Title: A Class Struggle in Hobbiton Author: Kathryn Ramage Email: kramage@erols.com Pairing: Frodo/Sam Rated: R Summary: When Frodo tries to break off with Sam after their return to the Shire, Sam fights to win him back. Disclaimer: The characters and overall storyline are certainly not mine. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien's estate, and I'm just playing with them to entertain myself and anyone else who likes this kind of thing. August 2003 !~|*|~! When Sam came out of the newly restored Number 3 Bagshot Row that morning in the spring of 1420, he stood awhile at the gate, looking out over the land before him with heart-lifting happiness and a certain amount of pride. After the outrages it had suffered, the Shire was growing green again. A low mist lay over the Party Field, but the silvery shaft of the young mallorn could just be seen shooting upwards; the tree was growing at an amazing rate and sprouting its first golden buds. The bulbs he had planted in Number 3's dooryard were also beginning to bloom. Now that he was home again, he'd have to see about the garden at Bag End next... He turned to look up at the house under the top of the hill, and noticed that a light was burning in the kitchen. Was Frodo up so early? He'd seen very little of Frodo lately. Sam was often away from Hobbiton, putting things to rights in other parts of the Shire, and even when _he_ was here, Frodo usually kept to himself. Al- ready weakened by his ordeal in Mordor, the long trip from Gondor and the scouring of the Shire had taken a lot out of Frodo, and he had not completely recovered yet. Once his services were no longer needed to help restore Hobbiton to order, and once Bag End had been made liveable again, he'd retired quietly. As far as Sam knew, he spent most of his days writing. Since moving back into Bag End, Frodo had invited Sam to dinner once or twice, but never asked him to stay the night. He must be very tired, Sam imagined. Or perhaps ill? With a pang of worry, Sam recalled that Frodo had suffered some sort of fit over the loss of his Ring only a few weeks ago. He had to go up to Bag End right away and make certain that Frodo was all right. When he peeked in at the kitchen window, he was relieved to see Frodo seated at the table, cupping a mug of tea between his hands. But, from the weary and troubled look on Frodo's face, Sam knew that he must have spent a bad night. Tapping lightly on the glass, he called out, "Frodo?" Frodo looked up and gave him a wan smile. "Sam. Please, come in." Sam went around to the front door to let himself in and crossed the parlor to enter the kitchen. "I've been waiting for you to come home," Frodo continued when Sam reached him. "When did you return?" "Last night." He'd been away for a week, planting seedlings to replace the trees in the worst-damaged parts of the Southfarthing. "But I'll be staying closer to Hobbiton from now on. I'm needed here more. I shouldn't have gone in the first place," he berated himself. "You had a bad turn the last time I was away, and if I'd known you were still feeling poorly I'd've never left you." "I haven't had another fit," Frodo assured him. "No, it's not that. If I've been uneasy, it's due to something else, a problem I've had on my mind for some time. I knew you'd be home today, and that we'd have to talk. I can't put it off any longer." His eyes were cast down but, summoning his nerve, he lifted them to meet Sam's as he said, "I think we ought to end this, Sam." "End what?" Sam echoed, confused. "This love affair we've been having." His eyes went down again. "I suppose it's over with already--we haven't really been lovers since we left Rivendell last autumn--but I should break it off once and for all. It's not fair to leave you dangling." Sam didn't find _this_ very fair either. Frodo's announcement had struck him as powerfully and painfully as an unexpected blow. "_Why?_" he cried out. "What's wrong? Is it something I've done?" "No," Frodo insisted. "You've done nothing wrong. I don't wish to hurt you, Sam. I care for you enormously. You've been my dearest friend, and I hope that we can go on being friends just as we've always been. I've enjoyed every minute we've had together, but it can't go on." "Whyever not?" "We're home now. When we were out in the Big Folk's world, things were different. What was right and wrong in the Shire didn't matter--and it isn't right, not here." Sam understood what Frodo was trying to tell him. There were old, often unspoken, rules of what was and was not done by respectable hobbits. You knew your place and kept to it. You married your own kind, and you certainly didn't bed down with the lady or gentleman you served. Out in the Big Folk's world, the old rules didn't seem very important, and they had felt free to do as they liked. But here in the Shire-? Here, it would cause a terrible scandal if Mr. Baggins of Bag End took up with his servant. That didn't matter much to Sam. After everything he and Frodo had been through together, he thought they were past caring about their proper places in hobbit society. But Frodo must feel differently. Why else would he be doing this? "Some people would say I've taken a monstrous advantage of you," Frodo went on, "and they may be right. It's just not something a gentlehobbit _does_. There are lines between master and servant that shouldn't be crossed." "Begging your pardon," said Sam, "but we've crossed them already. We can't go back." "I know. It was wrong of me. I should never have allowed it to happen. Maybe it wouldn't have if I hadn't had to rely upon you so completely. You even rescued me from a tower, like the hero out of an old storybook. How could I help falling in love with you? Perhaps it was only natural under the circumstances. I don't know. Has anything like it ever happened to anyone before?" Frodo shook his head. "Well, however it came about, it's my fault entirely. All I can do is apologize and try to make things right between us again." "I don't want an apology," Sam protested, tears welling up in his eyes. "I just want us to be as we were. I want _you_. Say you don't mean this, Frodo, please. That'll make things right again." Frodo looked pained at Sam's tears, but he only said, "This isn't easy for me either, Sam. I wish I could make you understand why it must be done." He tried to explain. "When I was younger, I used to hope sometimes that a dragon would run through the Shire and give all the dull, complacent, respectable hobbits a good shaking-up. I don't feel that way anymore, now that something even worse than a dragon has been here. I want this place to be just as it used to be, and never touched again. We went on our quest because we wanted to save the Shire, Sam, to keep the old ways of life intact. Maybe some of the old ways _are_ silly and provincial and innocent, but that's how it's always been. After all you've done to restore the Shire, I know you wouldn't change it, not by one blade of grass, any more than I would." "I don't want to change it," Sam agreed miserably. He felt as if his heart were being torn into pieces, but if this was what Frodo wanted, how could he argue against it? Was it all to be forgotten then? Some parts of the quest, he'd just as soon forget, but other moments he and Frodo had shared, even in the midst of those terrible parts, were memories to be treasured. The days they'd spent afterwards in Minas Tirith had been the happiest of his life. Was he to set that all aside and pretend it never happened? Maybe he ought to forget. It wouldn't hurt so much that way. Maybe he'd be better off if he married Rosie Cotton, set up house with her in one of the nice, new bungalows near his dad on Bagshot Row, and went on tending his master as if there had never been anything more between them. He said as much to Frodo, who answered, "That would be best, Sam. As a matter of fact, I've been thinking of getting married myself." "To _who_?" Sam demanded, jolted out of his misery by this incred- ible statement. As far as he knew, Frodo had never been sweet on any girl--and he would have known if there'd been one. "I don't have anyone particular in mind yet," Frodo admitted, "but I have plenty of cousins and some of them are awfully nice girls. If I find one who likes me well enough, and doesn't mind taking care of an invalid-" "No!" Sam could put up with no more. "No one's taking care of you except me." He had stood for a lot from Frodo this morning, in- cluding this ridiculous talk of marriage, but letting someone else take over his duties was too much to bear. "And I'll hear no more talk about you being an invalid." This wasn't the first time Frodo had referred to himself that way, and Sam was beginning to be alarmed by it. "You'll be right as rain soon enough, now you're in your own home again. You just need a bit of a rest." "I hope you're right." Then Frodo brightened suddenly as an idea occurred to him. "We could do that!" "Do what?" asked Sam, baffled. "Why don't you move in with me? Everyone knows I'm not well. They won't find it odd if I have you here to look after me." He should be overjoyed at this abrupt turn-around when things had seemed hopeless mere minutes before, and yet there was something in Frodo's proposal that Sam didn't like. An unpleasant suspicion was rising in his mind. "And I'd share your bed in secret?" "It's the best answer to our problem." Frodo was smiling. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before. We could go on seeing each other after all, Sam." "I'd like nothing more," Sam answered, "but I couldn't." "You don't-?" Frodo's smile faded. From his look of puzzlement, it was plain that he'd never imagined his offer would be refused. "You don't want to come and live here, Sam?" "Course I do, but not if I have to do it in that sneaking way." He took a deep breath, and plunged on. "If you want to know the truth, I'm ashamed to hear you'd even think such a thing. It's not worthy of you." Frodo gaped at him, stunned. "How dare you speak to me that way?" "I'll speak as I like! If you're behaving like a fool, I'll tell you so. You're being foolish now." At any other time, Sam would not have dared, but he was hurt and angry--really angry at Frodo for the first time in his life--and at the same time fighting desperately to win him back. He had looked up to Frodo since they were boys. Even after they'd become lovers, that hadn't changed. In his heart, he'd always felt that this love was something he didn't truly deserve, as if Frodo were granting him a great favor by noticing him, and he ought to be grateful for whatever was offered. Now, he'd begun to believe he had some rights in the matter--if not a right to have Frodo, then at least to have his feelings taken into consideration. He wasn't going to be set aside without being heard. "You're getting above yourself, Sam," Frodo flashed back at him. "Who taught me I could?" Sam retorted. "If I've got ideas above my place, it's because you gave them to me. I was happy being your gardener, `til you showed me I could be more to you. You let me make love to you--I never dreamt of it, not `til you held out your hand. 'Come to me, Sam,' you said, and I came. I gave you what you wanted, what you still want if you weren't so afraid someone might find out about it." As much as he hated to voice his worst suspicions, he had to speak them aloud. "After all we've shared, you don't think I'm good enough for you." This struck home. Frodo recoiled as if he'd been slapped. His eyes grew wide. "Sam, no." He rose from his chair, one hand reaching out toward Sam. "Is that what you think?" "Well, it's true, isn't it? That's what behind all your fine words." One thing had become clear to Sam: all this talk of preserving the old ways and what a gentleman didn't do was nonsense. Frodo didn't mean half of it; he was trying to talk them both into something he didn't truly believe himself. Only some notion of respectability made him want to give up being lovers, or at least try to hide it. But now he knew that, in spite of the hurtful things he'd said, Frodo still wanted to be with him, Sam found new hope. He couldn't argue against it if Frodo didn't want him anymore, but _this_-! This, he could deal with. "You don't care what's proper. You're just worried about what folk'd say. Can't have them knowing how you like the gardener putting his dirty, common hands all over you. When did you get to be such a snob?" He grabbed Frodo by the wrist, intending to scare some sense into him and force him to see how silly he was being. "Sam!" Frodo cried in surprise, before Sam cut him off with a fierce kiss. "There," said Sam. "Somebody might've seen that. Or-" with a little push, he sent Frodo backwards to lie sprawled on the table top, hands pinned on either side of his head. "I could have you right here on the kitchen table. The windows are wide open and the front door's unlocked--anybody could walk in and find us. We'd hear some talk then, wouldn't we?" He bent down over Frodo, so close that they were nose to nose. "It'll be all over the Shire by tomorrow, how Mr. Frodo Baggins got buggered by his servant." "It wouldn't be the first time," Frodo rejoined, not in the least intimidated once he was past the first surprise at being grabbed. "Or the other way `round." This wasn't reaction Sam had hoped for. Frodo wasn't afraid of be- ing caught; it was possible, but not very likely at that hour of the morning. Nor, Sam realized with dismay, was Frodo afraid of _him_. He wasn't putting up any kind of struggle, not even to test the grip on his wrists. A small smile curved at the corners of his mouth and his eyes were dark and luminous, with an unmistakable gleam. Sam let him go. "I can't bully you." "Of course you can't, dear Sam. Don't you think I know perfectly well that you'd cut off both arms before you'd lift a finger to harm me?" Frodo sat up, rubbing one wrist. "But why did you stop?" While his attempt to shake Frodo up hadn't turned out quite the way he'd planned, Sam felt he had accomplished one small victory. "You _enjoyed_ that," he said, almost as an accusation. "You wanted me to have you here." "Yes. I like making love with you, Sam. I do like your hands on me. I've never denied it. Even atop the kitchen table..." His fingers still lightly encircled his own wrist. "That rather appealed to me. It felt as if you'd taken charge for the first time. Why didn't you go on?" he asked again. "I wouldn't have stopped you." Sam was astounded by the idea that Frodo had ever expected him to "take charge". Why not make love to him here, if that was what he wanted? It'd been so long... but, no. Unless they came to terms, it wouldn't change anything between them. "I don't want to play games with you," he answered. "I won't be just your bit of fun, when you're ashamed to be seen with me." "Haven't we settled that?" "No, we haven't. Let's have it out now, or what's to stop you from going back to saying as how we ought to keep things secret after- wards? I won't come to you if I have to lie and sneak. You lifted me up, and you can put me back down as easily. It's your choice. We'll put an end to it, just as you say." Sam felt a sick little twist of pain inside himself as he said it, but he had to make his case straight out and make Frodo see how strongly he felt about this. "I'll be your gardener, and that's all. We'll never say a word otherwise. Or, if you'll have me, I'll come and live here with you, and I will love you." His voice was so choked with emotion that he could barely go on. Tears filled his eyes, and he quickly brushed them away. He didn't want to weep, not now. He meant to be firm. No pleading. No bullying. Just simple honesty, from his heart. "I do love you, Frodo." "Oh, Sam..." Frodo's eyes were dewy as well. He could plan to break off with Sam when they'd been apart for months, but it wasn't as easy now, when they were so close and he was still flushed and ex- cited from their last encounter. He wavered for a moment, in one last struggle with convention and respectability, then surrendered. "Love me." It wasn't a decision. A request. As he pulled his braces down off his shoulders, he regarded Sam with some apprehension, as if he weren't certain he would be accepted. But Sam wasn't about to refuse this time. Why should he? He'd won Frodo back on his own terms. When Frodo held out both hands, Sam went to him. The first kiss was tentative. "Now," said Frodo when they moved apart, "where were we? I believe you'd just made me an offer..." He patted the table-top beside him- self and tried to sound playful, but the tremulous note in his voice betrayed him. They pulled each other close, clinging together as the kisses grew more urgent. Between kisses, Sam reached down to undo the buttons on Frodo's trousers, then helped him wriggle out of them, until they slid off his ankles and fell on the floor. Another, more gentle push sent Frodo back across the table; when Sam took one of his wrists to pin it, since Frodo had seemed to like that before, he saw his lover's eyes grow dark again with desire. Frodo wanted this--wanted _him_! --badly enough to forget everything else. Sam unfastened his own trousers, and put one knee on the chair to climb up. There was a bowl of soft butter within reach, and after a quick preparation, they were coupling madly, with no thought for the open windows or unlocked door. No one came to Bag End to interrupt them. They wouldn't have noticed if anyone had. !~|*|~! After Frodo had dressed, he sat curled in his favorite chair in the parlor, smoking thoughtfully. Sam made breakfast and kept a worried eye on him through the open doorway. He'd won, but he knew he hadn't done so fairly: he'd pushed Frodo into making a hard choice in the heat of the moment. Would Frodo regret it now that things had cooled again? When he went in to bring Frodo a mug of tea, Frodo looked up at him and said, "I am sorry, Sam, about what I said... before. I was only trying to do what I thought best. Instead, I've made a terrible muddle out of everything." "What made you do it?" Frodo considered this. "After we came home from our adventures," he answered, "I looked forward most of all to returning to Bag End and spending the rest of my days in peace and quiet. When I saw what it might mean if we went on seeing each other... it did frighten me, Sam. You were right about that." He glanced up beseechingly. "Please, understand. It's not that I thought you were beneath me--don't ever believe that--but there _are_ rules, and consequences for breaking them. It would be hard on both of us. I'm not strong enough to face another fight, especially not here. I meant what I said about not wishing to see the Shire change." Sam asked the question he'd been dreading. "You're not taking it back, are you?" "No," Frodo reassured him quickly. "I wouldn't do that. I can't. You've made me see that I can't give you up, regardless of the con- sequences." He hesitated, then asked, "Does it matter so much to you that everyone knows?" "I don't care if they do," Sam told him. "Some people, we'll have to tell--the Gaffer, for one, and Rosie--" although he hadn't thought of what, exactly, he was going to tell them, "But we needn't go shouting in the Bywater market square. Why can't we live as we like and never mind what anyone says? There'll be gossip whatever we do. What does it matter? Let `em talk! The Shire won't fall to pieces over _us_." "You're braver than I am, Sam. I've known that for some time." Frodo sighed. "I'm an awful coward." "You're not." Sam knelt beside his chair, and took his hand for an encouraging squeeze. "You were brave enough to walk right into Mordor. Can't you be brave enough for this?" "That was different. The fate of Middle Earth depended on me then, whether I was frightened or not. Besides, I didn't walk into Mordor alone." He threw another glance at Sam. "You were with me. You dragged me along, even carried me when I couldn't go another step on my own." "You want me to drag you now?" Well, if that was what Frodo wanted, then that was what he would do. He was strong enough to fight for both of them. He'd take charge. "All right then," Sam decided, "I'll come here. I'll tend to the gardens, and look after you, and I'll love you. You've no objection to that?" "No, Sam." Frodo gave him a small smile before leaning forward to kiss him. "No objection." "Good. Now come have your breakfast before it gets cold." As they went into the kitchen, arm in arm, Frodo said, "I have spoiled you, haven't I? You're not the simple lad I took away with me to see the Elves. You've gotten so far beyond your old self, and become much more. You could be more. Will you be happy with the gardens, and looking after me?" "It's what I'd like more than anything," Sam answered. "Even if I was Mayor of Michel Delving and as rich as a Took, I'd want a patch of green to tend for myself." He had not forgotten his plans to repair Bag End's gardens; he meant to have a look at them after breakfast. He would bring his things up from Bagshot Row this after- noon, and spend the evening with Frodo, making up for lost time. "I've been thinking..." Frodo took a seat at the table Sam had cleaned up and set. "I could make a gentleman of you." Sam laughed. "I'm not joking," Frodo insisted. "Sam, listen: You said yourself that I could raise you up. Why not do it? It wouldn't stop the gossip, but it will make things easier if you aren't my servant. It won't be so wrong. Two gentlemen can live together without drawing the same disapproval. After all, Merry and Pippin have set up house in Crickhollow, and if anyone has a word to say against _that_, they keep it to themselves." "What do I know about being a gentleman?" said Sam, smiling diffi- dently as he transferred sausages, tomatoes, and eggs from a frying pan to Frodo's plate. He didn't feel insulted, as he had by Frodo's earlier offer, but the idea seemed absurd. "I don't have any fine manners, nor the proper way of speaking." "Oh, I can teach you that sort of thing. Manners aren't so important. You've already got the right instincts--a sense of honor, consider- ation for the welfare of others, and a very good heart. I'd match your heart against anyone's." Frodo stood up to take the frying pan from Sam, then gestured for him to sit down. Sam sat, but made flustered sounds of protest as Frodo scooped the rest of the pan's contents onto the plate in front of him; while he wanted to be seen as an equal in Frodo's eyes, it just didn't seem right for his former master to be serving _him_. "This is your home now too," Frodo went on cheerfully. "You are master here as much as I am. I can't make you as rich as the Tooks, but everything I have is yours as well. By the time I'm finished, you'll be one of the finest gentlehobbits in all the Shire. You could even be Mayor, if you wanted to." Sam listened with amazement, until this last statement brought out another yelp of protest. He'd put up with a certain amount of non- sense from Frodo, but _this_ was going too far. "Now you're just making fun. Mayor! People'd say I was putting myself forward." "No, they wouldn't. You're a hero, Sam. After all you've done for the Shire, they'd be ungrateful if they didn't call it your rightful due." Frodo laughed suddenly. "Why do you care what people say?" "I don't!" Sam responded. And it was true. Other people's opinions didn't matter to him, only whether Frodo was ashamed to love him or not. "Then why are you arguing?" "I'm not." It wasn't nonsense, Sam realized. Frodo really meant to do this. The notion still seemed ridiculous to him, but he had asked Frodo to do a difficult thing to be with him; how could he refuse to do something that seemed impossible in return? He'd done so many impossible things on Frodo's behalf already. What was one more? "All right," he conceded. "Make a gentleman of me, if you can." "I certainly intend to try." Frodo poured out a mug of tea for him, then returned to his seat. They ate their breakfast together. !~|end|~!