Title:  Departure's Eve - Musings at Crickhollow (2/?) 
 
Author:  Laurelindorinan  (neenee903@aol.com)  
 
Pairing:  Frodo/Sam  
 
Rating:  PG (will be NC-17 later on)  
 
Disclaimer:  All of the characters and settings herein belong to J.R.R. 
Tolkien.  (True, I have slightly changed the sleeping arrangements, altered 
Merry's wakeup call, and made Sam late for preparing breakfast, but 
hopefully all is forgiven!)  I have received no payment of any kind and am 
entitled to none.  This work is for entertainment purposes only.  
 
Archiving:  Yes, but please ask first.  :)  
 
Feedback:  Of course!!  Welcomed, looked for, sought after!  
 
Summary:  Frodo and Sam ponder recent events as they prepare for bed at 
Crickhollow.  
 
************  

Musings at Crickhollow 

    It was time for bed. Supper was over; the mushrooms had long since 
been eaten and the dishes had been washed.  The "conspiracy" had been 
revealed.  Preparations to leave early the next morning were complete.  All 
that remained that night was for the hobbits to get what little rest they 
could.  The small cottage had only two bedchambers:  Merry and Pippin 
laid claim to one, and Frodo and Sam were to have the other.  Fatty had 
insisted on this arrangement.  
 
    "You all have a long journey ahead of you.  Might as well get a good 
rest in a real bed; you don't know when your next one will be!" said Fatty. 
 Deathly afraid of the Old Forest, Fatty spoke in an ominous voice .  
 
    "I've already told you, Fatty, going through the Old Forest is the only 
way to keep whoever or whatever is following us from overtaking us 
before we've even begun," replied Merry in a slightly exasperated tone. 
 
    "He knows, Merry," said Frodo quietly.  "Fatty, thank you for looking 
out for our welfare; and for giving up your comfort tonight so we might 
rest well before our journey.  I appreciate all that you have done and will 
do on my behalf, my friend." 
 
    Fatty blinked back the tears that threatened to spill.  During the evening, 
he had begun to feel ashamed. He wondered if he was taking the easy way 
out and was not being as staunch a friend as the others.  
 
    Frodo continued, "It takes a lot to stay behind and keep up appearances. 
 You know, 'being' is often harder than 'doing'. "He smiled and squeezed 
Fatty's shoulder as Fatty looked at him gratefully. 
 
    Sam nodded in agreement with Frodo, then changed the subject.  
      
    "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but pr'haps we should turn in now? 
 Dawn'll come mighty early, don't you know?  An' havin' such a fright as 
we've had tonight just wears a body out." Sam looked tentatively at his 
master.  
 
    Pippin replied before Frodo could answer.  
 
    "You're right, Sam. I still have the willies from those Black Riders!  But 
now that my stomach's full, I think I might be able to get to sleep without 
getting the shivers. Let's all turn in." 
 
    Everyone said their goodnights and retired, Merry and Pippin to the 
guest chamber, Frodo and Sam to the owner's chamber, and Fatty to the 
sofa in the parlor. 
 
    As Frodo and Sam entered the room, Frodo noticed that his own large 
bed was there, made up with clean fresh linens.  Sam stood there for a 
moment, just gazing at the bed, then started back out of the room.  
 
    "'Scuse me for just a bit, Mr. Frodo, whilst I fetch my bedroll from my 
pack." 
 
    Frodo reached out with a restraining hand and gave him a puzzled look.  
 
    "Why on earth would you need your bedroll, Sam?  There's enough 
room in that bed for *five* hobbits." 
 
    "Well, Mr. Frodo, that there's your own bed and far be it for the likes of 
me to presume..." Sam stopped, obviously at a loss for words.  
 
    "My dear Sam!  After all that has happened to us in the last couple of 
days, do you really think I am going to allow you to sacrifice sleeping in a 
real bed for what may be the last night in who knows how long?  *I'll* 
sleep on the floor first!" 
 
    "Oh, no, Mr. Frodo!" Sam was aghast at the very idea.  
 
    "Then forget your Gaffer's rigid sense of propriety and let's get some 
sleep." Frodo smiled kindly as he said it to let Sam know he wasn't angry. 
   
 
    Sam smiled back at Frodo shyly and began to undress for bed. He knew 
in his heart that propriety was not truly at the root of his hesitation, but he 
simply could not seem to articulate *why* he felt so hesitant and shy. 
 Lately, Sam had had a wealth of confusing feelings around Frodo. One 
minute everything would feel normal then suddenly his stomach would 
flutter, or he would feel his cheeks burning with a blush that seemed to 
come from nowhere.  
 
    Frodo slipped an arm around Sam's shoulders and gazed earnestly into 
his eyes. 
 
    "Never think that I could see anything you do as presumptuous, Sam.  I 
treasure your company and consider myself lucky to have you at my side. 
In fact, I don't know what I would do without you." Sam ducked his head 
and blushed.  
 
    "Well now, Mr. Frodo, that's something you'll not *have* to find out.  I 
made a promise and a Gamgee always keeps his promises." 
 
    Frodo smiled tenderly.  "What promise, Sam?" 
 
    "You remember, Mr. Frodo.  When we was with the Elves and Gildor 
told me not to leave you.  I told him then and I'll repeat it now: I'll follow 
you even to the moon, and anyone who comes for you will have your Sam 
to reckon with first!" Sam felt fierce, protective, and tender all at once. 
 
    Frodo took Sam's hand and pressed it. 
 
    "Thank you, Sam.  Now shall we try to sleep?" 
 
    Undressing down to his shirt and drawers, Frodo crawled into the great 
bed and moved over to the far side.  
 
    "Come on, Sam." 
 
    Sam carefully slipped into the bed, murmured a quiet "Good night, 
Master", and settled on his side facing away from Frodo.  The bed felt so 
comfortable and inviting; in fact, Sam had never slept in a bed as fine as 
this in his entire life.  So why could he not relax? Sam tried to take stock 
of the situation:  
 
    *Sam Gamgee, what is wrong with you?  You're dead tired, you've been 
put up in finery; so why are your muscles all clenched like you're fixing to 
jump up and fight; or run?  Maybe them Black Riders?  No, that ain't it. It 
don't exactly feel like fear. And your heart. It's hammering like you just 
raced Tom Cotton all the way down the Row to the Party Field...no, more 
like you bin dancin' with your arms full of *Rosie* Cotton; now that can't 
be right!  What a ninnyhammer you are, Sam Gamgee. This ain't the time 
to be at all sixes and sevens, not when you have Mr. Frodo to look after!* 
 
    As he thought about Mr. Frodo, a strange warmth seemed to spread 
through him. He spoke sternly to himself:  
 
    *You know Mr. Frodo needs you, so quit all this foolishness. 
Whatever's got you in a dither don't mean nothin' nohow; not compared to 
the job ahead.  So stop strollin' about in your mind and go to sleep!* 
 
    Being a simple hobbit, Sam was able to remedy the situation by 
deciding not to think about all of it any more because he didn't understand 
it anyway.  His body relaxed and his breathing became deep and regular.  
 
    On the other side of the bed, Frodo heard Sam's breathing even out and 
smiled to himself. He wondered to himself; how long had it been since he 
realized how much he loved Sam?  And how long had it been since he had 
come to the realization that he could never say anything to Sam lest he 
lose him?  Frodo was under no illusions:  some upper class hobbits took 
their servants as lovers, but few servants had much say in the matter. 
 Even if a servant did acquiesce to his master's desires, even if the 
relationship seemed to be mutual, how could one ever be sure that there 
wasn't simply a sense of duty behind it; or worse, a fear of losing one's 
position.  He also was painfully aware of Sam's sense of propriety, an 
elaborate set of "do's and don'ts" that had been hammered into him by the 
Gaffer.  Frodo didn't think it included a romance between two lads any 
more than it included an equal relationship between a gentlehobbit and 
"the likes of him". (How Frodo hated that demeaning term!  As if his Sam 
was somehow less than someone else simply because his family worked 
hard for their living instead of having it handed to them!) And it wasn't 
exactly lust he felt anyway.  Yes, he desired Sam, but more than that he 
*delighted* in Sam; his innocence, his honesty, his simple strength, and 
his utter lack of pretense.  Sam's devotion, loyalty, and respect meant so 
much to Frodo that he knew he could not bear to lose them.  He could not 
risk those gifts of Sam's even for the possibility of a real relationship with 
him.  He took a last look at Sam's sleeping form, sighed, and settled down 
to try and sleep. 
 
********** 
 
     Frodo found himself in a place of profound darkness. He could neither 
see nor move. The back of his neck throbbed and his shoulder ached.  He 
smelled a foul stench in the air and sensed the presence of overwhelming 
malevolence.  Where was he? How had he gotten here?  Fear began to 
overtake him in waves.  He tried to call for help, but the cries could not 
seem to escape from his lips.  *Gandalf, help me* But there was no sound, 
no sense of communication.  He tried again:  *Gandalf?  Bilbo? Please, 
someone help me!* Nothing. Panic overwhelmed him. *Please!  Help! 
 Sam?*  Had he heard a sound?  *Sam? Sam?!* And finally, he heard 
himself scream, "SAM!!" 
 
*********** 
 
    Sam awoke with a start.  Frodo was tossing and turning and calling his 
name. He turned toward Frodo and was shocked to see beads of sweat on 
Frodo's forehead.  What was wrong?  
 
    "Master?" Sam bent over Frodo just as Frodo screamed his name.  
 
    "Master, wake up!" Sam sat up in the bed and gathered Frodo in his 
arms.  He rocked Frodo as he held him, trying to bring him back from 
whatever awful place Frodo thought he was in.  
 
    "Mr. Frodo, dear?  Wake up!  Your Sam's here.  You're alright. Your 
Sam won't let nothin' hurt you.  Wake up, Mr. Frodo!" As he spoke, Sam 
gently rubbed Frodo's back with gentle hands.    
 
    Frodo's eyes fluttered open. "Sam?" 
 
    "Yes, dear, it's Sam.  I'm right here." 
 
    "Oh, Sam!" Frodo's arms went around Sam convulsively.  "It was so 
dark, and I hurt, and I kept calling and calling and no one heard me, but 
then I called you and-" 
 
    "Shhh now, me dear.  'Twas a dream, nothin' more.  You're safe now, 
Mr. Frodo." Sam continued to hold Frodo in his arms, soothing him with 
his hands and his voice.  
 
    "Yes...a dream. Of course, Sam.  I'm sorry to be so silly.  It just seemed 
so real..." Frodo's voice faded.  His body continued to tremble and he still 
kept his arms around Sam's strong, broad back. 
 
    "No doubt, sir.  And no need for no sorries, neither.  Your Sam's here to 
take care of you.  Just glad I was here." 
 
    "Me too, Sam."   
 
    Frodo relaxed in Sam's embrace for a few minutes, laying his head on 
Sam's shoulder while he tried to calm down.  Finally he sighed, took his 
arms from around Sam, and sat up.  He was about to say something when 
there came a sharp knock at the door.  
 
    "Wake up!  It's half past four and very foggy.  And someone wake that 
sluggard Fatty!" Merry's voice faded as he started for the kitchen.  
 
    As Sam lit the lantern, Frodo swung his legs onto the floor, stood up, 
and began to hunt for his clothes.  Sam gathered his garments from the 
chair on which they had been carefully laid.  The hobbits dressed in 
companionable silence. Frodo opened the door to the chamber, then turned 
back to Sam.  
 
    "Well, come on Sam.  We better get going.  We've a long road ahead of 
us." He looked into Sam's eyes.  Sam gazed back at Frodo, a thousand 
different emotions swirling through him, and replied from his heart.  
 
    "I know, Mr. Frodo.  A long road indeed.  Pr'haps longer than either of 
us can see.  And I'm comin', Mr. Frodo.  I'm comin'." 
 
    He smiled shyly at Frodo as they both went out the chamber door and 
began their journey.  
 
      
    ~tbc~