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elwinglyre ([personal profile] elwinglyre) wrote2007-06-15 04:35 pm

Second Breakfast at Tiffany's 5

"Ignoring your guests?" I asked, tightly. Brow knit together in both concentration and consternation, Frodo opened his mouth. He sat down on my bed, his fists balled tight, eyes falling to the floor. I was surprised, Mr. Baggins never seemed to be a hobbit who was ever at a loss for words. By the strain on his face, he was just as surprised at his loss. I finished folding my clothes and turned to him. His eyes rose in a white hot look of determination, then like a sudden wind whipping away storm clouds, his eyes brightened. 

Before I could blink, Frodo crossed the room. His face close to mine; the ale stale yet sweet on his breath, and I turned my head away. I couldn't look at him, could not trust myself one look in those haunting eyes. 

"I'm sorry Sam," he whispered. "I didn't mean it that way."

"What way did you mean it, Frodo?"

I didn't know why this should hurt so. After all, we hadn't known each other long. I pushed him aside and stalked out of my bedroom. Frodo followed, his feet falling just one step behind mine, his words poured out like elvish runes off my quill. 

"Rusty would never understand..." he said low and quiet, weaving some enchantment on me. "Never would he believe if I told him that you were my friend. He would think there was something more. Something between us."

I was walking in circles and Frodo followed behind. I ended back in my bedroom, standing next to the window, wishing he'd go out.

"He does think there is something more, and you did everything you could to make him think it tonight."

"I had him think I was after you for what you have. He doesn't perceive my being a scoundrel as a threat to him. That is what I am. He accepts me. A friend, now that would be a threat. He understands greed. That is why I told him I was after what was rightly mine."

"Sounds like there's a bit of truth in those words. You're after something Frodo. Now Trawler, he was speakin' the truth. How else would he know about me being the Baggin's heir?"

"Samwise, please. You having what I wanted, it hurt and, true, it hurts still.  Yet, it was never Bilbo's riches that I coveted-- it was his time I envied you. Admittedly from the moment you first came here, I knew who you were. I watched you and for a time, silently, I did hate you. Maybe, not so silently. Also," he scratched under his eye and sighed, "I did tell Rusty how I felt. A mistake for which I am now sorry," he admitted. Sitting heavily on the bed, he looked down into the palms of his hands. "It wasn't an accident the first time I came through your window. The very thing Rusty told you, I did intend to do. After I got to know you that first night... you lending me the books... our talk... I liked you Sam... I liked you. Wasn't your fault, my losing the legacy and Bilbo. I realized I hadn't really lost it all, after all. I look at you now, and I no longer blame you for my lot. With you, I have a bit of Bilbo still."

"I'm to believe this?" I said, turning away from them eyes again.

"Sam?" he whispered. "Sam? Please don't hate me."

"Who are you Frodo Baggins? No Baggins I ever know'd would treat me such. Why did you pester me to come to that farce of a party tonight if you didn't want something from me?"

"I thought the party was going splendidly until Rusty opened his mouth. You honestly thought it a farce? Are you trying to hurt me in turn, Samwise?" He winked at me. My face grew hot. "You may... I deserve what ever insults you throw at me. Insult me as a host if it makes you feel better. It means you care-- it wouldn't hurt if you didn't care," he brightened. "I care. You care, don't you Samwise?"

"Don't you have guests to get back to?" 

"Bah," he said, standing up and walking toward me. "This is more important. You are more important."

"And why am I so important?" He stopped in front of me.

"I need... I need..." his voice faltering as he stared out the window behind me. 

"Well, I'm waiting. What do you need?"

"I need... to believe," he murmured, closing his eyes. 

"What do you need to believe?"

"I need to believe that I matter to someone... more than some object. That's all I am to Trawler."

"What is he to you?" I asked. Not that it mattered to me.

"Security. A home."

"That is it? You are willing to settle for that?"

"Nothing wrong with that. You have too."

"Yes, but there has to be more," I said. "Someone who cares if you're gone tomorrow..." 

"Like Bilbo," Frodo whispered.

I was seething. What was he trying to do, pulling out all these feeling from me like some kind of poultice? Did I matter that much to Bilbo. He left. I pushed past, stomping across the room.

"What makes you believe I care?"  I spat. I stood with my back to him, turning. I waited for an answer. It was mean what I said. I was half sorry I said that now. I sat, landing heavy on my bed, crossing my arms. Frodo eyes flickered open, his pupils wide. He absently tapped his ankle against the chair leg next to him. 

"You just don't watch my lips when I speak," he hesitated a moment, worrying his lip between his teeth. "Even now, angry as you are at me, you are listening. What I say to you matters, Samwise," he sighed and took a few halting steps forward, stepping next to the bed. "Earlier today you sipped tea and took time to tell me which tea service went best and why..."  the bed moved not a hair as he sat quietly next to me. "You don't roll your eyes and whisper under your breath, 'there's that crazy Baggins talkin' 'bout dragons and mountains and all that foolishness.' And that night we were telling tales, I fell asleep in that big old chair by the fire. You let me stay there cramped next to you even though it cricked your back."

"That chair is the only bit of furniture I took from Bag End," I said, looking around at this place-- the  frilly curtains, the busy walls with the foreign pictures on them-- there was little that was familiar. 

Right then I thought I was no different than Frodo. My earnings were paid as much from this bed than from my desk. No way I could afford this apartment in Highburrow Hall from pen and ink. Frodo knew as much-- he'd alluded to it moments ago. When first we'd met he'd said as much: "Falling in bed with those with well lined pockets isn't shallow-- it's sensible. You, of all should know that." It made me both angry and embarrassed. 

"I know," he said. 

I blinked, panicking. Frodo saw; he read my mind. He was a Baggins after all. Like Bilbo knowing me inside and out. Bilbo knew when I'd been up to mischief, like pilfering apples from Chubb's orchard or stealing kisses behind Holman Cotton's shed. Frodo may not know about the purse on the mantle, but he knew what I did to keep this place. 

"I knew it the moment I saw it," Frodo continued. My heart sank to my feet. He saw me, hypocrite Samwise Baggins. "That big old chair is like Bilbo. A few stains, lumpy and a bit worn here and there, but fits in all the right places." 

I never felt such relief. The chair. He had meant the chair. I knew then how much his friendship had come mean to me. He took my hand. It was a gentle squeeze, and I felt my heart do the same.

"What's wrong now, Samwise?"

"I thought you meant..." I bit down on my shame; I had to speak it. "When you said you knew... I thought you meant my arrangement, and I'm not referring to placement of furniture in my room if you get my meaning. I'm not happy no how with the way my life is. I fear sometimes that naught will come to me but endless days transcribing whilst taking payment for more than work." 

"Excuse me Sam, that's trifle melodramatic." 

Why was I confiding in Frodo? Hadn't he betrayed my trust? My eyes met his and darted away. 

"We do what we must," Frodo confided. "I do."

"Shame is what I feel. My Gaffer would slap me from here to Bag End for sneaking and such..." 

"It's the 'and such' that is fun," he said bowing his head to look into my eyes. He lifted my chin with his finger. "Samwise, what does it matter unless you are not happy? If you are not, then change what gives you misery. I measure the pain against the gain."

He chuckled as I shook my head.

"Don't look at me like that!" he laughed. "The gain is not always mine."

"I am not happy, and that's a fact."

"Decide what you must, but what ever you decide let what you denied go, holding it only hurts," he said. 

I wondered about his advice. It didn't seem to me one pinch that Frodo had let go of his pain. He embraced it like a wee babe.

"Let go? I think you don't live your own words." 

He bit the side of his lip then smiled.

"Samwise, I do live by my words. I am sorry. That is that. I can say no more. Forgive me," he whispered. The way he said forgive me, 'twas statement of fact. I understood. He knew I'd already forgiven him-- for his comment, for hoodwinking me, for flirting. All forgiven. He squeezed my hand tighter, and I couldn't breathe. "It is true that if you don't, it will hurt me, but I may live with hurt and let it go."

Frodo had said, I didn't look at his lips, I listened. Then why did I only want to look at his lips now?

Ever so slowly, he leaned forward. I stammered a moment as I looked at them. He knew. My eyes flit up as his lips brushed my cheek and met at the corner of my lip. A friendly kiss. A kindly kiss. I didn't understand my heart pounding hard against my chest. 

"Come down in the morning," he said, sliding past me. "Late morning, or better, second breakfast. I think we should talk."

And stepping out the window, he winked at me. "Best get to my guests."

I watched, not moving from my bed. Frodo's hands still clung to the sill. Then I heard him say ever so quietly, "Thank you Samwise for being my friend," and he was gone.

--------------------------

That next day my benefactress chose to have our monthly meeting in the morning instead of our regular evening call. It was well past second breakfast, and she was still a bed. I tried to make excuses to her.  None worked. The sun was falling from the sky when she finally set my monthly purse on the mantle. She jangled it first. The sound was hollow to my ears as it slipped from her fingers. She stared at the mantle, hand resting next to the purse. 

"Samwise," she said, smoothing her hair as she turned to face me, "you really must learn to be more tactful. You've yet to learn what I expect. The simpleton gardener was charming at first, but now it is trite. If you wish to keep our arrangement, know that when I am here my needs are first. I am all that should concern you, and if I am not, at least pretend I am. Now kiss me proper Samwise."

I pulled her to me. I tried my best to put some effort into the kiss. The corner of her lip curled up as I pulled away. She patted my cheek and pulled her shawl snug around her shoulders. 

I saw her to the door. In the stairwell below, Frodo was there, letting himself in his door. He looked up and through me to my guest, his eyes sad. Why oh why had decided now of all times to actually use his door? Frodo watched her sullenly. There was no mistaking the reason for the swing in her hips as she left. The curl on her lips twisted as she brushed past Frodo. I was a coward. I closed my door.

I felt empty. I waited. 

Thus my great inner conflict began. I could not decide what I must. 

Days passed. No knock. No window tapping. No bother. Oh, how I wanted him to bother me. How could one kiss matter so much more than another? Frodo wanted a friend. I wanted... 

Even in my confusion, I knew he was special. I missed him, but I was afraid. Afraid of who I was, what I'd become. What she had said, my compliance to her, made me loath myself all the more. I couldn't be like Frodo and live with it or let it go.

I began to wonder if Frodo really couldn't either. What did he need? Was his kiss truly chaste? 

Three more days came and went. I avoided him, or he me, I was not certain which. It was on a bitter morning when I picked up the Westfarthing Weekly and read in the gentry-folk section: "Master and Mistress Grandgerford Goldworthy wish to announce the bethrothal of  their daughter, Gillinda Goldworthy to Master Randolfo Trawler, son of Master and Mistress Raldo Trawler of  Michel Delving." 

Gilly his roommate. Gilly his friend. I judged Frodo no more. I made a pact with my heart that I would be a friend, a true friend. I would be what he needed. At last I knocked on his door. No answer. 

Over the next days, I watched for him. He slipped in and out. I saw him on the street, walking away. I stood at his door; I stood at my window. I waited, listened, wondered. That he was avoiding me, I was certain.

I paid my rent to Wellwishes late. Unlike me, but I could not bring myself to touch the purse on the mantel until Wellwishes pounded at my door. 

My days I filled with ink, my nights with drink. Nary a word I read from Bilbo's books. The walls of my apartment were empty, yet the thought of fellowship outside my door left me dower. Still I could no longer face an evening looking at that dreadful wallpaper. I chanced to step out. The night was as starless and as chill as my disposition. I  wrapped my self possession around me as I walked. Way lead to way and my feet found the doors of the Buck and Breeches

The smell of hickory and pine greeted me as I was seated at my customary small table in the corner near the rear door.  I sipped ale whilst watching life spill from barrels. Ol' Tom was caterwauling about his tired feet again, and the barkeep, Rigamor, moaned about his strained shoulder. Nothing had changed from last I came. I found this somewhat comforting.

I lazed back and took out my pipe, letting the familiar lull me. After some Old Tobey and too many pints to count, I tired of watching the door blow in and out patrons. It only brought the sour wind. I had drank myself into a serious stupor. My eyelids grew heavy from both drink and weariness. I rested my head back against the pine wall behind me and was just about ready to doze when Amber Frostbottom startled me from my nap.

Her cheeks were flushed and bosoms overflowing from the heavy brocade. She plunked her ampleness into the chair next to mine, splashing the ale from her mug.

"Samwise, isn't it?" she inquired. 

"Yes, I am. Nice to meet you again, Madam Frostbottom. We were formally introduced at Frodo's party," I said, trying my best to sound sober.

"No need to be formal. We're at the Buck and Breeches. Amber to you my dear... and you know my dear husband, that gentlehobbit speaking to Frodo by the fire," she motioned.

My eyes shot up and over to the large fire place in the center of the inn. There stood Frodo, his back was to me, but there was no mistaking the subtle tilt of the head and laugh.

"Yes it seems I'm one of the few he hasn't done his best to be rid of," she said. "The way he's gone about town. I do think his brains have gone to his arse."

"Umm," I said, sloshing my ale. I tipped it up. "There's the bottom."

"Pardon?"

"The bottom of my mug..."

"I thought you might be meanin' Frodo's bottom," she laughed. "A nice one, at least that's what I hear tell. Many have admired it thus could be why his brains are so addled with his head stuck up there and all those cocks prodding it..."

"What?! Frodo?!" Even years later, Amber Frostbottom would shock me, but I was a young lad then and hadn't heard such words spoken aloud before, except bragging out in the field when I was a tween. "What are you speaking about?" I blushed.

He'd heard me squeak his name. He started over to our table.

"Why Frodo," she said to him as he stopped dead in front of us. "I was telling Samwise you used to be particular. Now you take up with common wealth like that Alfonso Brockhouse."

"Amber, leave this alone," he said.

"This has to do with that Trawler marrying Gilly," she leaned into me, whispering loud enough for all them at three tables over to hear. "Not the first time a roommate run off with a the other's man. Now what's wrong with this lad is what I came to ask."

"We're friends," I said. "Only friends. At least so I thought. I haven't seen him since that night."

"I've been elsewhere," was all Frodo said.

I frowned into my empty mug. I wasn't near drunk enough.

"That Brockhouse paws Frodo like a tom after a cat in heat," Madam Frostbottom said to me.

Memories of Brockhouse yowling at Frodo's door did remind me of a Tom cat. 

"When Frodo disappeared after you Samwise at the party, I thought he'd finally found a nice lad," she said, patting the chair between us. "Sit down Frodo. Unless Alfonso is meeting you."

He scrapped the chair hard across the floor and sat down heavy like. "He's not meeting me," Frodo huffed.

"Good," I said, slapping my hand over my mouth and wishing I could take it back.

Frodo laughed.

I laughed.

Madam Frostbottom always knew the opportune time to leave. She excused herself right quick like. I decided I'd had enough. Frodo helped me back to my apartment. He got me to bed. Before he left out the window, he asked me if I had ever gone to Tiffany's. I said no.

"You will tomorrow. Second breakfast," was all he said. 

I never had as good a dream as I had that night.


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