November 29th

“Rose? I am off for dinner with Iris,” Frodo called out as he put on his cloak and grabbed his walking stick. It was dark early, but at least it had stopped raining.

Rose came over and adjusted his cloak. “You have a nice time, Mister Frodo. I’ll be over at the Gaffer’s this evening, should you be needin’ me. I might bring him over here to spend the night if he’s feelin’ poorly again. If so, then I’ll put him up in the back guest bedroom, sos to not disturb you if you’re coming in late.”

“Does he have another cold?” Frodo inquired as he found his walking stick. Sam’s elderly father was becoming increasingly frail and unable to completely look after himself.

“A bit of a cough, but nothing serious,” Rose replied. “I think he’s just happy to have someone come over and talk to him. What with him bein’ all alone in that nice, new smial and all. I mean, it’s nice, but it’s not the same as the old hole what was tore up by Sharky in the bad year. I know the Gaffer don’t have any attachments to the new place. Not like his old smial. There aren’t any family memories there for him. I think he’s happiest over here with us instead of by himself, tell the truth. All his other children are scattered throughout the Shire and don’t come see him as often as he would like. And he’s not as spry as he used to be. Me and Sam help out when we can.”

“You are a blessing to him, Rose,” Frodo smiled. “I know you have taken to doing his laundry as well as ours.” Frodo stopped a moment. “Rose, when Sam gets back from his trip, why don’t we all sit down and discuss what to do for Hamfast? Think about this for awhile. Why not have him move in with us here in Bag End? It certainly has the room. Would that make it easier to care for him? Or should we hire a nursemaid?”

“Well, there’s an idea, but his pride may get in the way.” Rose pulled his cloak tightly around his chest. “I’ll think on it and we’ll discuss it later. Now, you go on and have a good time.” Rose was delighted that Frodo and Iris were back together again, and encouraged Frodo to get out of Bag End as much as possible.

Frodo kissed Rose on the cheek and headed out into the evening gloom. Within 30 minutes he was at Iris’s house. The walk in the brisk evening air was refreshing, and seeing the sliver of the new moon brought an unexpected cheerfulness to his heart.

The smell emanating from the kitchen was magnificent. Iris was pulling a roast out of the oven as he walked in. Beef, potatoes, carrots, parsnips, onions and mushrooms swimming in brown gravy! Dinner lasted quite awhile until the two were satiated. They repaired to the study and snuggled together on the little couch facing the roaring fireplace.

After some small talk, Frodo cleared his throat and began. “Iris, I have been thinking about relocating to Minas Tirith in Gondor.”

“What’s so special about Minus … Minus what?” Iris asked, pulling the little sitting quilt over the two of them.

“Minas Tirith, the capital of the Kingdom of Gondor. It is a large metropolitan city we visited after Sam and I were rescued from Mordor. It bore the brunt of the War and a lot of its outer ramparts and inner walls and gates were destroyed, but the city itself withstood the test. Right now it is the center of a lot of rebuilding activities. It houses the largest library on Middle Earth.”

Iris shifted a little to rest her head and hand on Frodo’s chest. “Go on,” she prompted.

“I am sure I could convince my friend Aragorn, the King, to let me work in the library,” he calmly said. “I would actually be useful there, and it would be a nice, quiet, safe place for my nerves. And the Gondorians are always in need of healers. Minas Tirith has a very large and well-stocked house of healing. I am certain that your services would be most welcome there.”

“Do any hobbits live there?” Iris quietly asked, playing with the buttons on his shirt. “Or do hobbits visit Minus Tirit?”

“Minas Tirith,” Frodo stroked her hair. “It is a kingdom of Men. And to answer your question, no. No hobbits live there. Minas Tirith is quite a distance from the Shire. I doubt if any hobbits will ever live there, or even visit.”

“Quite some distance from the Shire,” Iris echoed back. “How far? A week’s ride? Two weeks?”

“Several month’s ride,” he quietly replied. There was silence for awhile.

“Frodo, I’ve never seen one of the Big Folk before, much less treated one,” Iris finally said. “I am not sure about my ability to heal one of their kind.” She unbuttoned his shirt and slipped her hand inside, caressing his skin. “I’ve never visited a city before. I’ve never even been to Micheldelving. The longest trip I’ve made was moving here from Southway. I am not sure if I would want to travel all that distance to live in a world without fellow hobbits.”

Listening to Iris, Frodo realized just how insulated the Shire was from the rest of Middle Earth. “I guess I take for granted a lot of things I inherited from my Uncle Bilbo. You see Iris, we Bagginses have the wanderlust – the desire to travel and see new places. Meet new people. Bilbo taught me Sindarian and even some Quenya, and he used to entertain his dwarvish friends whenever they were traveling through the Shire. He can even read and write the Dwarvish runes, though I think he only knows a few words of their secret language.” Her supple fingers were quite distracting. “I am still learning the runes.”

“Well, I’ve just met hobbits, and they are fine by me,” Iris said. Her warm hand found a nipple, and she began to tease it. “High and mighty Men and Kings. They all sound so foreign and noble. I’m sure they are nice to have as friends and all. But could they be family? Could you live with them forever without seeing the likes of Sam or Rose or Merry or Pippin ever again?”

“I don’t know,” he quietly replied, lost in the sensuousness of her touch. He had to clear his suddenly tight throat before he could speak. “Miss Proudfoot, did I ever tell you that you have the most wonderful hands?”

“Thank you, Mister Baggins,” she quietly laughed. “My mouth’s pretty good too.”

He chuckled. “I have never met anyone like you, Iris.”

“Good thing too,” she grinned and slid her hand around his side. “Otherwise someone else would be enjoying this evening with you and I would be very jealous.”

He shifted around so that he was lying down flat on the couch, Iris atop him. The fireplace paled in comparison to their heat. Within minutes the clothes were unfastened, but not shed. They made love partially clothed, unwilling to take the time to completely disrobe. It was passionate and sweet and sensuous, full of acceptance and hope. It was exactly what they both needed and desired.

Iris found herself beneath him, her skirt bunched up around her waist, almost unaware of how she had gotten into such a position. Frodo laughed, trying to disentangle himself from his breeches and the lap quilt which had somehow become wrapped around his legs. She giggled and helped him remove the last of his clothes. In turn, he helped her stand, and then removed the rest of her own clothing.

Frodo grabbed the wayward quilt and they lay down on the rug before the fire. They snuggled naked under the quilt, content in their afterglow. Frodo had never felt happier in his life.

“How would you like to take a little exploratory trip to Micheldelving?” Frodo murmured, running his hand up and down her torso. ‘Stars,’ he thought, ‘she has such nice curves.’

“Really? Go to Micheldelving? At this time of the year?” Iris asked.

“Certainly. The weather is still holding out fair and fine. We could visit the Mathom House. I have not been there in years, and there are things there which Bilbo donated which I would like to see again. We could even meet up with Doctor Havloc, if you like. You know - thank him for his judgment on the Wyncot’s situation. He did invite you to visit someday, if I recall correctly.”

“I would love to visit their medical library,” she said.

“Then it is settled,” Frodo grinned. “You need to get used to traveling on pony in inclement weather anyway, seeing as how you are dead set for traveling to Rivendell in February. This will be a good short training trip. One day traveling to Micheldelving, one day visiting, one day traveling back to Hobbiton. You need to prepare yourself mentally and physically for the longer, more arduous journey.”

“All right, it’s settled,” Iris kissed him.

Frodo lay on his back, staring off into space. “This will also establish a pattern of the two of us, traveling about the countryside on ponies so that suspicions are not roused.” He turned over and caressed Iris’s face. “I am worried that Sam will suspect we are up to something and will find out about our Rivendell plans. He will do everything in his power to prevent me from leaving the Shire, you know.”

“He’s very protective of you, isn’t he?” Iris snuggled closer. “Why is that? It must be something beyond you two being very close friends.”

Frodo lay on his back again and reached over to bring Iris to his side. “He made a promise to Gandalf. A very personal promise. Just between them, and it haunts him to this day.” Frodo pulled Iris close as she draped her arm over his chest. “Even before we left the Shire on our Quest, Gandalf made Sam promise that he wouldn’t leave me. Ever. And Sam’s a hobbit of his word. He never will let go of that promise. Not while he has breath left. But this promise is tearing him apart, now that he has Rose and they have a family on the way. And now that I am … well, …”

“And … you’re on a different path than Sam?” Iris quietly questioned.

“Yes,” he smiled. “Did I ever tell you that you are a wellspring of subtlety, Miss Proudfoot?”

“No,” she laughed, “I’ve never been called that before! I’m usually accused of being too blunt for my own good. My mother once said if I didn’t stop telling the naked truth I would never catch a nice young hobbit.”

Frodo leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Well, I am not young, so keep telling me the truth, my dearest. Pay no attention to what your mother said.”

“If she could see me now,” Iris whispered.

Frodo snorted.

“Oh, I mean … Not literally see me …“ Iris sputtered. She suddenly started tickling Frodo. “Not THAT way! You silly beast. You know what I mean …”

Frodo writhed in pleasurable agony. “Stop!” he sputtered and laughed. “Uncle! I give!” It was no use. She continued her tickling torment. He finally grabbed her wrists, and with a sudden twist, he was once again atop her and the poor quilt pushed to one side.

“Did I ever mention that you have the most torturous hands, Miss Proudfoot?” he gasped, continuing to hold her captive in his grasp.

“No, but if you let me go I’ll really show you what a proper tickling can mean,” she laughed.

“Just try,” Frodo growled, letting her go only to pounce upon her sides with his own tickling. Iris shrieked and wiggled in an uncontrolled fit of simultaneous pleasure and almost-pain.

“No! Stop!” she panted/giggled. “I give! Uncle! Uncle! Oh, Frodo! You win! Uncle!”

They both collapsed in a fit of laughter. Neither could touch the other for several minutes, as their mutual heightened sense of touch brought about spasms of delight. They finally collapsed, completely spent, in each other’s arms. The errant quilt once again regained it former glory as they stretched out before the embers in the fireplace.

Iris propped herself up on one elbow and stroked Frodo’s raven curls. She loved those curls. She loved him completely.

“We should travel to Micheldelving within the next two weeks,” Frodo said, “before the lovely late autumn weather gives way to cold winter rains and snow. A trip to Buckland or even Bree should be next…perhaps in December.”

“Don’t push your luck, Mister Baggins,” Iris countered. “Let’s see how the Micheldelving trip goes first. And if that works out all right, we will adventure out on pony later.”

Frodo returned to Bag End well past midnight. He could hear Hamfast Gamgee snoring, even from as far away as the back guest bedroom. But it did not bother him tonight. Nothing could bother him tonight.

Private Message:

To: King Aragorn, son of Arathorn, of the house Strider
Minas Tirith, the Kingdom of Gondor
From: your loyal subject and friend, Frodo Baggins
Bag End, The Shire, Kingdom of Arnor

Dearest Strider,

Please consider this message to be a secret between you and me. It would prove disastrous for me personally if its contents should be spoken aloud to anyone save yourself.

Due to health considerations, I am considering relocating to a quiet, peaceful, secluded location. Upon reflection, Minas Tirith offers one such a possibility, if I can secure accommodations and avocation suiting my talents. I was wondering if you would be amenable to secretly hosting me as a librarian or historian in Minas Tirith on a possibly permanent basis? If such a position could be arranged at the Royal Library, I would entertain the idea of relocating from the Shire to the White City on a permanent basis. However, I must emphasize, this is only one of many possibilities I am considering. Hence, my need for secrecy. Even from the Lady Arwen, your most noble Queen and close confidant.

Should a position be available for me, I might also consider bringing along a companion – a hobbitess physician. If we do decide to relocate, could you arrange for a position for her in the Houses of Healing? Please, though, for both our sakes, keep it secret. This is an inquiry only, as I am trying to assess all the options available to myself.

I do hope this letter finds you and your loved ones safe and secure. I think about you often. May the Valor look upon your reign with favor, as they have already demonstrated in establishing your kingship.

Your loyal subject,
Frodo Baggins
Bag End, The Shire, Arnor