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When Sam finally found Frodo, he was sitting in the vestiges of the garden.The bodies of marigolds and long summer grass, of milkweed and hyacinth, were arrayed softly all around him. Dead things they were, all the color of pond-water and river weed. A sallow silty sort of green. Flowers bent their heads still in prayer, grasses knelt, bowing low. A cold but gentle wind tumbled by, brushing the flaccid blooms, toying with Frodo’s hair.He did not open his eyes, nor shift from where he was: sitting on his legs, hands curled and pressed just above his knees, rapt and votive.He looked oddly at home here, amongst these lifeless things. The thought of it wormed painfully into Sam’s head, and he pressed his lips into a thin line.Frodo did not belong here, he reasoned, because Frodo had come home—not in a box but on his working legs. And he was very much alive.As if to prove this to himself, and perhaps to the world, Sam approached Frodo cautiously, resting a hand on one of his shoulders.‘It’s a might brisk today for outdoor meditation, don’t ya’ think Sir?’He managed, with a strained but cheerful tone of voice. Frodo’s eyes flashed open, and Sam was glad to see them—pale as they were, because they were the most living part of Frodo.‘How long have you been here, Sam? I didn’t see you come through the gate.’ Frodo breathed softly, blinking as if he were coming out of a deep haze. He reached blindly for one of Sam’s hands as he stood.‘Not long, just wanted to come and check up on you,’ Sam took Frodo’s searching hand, pulling him up with relative ease. ‘It feels strange being apart after so long.’Frodo hummed in agreement, deep down he had thought that a good few nights apart would do him and Sam good, but he had hardly slept. Even now a throbbing headache was evidence of his exhaustion. He didn’t wish to misconstrue, but observing Sam’s face, he also seemed to be a little worse for wear.‘I’m rather surprised you aren’t tired of me,’ Frodo managed a laugh, adjusting his tunic. He hadn’t thought to put on a waistcoat, and was now regretting that, as the undershirt he was wearing was rather translucent in its whiteness, and every time the wind blew made a good slice of his chest available to the elements.‘I think you underestimate my appetite for your company.’ Sam smiled in a good natured way, seeming to shake off a little bit of that unease he’d had upon first seeing Frodo in the garden.Frodo smiled back, a real smile, which made just a little bit of heat travel up to Sam’s ears. ‘I seem to underestimate you in so many ways, Samwise.’Sam didn’t know what to say to that, both because it was praise and because it was true, so he said nothing. Instead he took both of Frodo’s hands in his and squeezed them, trying not to think about the missing finger, or what that meant, but just to think of Frodo—who’s hands would be perfect to him no matter how whole they were.‘Do you think there’s hope for our garden yet?’ Frodo said after a content moment. Sam didn’t miss the way he said ‘our’ instead of ‘my,’ as if Bag End was theirs to share, as if anything was theirs to share.‘Oh sure, it just needs a little lovin’’ Sam assured him, come spring and this place’ll be full of life again, I’ll make sure of it.’Frodo looked at him with an expression he could not read, one that made him feel as if perhaps he hadn’t just been asking about the garden. But Sam was always slow to double meanings, he only hoped he’d said the right thing.‘Do you think we could change things up this time round?’ Frodo asked as Sam busied himself with the buttons of his tunic, only just having noticed that it was open and letting in cold air. It bothered him a little bit that Frodo neglected to shiver, despite the chill, and hadn’t even bothered to wear a coat.‘How do you mean?’ Sam’s knuckles brushed Frodo’s sternum as he worked.‘I mean, could we grow different things this time? I was thinking it might be fun to just grow flowers.’Sam stopped what he was doing to meet Frodo’s eyes, an amused but incredulous look on his face. ‘Only flowers? Why then you’d have no herbs for recipes, or fresh vegetables in the spring.’Frodo shook his head, blinking again, embarrassed. ‘You’re right, I suppose I just liked the idea of it, Bag End lit up like a carnival, color bleeding out of it.’ He flushed slightly. ‘But it wouldn’t work, not really.’Sam’s knuckles came up, brushing across Frodo’s cheek. If Frodo had looked up, he would have seen that Sam’s face was practically burning with intent. ‘If that’s what you want, then that’s what I’ll do.’‘It was only idle conjecture.’ Frodo amended hastily, toying with Sam’s braces. ‘It’s impractical on every level.’‘Mm, too late.’ Sam teased, ‘You’ve slipped up and told me the deepest wish of your soul.’ He swayed Frodo gently left and right by his shoulders. ‘There’s nothing you can do to stop my fulfillment of it now.’‘You’re indefatigable.’ Frodo sighed, batting Sam’s hands off his shoulders before hiding a smile. ‘And you’re making me dizzy.’‘Sometimes I wonder if Bilbo fed you a dictionary when you were a kid.’ Sam raised an eyebrow.‘Sometimes I wonder if Gaffer fed you rocks, with how stubborn you can be.’ Frodo retorted, raising an eyebrow back.They looked at each other for a moment. Frodo was smiling, Sam’s mouth was open slightly. Then the silence broke and they dissolved into quiet laughter.‘I’ll show you a rock-eater.’ Sam exclaimed with mock hurt. Leaning down he attempted to sweep Frodo’s legs, which surprised Frodo enough that he truly did lose his footing, but not before winding a fist into Sam’s shirt.Frodo felt his arm flex as he pulled Sam down with him, in a slow and fairly anticlimactic fall. Still, it felt nice to know that he had functioning arms, that they could do the things arms were meant to do.Sam landed slightly above him, careful to catch his weight on his own knees rather than Frodo’s ribcage. They were still laughing softly, a little bit winded.‘Are you serious about all this business with the garden?’ Frodo asked at last, folding his arms behind his head.‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Sam laid down in the grass next to him, tilting his head inquisitively.‘I mean, you were right about it being impractical, and besides, it would be a lot more trouble on your end.’Sam smiled, raising an eyebrow. ‘Crossing the world was impractical Mr. Frodo, flowers I can do.’Frodo smiled at that, before lapsing into a careful quiet. They had crossed the world, he’d never thought of it that way. Someday, when the memory of it was less painful, he might trace their path down a map. Following their old footfalls with the tip of his quill, down through valleys, up mountains. In a line that stretched farther than any Hobbit had ever gone.‘Alright there, Sir?” Sam’s eyebrows knit together in concern. He was sitting up on his knees now, still in the remnants of the garden.‘Yes, sorry. I was just thinking--’ Luckily Frodo was saved from the trouble of explaining what it was he was thinking about, by a voice that came calling through the open door of the smial.‘I think Merry is lookin’ for you.’ Sam dusted off his pants, helping Frodo up.‘I suppose he is.”Frodo sighed. He’d been so happy to see Sam, and was feeling a little guilty that he wasn’t nearly so overjoyed to see Merry. This was his cousin, his blood relation. And more than that, a friend.Entering the kitchen sent a blossom of warm-pleasant air shifting around him. It was strange, he hadn’t even noticed the cold before, but he must have been freezing because his fingers burned and prickled painfully along with his nose.‘Meriadoc, is that you?’ He called, advancing into the sitting room with Sam close at his heels.‘Dear cousin! I haven’t seen you in half an age!’ Merry smiled brightly, looking at once very old and wise, and very young and foolish. He was dressed smartly in a dark purple waistcoat, which puckered gracefully as he threw his arms around Frodo’s shoulders, tapping the nub of his missing finger with a flourish.‘We saw each other just last evening.’ Frodo rolled his eyes, pulling his hand back protectively. ‘If I recall correctly, you said that you’d be glad to have a night to yourself, so you didn’t have to hear me mumbling and turning in my sleep.’‘Right, I believe I remember something like that.’ Merry smiled in a self-satisfied way. ‘But I said I needed a night to myself, I never said anything about the day following.’ He let Frodo go, facing him seriously. ‘But who cares about that now—how are you?’ He asked, and it seemed like he really wanted to know. ‘Are you feeling recovered?’That was a difficult question to answer. It depended upon what recovery meant. Deep down Frodo knew that he would never again be the person he was when he first left the Shire, but did that mean that he could never recover, or did it just mean that he was changed? Frodo looked down at his missing finger. Recovery could mean finding something again, something that had been missing. But Frodo wasn’t missing, he had always been here, within himself. Even when he wished not to be. Broken bones sometimes fused in different ways when they healed. Were they recovered? Or were they still in some way, a little bit broken.‘Wonderfully so.’ Frodo heard himself answer, his own voice shaking him out of his thoughts.Merry smiled brightly, and a sharp and guilty pain bloomed in Frodo’s chest.‘Then you’d be alright coming with Pippin and I to have a drink tonight?’ He grinned hopefully. ‘You’re invited too of course Samwise.’ He turned to Sam, jovially patting him on the back. It did not need to be said that he was family, there was no doubt of it on either side. ‘Think of it as sort of our own celebration regarding the whole affair.’Frodo looked to Sam, as if he had the final say in what they did, where they went. It wasn’t really that he was deferring to him as an authority, more leaning against him as a source of stable judgment in lieu of his own incertitude.‘I wouldn’t mind sharin’ a pint or two.’ Sam shrugged, looking more concerned than was appropriate for such a cheerful proposition.if he noticed any concern, Merry did a good job of hiding it, merely taking out his pipe and lighting it, as if to say ‘all’s well with that then.’‘I’ll count on seeing you.’ He warned with mock-severity, ‘Seven o clock, and don’t be late. It’s a matter of great importance.’ For just a flash, there was a hint of something secret in Merry’s eyes, but it was just as quickly gone, dissolving behind a puff of smoke which wound up from his mouth and into the rafters.‘Well, I suppose I’ll be off then. There are more Brandybucks in demand of my company than I thought existed.’ Merry’s nose crinkled with distaste, though likely he was not so disapproving of these visits as he put on.He turned to go but Before he left he made a good show of snapping one of Sam’s braces against his chest, and flicking the innermost part of Frodo’s left ear. Leaving them standing somewhat bewildered in the center of the room.‘What do you think that was all about?’ Sam rubbed his shoulder ruefully.‘With the two of them, heaven knows.’ Frodo shook his head. For the rest of the afternoon Frodo shooed ghosts from Bag End’s winding corridors, whilst Sam got to work clearing the dead from the garden.Starting with the cellar had seemed a reasonable choice to Frodo, but upon entry he was beginning to have his doubts. A strong scent of must and decay was emanating from its deepest reaches and the candle Frodo had been holding now looked wan and pitifully insufficient to battle the smothering darkness that surrounded him.Still, not one to back down from a challenge Frodo meticulously began extrapolating the long-rotted from the well stored, starting with last season’s corn. He tossed in a rather large barrel that he’d lugged down into the cellar, anything with a film or smell that was less than pleasant, preserves that had separated, things with odd textures or striations.When he got used to the smell, it was rather nice down there in the cellar. It was cool and dark, and fairly dry. Packed dirt hemmed him in on all sides, which all things considered was a considerably pleasant sensation. Frodo had never been one to be claustrophobic, instead he quite liked the feeling of being closed in, especially now when every moment he felt at risk of floating away. There was no worry of that here. Idly an image popped into his head, of himself closing the cellar door and lying there on the ground with his hands clasped over his chest and his eyes closed. Or digging a deeper, more snug hole and lying in that, with a stone pulled over the top of him.Now that would be a pleasant sleep, he thought as he breathed in a jar of pickled green-tomatoes, one that Bilbo had preserved no doubt.They smelled vaguely sweet and tangy, pungent but not unexpectedly so. Beyond that though, they smelled of Vinegar and the beginning of fall, which was when most of the pickling tended to get done. He popped one into his mouth, and remembered a time when as a pre-teen he had badgered Bilbo about the awful smell that boiling vinegar left in the air.There was an earlier memory too, hovering behind it, in which as a very quiet and scared seven year old, Frodo had watched with rapture Bilbo carefully fill jar after jar. They had looked to him then, like magical elixirs or secret potions. Each sealed container was labeled on top with the messy scrawl of Bilbo’s hand, the date, and then what was inside.This one was no different than the rest, and turning the top of the jar in his hand, Frodo read the hasty message.‘Green Tmt — 3000.’ It said in Bilbo’s hand, a little faded at the margins, paling purple. The paper of the label was yellowing slightly, and a stain had bloomed across the left corner. Frodo closed his eyes, thinking about that year, 3000. He had been thirty two then, Bilbo one hundred and ten. The Last Sweet Year, his mind supplied readily. It was a disquieting title, however apt.He thought about Bilbo’s partiality to green tomatoes, how he and Sam would squabble—never truly of course—because Sam wanted the tomatoes to grow to their full size, and Bilbo kept picking them too early because he loved them that way.Frodo screwed the jar shut and set it down on the ground beside his leg. He wondered as he was screwing, when in one’s adult life the words ‘I miss my father,’ might leave the vernacular. Blinking swiftly he shoved that thought and many others that came along with it aside. It took Sam a good deal longer than he thought it would to find Frodo in the maze that was Bag End. He’d been in the very last place Sam checked: the cellar.Looking back, it wasn’t odd that Frodo had been there, as things likely needed clearing out, but it struck Sam as strange, a sentiment that was only furthered when he entered.Frodo was crouched at the lowest shelf, his arms plunged into the corner up to his shoulder, evidently fishing around for something. It was dim and vaguely cool inside the cellar, only one candle was lit, burning away on a shelf. He must have been down here for a long time, Sam surmised, as the candle was but a wick and fighting for its survival with every passing minute.Frodo stood upon his entry. The ivory crescent of his smile stood out in the low light. ‘Samwise, just the hobbit I was looking for.’ He took Sam by the hand and pulled him down so that they were both crouching by the lowest shelf.Sam blinked in surprise as he was pulled downward, knees aching slightly. It had been back breaking work clearing the garden all day, and his hands were dry and calloused, his coat smelling vaguely of dirt and fresh mulch.‘There’s a can of some sort stuck in a crevice beneath this shelf.’ Frodo continued, fishing again for something with the length of his arm. ‘I’m afraid I’ve not been able to wedge it free.’Sam raised an eyebrow, sitting down fully (mostly for the sake of his knees). His eyebrows came together as he stared into the dark crevice from which Frodo’s pale arm emerged, looking even paler now in the darkness, the whole of him seeming like the after image of an impossibly bright hobbit, whom Sam had stared at too long, and was now burned floating and palid into his gaze.‘I’ll help ya’ best I can, but my hands’ve been pretty roughed up out there, and I’m not sure I’ll be of much use.’ He admitted bashfully, reluctantly sticking his arm into the abyss under the shelf and feeling around blindly. Presently his hand found the edge of something cool and cylindrical, and definitely glass. He could feel Frodo’s breath condensing on his collarbone as he squinted excitedly at the spot where Sam’s hand had disappeared, a little too close.Sam gave it a tentative tug, before rolling up his sleeve and going for it again, this time wrapping the whole of his hand around the bottom of the jar. Despite his own weary joints, and the fact that it was wedged quite deep into what he assumed was a crack in the wall, the object came free on the third tug, the force of which sent Sam falling back onto his free arm.The lighting was poor at best, but the object seemed not to be a jar as Frodo had guessed, but instead a wine bottle. It wasn’t labeled, and the color was of an olive hue. It was corked at the top, and covered in a thin film of dust.‘I’ll be..’ Sam tilted his head, staring at it. He allowed Frodo to take it from him and inspect it, turning it over in his thin hands.‘I’ve never seen this type of vintage around here.’ He mused quietly, running a hand through his hair. They stared at it a moment more, whatever liquid was inside glimmered darkly, catching stray light from the dying candle above.‘Oh— Mr. Frodo.’ Sam’s eyes opened slightly, ‘I came in ‘ere to tell you something, and I’ve gotten all turned around.’ He shook his head, ‘we need to start makin’ for the Green Dragon soon, or we’ll be late and upset Merry.’Frodo’s eyes opened wide with realization. ‘Heavens, you’re right. I had forgotten about that all together.’ They stood, Frodo tucking the wine under his arm to further evaluate later no doubt. ‘Merry seemed uncharacteristically serious about it as well,’ He tugged Sam out of the cellar by the hand, blowing out the candle as he went.The light made them both blink momentarily, for the sun hadn’t finished setting and the streaming sunset that bled through the smial’s front windows was a good deal brighter than that of the cellar. Even though his eyes watered, Sam was glad to be out of there. It was suffocating, and it smelled like vinegar and preservatives. It had also somewhat bothered him seeing Frodo in that dark cool place, something about it.. Sam shook the feeling off, enjoying being pulled around, if only for the fact that it meant his and Frodo’s hands were touching.Frodo pulled them into his bedroom at the end of the hall, setting the wine down on his dresser as they passed it. ‘I’ve gotten rather tired of wearing a loose tunic everywhere.’ Frodo frowned, as if he were trying to convince himself of something, ‘I think it would be a good show of gratitude to Pip and the others if I put in a little more effort tonight.’Sam sat down on the end of Frodo’s bed, watching him as he frantically searched through his dresser drawers. He wanted to say something about not minding the loose tunic look he’d been sporting at all, but on that front he decided it better to hold his tongue.‘Oh!’ Frodo turned around suddenly, ‘I’m keeping you aren’t I? You likely wanted to freshen up back at home, and here I am stealing you.’ He ran a bashful hand through his hair. ‘I’m so sorry Sam, you’re free to go.’‘No worries, Frodo. S’ been a long day.’ Sam squeezed his shoulder before taking his cue to go. He would have stayed—would have liked to have stayed—if only just to watch Frodo busy about and get ready. It was a pleasant sort of thing to witness, rhythmic and usual. But he couldn’t rightly come out around folks with mud streaking across a forearm, and rose thorns sticking out of his ankles. Still, it was nice to wish. When they met at the gate that evening, Sam was all of the sudden very glad that he hadn’t hung around while Frodo had gotten ready, because that meant that the full effect of it all was able to hit him all at once. And hit him it did, nearly stopping him in his tracks.Frodo had swapped that loose white tunic for a thicker cream colored button down, which came up just a little bit at the seam of his shoulders. He was wearing a vest almost buttoned up to the top (save one button) of a very dark royal blue. In fact it was so dark, that only when its interwoven silk threads caught the light, was it revealed to be vibrantly blue at all. The silk threads in between wove a pattern somewhat reminiscent of paisley, and with a white silk cravat peeking cheekily out at the top, the whole thing gave the effect of a wave coming darkly to crest. Sam recalled the crashing sounds of them—the waves— from the first time he’d ever seen the ocean. For some reason he never guessed at how loud they’d be.Frodo smiled tentatively as Sam approached, at once feeling overdressed. For his part, Sam was wearing a fern-green dress-shirt, which he’d rolled up to his elbows, and dark leather braces with red white and yellow thread running in a pattern up them.They approached each other more cautiously than usual, Sam trying to keep his eyes from looking too large.‘I’m not overdoing it am I?’ Frodo met Sam’s gaze nervously. Sam wasn’t sure if he had the capacity to be coherent at the moment, so he simply shook his head, blinking.This seemed to make Frodo even more nervous, and he began to unclasp a small golden pin that had been nestled into his collar.‘I knew it would be too much, I just- I always loved the blue of this weskit.’ He began to ramble as he worked. ‘Perhaps that makes me conceited, but I don’t know, I liked blue before I ever thought too hard about the way I looked in it, and—oh Sam I really do wish you’d say something!’He frowned miserably, and Samshook his head, trying to clear it. ‘You look wonderful.’ He managed, as Frodo caught hold of the collar of his shirt. ‘There’s-woah, there’s no need for that.’ He protested weakly as Frodo pinned the little pin that had been on his collar to Sam’s. It was a cardinal, small wings and head all fashioned carefully of gold.Sam’s warm hands came over Frodo’s as he clasped the back closed. ‘Really, you wear it.’ He insisted.‘It’s too much already if I wear it,’ Frodo shook his head, staring at his handiwork. ‘Besides, I like it better on you.’Sensing that the argument was over, and feeling rather weak in the knees, Sam relented, letting Frodo’s hands go. Before he did though, he noticed a cool ring pressing against his palm.‘We ought to go, or we really will be late.’ Sam repeated, trying not to think about the way the light made Frodo’s hair glow around him.‘I suppose we should.’ Frodo replied swiftly, pressing his lips into a thin line.The walk to the Green Dragon wasn’t really very far, but Sam was begging to wish it were. He kept trying to catch glimpses of the ring on Frodo’s middle finger, the one beside the one that was gone. But it wasn’t facing him, so eventually he gave up on the endeavor. And He had a pitifully small amount of time before they were standing in front of the doors to the Green Dragon.. They stopped simultaneously, as if prompted by some invisible and unknown force. Facing each other, Frodo busied himself fixing Sam’s hair, which he constantly lamented about being jealous of, especially because Sam did little to nothing with it.Sam allowed himself to close his eyesas his hair was carefully parted, and curls were pushed back and pulled forth so as to frame his face or circle his earlobe.‘Alright.’ Frodo said after a while of meticulous fixing. ‘Ready?’They glanced at the doors. ‘Ready.’ Sam nodded. The environment inside the Green Dragon was lively as always, folks dancing and fiddles singling. Candlelight and lantern light was being tossed back and forth across the room by earrings and beer steins and necklaces, and anything else that was an ounce reflective.Sam felt Frodo’s hand tighten around his upper arm, as he followed him through the crowd looking suddenly very meek.Merry hailed them from a large table in the back of the establishment, some sort of wooden booth that Sam had never been in a large enough group to occupy. Nevertheless, they made a beeline for him, and soon pushed through the crowd, arriving at the table.There was a very large and somewhat cramped figure pressed into the booth. Sam realized who it was at the same time that Frodo did.‘Gandalf!’ Frodo cried, abandoning Sam’s arm and rushing forth to embrace the Wiley old wizard.‘Frodo, my boy!’ Gandalf laughed in his strange raspy way, embracing Frodo back.‘Pippin!’ Pippin cried, imitating Frodo’s tone of voice with a woeful sniff.‘Oh, Pippin- I'm happy to see you too.’ Frodo smiled, embracing Pippin next, and with a little less gusto.‘Clearly.’ Pippin laughed, getting out of the booth to hug Frodo, then Sam in a rather forceful manner. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen the two of you.’This was, of course, not true. They’d only just returned from their journey at all, but Sam could admit that after spending so much time together a day (or a night) apart felt longer than it ought.It struck Sam, that Sitting among them felt almost startlingly like coming home. He never once thought that he would find a home among the magical, or even simply between gentlehobbits, but life had been strange, especially to him. Not even in the stories was it wont to be this odd. Classes mingling, Wizards drinking in little taverns they could not fit into. Elves clinking glasses with dwarves. The smallest of people holding the greatest of burdens in hands, made worthy by their very unworthiness, and a humility that comes from being aware of one’s ineptitude.The talk, though interesting enough, washed over Sam in soft mumbled waves. Pushing forward and back as the night deepened and the moon waned on. He found himself increasingly transfixed by the ring on Frodo’s mangled right hand. The band was silver, and implanted in the center of it was a very dark lapis stone. It wasn’t streaked with calcite the way that cheaper cuts tended to be, but rather it was blue from surface to center, and almost beyond. It did not reflect the light of the room, seeming instead to absorb it and by it become bluer still.Sam watched it move as Frodo rested his hand on the side of his stein, listening.‘If I turned your ale to brandy, you foolish Took, you would likely need to be carried out of this establishment on a stretcher.’‘But you can do it, can’t you? Didn’t you get some sort of Wizard promotion after Moria?’ Pippin blinked pleadingly by Gandalf’s spindly elbow.‘You’d think he’d’ve gotten a little bit wiser, going on the adventure we went on.’ Merry whispered to Sam with a smile. ‘I mean, you certainly have. It seems just yesterday you were stumbling down towards the Brandywine, looking quite like you’d seen a ghost.’ He punched Sam lightly in the shoulder. ‘Now look at you, Samwise the Brave, Samwise the kind, Samwise the stout.’His and Merry’s eyes met, and somewhere in their shared gaze was mired every strong emotion they could not say, for strong emotions rarely have words and if they do it is a poet’s job to extrapolate them, not a gardener’s.‘Thank you, Mr. Merry.’ He said at last, clicking their glasses together. ‘You aren’t quite the same as when we left either, I’d say. An’ I think we’re both the better for it.’Merry hummed softly.Just then there was a loud yelp, as having finally given in to Pippin’s request for a magic trick, Gandalf had turned the hobbit’s cravat into a rather benign looking garden snake.‘Merry! Get it! The thing’s out to kill me!’ Pippin called fretfully, too nervous to touch the snake. ‘He’s after me!’It was as Merry—between fits of laughter—had begun to unwind the snake from Pippin’s neck, that Sam first noticed Frodo was gone.‘Where did Mister Frodo get off to?’ He asked absently, not too concerned with the kerfuffle happening at the table around him.‘The lad said something about needing some air.’ Gandalf twinkled wisely at him from across the table, unbidden. Sam blinked, feeling suddenly a little bit uncomfortable. He had a strange feeling when Frodo was out of his sight, like he might cease to exist. It was probably an unhealthy thing, but he didn’t think that right now was a good time to address his psychological problems.‘I- er’, I think I might go check on him, just in case.’ He put his drink down, feeling a little bit dazed.‘Egh- Merry, where’s Sam got off to?’ He heard Pippin mutter from behind the snake, which seemed to have taken a liking to him.‘Where do you think?’ Merry rolled his eyes, turning to watch Sam go. Behind the tavern it was eerily quiet, and Sam got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be there. Barrels that had been used and discarded were piled all along the back. The grass had been worn to dirt in unsightly places, tufting up in an odd way.By the door, just a little ways off and surrounded by a graveyard of barrels, Frodo was lying on his back. He’d unbuttoned his vest completely, and undone the first three buttons of his undershirt.His eyes were closed, hands clasped over his chest. As Sam opened the door, a golden slice of light fell over him, eclipsed again when the door closed. But he didn’t stir, not even when Sam sat down.‘Please Sam, go back inside.’ When he spoke he barely moved. His shoulders didn’t shake.‘It’s nice out here.’ Sam said simply, lying back on his hands. Orion was above them, immortalized in constellation. But they were hobbits and not men, so they did not know this. He hung over them anyway, indiscriminate.‘Go back in.’ He was insisting now. But his tone didn’t scare Sam. Very few things did nowadays. He didn’t move.‘I don’t think I will.’ Sam said softly back, closing his eyes. The whippoorwills were calling in the leafy canopy nearby, sounding sad and lovely. Somewhere in the distance the Brandywine was flowing, one of its tributaries trickling on in the woods a little ways off. Crickets chirped. Cicadas hummed.‘I’m rotten.’ Frodo said after a long time, his pale face was pinched like he might be sick. ‘More so than anything in the cellar, or the garden. I’m falling apart rotten, strawberries in late June rotten.’ His voice strained within itself, coming open in sallow torn places.‘That’s alright.’ Sam said softly, head laid in his entwined hands. He didn’t open his eyes.‘You don’t get it.’ Frodo continued, almost feverish now. ‘There is nothing whole in me anymore, nothing that isn’t fast on its way to dissolving..’ He sat up, staring at his mangled hand, then his real one. ‘Half of me is gone, and the other half will follow after. That’s how it always goes.” He swiped a hand across his face, jerking the lapis ring from his finger and hurling it with surprising force out into the woods. It rustled through a bush somewhere. Sam sat up, watching it fly. A crow took off, startled.He turned to Frodo after it hit the ground, his eyes wide and earnest. ‘I could grow a bush from half a rose.’ He took Frodo’s hand, ‘There ain’t nothing wrong with bein’ half of something.’ He sounded pleading, almost desperate.Frodo fell silent, shaking his head over and over, like he was arguing with himself. ‘I’m no plant, Samwise.’ He said at last.‘No you’re not.’ Sam conceded, ‘you’re a right lovely hobbit. And you’re brave, very brave.’ He tried to sound as convicted as he felt.Frodo closed his eyes again. ‘I want to go home.’ He said softly, looking down.‘We’ll go then.’ Sam didn’t worry about Merry or Pippin, or Gandalf. They would understand. Instead he pulled Frodo to his feet. They never went back inside, taking the low paths and winding roads back to Bag End, walking in silence, listening. It wasn’t until the yellow-bright windows of the Smial glowed in the near distance that Sam spoke.‘Sleep, Mr. Frodo. I reckon things’ll look better in the morning.’ Even in his own ears, the promise sounded hollow and insubstantial. But what could he offer in the face of such hopelessness? His remedies felt pitifully quaint. But he would face the coming world with a dinner fork if he had to.‘Don’t go.’ Frodo grimaced as he heard how pitiful he sounded. But he didn’t want to be alone.Sam opened the door for him, brushing a finger over the scratch in the center of its dark green face. ‘Don’t you worry Mr. Frodo, I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Maybe we’ll have some of that wine. We can make a night of it.’And they did. They sat up, and talked, and drank the wine from the year 3000. And for just a little while, Frodo forgot.