Title: Don't Try To Understand
Part: 1 / 2 
Feedback: voicelessscreaming009@yahoo.co.uk ((Please!)) 
Pairing(s): Sam/Frodo 
Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: Set after Moria but before Loth Lorien, Frodo's torturing himself over Gandalf's 
fall at The Bridge of Khazad-Dum and Sam is desperate to help his poor master in any 
way that he can. 
Disclaimer: The Lord Of The Rings trilogy doesn't belong to me - either in book or movie 
form. LOL, as if you didn't know! 
A/N: A great big thanks to Bivegan for giving me the plot bunny for this fic and also for 
being my beta. I love you!
 
*This stresses a word*
"This is speech"
'This indicates thoughts'
 
**********
// "Fly, you fools..." 
With these last words of pleading command, the great wizard Gandalf The Grey 
accepted his fate and let go of the last remnant of The Bridge to fall to his doom 
after the Balrog. Frodo’s eyes widened in horror and also disbelief as yet another 
of the people closest to him left him forever.
 
“Gandalf! No!”
 
The young hobbit rushed forwards, not certain of how he could save the old wizard 
who had already fallen, but still determined to do *something*. Boromir noticed 
that the halfling was about to race across a bridge that was crumbling so badly 
that it would mean certain death if anyone were to put pressure on the weakened 
architecture. The tall warrior grabbed Frodo’s tiny body and held on tightly. The 
hobbit could be deceptively strong with the right motivation and it took a lot more 
effort than Boromir could have imagined to hold onto the grief-stricken creature. 
 
The fellowship then turned and followed Gandalf’s advice by running out of the 
mines and into the bright, sorely missed sunlight of the outside world. Boromir 
lifted Frodo into his arms and carried the struggling hobbit away from the scene, 
leaving Frodo to stare back at The Bridge where the scene of his magnificent 
friend Gandalf facing The Balrog, with an air of such confidence and immortality, 
was still etched into his mind.
“No!” //
 
 
“No!”
 
Frodo awoke in a cold sweat, his pulse racing and his whole body trembling 
uncontrollably. He had had this memory-inspired dream many a time since the 
“incident” in Moria but as far as he could tell it was the first time that he had ever 
screamed in his sleep. 
 
He sat up and surveyed the slightly shaded area where the fellowship had set up 
camp for the night and inspected the sleeping forms of each of his companions in 
the desperate hope that he had not awoken anyone. It was an immense relief to 
find everyone still sleeping quietly (except of course for Gimli who was snoring like 
an agitated camel). Frodo did not feel like making up yet another lie to excuse his 
increasingly strange and introverted behaviour lately. 
 
For the past three nights, since the wizard’s death, had Frodo been the victim of 
horrifying nightmares; reminders of his crime against Gandalf. It had been he who 
had urged the fellowship to travel through Moria even though he knew that 
Gandalf had been so reluctant to do so. The wizard had trusted his judgement and 
now…now…
 
“Mister Frodo?”
 
Frodo winced inwardly as he realised that as he had scanned the members of the 
fellowship sleeping scattered around him in their thin blankets, he had forgotten to 
check the figure lying right beside him.
 
“Are you all right, Mister Frodo?”
 
The ring bearer turned his head to look over at the now sitting figure of his former 
gardener, friend and companion Samwise Gamgee, whose face was contorted in 
concern and worry for his master. Frodo would have felt touched if he had felt 
worthy of Sam’s pity. But he didn’t. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t worth 
the dirt he was lying on.
 
“I am just fine, Sam,” Frodo lied with a forced, weak smile, “Just a nightmare.”
 
Sam didn’t look completely satisfied with his master’s answer but did not feel it his 
place to pry into Mister Frodo’s business. It was like his Gaffer had always said: 
“Don’t go prying into your superiors’ business, Samwise Gamgee. They will not 
thank you for it and chances are you won’t understand it anyway.” 
 
“Okay then. If you say so, Mister Frodo.” He said reluctantly.
 
Frodo nodded and closed his eyes once again to give the impression to Sam that 
he wished to go back to sleep. Sam took the none too subtle hint and lay back 
down and was practically asleep before his head hit the cold, hard ground. 
 
Frodo then opened his eyes. Sleep was just an excuse to avoid discussing the 
matter further with Samwise. He didn’t really intend to fall asleep and be subjected 
to another nightmare about how he killed one of his greatest friends. 
 
And so the broken hobbit spent the rest of the night lying wide awake, ensuring 
that every time he began to drift off into slumber, he would give himself a quick 
punch to the stomach to wake himself up again. And so Frodo was awake to see 
the deep blackness of the night slowly metamorphose into the grey light of dawn. 
He saw the majestic elf archer Legolas rise and rouse Aragorn and Boromir from 
sleep. He saw an infuriated Gimli trying in vain to wake the stubbornly sleeping 
Merry and Pippin and then pretended that when Sam shook his shoulder it awoke 
him.  
 
“Mister Frodo,” Sam looked guilty at ‘awaking’ the obviously exhausted hobbit, 
“Aragorn wants us to move on as quickly as possible.”
 
Frodo sighed wearily, trying to pass it off as the grogginess of waking up, and rose 
to his feet – Sam helping him unnecessarily. Frodo, irritable after yet another 
restless night, pulled away from Sam’s touch sharply.
 
“I am not a child.” He frowned as he pushed past the amazed gardener.
 
Sam’s surprise at his master’s sharpness was soon replaced by shame and regret. 
Of course Frodo wasn’t a child. He was the Ring-Bearer. He was older than Sam 
himself. And Sam suddenly realised that his master probably did not take to kindly 
by being mothered by him all the time.
 
But Sam just couldn’t help it. He wanted – needed – to look after Frodo. This was 
a desire from far before Gandalf had made it an obligation, but originated 
somewhere in Samwise’s childhood – when he and his master would end a hard 
day’s work with a swim in the river, or when he was in his late tweens and Frodo 
would sit with him and teach him how to read. This wasn’t just duty. This was 
friendship. But lately protecting Frodo had become a very arduous task. He just 
wouldn’t allow himself to be helped. And not just by Sam. By anyone. But Sam 
seemed to be the only one to notice.
 
‘It must be the ring. My poor Frodo is being consumed by it – just like everyone 
else who has ever owned it.’ 
 
If Sam had been asked a week ago for his one wish in the world he would have 
replied: “For me and Frodo to return to The Shire and for everything to return to 
normal.” But now it had changed. His one wish would be “To understand Frodo so 
that I might be able to help him better.” 
 
‘‘Cause I sure ain’t doing a good job of it so far.’
 
 
The Fellowship travelled for a good many hours that morning before there was any 
cause to rest. Merry and Pippin had complained one too many times for Boromir’s 
patience and the agitated man had demanded that the group take a rest before 
the “little ones” drove him insane. 
 
Frodo, although he didn’t say anything, was quite glad for this much needed break. 
Although he would never think of complaining aloud – especially now of all times – 
it was becoming more and more blatant that hobbit legs were most certainly not 
meant for travelling over such long distances without food or rest. 
 
There was a river running through the land where everyone had stopped and 
Pippin and Merry wasted no time in jumping in and splashing about. The tall folk 
watched on in amusement and also discussed which way to turn next. Frodo 
deliberately sat as far away as possible from anyone else without making it too 
obvious. Sam noticed, of course.
 
The blond hobbit made his way over to his solemn companion and the two 
regarded each other in an uncomfortable silence before anyone spoke.
 
“Uh, Mister Frodo?” Sam asked tentatively.
 
Frodo sighed and looked down at his hands, which he was currently rubbing 
together as a distraction from Sam’s painfully compassionate eyes. 
 
“Yes Sam?”  
 
Sam noticed that Frodo was considerably less than happy to talk to him but carried 
on anyway, hoping to perhaps prove to his master that he was a good companion 
and guardian.
 
“Well…I don’t want you to be a-thinking that I’m speaking outta place here, Mister 
Frodo,” Sam stuttered not entirely sure of what he wanted to say, “But I have been 
noticing things lately.”
 
“Things? What sort of things?” 
 
Frodo looked up, now suddenly worried that the vigilant Sam had actually put two 
and two together to realise just why he was becoming so distant. He didn’t want 
that to happen! He wasn’t sure quite what to do if anyone ever made a connection 
between the fall of Gandalf and his own depression. The others had enough to 
worry about without the added weight of his own petty problems. 
 
“Well, all sortsa things. Like when we’re all walkin’ and you always trail slightly 
further behind than everyone else. Or when we stop for a rest you always sit 
further away from the group,” Sam ignored Frodo’s pleading glance for him to 
stop, “And you can’t deny that you’re always wakin’ up from nightmares at least 
once a night. And then-”
 
“Shut up, Sam!” Frodo yelled, surprising even himself, “You don’t know anything!”
 
Sam, although hurt and somewhat shocked by Frodo’s harshness, now realised 
that he needed to say these things to his master. They were obviously touching a 
nerve somewhere deep inside the secretive hobbit because it took an awful lot for 
Mister Frodo to have an outburst like that. 
 
“But I think I do,” Sam replied earnestly and then dropped his voice down to just 
above a whisper, “Is it The Ring?”
 
Frodo opened his mouth to contradict Sam but the words halted and died on his 
tongue. After all, if he went along with Samwise’s theory about The Ring causing 
all of his nightmares then it would mean that a lot less pestering would be coming 
from Sam. Because, of course, no one wanted to pry to deeply into matters about 
The Ring and he knew that Sam disliked It as much as anyone in Middle Earth. 
Yes, best to just pretend. 
 
“I can’t keep anything from you, can I?” Frodo said with a forced smile.
 
Sam beamed proudly for a moment before suddenly remembering the seriousness 
of the conversation. But just as he was about to offer consolation to his obviously 
exhausted friend, Frodo rose to his feet and pushed past Sam to approach the big 
folk.
 
“I am ready when you are, Aragorn.” He addressed the new appointed leader of 
the group.
 
Aragorn nodded and stood. Boromir also rose and made his way over to the river 
where Merry and Pippin were busy splashing and dunking each other under the 
clear water. He stepped into the water where the two hobbits were wading and 
grabbed both of them by the arm. Protesting loudly, Merry and Pippin tried to pull 
away but Boromir merely lifted them both into the air with ease and carried the 
squirming, soggy hobbits back onto dry land.
 
“Spoil-sport!” Pippin whined as he was set back down alongside Merry.
 
Merry nodded his head vigorously in agreement. Boromir rolled his eyes, a badly 
hidden amused look cracking through the sternness etched on his face. The rest 
of the fellowship gathered their equipment together and then resumed the journey 
onwards.
 
 
Later that night, once Legolas had managed to find another secluded, shaded yet 
still slightly dangerous spot, the fellowship had settled down and fallen asleep after 
a day of arduous travelling. 
 
Frodo had actually fallen into an unwelcome sleep against his own will – his 
exhaustion too much to handle after such a tiring day. He was laying still, no 
evident nightmares torturing him so far, a frown still displayed on his sleeping face. 
 
Sam, however, was the only member of the group still awake. And he had no 
intention of going to sleep before he had things straight in his head.
 
‘There’s definitely something wrong with Mr Frodo.’
 
‘Yes – he told you: The Ring, a voice deep down inside countered the other side of 
his brain.
 
‘No, something more. Something he’s not tellin’ me. The Ring’s never given him 
nightmares before.’
 
‘Well he’s sleeping peacefully enough now.’
 
‘Yes but that just proves my point. He’s just lying there – The Ring lying tucked out 
of his shirt. He isn’t even concerned about it – he’s not holding it or anything. In 
fact, he hasn’t been holding it for quite a while now. I don’t think he even notices it 
that much anymore.’
 
‘But then what else could be the matter?’
 
‘I don’t know…’
 
“But I’m going to find out.” Sam murmured aloud before sleep finally claimed him 
and embraced him into the welcome darkness.
 
 
Frodo awoke later that night but this time Sam didn’t notice. Frodo sat in the 
darkness shivering – partly from the chilling cold but mostly from another vivid 
dream in which Gandalf’s death was repeated to him. 
 
Suddenly Frodo heard a murmuring coming from beside him and almost gasped in 
horror. Oh no! Had Sam woken up? He quickly whipped around and to his 
immense relief saw that Sam was still fast asleep. 
 
Frodo took the time to gaze closer upon the sleeping form of his companion. Oh, 
Sam looked so different when he was asleep: so much younger, innocent, child-
like, handsome. Frodo crinkled his nose in puzzlement. Where had that though 
come from? Although, it was undeniable that the blond hobbit did look quite 
appealing with his soft features bathed in the moonlight that filtered down to cloak 
him in its beauty. 
 
The sight awoke feelings deep down inside Frodo, feelings that he hadn’t 
acknowledged for a long time now. The sort of feelings that he used to experience 
when he was still in his tweens, when he used to peer out of the window 
overlooking Bag End’s garden to catch a glimpse of old Hamfast Gamgee teaching 
a highly appealing, shirtless Samwise the ins-and-outs of gardening. 
 
Or feelings like Frodo used to get when he sat in the old rocking chair of Bilbo’s 
with Sam at his feet as the two poured over old books and Elvish scriptures, little 
Samwise watching his master and friend and listening as he was read to. A feeling 
of immense nostalgia always overwhelmed Frodo when he remembered that he 
was the one who taught Sam to read.
 
Or even those more intense feelings brought about by the most precious 
memories: of those countless summer afternoons when Frodo had convinced Sam 
to leave his gardening duties to sit and relax with him beneath the willow trees in 
Bywater. When the only cares resting on their shoulders was if their next meal 
would have large enough portions.
 
A good many before after Frodo’s Coming Of Age, he had discovered the true 
nature of his feelings towards Sam. The two had always been close; their 
friendship overcoming the barrier, as most saw it, of their class and social status. 
But Frodo had always suspected that the emotions that bound the two hobbits 
together ran far deeper than that.
 
But the quest that Frodo had embarked on, that he had dragged Merry, Pippin and 
his dearest Sam on as well, that had claimed Gandalf’s life, had changed 
everything. Any emotions that Frodo had planned to express had been pushed 
aside for that accursed Ring, and now he felt so far gone – so extracted from 
those who he had once regarded as friends – that he had begun to think that 
maybe the feelings had evaporated.
 
But just one, single look at the sleeping Samwise, and Frodo knew that he was 
lying to himself. Any feelings towards the adorable gardener that Frodo had 
thought that he had lost surfaced to make him realise these emotions had merely 
been suppressed – hidden beneath the layer of impenetrable coldness that Frodo 
had erected to protect himself ever since he set out on this quest.
 
Frodo, perhaps emboldened by the fact that he was the only one awake, or 
perhaps dizzy from his exhaustion, reached out to touch Sam’s hand. It was warm 
and it made Frodo tingle all over to think that this was the first time that he had 
ever touched his friend so intimately in days. Perhaps even weeks. 
 
‘And he’s not even awake to appreciate it…’
 
Frodo knew that he hurt the kind-hearted hobbit whenever he refused to meet his 
eye or hold a conversation. He always had to most awful feelings of guilt 
afterward, but he just couldn’t let Sam know about the nature of his thoughts. On 
the one hand, there were the wicked thoughts over how much he desired Sam. 
And then there was the even worse thoughts about how he had killed Gandalf. 
Sam couldn’t know! Frodo knew the gardener better than Sam thought he did. 
Frodo knew for certain that he would only try to share Frodo’s burden as he 
always did. Sam’s compassion had always been one of his best traits, and yet at a 
time like this Frodo was certain that if the kind Hobbit tried to understand the 
absolute despair and self-loathing coursing through Frodo it would only make 
things worse. He could just imagine Sam trying his best to work it out and yet, if he 
ever did actually understand everything Frodo thought and felt Frodo knew he 
would be disgusted.  That was an awful idea, to think that Sam would turn from 
him! Frodo knew that some of the fellowship must already blame him, even if not 
aloud or even on purpose. But it still hurt Frodo to think of all the misery he had 
caused.
 
Frodo, suddenly wrenched from his ideal world where he could hold Sam’s hand 
and not feel guilty or wrong and back into the real world where he was no better 
than a murderer, Frodo drew his hand away from Sam’s and got to his feet. 
Stumbling slightly, Frodo took his blanket and moved over so that he was lying 
much further off than any of the others. Only then did he consent his body to fall 
asleep. He didn’t dream of Gandalf that night. He dreamt of Sam. And all the awful 
things that he would say if he knew the true nature of Frodo’s thoughts. He woke 
up crying a few hours later.
 
TBC