After it was done, Sam sat up and gave Frodo a light kiss on the cheek. "I'm going to wash up," he said. "There's that stream we crossed in the dell last night. I'll be back soon."
And without bothering to dress or even pick up his cloak, he fled, leaving Frodo to lie alone in the tall grass. His one thought was to get away. He ran down the slope of the hill, pushing aside the branches of trees and underbrush that caught at his bare arms and legs, until he came to the stream at the bottom.
The water was not deep, no more than knee-high. Sam waded out to mid-stream and sat down on a large, flat rock that just cleared the swift-flowing current. He scooped up a handful of water to splash on his face; it was bracingly cold and the shock of it was like the slap he thought he deserved. He'd caused Frodo pain--why shouldn't he pay for it?
Everything had started out so well. They'd stopped on their way through the forests of Ithilien for a few hours' rest, making a bed in a clearing near the top of the hill. It was a warm and peaceful night. Spring had come to this part of the world; after the muck of the marshes and the desolation near the Black Gate, the fragrant scents of wildflowers and other green and growing things had gone straight to Sam's head. He'd felt refreshed, and more hopeful for the future than he had since they'd parted from the Fellowship. He'd been thinking of Frodo as more than his master, more than his friend, for weeks now and, tonight, that yearning had grown particularly keen. And when Frodo started talking about being lonely too, and about the things they'd be sorry to miss out on if they never went home- Well, could he wish for a better chance?
Sam had summoned his courage and said what was on his mind and, to his astonishment, Frodo had accepted him. A minute later, they were kissing, and then Frodo asked if they were going to make love...
It should have been wonderful, but instead it'd been awful. Neither of them knew what they were doing--Frodo knew even less than he did--but they'd both been so eager to learn. Sam had felt awkward and uncertain even during their first exploring caresses, but at least he'd pleased Frodo by finding the right places to touch. That had been enough for them to go farther, touching more intimately, pressing closer together, until they attempted to couple. Frodo had trusted him to do it right, and he'd tried his best; he'd drawn on his meager knowledge--things the Gaffer had told him about getting married and having babies, dirty jokes he'd heard from older lads--but it had all gone wrong.
Frodo hadn't said anything, not at first, but Sam had felt the hands on his back clench tightly into fists. He'd heard the small, surprised gasps before Frodo bit into his lip to stifle a cry. Then, those terrible words, "Stop, Sam, please. It's hurting too much."
As he sat mid-stream, Sam noticed a dark smear of blood high on the inside of his thigh. Frodo's blood. Horrified, he scrubbed at the spot until all traces were obliterated, then sank down with his head in his hands and wept, feeling like the worst kind of brute.
He was startled by the sound of stones rattling on the stream's eastern bank. Someone was approaching.
Sam was suddenly aware of how vulnerable he had made himself by sitting out here. He'd left his short-sword, along with his clothes, his pack, and Frodo, where they had settled near the hill-top. Crouching down against the flat surface of the rock, he anxiously scanned the bank, but saw no one. Was it that nasty, sneaky Gollum come back? They had not seen him for hours, but he always returned sooner or later.
There was a glint of gold in the faint pre-dawn light. Sam peered harder, until he found the bare feet on the grey stones, and the pale face against the darkness of the trees. "Frodo?"
Frodo stepped forward; he was still very hard to see, wrapped in his elvish cloak that blended into the underbrush as naturally as a fawn's dappling. "Are you all right, Sam? You've been gone such a long time, I was beginning to worry."
"It's nothing." But his voice was choked with tears.
Frodo came closer. "You're crying. What's wrong?"
"I hurt you!" Sam answered in a sob. "I'm supposed to look after you, not tear you to pieces!"
"Oh, Sam." Frodo flung his cloak over the low-hanging branch of a tree--he wore nothing underneath--and waded out into the stream. "Please, don't." He sat down beside Sam to brush at his tears, then put both arms around him. "Don't cry. I'm not in pieces. It wasn't as bad as that." He drew Sam's head down to stroke his hair, and made comforting little "hush-hush" noises. "It's all right. Losing my virginity is far from the worst thing to happen to me on this journey."
"It should've been better," Sam sobbed against Frodo's shoulder. "I tried, Frodo. I tried to do it right, and it was all horrible. I was clumsy, and rough, and stupid. I hurt you!" he repeated miserably. "Why didn't you stop me sooner?"
"Because I didn't want you to stop."
Sam lifted his head, gaping in astonishment. "You can't have wanted that."
"No," Frodo answered thoughtfully, "but perhaps I needed it." Sam made a sound of shocked disbelief. "Yes, Sam. You don't know what it's like for me as we get closer to Mordor. I can feel this-" He indicated the Ring, dangling at his breastbone. "It grows heavier every day, and casts a mist over my mind. The world is fading. Sunlight, sounds, the taste of food--none of it seemed quite real anymore. I feel as if I'm moving in a dream... but the pain cut through. I took as much of it as I could stand. You see why, don't you? It made what was happening real. For that time, I wasn't thinking about the Ring, only of you--of you having me."
While he didn't understand everything Frodo was saying about mists and dreams and needing pain--that last was still shocking to him --Sam knew Frodo wasn't just saying it to try and be kind. He sniffled and wiped his face with the back of his hand. "It wasn't so horrible?"
"It wasn't horrible," came the reassuring reply.
If Frodo said it, then it must be so.
"Please, don't fret over it," Frodo went on. "You've nothing to blame yourself for. It was what I wanted. Even before you spoke, I was thinking how sorry I'd be if I never knew what it felt like to be loved. I'm glad it was with you." He lifted one hand to Sam's face, then kissed him gently. "I wouldn't have had anyone else. And it'll be better, once we learn what we're doing."
"We'll learn-?" Sam had not dared to hope.
"If we have the chance." Frodo's eyes grew solemn. "I can't pro-mise more than that, Sam. Who knows what will happen to us today, or tomorrow? We may have a few quiet hours like this to ourselves before we go into Mordor. If we do, we'll try again." He looked up and around, as if only now aware of their absurd position: sitting naked on a slab of stone in the middle of a stream. "We'd better go and get dressed before we catch cold," he said, and ran his hand over a gooseflesh-stipled arm. "Have you finished washing up? Then give me a minute."
He climbed off the rock and knelt in the rush of water to bathe quickly while Sam gave his tear-streaked face another splash, then they waded out.
When Frodo reached the bank, dripping wet and teeth chattering, he plucked his cloak from the tree branch and threw it around Sam, who was also shivering, then stepped close enough to pull it around himself as well. Sam took up a handful of fabric at the hem to blot droplets from Frodo's shoulders, then rubbed briskly down his back to warm him. He couldn't see Frodo's hands, hidden beneath the folds of the cloak, but he felt fingers tickle his chest, then drop to one flank to grab and pull him closer.
They stood for a moment, pressing up against each other, gazing into each other's eyes.
"No regrets?" asked Frodo.
"No," Sam answered, "not if you don't have any either."
"And no more tears, my love?"
The endearment took him by surprise. "'My love'?"
"Well, aren't you?" Frodo smiled--and that smile lifted Sam's heart. Things had not been ruined between them after all. Wrapping both arms around Frodo's waist, he nearly lifted him off his feet with a passionate kiss.
They might have tried to make love again then, but there was no more time. The world was waking around them. Birds began to twitter in the trees. The sky had become pale blue and, over the looming shadow of the mountains to the east, was streaked luridly pink with dawn.
"It's daybreak," Frodo said as he reluctantly withdrew from Sam's arms. "We can't stay here any longer. Perhaps we'll have another chance later on. If not..." he sighed. "Well, if things go wrong, then at least we can say that we've had this one night."
He took Sam by the hand and, cloak still covering them both, led him back up the hill to their camp.
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