The Ring had at last been destroyed. The Fellowship had long disbanded, fought, struggled through epic battles and internal ones, and rejoined to celebrate. And the four smallest of the group had returned to their beloved Shire, only to find it in ruins.
With a great deal of work and a little bit of Elf magic, the Shire was renewed, but far from the same. And while Samwise Gamgee had hoped that he and Frodo Baggins would go on with the life that they led before their Journey, it was painfully clear it was not to be.
For Sam, the part of the Shire which had been most dear to him had been the most severely altered: Frodo.
The rightful master of Bag End was not the rambunctious, irresponsible Hobbit he had been when he departed. He was quieter now, almost unbearably solemn, and detached. He hardly spoke to anyone, even Sam, who had always been his friend and confidante. Samwise also noticed that Frodo ate less than he should, and was becoming frighteningly thin, at least for a Hobbit his age. And though Sam cooked a good and proper six meals a day, Frodo ate half that and chose to spend his time indoors reading quietly, or standing just inside the garden of Bag End, watching Sam tend to his flowers and vegetables. Every so often, when Sam was watching him, Frodo's wide, luminous eyes would drift to the horizon, filled with unmistakable longing.
Sam often found him like this at night, gazing out the window of Bag End. It worried Sam, who had never seen Frodo so forlorn. Samwise desperately wished that he could do something for his master to cheer him up and make him spunky and lighthearted again, but all efforts failed.
"Mister Frodo, won't you be wanting your supper?" Sam asked, seeing how Frodo had not eaten, merely shifted the food around his plate with his utensils the way a child would when he is given something he doesn't want to eat.
Frodo shook his head, his dark curls ruffling, his long, shadowy eyelashes resting against his fair skin as he sat back in his chair, closing his eyes.
"No, Sam." He said it bluntly, and Sam looked hurt. Frodo opened his eyes, and Sam was struck by how ethereal those eyes were, how they added an unearthly look to Frodo's appearance when combined with his dark hair and pale complexion. Sam was lost for a moment.
"Mister Frodo, I'm not neither understanding you or comprehending you. You've barely eaten nothing since... since... since before we left!" Frodo shrugged, looking away. Sam reached out and turned Frodo's face so that he was facing Sam. "Why?"
"I told you," Frodo protested wearily, "I'm not hungry."
"For nearly two years, Mister Frodo?"
"Has it only been two years?" Frodo whispered. "Why, it's felt like entire lifetimes to me."
"Yes, it's only been two years, Mister Frodo, and I can't understand why you're not hungry or nothing. It's unnatural for a Hobbit your age, it is." Sam pushed back his chair and took the dishes. "I s'pose if you're not to be eating this then I'll just toss it, shall I?" Frodo didn't answer. "Don't s'pose you're any interested that I plucked up the courage to go and ask Rosie Cotton to marry me." Frodo's neck gave an audible crack as he turned to stare, almost incredulously, at Sam.
"You ... you what?" He gasped.
"Well," Sam said smugly, "now that I have your attention...."
"You asked her to marry you? Sam, how could you?" Frodo wailed softly.
Poor Sam was completely thrown by this reaction. "Most gentlehobbits would congratulate a lad on his engagement," He said, feeling a little insulted for them umpteenth time that meal.
"I'm sorry, I'm just ... shocked." Frodo rubbed his eyes and sniffled a little. Sam immediately went from annoyed to worried again.
"You all right, Mister Frodo? Getting sick? It must be from not eating properly," he couldn't resist adding.
"No, it's ... not that. It's something else." Frodo stood up, pacing agitatedly. Sam put down the towel with which he was wiping the dishes.
"What is it, Mister Frodo?"
"Nothing." Frodo sat down again.
It's not nothing," Sam retorted hotly. "You used to tell me anything and everything. Now you don't say nothing, to me or to nobody." A tear ran down Frodo's cheek.
"I remember those days quite clearly, Sam," He said. Frodo sighed wistfully. "I miss those days, when it was just you and me ... together," He added, his voice shaking tearfully.
"Mister Frodo, you're not making no sense, here." Sam walked over to his friend's side.
"When we were in Mordor, Sam. When it was you and me."
"And Gollum," Sam reminded him. He laid his hand on Frodo's shoulder gently. "What's that got to do with now, Mister Frodo? Those were dreadful times, if you don't mind my saying." Frodo didn't answer. Sam was beginning to get a little frustrated with the conversation.
"Sam, why do you still call me 'Mister Frodo'? We've known each other for years. You're more than the gardener, Samwise Gamgee."
"Am I, Mister Frodo? Am I really?" Sam asked. "Because, what with the way you've been treating me and everyone else, I'm finding that pretty hard to believe."
"Yes, Sam. You're my best friend, my...."
"Your what?" Sam asked. Frodo reached up silently and took Sam's hand in his right. Sam looked down, feeling a stab of pain at the sight of Frodo's hand, with its middle finger missing.
"Sam." Frodo tugged on the hand, pulling Sam in front of him. "Do you love Rosie Cotton?"
Sam was simply flabbergasted by the question and he couldn't even imagine what relevance it had to not eating enough and wandering aimlessly through Mordor. He struggled to answer.
"Well, I ... she's pretty and all. Sweet thing. She's rather sweet on me, if you follow me, Mister Frodo. Lovely smile."
"But do you love her?" Frodo insisted.
"I ... I think so," Sam whispered. Frodo was watching him intensely, his Elf-like eyes penetrating into the very depths of Samwise Gamgee's soul. "Mister Frodo, what's all this talk about love?"
"I love someone, Sam, someone I have known for a long time and care deeply about."
This was something new, nothing Sam would have guessed, for no Hobbit lass that he knew of had ever caught Frodo's fancy.
"Do you, Mister Frodo?"
"Very much," Frodo said, his voice warm. Sam leaned in. "But now, I am afraid this person will ... leave. And then I will never be able to tell them how I feel."
"And? Aren't you going to do nothing about it?"
"Well, you see, Sam," Frodo said, standing, "I'm afraid there isn't very much that can be done about it." He ruffled Sam's hair fondly with his fingertips.
"And ... why is that, Mister Frodo?"
"Why ... because it's you, Sam," Frodo replied quietly.
Samwise was shocked beyond words. Frodo was watching him sadly, tears running silently down his lovely cheeks. Frodo licked his lips as he watched Sam, and the latter realized that the longing which he had mistaken for the desire to be alone had really been a need to have someone close, someone Frodo trusted.
It was only natural that Frodo would want Sam: Sam, who had insisted on going with him to Rivendell; Sam, who had cared for him after Weathertop, refusing anyone else near him; Sam, who had first declared that he would go to Mordor and beyond; Sam, who always took more than his fair share; Sam, who nearly drowned himself trying to stop Frodo leaving by himself; Sam, who took everything so that Frodo would only have the Ring to worry about; Sam, who fought Shelob and saved Frodo again; Sam, who clothed Frodo's nakedness with his own clothing; Sam, who Frodo always said was the only thing about himself which was strong.
And with this realization came a memory from long ago.
Frodo had still been in his 'tweens then, young and reckless, gallivanting around the Shire with Merry and Pippin, and insisting on dragging Sam along, as well. The four had gotten lost in the forest one day, and they were forced to spend the night there. Merry and Pippin had terrified Sam badly, saying the forest was haunted, but Frodo put his arm around Samwise comfortingly.
"Don't you worry, Samwise Gamgee," He had said, smiling. That was the first time Sam had noticed how blue Frodo's eyes were, how smooth his skin was, how warm his embrace could be.
And many times after that, when Sam came to Bag End daily, he crept silently into Frodo's room and watched the older Hobbit sleep. He looked so beautiful, his lips parted softly as he slumbered, arm resting on the blankets, his other hand curled just under his cheek.
Sam awoke from his remembering.
"Mister Frodo, I...."
"No," Frodo interrupted. "Don't say anything. I know it could never be. But oh, how I wish you would not marry Rosie, for I do love nothing and no-one in the world so much as I love you, Sam." He smiled weakly. "It was just a dream, really, I guess." He turned from Sam, who felt his chest tighten. Frodo spoke to Sam, staring at the fire. "I'm going away, Sam. To the sea. Across the sea. It's my time, Sam. I can't stay here any longer. I thought..." He took a deep breath, "... we both thought-- wished, really--that the Shire would heal me, but I'll never heal."
Sam found his tongue: "Well... I'm going with you, then, Mister Frodo, like I always do."
Frodo smiled sadly. "Oh, that you could."
"What do you mean?"
"It's not your time yet, Samwise. Though you were the Ring-bearer for a short time ... it's not your time to go yet."
"But ... how could I be happy without you here, Mister Frodo?" Sam demanded.
"You will have Rosie." Frodo sighed deeply. "I will, of course, be leaving you Bag End."
"What good's Bag End and a Rosie without my Frodo?" Sam cried, running to Frodo and casting his arms about him, kissing his cheeks and forehead. Frodo cried openly, and Sam kissed his tears. "Don't you remember what them Elves told me, Mister Frodo? 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee.'"
"I remember," Frodo murmured, his cheek pressed against Sam's shoulder.
"D'you remember what I told them, Mister Frodo?" Sam asked, stroking Frodo's hair. "'I don't mean to.' And I won't. You're not going nowhere, Mister Frodo, not without your Sam."
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Story notes: Warning: Small spoilers to "Return of the King"
This is pretty mild, as far as other stuff I have read. If anything in here bothers you, I can't imagine why you're reading it in the first place. ;)
