Chapter Text
Frodo strode ahead in the bright autumn sunshine, surveying the rolling hills around him. Behind, Sam followed on, staring out across the slopes. Whenever Frodo glanced back at him, he looked very absorbed in his thoughts. It was the first time he’d accompanied Frodo on one of his longer rambles, so perhaps that was on his mind. Frodo made a note to himself to cheer Sam up if he kept on looking so solemn.
They passed through the hill country north of Bag End and made their way up onto a higher plateau that allowed them views down on the valley lands behind. If Sam turned around, Frodo thought, he’d see his whole world stretched out below them. As they went on along the plateau they came in among a line of ridges with tall cedars. Their red trunks jutted up into the bright blue sky above, while sunshine made the bare clay ridges glow a golden brown.
They paused for lunch and Frodo pointed out the next part of their journey, visible now below them.
“That’s Bindbale Wood. There should be a small village inside called Bin where we can stop for a bit of early supper, and then if we press on we should be able to reach Oatbarton by evening.”
“That sounds very nice,” Sam said politely. They finished their meager lunch and made ready to go on. Frodo noticed that Sam was whistling now. He smiled.
A while later, they entered the forest and Frodo breathed in the fresh air. It was velvety green all around him and pleasantly cool under the shade of the canopy above. They walked on for several miles, passing through light filled clearings dotted with stunning yellow goldenrod and delicate white flowers. Sam told him these were called Queen’s Lace. One clearing they ventured into was full of tall stalked bushy plants topped with burst bulbes, spilling down heavy downey balls of fluff. A southward breeze sent them scattering through the clearing, filling the sunlit air around them. Sam laughed from the joy of it and Frodo was very glad he’d asked him along.
The afternoon wore on and though Frodo thought they made good time, there was no sign of Bin. When they paused to drink from a spring Frodo was standing close enough to Sam to hear his stomach growl. Frodo chuckled.
“Well, even if we haven’t found Bin yet, we have some provisions. Let’s have a little snack, shall we?” he suggested. Sam gratefully agreed. They sat together and watched the stream, munching on apple and cheese from their packs. When they set out again, Frodo was slightly unsettled by how much dimmer it had become. He’d counted on being out of the forest by nightfall. No good, they’d just have to find an inn in Bin. Wherever it was.
That was something else unsettling Frodo, they should have come to Bin by now. His map only showed one road through Bindbole Wood. How could they possibly be lost if there was only one road?
Frodo didn’t tell Sam his worries, unwilling to dampen his mood or scare him. Sam had told him plainly he’d never been ten miles from Hobbiton and he would be relying on Frodo to steer them right. Frodo only hoped he hadn’t let him down already.
Night came on and Frodo had to at last admit he was feeling uncertain. He did keep his tone light.
“I must have been a bit careless in my calculations, but even so, there is a village on this road and we’ll find it if we go on, no question. What do you say to a bit of nightwalking? I know it seems outlandish, but I adore it. Though I am more fond of it when I haven’t been walking all day as well! But at any rate, I suppose we must go on, or else camp.” Sam watched him make this speech as Frodo lit his lantern. Sam was about to answer when there came the low sound of distant thunder.
“Oh dear,” Frodo said under his breath.
“We haven’t got a tent,” Sam said slowly.
“No, we haven’t,” Frodo shriveled a little. While Frodo wasn’t normally against camping out- in fact he adored it- he’d planned to spend each night of this trip in a comfortable innhouse or as a guest in some relative’s grand house. It seemed a shame to inflict camping on Sam when he’d never been much for tramping around. Sam also had a reputation for being fussy- at least other Gamgees had confided this fact to Frodo and Frodo had seen hints of this, despite Sam’s efforts at putting a good face on it.
“I think we ought to try and press on,” Sam said firmly, “A forest is no place to be in a thunderstorm at night.”
“I quite agree,” Frodo said and they set off. Though they pushed themselves hard for the next quarter hour, they still had not found Bin, only more dark forest road. Then came the sound they’d been dreading- the sound of drops hitting the trees and ground. A moment later rain swept over them, pounding down with a breathtakingly sudden furocity.
They pressed on even as the forest floor beneath their feet transformed into sucking mud.
“I think,” Frodo said after a long while. “I think we should stop.” Sam looked at him, eyes wide. He was just as weary and just as miserable and soaked, but he suddenly looked terrified.
“I don’t want to stop here,” he said very quietly. Frodo paused. It was awful out here and he didn’t have much hope of making any kind of shelter for them. Even if they found shelter it would be miserable laying in the mud and wet. And though he was terribly weary and ready to cast himself down in the mud, he could not make Sam stay in a place that terrified him.
“Alright,” he said, “we’ll go on. But stay close? It’s getting quite treacherous.”
They pressed on, neither speaking much. It was so dark and cold and Frodo could feel a sense of forbidding oppression.
Sam reached out and took his hand. Frodo glanced at him, but Sam made no comment. Together they went on in silence.
When Frodo thought he really could not go on any longer in the misery and dark and wet, there was at last a light in the darkness. Frodo’s chest eased. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been. They had come at last to Bin, a small group of houses dotted along the road, with a few more perched on the ridge above.
“Oh thank goodness,” Sam breathed in relief. Frodo rubbed his hand. They made their way down the street and soon spied the inn. When Frodo knocked at the door there was no answer. Frodo winced and knocked again. This time, there was a sound and a moment later the door opened, showing a couple who blinked at them in dim lantern light.
“You poor things!” The woman exclaimed. “Come in. Don’t mind dripping. It’s straight to the tub for you two.”
“Please,” Frodo said between chattering teeth. They were led inside to a small bathroom. The innkeeper ran a bath, then left them to prepare their room.
Frodo and Sam both undressed and paused before the tub.
“You go first,” Sam said. “I dare say you’re worse off than me, sir.”
“But you look miserable.”
“I’ll be more miserable if you don’t go first.”
“Oh very well,” Frodo sighed, knowing when he’d run into Sam’s stubbornness that he wasn’t likely to get round. “But just a quick dip. Then you go.”
“As you like.”
Frodo climbed into the steaming tub, careful and he sat down, wincing as his cold body got warm again. He splashed around a bit, rubbing his face and dunking his head.
“Right. That’s me sorted,” he said and stood up, reaching for a towel. Sam stood up and drew close to the tub, looking in like he was looking at a prize pie.
“You sure?” he asked.
“Quite. Go on,” Frodo said, stepping out. Sam eased in and sighed in bliss as he sunk down to his shoulders.
“Oh lor,” he breathed.
“Nice isn’t it?”
“Very.”
Sam went about washing his head and before it had been a minute he was already making to get out again.
“You have a proper soak this time,” Sam told him
“You know, we could just share.”
“Ah right,” Sam nodded and laughed a little. Frodo shared the laugh and stepped into the tub. They settled down together, legs tucked up close to make room for one another. Frodo thought it felt very cozy.
“Ah, both of you got in!” The innkeeper laughed as he walked in and set down fresh towels and soap on a tray.
“We were both so awfully cold,” Frodo smiled.
“It’s a pity we’ve only the one tub,” the innkeeper said, “but at any rate lads, there’s robes here - I’ll just take your muddy clothes and the missus will get them washed up before you leave- and here’s the key to your room,” this he set down on the tray, “and I’ve got a nice hot supper tray in there for you both when you finish your bath. Have a good night.”
“Thank you ever so kindly,” Frodo said, “And to you as well.”
The innkeeper retreated, leaving them alone in the small bathing room. Frodo watched the candlelight reflect off the water and dance on the ceiling. The warm water was lulling his senses.
“I think I’m starting to feel how weary I am,” Frodo said ruefully, blinking awake to wash himself properly. He reached for the soap and passed another small bar to Sam. He took it gingerly and brought it to his nose.
“Reckon I’ll feel it soon enough too,” Sam murmured, blinking. “This smells of pine!”
“It’s an odd smell for a soap, but I like it,” Frodo remarked. “Clever.”
They finished washing and dressed in the soft robes the innkeeper had left for them, before Frodo led them both down the hall and into their room. It was small but very homey, with two beds tucked together under the eves, a central hearth with a fire already popping behind the grate, and a small round table tucked to the side, where the supper tray had been left. Sam padded in behind Frodo, looking everything over.
“They brought our packs in here,” Sam said softly. “They looked after everything. All with us coming in late and dripping mud.”
“They are very skilled innkeepers,” Frodo smiled, shutting the door quietly, “some of the very best that I’ve met. But, let’s have a look at the supper tray before we decide for sure.”
The tray didn’t let them down. There was a thick buttery potato soup, rich with cream, thin sliced bacon, and beautiful parsley greens sprinkled over it. And beside it, warm dark bread that must have been fresh baked, a hunk of goat cheese, and a few pan fried morels. Along with the food there were two clay mugs brimming with foamy wheat beer.
Frodo devoured the meal hungrily, everything tasting splendid. He watched Sam, who looked equally impressed as he ate and sipped.
“So they can cook, I suppose?” Frodo murmured,
“Reckon so,” Sam laughed and hid a burp.
After they’d finished, cleaned everything up and set the tray outside, they retreated back into the room. Sam took a seat by the low stone fireplace and tucked his feet under the cushioned panel. Frodo yawned and took a seat beside him, blinking sleepily at the fire.
“I sent us on a merry little trip. Sorry about that,” he said. Sam looked over at him and smiled.
“Ah well. It’s just part of wandering somewhere new, isn’t it?” he nodded, “I reckon your map isn’t drawn much to scale though.”
“No. I suppose I’d best be on the lookout for a better one for the North Farthing,” Frodo leaned back. “Silly. Bilbo would laugh at me.”
“I’m sure he done the same a few times.”
“Suppose,” Frodo said. He was getting sleepy again. “I shouldn’t like to go through that hard walk again, but I am ever so grateful that we reached such a wonderful place to spend the night.”
He was surprised to feel Sam move closer and slip an arm around him. He blinked awake. Sam looked very at ease though, as if he often cuddled up and needed no particular reason for it.
“Are you cold?” Frodo asked, still not over the fact that Sam was so close and warm. Pleasantly warm. And he smelled like that pine soap.
“A bit. But it’s quite nice here,” Sam sighed.
“Yes,” Frodo managed. Sam was being friendly and sweet and Frodo had no objection to it at all. He cuddled back, and let his head rest against Sam’s shoulder. Outside, he could hear the rain and wind, but it was like a distant dream. They were so sheltered in this thick walled house, and so bone warm cuddled up close to each other. Frodo closed his eyes, feeling more deeply content than he had in a long time.