she could not lay claim to, but one that continued to pain her as the months went endlessly on.

'Wait for him, Rose.'

And so she waited, not entirely sure which of them she waited for more eagerly.

Then came November with horns of battle ringing in the autumn air and the arrival of Samwise Gamgee on her father's porch.  Rose had been overjoyed beyond words to see him in his foreign attire, gazing at her steadily in the chill of the night and the orange glow of the torchlight, looking a little hardened and careworn, but still Samwise Gamgee.  She had been overjoyed to see him - but had found herself looking over his shoulder for another as he greeted her with a breathless 'Hullo, Rosie,' and then hurried off to rejoin his master for the battle that was brewing.

She had seen him finally when Sam brought him to the door late that night and knew at once that, choices or no, her decision was made and irrevocable.  She reached out in her mind's eye and grasped firmly to Samwise, winding her heart about him and casting aside any delusions she may have entertained about the broken creature that was once Frodo Baggins.

Both of them had been Away, yes…but only one had truly come back.

The sight of him had frightened her as he sat by the firelight in her mother's kitchen, looking more like a cold shadow than the warm, passionate hobbit she had known so briefly.  He was ashen and thin and the light of his eyes that had so captured her and set her heart to blaze was deadened and hidden behind a shroud of age and care.  Yet there was a new light that shone through him, blinding and dreadful in its terrifying beauty.  Rose could not fathom what horrors he had seen to change him so and decided the instant that those empty, ageless eyes had fastened upon her own that she didn't want to know.  She had seen his unfathomable pain and terrible wisdom and turned from it, unable to stop herself but ashamed that she did so.  She knew she would never have the strength to try to call him back from the black places his heart dwelt.  And she shrank from the appalling, depthless beauty that the bleak, hopeless road had marked indelibly on his soul.

She found herself wondering if Sam's efforts at keeping his master alive had been a mercy or not.

Later that night, as the others prepared themselves for the confrontation they planned for the early morning hours, Rose went to her narrow bed and wept her grief onto the indifferent linen of her pillowcase, mourning the loss of Frodo Baggins and wondering if anyone else shared her sorrow at the demise of a soul so precious. 

She cast her heart back to Samwise, her childhood love and protector of all things smaller than himself.  If he would have her, if he spoke, she would say yes and be happy with the life she did not deserve but he would offer anyway.  She would burn the image of the warm, living Frodo of last September into her soul, put it away in the safety of her memory and keep the secret deep in her heart where it would hurt and torment no one but herself. 

She would cling to Sam, the Traveler who had come back whole.

Rose was a practical girl, after all.

~*~

TBC