Evermore

Title: Evermore
Author: Shawna 
Author Email: shawna@i...
Website: www.eskimo.com/~allegro/private/lotr.htm
Category: M/M/F, alternate endings 
Rating: PG
Summary: The resolution of Sam's dilemma, and related events.
Characters: Frodo, Sam, Rosie
Warnings: There's a female in here! Eek! And a decent amount of angst,
courtesy of the damned original story. 
Disclaimer: Characters and set-up: Not mine. Weird ideas and ruthless
twisting of canonical dialogue: Mine. Royalty money? Definitely not
mine.
Feedback: Indeed
Story Notes: Technically my first foray into LOTR character slash, and
here I go making it not classic slash. Oh, well. 

Evermore

Frodo was weak. And tired. To go through over a year's journey in his
quest to destroy the Ring had been draining, to say the very least. To
come home and see his beloved Shire in ruins was even more
heartbreaking. Still, by his side through all of it was Sam. His
faithful, loyal, loving Sam. He knew very well that he'd never have made
it through his trials alive, nor finished his quest, had it not been for
his beautiful Sam. Just the very name was to him the feeling of home.

Things were slowly returning to normal-well, as normal as they ever
could be for him, now. He was relieved that Lobelia had returned Bag-End
to him, as he dearly missed it, though, even with their past animosity,
it pained him to know the sacrifice she made to do it. In any case, the
ravaged condition it was in on his return wouldn't have been to her
liking anyway. Fortunately, it wasn't long before the comforts of his
true home began once more to do some actual comforting. The wonders
created by Sam's box of earth helped greatly in this regard, and he
often found himself gazing at the new mallorn sapling growing at
breakneck speed in the old Party Field.

The Cottons had been wonderful comfort to him as well, during his long
recovery and the restoration of Bagshot Row. Dear Farmer Cotton had
tended him well, as had his gentle and friendly daughter Rosie, when he
had fallen ill and his faithful Sam was elsewhere. However, he didn't
fail to notice the flirtations between his-*his*-Sam and the otherwise
delightful girl, someone Sam had cheerfully considered a good friend in
all his playful tweenager days with her brothers. He felt even wearier
as he considered the prospect that Sam's affections may be eventually
drawn to people other than himself. Yet, he wasn't truly jealous. After
all that Sam had done for him, Frodo felt it only right that Sam should
have someone to support him as well. Rosie indeed was a lovely girl, and
Frodo thought she'd be wonderful to Sam. 

His weariness had led him to shy away from the focus of heroism, and
thus fade somewhat out of the public eye, to be replaced in popularity
by Sam, Merry and Pippin, who relished their newfound glory far more
than did he. And, it seemed to him, people still thought him rather odd.
His travails had certainly taken their toll on his body, and even with
the abundant food and drink now available to him, he still had an aura
of frailty about him, and not at all the healthy glow of a robust, round
Hobbit. In all his years before his quest, it had never occurred to him
that he needed to take a mate, and in any case, few offers or
opportunities had come, due to his reputation for being a little queer
and strange-looking, for a Hobbit. He had thought he could be happy with
a bachelor's life, like Bilbo, though a rare and not entirely approved
of existence. And there was certainly no denying that companionship had
been in abundance, with Merry and Pippin constantly visiting and
offering their humor and embraces, and Sam forever at his side, giving
him the love and attention he needed, in addition to his skills in the
garden. Sam also had given him attention of other sorts, as was needed
from time to time, and Frodo delighted and took comfort in those events
as well, especially the restorative and heartening effect such rare
moments had had on their long journey. "Better than Lembas," he had said
more than once, after Sam's rough but skilled hands and gentle body had
soothed him inside and out, allowing him to rest peacefully for the few
moments he had to do so. 

Before their quest, he had assumed that this companionship would always
continue. After the quest, he found it imperative. So, it was with a
distinct twinge of loneliness and isolation that he felt that Sam was
drawing away from him, and he envied Rosie's interest and mourned Sam's
more and more infrequent evenings alone with him. As he watched the way
Merry and Pippin grew closer, he felt envious of their bond, as well. He
took no solace in the dedicated way with which Rosie cared for him,
assuming it meant only that, as she cared for Sam, so too did she care
for that which was important to him. Still, wanting his dear Sam to be
happy, even if he couldn't be, he made a point of playing up Sam's
virtues to the girl whenever she gave him an ear. He had no idea that
his selflessness and loving acts were endearing him to her, as well. 

The fateful day that he had been expecting came. He was glad to be
moving back into Bag-End, and was pleased to note the progress that had
been made on its restoration, removing all traces of its former evil
occupants. He had made up his mind to enjoy his homecoming, though it be
alone. Yet, he thought he may as well make the offer, it being the
polite and proper thing to do.

"When are you going to move in and join me, Sam?" He said, with a tight
voice, though trying to sound jovial. When Sam just blushed, his stomach
began growing a knot. He still tried once more, making a bargain,
"There's no need to come, yet, if you don't want to, but you know the
Gaffer is close at hand, and will be well looked-after by Widow Rumble."


"It's not that Mr. Frodo," said Sam, and he went very red.

Frodo's heart sank, but he needed to hear the truth. "Well, what is it?"
He finally said softly.

"It's Rosie, Rosie Cotton," Sam said, with a distinct hitch in his
voice. "It seems she didn't like my going abroad at all, poor lass." He
hesitated, seeing the pained look on Frodo's face, "Not that I would
have changed my mind about going with you," he made sure to say. "And,
as I hadn't spoken, she couldn't say so. And I didn't speak, because I
had a job to do first. A job that meant more to me than anything else
could have. But...well.. now I have spoken, though I think she may have
dragged the words out of me, and she says, 'Well, you've wasted a year,
so why wait longer?'" Sam looked distinctly embarrassed, and perhaps a
little perturbed. "'Wasted?' I says, since I certainly have never felt
my time with you-any of it-to be a waste. 'I wouldn't call it a waste!'
I told her, as firmly as I could. Still, I do see what she means. And,
well, there's obligations and all." He looked at the ground, mortified
at having to say it, "I feel torn in two, as you might say." He nearly
whispered.

Frodo's heart swelled. Though he dared not force Sam to make the choice,
here Sam was, at least believing he had one. "So," Frodo began slowly,
"You're saying you want to get married, and yet you want to live with me
here at Bag-End, too?"

Sam nodded, unable to speak, and a tear slowly slid down his cheek.

Frodo smiled, nearly giddy with relief. Sam didn't want to give him up!
Though Rosie may have some of his affections, he still obviously had
many left for Frodo. Enough to challenge the expectations of Shire life
by considering the choice. Frodo thought fast, and came up with a
brilliant compromise:

"Why-my dear Sam!" he fairly shouted, once he'd lit upon the idea, "How
easy! Get married as soon as you can, and then move in with Rosie!
There's room enough in Bag-End for as big a family as you can wish for!"

Sam's face went from red embarrassment to the pink flush of excitement,
"Mr. Frodo!" He exclaimed. "What a wondeful idea! And yet, it seems so
plain to me now." He paused, and a slow smile crept across his eager
face, a smile Frodo recognized but saw all too rarely, "And perhaps," he
said, "it may help solve one other little problem."

Frodo was intrigued, "Oh?" he said curiously.

"Well, you see," Sam blushed again. He never seemed to stop doing that
sometimes, "Rosie had herself a bit of a dilemma, too. She picked me-or
I picked her, or something of the sort-yet she had two minds as well.
Though she never would have said it to you, fearing for your reaction,
and that of her friends and family, she's grown quite fond of you as
well as me."

Frodo was shocked at this news, and sat down heavily on the stoop.
"Fond? How so?" he managed.

"Well, fond... in the way that I'm fond of you. Dear Mr. Frodo." Sam
smiled shyly and sat beside Frodo. 

Frodo took a moment to wrap his mind around the concept. He'd always
considered it lucky providence that his dear Sam had shown interest in
him and his odd ways, when no-one else seemed to. Leastways not in such
a deep and abiding manner. Merry and Pippin's gentle affections, and
occasional playful games, though always an amusement and comfort, did
not have roots so far in the ground. That anyone else but his Sam could
feel that way for him was a shock to him. A pleasant one, however. As he
mulled the idea, the image of the fair and plump Rosie came to his mind.
Though she'd been a mere girl to him for many years, he had always
delighted in her company whenever it had been offered. Certainly, her
main focus had been on Sam, but her affections were true and honest. He
kicked himself for not having noticed them before, too set in his belief
that no sweet Hobbit lass could want him and his strangeness to think of
such a possibility. Yet, it made sense, he thought. Rosie was as dear
and true as Sam was-indeed the reason they seemed such a right pair was
that they were so similar. Perhaps-apparantly, even-such a true heart
could happen in more than one person. 

Sam noticed that Frodo had gone quiet, "If that's a problem, we
can..well.."

Frodo quickly stopped him, "No! Not a problem in the slightest." He
smiled big again, wondering at the sudden turn of his fate. "You shall
be married," he declared, standing up, "And I shall be at your side. And
Rosie's side as well!"

Sam leapt to his feet, crying out in joy, "Oh Mr. Frodo!" he exclaimed,
"We shall be the happiest couple-err-couples-err-Threeple! There ever
should be!"

Frodo laughed merrily, and embraced his-yes, still his-Sam, and kissed
him warmly, "We shall be," he said, "But for goodness' sake, will you
please drop the Mister? Unless I shall be a Mrs. instead!"

Sam blushed yet again, until his flushed cheeks were kissed with such
fervor, that he forgot all embarrassment, there and ever after.

****

The wedding was indeed a lovely party, and the feasting and merriment
went from the soft break of day until well into the deep blue twilight.
Though their arrangement was not formalized specifically, as such
precedents had not been set in Shire custom nor ritual, Frodo felt as
much a part of Sam and Rosie's union as if he had been officially
included. Due to the rather stolid nature of the community, and the
contrastingly rapid grapevine, they decided not to say much of their
relationship to others, preferring to keep up the appearances of a
humble servant living in his master's house with his new bride. Only
Merry and Pippin, sworn to secrecy, were informed of the true nature of
things, and they were kind enough to not share the secret. Well, except
that Pippin thought it only right that Fatty Bolger should know as well.
Fatty thought it odd enough a secret to keep to himself, thankfully. 

The wedding night, however, was another story. Not a secret would be
kept that night, as all three spent hours exploring the wonders of each
other. Frodo was thankful that the bed he had kept was a large one, and
though Bag-End was big enough for them each to have a separate chamber
when time alone was needed, the main bedroom of the house saw the most
use. The nights together were glorious and plentiful. Frodo delighted in
the dedicated way Sam showed Rosie the ways in which he had learned to
please Frodo. Frodo, in his turn, was amazed at the differences in
touch, feel and smell in the Hobbit lass from his familiar Sam. Though
both were round and soft, yet firm of frame, Rosie was distinctly
softer. He found, much to his delight, that the contrast between Sam's
strong hands and her more delicate ones was quite entertaining. Rosie
seemed most amused to watch her two lads together, delighting in their
affection and familiarity with each other's bodies. It seemed they would
never tire of learning new things about each other, both while naked and
warmly buzzing, or merely cuddling close to each other, sharing
conversation and drink by the fire after a healthy meal. 

It wasn't long before Rosie became pregnant. Indeed, it seemed to happen
very quickly, though, they noted to themselves with some pride, they
certainly had frequent enough encounters to have caused it. Her
pregnancy was easy, as easy as any Hobbit mother could have dreamed for.
Indeed, she felt not heavy with child, but light, and full of sweetness.
Children all over the Shire were being born to mothers with no pain, and
with a lovely glow to them, as fair as any had ever seen. Yet Rosie felt
her child was even more special-a gift which dwelt inside her, waiting
for the day it would be presented.

Yet the time was not without its sorrow. Frodo had become ill. Once in
October, and again in March. Though both Sam and Rosie comforted him as
best they could, it was clear that their dear Frodo was still not well.
Sam had not told Rosie, as not to worry her, but Frodo had declared
something terrifying to him, at his October sickness, that his wounds
would never fully heal. Still, Sam hoped for the best, and that, if the
wounds did not fade entirely, perhaps they would lessen with time.

It seemed that Frodo had barely recovered from his illness in March when
Rosie's time came. Her birth was effortless, and the child, a girl,
seemed fairer and more radiant than any the Shire had seen, even in this
time of glowing, golden-haired Hobbits merrily playing on the fields or
making mischief in their parents' home. 

It was Frodo who suggested the name. The child reminded him of the
glorious Elf Queen they had met in Lothlorien, and of the sweet flower
that grew there. Though Sam and Rosie would not say it, they believed
that the child, Elanor, was indeed of Frodo's blood, and perhaps, in
carrying his spirit, had been touched with the hand of Galadriel even as
he had. Most notably, she posessed the deepest, bluest eyes seen on any
child since Frodo himself. 

Frodo watched their daughter grow, and yet not without sorrow. He
wondered how much of a parent and protector he could be to the child in
his state, and dreaded the next time of illness, coming up fast in the
autumn. He heard a calling in his mind. As the Shire had called to him
so long ago, from lonely, dark places, so now did the promise of a more
comforting home. His last. He kept this from Sam and Rosie as long as he
could, and was content for a while, watching the joy of new life spring
forth in the blessed child. 

September came, and he knew he could wait no longer. He took one last
look at Elanor and Rosie, not wanting to bid them a final farewell, as
he set out with Sam on a "visit" to dear old Bilbo in Rivendell. Rosie
didn't seem to know, but the child somehow did. She never cried as he
held her for that last moment, but looked up at him, his own eyes
staring back with a depth and clarity her spirit knew. She released him,
then, and he knew it.

Sam would be much harder to release, and when the truth of his journey
became evident, Frodo's heart quailed, wondering if he should ever see
his beloved Sam again. He was thrilled to have Merry and Pippin show up
at the last moment, and kissed them both tenderly and sweetly, knowing
for certain that they should not ever join him. For Sam he saved the
warmest embrace of all, and felt sick as he finally had to let him go. 

Sam sobbed all the journey home, but when he returned, there was Rosie,
sitting on the front stoop with Elanor in her arms. Rosie now seemed to
know, without being told, and soon tears flowed from her eyes as well.
They sat together and embraced, the child sharing lap space between
them. A gentle coo from the baby made them look down. Elanor reached up
a soft, chubby hand to them, and touched one, then the other, tenderly
on the cheek. And they knew. Their dear Frodo. The Ringbearer, the
chosen one, the fated one, would be with them always. 

*end*

Hobbits