Tolkien sighs and tamps the tobacco down in his pipe. "We've been through this before, you know," he says in the repressive tone he takes with undergraduates who want to argue about their grades. "I know we have, and we're goin' through it again now," Sam says, arms folded tightly on his chest, and Tolkien recognizes that mulish look all too well. "Sam, really. Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing." "I ain't saying Rosie's not a corker. But Mr. Frodo -" "- Can take care of himself quite well, Samwise Gamgee, and even if he couldn't, those who dwell in the Blessed Lands can." Sam snorts. "And who's going to do for him, then? Elrond? You know Mr. Frodo, he forgets to eat if someone's not around to remind him." "I don't recall having written that, actually -" "Makes no nevermind. He needs me. And…" Sam reddens, then pushes on, determined. "And I need him." The repressive look grows more intent; it is now the look aimed at undergraduates who whisper during lecture. "I don't believe that this discussion is going to be terribly fruitful, Samwise. Now, I do have revisions to do -" "Bloody right, you do, pardon my language. What happened to that green isle me and Mr. Frodo were meant to go live on?" Tolkien sighs, exasperated. "You know, this really is too much. You're a fictional character, in case the fact escaped your notice. It's bad enough that I had to sit on you to keep you from leaving Rose and Elanor and getting onto the boat with Frodo. I wrote you a happy ending, now I expect you to be happy." "It weren't no happy ending, not without my Frodo!" The look now is as close to thunderous as an Oxford don can manage, the look aimed at undergraduates who turn in blatantly plagiarized material. "I do NOT believe that I am comfortable with the direction this conversation is taking. He is most certainly not 'your Frodo,' and you, my lad, have at last count twelve more children to father." "Aye, and I'll father 'em, and what then? I'll have Rosie and a houseful of bairns, and Mr. Frodo'll have naught but Mr. Bilbo, and not even him before too long; and then he'll be over there all by himself, everything too big for him and no one knowing how to fix a decent mushroom omelette." "Mushroom omelettes are not everything. 'Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven' - " "'Where your treasure is, there will be your heart also,'" Sam answers quietly. "An' mine's across the Sea, and took my heart with him." Tolkien squeezes his eyes shut, rubs a hand across his forehead, and tries another tack. "Rose -" "Aye, I love Rosie. And my Ellie, she's the best bairn there ever was. But I felt torn in two before, and I'm even more torn now, just letting him walk away, never to see him again or know if he's all right -" "Samwise, I promise you that he is all right." "Promises you can't touch aren't nothing but air, my mam always said. You took him away from me, and took him forever, and I can't be quiet and let you write me however you please with that hanging over me. I can't lose him like that. Did you think I could, after all we went through?" Tolkien sighs in resignation and opens one eye, wincing at his burgeoning headache. "Sam, what exactly do you want?" "I want Frodo back." "He can't return to Middle-Earth, he's -" "Been hurt too bad, aye, I know it as well as you do and better. Then let me go to him." "And your family?" "That's for you to figure out, sir, begging your pardon. You made the mess, now you figure out a way to clear it up." "Mess?" Tolkien exclaims, indignant. "I like that! I've given you a lovely wife and a huge family, you're to be Mayor and rebuild the Shire -" "And I ain't sayin' all that ain't good, but it's not enough. I want my Frodo back. Haven't you ever loved anyone the way you wrote me to love him?" The treacherous thought sneaks into Tolkien's head that it is entirely possible that Sam's love for Frodo has grown rather beyond the bounds that Tolkien intended. He quells the thought sternly and sighs. "If I write a reunion for you in the appendix, will you be happy then? It won't be for many years, though, not until after Rose passes away." "Well, better than nothing," Sam says grudgingly. Tolkien sighs again, resigned, and picks up a pen. "All right, all right. Go on, then, and let me write." Sam fades from the comfortable study, leaving behind a soft breath: Just you keep your word, 'cause if you think I won't be watching… "A pox on stubborn characters anyway," Tolkien grumbles, and begins his revisions.     Back to the fanfics page Back to the home page