Chapter Text
It was later than usual when Sam sat down to supper on a particularly quiet, mid-February night months after they returned home.
He’d hoped that Frodo would be able to join him, so he’d put off eating longer than he would have liked. He didn’t mind waiting, but it worried him that Frodo spent so much time alone in his bedroom, rarely emerging for meals.
Sam had recently returned from one of his outings to restore the gardens of the Shire. He’d been absent from Bag End for only a few weeks, but when he came back, he’d found that Frodo was again in the midst of a dismal spell. He was often withdrawn and in a somber mood, even though there was nothing left for him to worry himself about, from a practical view, at least. However, Sam knew that whatever Frodo still suffered was very real and very serious indeed. The Ring had done great damage to him, and he was visibly changed from the hobbit he’d been before their journey. Anyone could have seen that, but Sam witnessed this discrepancy firsthand more than most. Gardening outings aside, he stayed with Frodo in Bag End more often than he didn’t, though the two of them slept in separate rooms. Sam wished this weren’t the case, but he wouldn’t dare try to discuss anything as untoward as that now that they were back home.
Sam’s own feelings aside, he suspected that part of the reason Frodo always wanted to be alone was that he was trying to hide just how much pain he was in. Sam never failed to pick up on the forlorn look in Frodo’s eyes or the waver in his voice when he insisted that he was alright. He wished Frodo would confide in him more often, but he could do nothing but respect his friend’s wishes to keep to himself.
In truth, Frodo occupied the majority of Sam’s waking thoughts, mostly due to Sam’s neverending concern for his health and happiness. Ever since that night in Minas Tirith, Sam had known that it would take Frodo far longer to heal. And that was if he could even heal at all.
Earlier that day, Frodo had been in good spirits, and consequently, so had Sam. But in the afternoon, as Frodo worked on transcribing some minor details about his travels, he’d become distant again, retiring to his room and apologetically telling Sam that he didn’t feel up to eating any more that day.
Sam had hoped that would change and Frodo would join him for supper regardless. That hope seemed to have been in vain. He was beginning to wonder what he would do with an entire roast chicken when he heard a knock at the door.
When he answered the knock, he was relieved to be greeted by two familiar faces.
‘Samwise Gamgee!’ Pippin shouted gleefully, pulling Sam into an awkward hug. Both Pippin and Merry were now taller than Sam would care to measure, so Sam had to stand on his toes to properly complete the embrace.
‘Give him some room to breathe, Pip!’ Merry laughed, throwing his arms around Sam as well. Sam was overjoyed to see them both.
He invited them inside and they both helped themselves to the supper almost immediately. Sam was now satisfied that the food would at least be going to good use after all.
‘We’d heard you were back in Hobbiton,’ Pippin said, in response to Sam’s unasked question, ‘so we thought we’d come and visit you and our dear Frodo while you’re both in one place. It’s been far too long since the four of us ate and drank together.’
‘It’s only been three weeks give or take a few days” Merry said. ‘But his point stands, Sam. It’s good to see you.’
‘And you as well, sirs,’ Sam answered earnestly. He offered them both mugs of ale.
‘None of that, Sam!’ Pippin said, quite emphatically. ‘No, I don’t mean the ale! Leave that, I would like some of it, thank you. What I mean is, none of this “sir” business. Not with us.’
‘Oh, but it’s only habit,’ Sam said.
‘But you’re practically family, Sam,’ Merry said. ‘It’d do you just fine to call us by our given names –well, our given nicknames at least– no “sirs” or “misters” needed.’
‘Yes,’ Pippin added. ‘Practically family! Just as he said! There’s even been some word around these parts that you might come to be actual family soon enough.’ He chuckled to himself before taking a long sip of ale. Merry looked at him incredulously.
‘I thought we agreed not to trouble poor Sam with any discussion of that sort, hm?’
Pippin simply shrugged. ‘He was bound to hear it eventually. Best it’s us he hears it from.’
‘Begging your pardon, Mr. Mer– er, Merry,’ Sam said, ‘but I’m not exactly sure I know what the two of you are on about.’
Merry gave him a compassionate look.‘Oh, don’t listen to him too seriously, Sam, or anyone else for that matter. It’s just the way some folks around here get, you know. Going around, making up all sorts of things about the four of us just because they don’t understand where we went when we left the Shire or what we did.’
Sam knew this well, and he tended not to mind the absurd falsities others spun about him out of their misconceptions and fears of the outside world. Still, he was having trouble grasping the meaning of Pippin’s earlier comment.
Pippin thankfully took pity and explained.‘There seems to be a decent group out there that’s of the mind that yourself and our Frodo Baggins share a relationship that is… shall we say, beyond simple companionship, if you get my meaning.’
‘Ah.’ Sam felt his face heat up at the insinuation. It wasn’t an idea that was necessarily offensive to him, in fact, it was nearly the opposite, but the rumor wasn’t exactly something he’d like Frodo to hear about. Frodo might find it more displeasing, and he certainly didn’t need another reason to be unhappy.
‘Where is Frodo, Sam?’ Merry asked, bringing about a much needed change in subject.
‘I’m afraid he hasn’t been too well,’ Sam admitted. ‘He’s most likely resting himself at the moment. I know you’d both been wishin’ t’ see him, but I wouldn’t want t’ disturb him just now, if that’s alright.’
‘Is he like that a lot? Unwell?’ asked Pippin, visibly concerned now.
‘Well, you’ve got to understand, I don’t see him each and every day, so I couldn’t say for certain,’ Sam explained. Talking about it out loud made him regret his gardening errands. Why had he been going out constantly and leaving Frodo to deal with his anguish unaccompanied? He internally resolved to stay at Bag End a little longer this time, for Frodo’s wellbeing and his own.
‘You do know him best,’ Merry insisted.
‘I suppose. Yes, I’d say coming home has been difficult for him. Some days he doesn’t talk much at all, with me or otherwise. I wish there was more I could do for him, but I don’t know what he needs.’ Sam’s voice quavered as he said this. He didn’t want his hopelessness to be so obvious, but he was finding it hard to maintain composure when discussing Frodo’s suffering. Because it was Frodo, for whom he cared more than anything in the world.
‘Surely it’s not all bad?’ Merry asked. He seemed to have picked up on Sam’s disheartened tone.
‘No… no it’s not all bad,’ Sam said, gladly realising that Merry had a point. ‘He does have some good days.’
One of those good days had been just yesterday, when Sam had practically forced Frodo to come with him to get a drink at the Green Dragon. Frodo had been reluctant to go; he hadn’t been feeling up to it at all. However, when Sam insisted that getting out of the house would be good for him, he gave in.
At the beginning of the evening, Sam had regretted making him come. Frodo seemed downright miserable surrounded by all that relentless noise and chatter. Since the four travellers had returned, they’d all been subjected to countless disapproving glances and bitter remarks from others, and there had been no shortage of those that evening either. Sam had felt a little out of place as well.
A few folks were playing some music and some others had started singing. And then, in a last-ditch effort to cheer Frodo up, Sam had asked him if he’d maybe like to dance a bit. He’d expected the answer to be an immediate refusal, but to his surprise, Frodo had agreed to it.
And they’d danced for a while. Together, like a proper pair. Frodo’s heart hadn’t been in it entirely, but Sam could tell he was trying his best to have a good time. Most of the evening was a blur in Sam’s memory, but there was one moment that was deeply etched into his mind. At the end of one of the songs, Frodo had looked up at Sam and smiled very briefly. Sam knew instantly that it was a real smile, an honest one, and even, dare he say it, an affectionate one. Sam was holding on to the memory of that smile. It was something for him to believe in.
He needed some space to think. Talking about this was proving to be altogether too much. He did his best to politely excuse himself from the conversation, telling Merry and Pippin that they should continue to enjoy the food and drink. He also informed them that the spare bedrooms were already made up for guests, so they could sleep when they were good and ready and hopefully they’d get a chance to catch up with Frodo in the morning.
With that, Sam went to go sit alone in the garden, as it was the place he felt most like himself.
***
Frodo had not been sleeping or resting. Instead, he’d been thinking, about many things, but mostly about drowning.
Earlier, he’d been trying to write about a few events from his journey and he’d made the mistake of attempting to describe the Breaking of the Fellowship. It was a mistake for many reasons, one of which was that he was finding it too difficult to come to terms with the death of Boromir. However, he’d known from the beginning that doing justice to his departed companion would be a momentous undertaking, and he’d resolved to request assistance from Merry and Pippin when it came to that part of the story.
So he’d simply tried to write about events from his own perspective first, but he’d quickly run into an emotional barrier when it came to relaying how Sam had almost drowned. There were many moments Frodo did not like to recall, and this one was one of the earliest and most challenging. Every time he thought about it, he spiralled into abject despondency.
It was horrifying. Frodo remembered it all too vividly.
It was the hesitation he remembered more than anything. He’d like to say it was all fear, that he’d been frozen in place out of the pure shock of watching Sam disappear beneath the water. It wasn’t all fear. There was a part of him, even then, that had already become deeply corrupted by the Ring. It had whispered to him that he should leave Sam behind. That the quest was his alone; he needed no company, no pity, and no one to hold him back. Frodo had nearly listened.
And then he’d remembered being twelve years old and learning that the two people he loved more than life had been swallowed up by the river and wouldn’t be coming back to him. He’d spent years and years thinking about how he should have done something, anything to save his parents. He hadn’t been able to save them, in the end, and he would never save them. But he had a chance to save Sam. In that moment, he understood the severity of the situation, and any doubt he’d had in his mind vanished.
The next thing he’d known, they were both in the boat, shivering and holding each other, and Frodo was crying because he’d come so close to losing everything all at once. He didn’t like to relive it.
He’d almost broken down entirely trying to write it. He had excused himself to his room so that Sam wouldn’t see how much it was affecting him. Sam always seemed so happy when he came back from his gardening expeditions and Frodo was overcome with guilt about how much he needed Sam around and how agonising it was for him when he was gone. He knew that if Sam truly understood the extent of his suffering, he’d stop going on those trips entirely, and Frodo wouldn’t ever dream of getting in the way of the things Sam loved.
Frodo had hardly moved in hours. He’d been sitting at his desk the entire time, staring at the space on his right hand where his ring finger had been and would never be again. He had only snapped out of this stupor when he heard lively voices coming from the other room. He’d never known Sam to invite company over without notifying him, so, out of pure curiosity, he went to see who it was.
‘Frodo!’ Merry and Pippin cheered together as he entered the dining room. They raised their mugs of ale as if they were toasting him.
‘Where’s Sam?’ Frodo asked, confused. It was wonderful to see Merry and Pippin, but their unannounced presence was disorienting, especially when Sam was seemingly absent.
‘Do you hear that, Merry?’ Pippin said. ‘Not even a hello for us! After we’ve come all this way!’
‘Unbelievable!’ said Merry, mirroring his tone of mock-offense.
‘I’m sorry; I suppose that was impolite of me,’ Frodo said in sincere apology.
‘Think nothing of it!’ said Pippin, easily dismissing the concern. ‘Sam’s outside’
‘Outside? This late at night? Did he say why?’
‘It was definitely something about gardening,’ Pippin rather unhelpfully informed him.
‘You have our leave to go see him, of course,’ Merry said. ‘Not that you need permission from us in your own home.’
Frodo nodded and thanked them. He was so used to thinking of himself as alone and he was endlessly surprised by how much those around him seemed to understand sometimes. Frodo promised Merry and Pippin that he would join the two of them later, though, in truth, he did not know if he would feel well enough to fulfill that promise.
After putting on his old elven cloak to protect from the cold weather, Frodo headed outside.
Sam was kneeling in the garden, pulling weeds out of an overgrown and half-dead mass of plants. The garden at Bag End had gone neglected up until this point, as Sam had had many other gardens to tend to and Frodo didn’t know nearly enough about gardening to fix it himself. Even if he had known what to do about it, he’d hardly given the garden a second thought since he’d returned to the Shire. Everything was so corrupted and changed; it was hard to keep track of all of it. There were far more unwholesome things on his mind than a few dead flowers.
Frodo stood and watched Sam for a moment. Seeing him carefully extract certain plants from the chaos, as if he believed some if it could be saved, made Frodo oddly sad. It seemed like such a futile and pointless task. The garden was long ruined. Why couldn’t Sam just let it go?
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Frodo said, startling both Sam and himself.
Sam looked up at him and brushed the dirt off his hands. ‘Good evenin’,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s good to see you up and about. What d’you mean by what you just said?’
Frodo sat down on the ground next to him and wrapped his cloak around himself tightly. He went outside so infrequently that he’d forgotten how bitingly cold the February air could be at night. It made him feel hollow. The wind cut straight through his skin, unimpeded and uninterrupted, like he wasn’t really there at all.
He suddenly remembered that Sam had asked him a question. ‘The garden,’ he explained.‘I don’t want you to feel responsible for it. You don’t have to fix it. It’s really fine as it is, Sam.’
‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d very much like it if you let me restore it this time. It’s not that I feel like I must, but I was thinkin’ I would. So that I could stay here with you a little longer. I don’t think I’m ready for settin’ out again anytime soon.’
Frodo could tell that he was being charitable. He could hear the pity in Sam’s voice. Sam didn’t just feel responsible for the garden, he felt responsible for Frodo as well. Frodo didn’t want him to. After all, Sam had his own life, and he should be able to live it freely and without hindrance. Sam’s devotion to him had been comforting when they’d been away, but now that they’d returned, there was no justification for how reliant upon him Frodo had become.
‘It’s not necessary, Sam,’ Frodo said, uncomfortable with how distant his own voice sounded. ‘You owe me nothing. If you’d just agree to go off and do what would truly make you happy, I’ll give you anything you might need, anything you desire, anything I have, but don’t stay here. Please. There’s nothing in it for you.’ He was astonished by how much he’d just said and selfishly terrified that Sam might see reason in his advice. Because there was reason there, a lot of it, but what Frodo wanted beyond all things was unreasonable.
‘You… you wish to be rid of me, sir?’
Frodo had avoided meeting Sam’s eyes until this point, but he could prevent it no longer. And he couldn’t bring himself to lie when Sam was looking at him like that. Like he’d been rejected. Abandoned.
‘I’d never wish that. I don’t find any joy in telling you to leave. I just hate to be a burden on you. You’re very dear to me, Sam, and you’ve done nothing to warrant being saddled with such a hardship.’
In response, Sam simply held out a hand. It was a confusing, seemingly out of place gesture and it took Frodo longer than it should have to realise that Sam was asking for his own hand. Though Frodo was baffled, he placed his right hand in Sam’s.
Sam grasped Frodo’s four-fingered hand tightly in both of his own. His hands were warm, calloused, and still coated in a thin layer of garden dirt. Frodo felt as though he’d just woken up from some perplexing and illusory dream. He was often unsure what was real these days, but he knew beyond any doubt that this was.
He liked how he could almost forget that his hand was damaged and unwhole when Sam was holding it.
‘Frodo,’ said Sam, and Frodo was startled to hear him say his name without the addition of an honorific. ‘I’ve never once thought of you as a burden. Not one day in my life. But if you insist on seein’ yourself that way… well, we all have our burdens then, don’t we? An’ if you’re mine, I must be awfully lucky. I must’ve done something awfully good t’ end up with you an’ all your hardships. No, I sure don’t think of you as a burden of any kind. Now, if you need me to look after you, I’d be honored t’ do it. If you don’t, I’d hope you would let me stick around anyway.’
‘You mean you don’t resent me at all?’ Frodo asked. He couldn’t imagine a reality in which someone who had carried him to the end of the world and seen him at his absolute worst would not come out of it all with at least a little resentment.
‘Resent you? ’Course I don’t, I– …well, I care for you a great deal.’
Frodo was touched, not just because of the words Sam had said, but because he could tell that the sentiment behind them was genuine. He wanted to tell Sam that he cared for him too, immensely and unendingly, but he was worried that it would come off as inauthentic. Sam had spoken so poetically in his words of reassurance, and Frodo didn’t think he would be able to properly match that kindness without giving it much more thought. Perhaps there was a certain way he could order the words, a certain tone he could speak them in that would convey the extent of his endearment, but it wasn’t possible for him just now. Too much time had passed and Frodo felt pressured to say something less weighty.
‘You didn’t call me “Mr. Frodo” just then,’ he mused.
‘Hm?’
‘A moment ago, you just said my name.’
Sam’s eyes widened and he quickly let go of Frodo’s hand, which he’d still been holding up until this point. ‘Oh, I hope you understand I meant you no disrespect! Merry and Pippin were just tellin’ me I should be informal with them, that’s why I did it, unintentionally, of course. I didn’t mean no discourtesy towards you, Mr. Frodo, I’d never want you to think I did.’
‘No, no,’ said Frodo hurriedly. ‘I didn’t intend to imply that you were doing anything ill-mannered, Sam. I was going to say I found it quite nice. We’re far beyond the need for formalities, you and I, and I’d prefer that you didn’t use them with me at all.’
Sam was quiet for a moment, seemingly in thought. Then, he smiled. ‘So you’ll let me fix up your garden then, Frodo?’
Frodo found himself laughing. ‘I seem powerless to stop you, my dear Sam.’
Sam put an arm around his shoulders and drew him closer, and Frodo in turn leaned into him, resting his head against Sam’s chest. He couldn’t help but feel small and weak compared to Sam, who was so strong and courageous and unbroken.
There was a part of Frodo that envied him. Why had Sam been able to come out of it all as the victorious hero while Frodo was just a grim remnant of his former self? Why couldn’t Frodo have ended up like Sam, like Bilbo, wiser and more worldly because of his journey and unmistakably alive? He knew why. It was because he’d chosen to bear the Ring. He wanted to say that he’d do it all over again, even knowing what would become of him. But he didn’t know if that was true. In a way, the Ring was still with him and would always be. The destruction it had wrought was permanent. Frodo would do anything to have a chance to rid himself of that pain.
‘It’s just so different now,’ he found himself saying. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but he decided to continue while he still had the energy to speak. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. ‘It always seems like I’m somewhere else. I think I’ve lost a part of myself. I don’t know how I can ever find it again.’
‘I know,’ Sam said in a soft voice, as if he was consoling a child. ‘I’m awful sorry it all had to happen t’ you the way it did. If I could change it, you’d best believe I’d do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t and I’m so sorry I can’t. I’m thinkin’ you’re right about things never bein’ the same as they were. You’re different now and that’s just as certain as me bein’ different. But that doesn’t have to mean things’ll never be good, does it?’ He sounded uncertain, and it broke Frodo’s heart a little bit.
‘I want them to be good,’ he said, in complete honesty. ‘But I don’t know if I can ever be alright. Not like you are.’
‘Beggin’ your pardon, Frodo, but I wouldn’t say I’m alright exactly.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I certainly haven’t suffered like you have, but things are hard for me sometimes…’ Sam said shyly.
‘Tell me about it. Please.’ Frodo hadn’t even considered the idea that Sam was hurting too. He always seemed so stable and cheerful. He couldn’t believe he’d never thought to ask Sam if he was doing well. He’d just foolishly assumed it.
‘Oh, I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want t’ go an’ trouble you. ‘S nothing all that bad.’
Frodo stared at Sam, desperately trying to read his expression. He seemed to be deliberately looking away. Frodo had the sudden urge to reach his hand up and lightly touch the side of Sam’s face in order to get him to look back. He almost did it, but he managed to remind himself that it wouldn’t be a very considerate or a very polite thing to do.
‘Sam. You can talk to me about anything. If something’s bothering you, I’d like to know about it.’
‘It’s not much of a specific thing, really,’ said Sam, still staring off at some unidentifiable point in the darkness. ‘Sometimes I feel afraid, an’ I reach for a sword that ain’t at my side no more.... I worry a bit more than I’ve any right to. I worry about everyone I know; I worry that they’re all in danger, that I can’t do nothin’ to protect ‘em. But I worry for you the most. I have dreams about the most horrible things happenin’ to you. ’specially when I’m away. It’s such a comfort every time t’ come back an’ see you’re still safe.’
It pained Frodo deeply to hear that Sam had those thoughts and fears. He couldn’t help but feel as though it was his own fault. Sam had done so much for Frodo, but what had Frodo ever done for him? He’d never been there to comfort Sam in a time of need, certainly not in the way that Sam always comforted him. The only parts of their time in Mordor that Frodo ever wanted to remember were the gentle words Sam had whispered to him as they made their way through that acrid, desolate land. But Sam hadn’t had anyone to reassure him with kind promises and unfailing optimism. No one had been there to tell Sam that it would all be okay.
‘I had no idea you felt that way,’ said Frodo. ‘I’m truly sorry, Sam.’
‘Oh, you’ve nothing to be sorry for,’ Sam said. ‘I’m sorry too, as I’ve said, but it does us no good t’ sit here apologisin’ to each other over ‘n over again for things we can’t change.’ He smiled at Frodo and squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. ‘It’s been rather nice talkin’ with you. That’s the thing that matters most to me just now.’
Frodo reached over and took hold of Sam’s free hand, clutching it close to his chest. He didn’t know how to say everything he wanted to and he hoped that the gesture would communicate something. Sam seemed taken aback by the action, but he didn’t look as though he minded it.
‘D’you really think you’ll never be alright?’ Sam asked quietly.
‘I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever be permanently alright, but no one’s happy all the time, I suppose. But I feel good at the moment. I really do. I’m better than I was earlier. So maybe that means there will be more moments like this in the future. I hope that’s the case, but I don’t know. I’m glad to be with you, here and now. That’s really all I can say for certain.’
‘That’s mighty good t’ hear,’ said Sam. ‘I’m glad t’ be with you too, naturally.’
The conversation seemed to have reached a sort of conclusion, but Frodo still felt as though there was more he needed to say. He wasn’t ready to go back inside yet. He didn’t want to have to let go of Sam’s hand or have the weight of Sam’s arm lifted from his shoulders.
‘Talk to me about something,’ Frodo said, in an effort to preserve the moment a little longer. ‘It can be anything. Just as long as it's something good.’
Sam was silent for a brief period of time. Frodo was suddenly scared that there wasn’t anything good left in the world for him to talk about. But then Sam began to speak, and Frodo closed his eyes so as to properly give Sam’s voice his undivided attention.
‘Well, I’ve been thinkin’ about what to do with this garden of yours. It’s far too late in the season now t’ plant any tulips or crocuses and the like. I would’ve needed t’ do that way back in the fall. But after I clear out all the dead things and get the soil fit for growin’ again, I think I might start on sowin’ the vegetables. Tomatoes and peppers will turn out nicely this year I think, the temperatures seem good for ’em so far. Am I borin’ you dreadfully with this kind of talk, Frodo?’ Sam laughed nervously.
‘Oh, not at all. Keep going.’
Sam took so much joy in gardening and Frodo couldn’t help but find it charming. He could listen to Sam talk about vegetables for hours on end. Maybe he would have thought it a boring subject before everything had happened, when he was still endlessly curious about the world and anxious to experience his own harrowing adventure. Now he ached for simpler things.
‘I think I could manage some gardenias,’ Sam continued. ‘Or some violas once most of the frost passes. ‘Course, it is your garden after all; I should let you have some say in it.’
‘It’s more yours than mine, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘You’re the one who’s tended it for so long. I’m sure I’ll love whatever you choose to do with it. You’ve never led me to believe otherwise. Your work is always beautiful, you know.’
‘Thank you kindly, Frodo. That’s… that’s a wonderful thing to say.’ With that, Sam began to discuss the various herbs he would try to plant and the dishes he hoped to cook with each of them.
Frodo wondered if Sam would let him help with the garden at all. He thought he might like to do so, under Sam’s guidance. He’d never done anything like that before and he knew almost nothing about the technicalities of growing plants, but the idea of spending time with Sam, working together on something that belonged to the both of them, was a very pleasant thing to consider.
For that matter, Sam was a very pleasant thing to consider. Frodo seemed to find himself considering Sam quite a lot.
He knew that all he wanted for Sam was happiness and a life free of sorrow. He also knew that he wanted to be with Sam always, however selfish that might be. Frodo had known that for a long time, yet it seemed he was just beginning to understand the depth of that sentiment.
Frodo wanted Sam to stay with him. He wanted them to live together. He wanted to be able to go to sleep knowing that Sam would be there when he woke up. For so long, for months and months on end, Sam had been the only reminder of home in Frodo’s life. Now Frodo was home again, but Sam was still the only reason he ever felt like he was.
He’d lost so much. The Ring. His finger. His old life. Part of himself. Maybe most of himself. But Frodo also felt as though he’d gained something. He and Sam now shared something no one else ever would. It might have been borne of terrible circumstances, but it was theirs, and Frodo had never felt closer to anyone.
If Frodo woke up tomorrow and was miraculously healed of all his illness and strife, he would still want to be with Sam. If he never recovered at all and was resigned to a life of perpetual struggle, he would still want to be with Sam.
Sam was still talking, the rhythm of his voice now becoming the ambient backdrop to Frodo’s thoughts. Frodo was so close to knowing what he wanted to say, to expressing what he’d so frequently failed to put into words, the thing he’d first felt months ago in Minas Tirith and hadn’t stopped feeling since.
‘… and by the middle of summer,’ Sam was saying, ‘most of the basil and sage will’ve grown. An’ if things go well with the flowers, you’ll have enough t’ put some inside. Y’know, brighten up the place some… That’s all I’ve really got to say. I haven’t thought anythin’ out beyond that. But then I have been goin’ on a while. I hadn’t meant to talk so much.’
Sam fell silent, and Frodo felt pressured to fill the space.
‘Sam,’ he said, not knowing any of the words that followed that one, simply hoping they would come to him in the moment. ‘I…’
He didn’t think he could continue. It would be very hard, and he had the option of keeping quiet. Sam was looking at him expectantly, but there was patience in his gaze, and surely he’d understand if Frodo couldn’t complete his statement. However, Frodo wanted to say it. Because now it seemed as though it wasn’t truly a matter of not knowing the words, but of knowing all too well the weight they carried. Frodo couldn’t bear any more weight, not alone, not this time.
He separated himself from Sam and shifted his position so that the two of them sat facing each other. He was still holding Sam’s hand, and it never crossed his mind that he should let go. He took a deep breath.
‘Sam,’ Frodo said again, more resolutely this time, ‘I love you. And very much at that.’
Sam didn’t react immediately. He looked at Frodo with an unreadable expression, his eyebrows knit and his face visibly reddened, even in the dark.
‘Come on now, Frodo,’ he said, in a barely audible voice. ‘You shouldn’t go jokin’ around like that. I thought we was havin’ a serious conversation.’ Sam laughed a little, but his laughter sounded strained and anxious.
‘I wasn’t making fun, Sam,’ Frodo said. He desperately hoped his tone of voice would convey his sincerity. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve ever led you to believe I’d do such a thing.’
‘You… you really mean that then? That you feel that way about me? Your Sam? Simple ol’ Samwise Gamgee?’
‘I mean it, Sam. Of course I mean it.’
Sam was staring at him wordlessly, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide with incredulity.
‘Oh, I certainly don’t expect or demand any sort of… reciprocity from you,’ Frodo said, now experiencing a crushing amount of guilt for springing this on Sam so abruptly. ‘I only… I only felt as though I should let you know. I realise I’ve complicated things quite a bit. I’m sorry.’
A tightness was growing in Frodo’s throat and he feared that he would begin to cry if he tried to speak again. Tears were already brimming in his eyes and blurring his vision. He was suddenly aware that he was gripping Sam’s hand very tightly and he quickly attempted to release it. Before Frodo could, however, Sam unexpectedly grabbed both of Frodo’s hands and held them in his own.
‘I must say, well, it’s– I’m awful surprised t’ hear that from you,’ Sam began, stumbling over his words as he went. ‘No, it’s not a thing I ever expected you t’ say, nor anythin’ I could’ve ever dreamt. Well, maybe I could’ve dreamt it, but I wouldn’t’ve imagined it possible in any sort of real–’ Sam was rushing through his thoughts so rapidly that Frodo could barely keep up with what he was trying to say. Sam seemed to realise this as well, as he broke off, paused, and sighed deeply before speaking again. ‘What I mean to say is, I love you as well, Frodo. An’ I have for some time.’
Sam kissed both of Frodo’s hands several times over, as he had on countless prior occasions, but now the meaning behind the action was vastly changed, and Frodo found that he was well and truly flustered by it. He was still trying to process what Sam had said to him, and such a display of affection was overwhelming for him.
Frodo was properly crying at this point, from relief, joy, and the need to release the deluge of emotion he’d been keeping to himself for so long.
‘Oh, Frodo, this is no cause for tears now,’ Sam said softly. He gently took Frodo’s face in his hands and began wiping the tears from his cheeks.
Frodo held onto Sam’s arm as if he was scared the other might fade away at any moment.
Once he’d composed himself enough to attempt to speak, he asked what he deemed a necessary question.
‘After everything, you feel that way? You’re sure you do?’
‘After everythin’,’ Sam replied, ‘I might even say I love you more than I ever have.’
‘It’s not going to be easy,’ Frodo said. He still found Sam’s words impossible to believe. ‘I’m not what I once was. No matter how much you care for me, you can’t change that. You can’t heal me.’ He felt the tears start to fall once again.
‘I know,’ Sam said. He leaned forward and gingerly kissed the side of Frodo’s face. ‘But I can be with you. We can figure the rest out as we go.’
‘You can be with me,’ Frodo echoed in affirmation. He found himself ceaselessly amazed by how much wisdom and warmth Sam was able to fit into so few words.
Frodo didn’t entirely know what he was doing when he brought his lips to Sam’s, but soon Sam was kissing him back, as sweetly and as lovingly as he’d always done everything. It was a kiss that promised the possibility of more to come.
When they broke apart, Sam pulled Frodo into a hug, and Frodo wrapped his arms around Sam, resting his head on his shoulder.
‘It’s gettin’ cold,’ Sam remarked after some time. ‘Maybe you’d like to go inside and get some rest?’
‘Just a moment longer,’ said Frodo. He wasn’t ready to let go of Sam just yet.
‘However long you need.’
Sam started to hum some long-forgotten tune. Frodo recognised it, but couldn’t come up with the words that went along with it. It was one of Bilbo’s old songs about his adventures. He soon felt himself drifting off into a peaceful resting state. It had been ages, seemingly, since he’d known safety like this, and he really was very tired.
Frodo completely lost track of how much time had passed in his newfound condition of calmness. The next thing he knew, he was being laid down in his own bed. Sam was sitting beside him, looking down at Frodo with the most wonderful smile on his face.
‘You fell asleep,’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t mind, I brought you inside.’
‘You carried me?’
Sam nodded.
‘Oh, you didn’t need to do that,’ Frodo said. ‘You could have woken me up.’
Sam simply laughed. ‘I carried you up Mount Doom, the least I can do is carry you t’ bed.’
Frodo smiled as well as he could in his half-asleep state. He supposed Sam had a point.
‘Merry and Pippin?’ he inquired, suddenly recalling that he’d rather rudely ignored his guests and forgotten to check up on them.
‘They’ve gone to sleep already, don’t you worry about them,’ Sam reassured him. He reached forward and brushed Frodo’s hair away from his face. ‘You’ll have plenty of time t’ talk with them in the mornin’.’
Frodo felt his body begin to succumb to sleep again, though he still had one more thing he needed to say before he could allow this.
‘Will you stay, my dear Sam?’ he asked, hoping it wasn’t too unreasonable a request.
‘Of course,’ Sam replied as he lay down next to Frodo. ‘I’ll always stay.’
They soon fell asleep, quickly and easily in each other’s arms. And though they would both dream of heavier, more troublesome times, in the morning, they would wake to each other’s eyes, each other’s hands and hearts. And for the first, but not the last time, they would both know what it was like to be briefly whole.
*End*