"I have come. But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!"
So saying, Frodo slipped the Ring on his finger, a devilish smirk playing across his face that was now devoid of the kindness and compassion that had once endeared him to so many. Sam stood helplessly by, unable to do anything but watch as his beloved master disappeared from his sight. And then - Gollum was there, fighting with Frodo for possession of the Ring. But Frodo overpowered him and flung Gollum over the abyss into the flames below. There was a screech of pain, the likes of which made Sam want to cover up his ears - and Gollum was no more.
Now visible once more, Frodo turned his gaze on Sam, who refused to run from his master, despite the unholy gleam in his eyes that warned the simple hobbit of danger. Sam stood his ground as Frodo advanced.
"You are mine, Samwise Gamgee! Do you hear me? All mine!" Frodo proclaimed, gripping Sam tightly by the arms and pushing him none-too-gently to lie down on the stone ground, cold despite the fires raging below them.
"Yes, Mister Frodo," whispered Sam, breathlessly. "I'm yours, and always have been."
"Now I mark you as mine, and thus stake my claim," said Frodo, and for the first time, Sam became aware of a hardness pressing into his thigh. He gasped as he realized his Frodo's intent.
"Please, sir," he begged, "You don't want me - not like this."
"Oh, but you're wrong, Sam," whispered Frodo, and Sam caught a glimpse of the old Frodo from the Shire - his kindly master, Frodo - in both his manner and looks. His next words, though, shattered that image, "I want to take you, hard and fast, so that you'll never think of bedding anyone else as lovers do."
"Begging your pardon, sir," said Sam, "But if you took me the way you say, that wouldn't be lovin'-like, to my mind."
"No one asked your opinion," Frodo hissed as his eyes went completely black, instead of the pleasant blue color that put Sam in mind of a crystal clear lake on a fine summer's day, and he suddenly struck Sam hard across the face. The force of the blow caught Sam off guard and prevented him from resisting Frodo's advances as he unbuttoned Sam's shirt before moving to unlace his breeches.
"Please, sir," Sam whimpered as he was completely bared before his master. Though he had fantasized of Frodo taking him many times, such fantasies had taken place in Hobbiton - perhaps in Frodo's own bed or in the hills surrounding the Shire - but never like this.
Although Sam was normally accommodating to a fault where Frodo was concerned, the hobbit crouched above and taking him roughly in his mouth was not Mister Frodo. That thought alone gave him the courage and strength to fight back and attempt to throw off the hobbit impersonating his beloved Frodo. Still, he wasn't entirely successful, as he didn't want to truly harm the look-alike Frodo. And that gave the Ring-crazed Frodo an opening which he took full advantage of, wrapping his slender hands around Sam's throat and beginning to squeeze with all his might.
"Please, sir," Sam whispered, begging with his last breath for his Frodo to return. He didn't beg for his life; that wasn't worth one whit if his Frodo wasn't there beside him. No, he begged for Frodo to remember their life in the Shire from before and all the good times they had shared: the food and drinks, the friendship and laughter...
Frodo awoke with a start, looking down to find Sam pinned beneath him on his bed in Bag End, his hands wrapped around Sam's throat as his face steadily turned purple from lack of oxygen. Quickly, Frodo released him and scrambled off of the bed to put some distance between them. As he did so, he realized that his dream had made him hard, and he was struck by the realization of what might have happened had he not woken up when he had.
Sam, having regained his breath, rose to his feet and slowly made to approach Frodo, his arms outstretched in the universal sign of surrender.
"Don't come near," Frodo whispered, holding up a shaky hand to halt Sam's progress, his voice still harsh from the after-effects of the dream. Sam froze in his tracks, looking on Frodo - not with hurt, as Frodo had expected, and, truth be told, welcomed - but with sympathy.
"You were dreaming of... It, weren't you?" Sam asked without judgment or censure.
With a cry, Frodo sank to the ground, having backed himself into a corner, and raised his knees to his chest, wrapping his hands around his ankles and proceeding to rock back and forth as he sought to conquer the night-demons that still plagued his sleep - and, even on occasion, his waking hours. There were many instances where only Sam's soothing voice and reassuring touch had recalled him from the brink of despair as he re-lived some moment or other from the seemingly-impossible Quest he had embarked on with only his Sam for company.
"Come back, me-dear," whispered Sam, and Frodo opened his eyes - since when had he closed them? - to discover Sam kneeling in front of him, hands outstretched as if to touch him but waiting for permission.
"Sam..." Frodo whimpered pitifully, and found himself enfolded in Sam's sturdy embrace.
"I'm here," Sam whispered in his ear. "You'll never be alone; I'll always follow, wherever you will go."
Frodo found that he was crying, but realized that the tears dripping down his cheeks were not all his: Sam was crying, too. His Sam, his unflappable gardener, had been reduced to tears because of him. He made to pull away, and thus remove himself from Sam's presence, but the other hobbit merely tightened his arms around Frodo and refused to let go.
"No, you need me and I'll not desert you now," Sam whispered fiercely. "I never could," he added brokenly as he recalled the one time he had and the torture inflicted on Frodo as a result.
"Dear Sam..." Frodo murmured as he wound a hand around Sam's tousled curls, hugging him to his breast.
Sam closed his eyes against the emotions threatening to overwhelm him at hearing his name spoken so tenderly - almost reverently - by his master, and he had to remind himself of his place, lest he give himself hope that his feelings were returned.
The pair of hobbits remained crouching on the floor for many minutes - Frodo trembling in the safety of Sam's arms - until Frodo's stomach rumbled as a reminder to Sam of the duty he had to his master.
"Forgive me, sir," he stammered, releasing Frodo as if he had been burned. "You'll be wantin' your breakfast - and a nice warm cup of tea, I'll warrant. That'll take care of those shakes."
Frodo smiled at Sam and moved to stand, only for Sam to take his hands and help him up himself. Frodo felt a surge of energy where their skin touched, and wondered if Sam could feel it too. He sensed his face becoming flushed, heating up from such close contact with his secret love. His lips parted, unbidden, and his breath came in short, harsh gasps as he fought the urge to close the miniscule gap between himself and Sam to connect their lips. Truth be told, he didn't trust himself to stop at a mere kiss, not after that dream. He feared hurting Sam, which would kill him in turn, destroying his very will to live. He drew back, releasing Sam's hands, and found his good sense returned to him.
"Alright, there, Mister Frodo?" inquired Sam, who hadn't failed to notice his master's flushed features and his shortness of breath.
"I'm fine, Sam," said Frodo, choosing not to examine Sam's concern too closely.
He only cares because we're friends, because I pay his wages. I'm the master and he's my servant, Frodo reminded himself harshly, while doing his best not to quail at simplifying his and Sam's relationship to such an extent. But... is it possible that he cares for me as I do for him?
Shaking his head to clear it of such wild thoughts, Frodo forced his still-shaking limbs to obey his command as he walked out the door and down the hall towards the kitchen, unaware of Sam's eyes boring a hole in the back of his head.
Since their return to the Shire many months before, Sam had become more attuned to his master's moods: he knew when Frodo wanted company, when he wanted to be left alone, even when he thought he wanted solitude but really desired companionship… that of Sam, specifically. As he and Sam had traveled throughout the Shire, offering healing to both the land and its people, Sam had watched his master with a keen eye, watching as his bodily health deteriorated and he sank into a depression, refusing even to leave the smial.
Sam was at a loss: on the Quest, there had always been something for him to do, whether that entailed fetching Frodo some water or keeping watch over his master's sleep, forgoing rest - and even on occasion, especially towards the end of their journey, food - himself. Now, though, that both were safely back in the Shire, Sam's service was required less than while they had been in danger. He no longer felt useful to Frodo, which had always been his purpose before they left: to serve.
Following his master into the kitchen, Sam set about to make them both some breakfast. He'd long ago given up trying to convince Frodo that he had no right to join the master of Bag End at the table, as though they were equals. Frodo wouldn't hear a word about how Sam was socially lower than him, and could stand even less to hear the many sayings of Sam's Gaffer, who was a sore point where Frodo was concerned.
When Frodo had first started teaching Sam how to read and to write, the Gaffer had pitched a fit and soundly thrashed his son for presuming to rise above his station. Despite being in obvious pain from the welts covering his legs and back, Sam had dragged himself to work the following day; Frodo had gone white with rage when he had seen him. After tending to Sam's injuries and ignoring his friend's - for Sam was his friend, first and foremost, before he was his servant - protestations and obvious embarrassment at his present condition, Frodo had gone to confront the Gaffer. His defense of Sam and his indignation on his friend's behalf was so fierce that the older hobbit had had no choice but to yield and permit Sam to continue his lessons with Frodo.
As Sam bustled about the kitchen, he smiled to himself as he recalled the Gaffer's sincere apology upon his return home that particular evening. He had remarked that Sam had a remarkable ally in Frodo, who was a good and kindly master. Sam replied that he valued Frodo's friendship, and that he had no intentions of forgetting his place.
But you have forgotten your place, Samwise Gamgee, the younger hobbit chided himself. You love the master, when you have no right feelin' that way 'bout him. He's a gentle-hobbit and you're a gardener, his servant. That's all you'll ever be, nothin' more. Just because you helped him to save Middle-earth by destroying the One Ring, that doesn't prove anything. Just goes to show how loyal you are to the master, and would do anything for him, even walk into Mordor should he so require it of you. You're friends, but only because it pleases him. Frodo owns you, body, heart, and soul, and don't you forget it, Samwise Gamgee!
"Sam," called Frodo, his gentle voice breaking through the other hobbit's reverie.
"Yes, master?" he replied, choosing to ignore the way Frodo always seemed to flinch whenever he was addressed by some honorific or other.
"The food's burning," said Frodo, and Sam could hear the smile in his voice, even though his merriment was the result of his breakfast's suffering.
"Begging your pardon, Mister Frodo," said Sam, moving hurriedly to rectify his mistake. He hoped that the master wouldn't be too upset with him if his toast was a little crispier than usual.
His hands shook from nerves as he served Frodo the food his thoughtlessness had damaged. While Frodo had never had a violent temper to speak of, and had certainly never struck Sam, he wasn't the same hobbit he had been before they set out for Rivendell. The Ring had changed him, irrevocably, and Sam was willing to accept whatever changes the Ring had wrought, so long as he got to keep his Mister Frodo and remain by his side where he could best look out for him.
Frodo had paled upon realizing that Sam actually feared his reaction to the slightly burnt food. It was his worst nightmare come to pass, and he immediately sought to relieve Sam's anxieties.
"Sam," he whispered soothingly, capturing one of Sam's hands in between his own. "Relax; it's just me. I'm not going to do anything to you just because the food's a little spoiled. I certainly wouldn't have before our adventure together - and even now I won't hurt you. While I admit that I've changed, so have we all. There's nothing to fear from me: I'm still your Frodo, just as you're my Sam."
Sam sank to his knees next to Frodo's chair at the head of the table and raised his master's hand to his lips, kissing the lily-white skin with the utmost reverence.
"Thank you for saying so, sir," he whispered in reply, while continuing to hold Frodo's hand against his flushed cheek. "I trust you with my life - and more besides. Anything you deemed me worthy of, I would be more than happy to accept."
Frodo shuddered, reading more into Sam's words than Sam himself may have even intended. Frodo knew, without a doubt, that should he lash out at Sam, however unreasonable he might appear to others, Sam would think it his due and submit to such treatment without complaint.
"You do me great honor, Samwise Gamgee," said Frodo, bending over the top of Sam's head and daring to kiss his sandy curls.
"No more than what you deserve or is your right, Mister Frodo," Sam replied. He often felt incensed that the residents of Hobbiton continued to treat Frodo as 'that mad Baggins,' when he had done so much for them all so that they could continue living in peace and freedom. And they never knew - not one of them knew or even cared to ask, and that made Sam angry.
"Dear Sam, always at the ready to come to my defense," said Frodo with a chuckle, having accurately guessed to where Sam's thoughts had strayed. "Come, let's have breakfast."
And so Sam joined the master at his table, eating side by side as though he and Mister Frodo were equals. While Frodo had been insisting that Sam share his meals with him for years - ever since Sam had been a young hobbit-lad, barely in his tweens - the notion still took some getting used to for the simple hobbit, whose first venture past the Shire's borders had been a result of the Quest he had accompanied Frodo on.
The pair ate their breakfast in companionable silence until their peace was disturbed by a knock on the front door. Before Frodo could even think of getting up, Sam had risen and was already in the hallway to welcome the newcomers, Merry and Pippin.
"Good morning, Sam," they greeted him. "And where's our fair cousin this morning - still at breakfast?"
Sam merely nodded, having never been able to get a word in edgewise around the excitable hobbits. He took the opportunity of Frodo's distraction at his cousins' arrival to button up the collar of his shirt so as to avoid the awkward questions that would surely arise should anyone see the finger-shaped bruises around his neck. Mister Frodo might have less use for him than before the Ring entered their lives, but he'd still spare his master whatever trouble he could; he was capable of that much, at least.
He re-entered the kitchen to discover Merry and Pippin helping themselves to his master's breakfast. He frowned upon noticing that Frodo put up little-to-no resistance at their actions, even pushing his plate closer to them. His appetite had been steadily declining since their return to the Shire, despite Sam's best efforts. Frodo had always been slender compared to other hobbits; now he was practically skin and bones. All that was left for Sam to do was continue to serve Frodo in the hopes of tempting him with some tasty treat or other.
Frodo looked up as Sam re-entered the kitchen. His eyes narrowed at seeing Sam's shirt buttoned up, and he knew that Sam was merely trying to protect him again. Many times throughout the Quest, he had cursed himself for letting Sam come along, despite Gandalf's own insistence that the younger hobbit would prove invaluable. Sam was too good to be touched by the evil of the Ring; yet he had willingly put himself in the way of danger, time after time, all for the sake of his precious master. No, Frodo didn't deserve Sam, who would rather suffer himself than to see Frodo suffer.
"Sam," he said, hoping to draw his friend into conversation. More often than not, though, Sam would withdraw, claiming that he had no place next to gentle-hobbits the like of Frodo and his cousins. "We were just planning a picnic for later today. Would you care to join us?"
"Oh, please do," chimed in Merry and Pippin, who both enjoyed Sam's company as much as their older cousin.
"If you really want me along..." said Sam hesitantly, his voice trailing off as he gave Frodo and his cousins the opportunity to reject him. Secretly, though, he wanted nothing more than to go with them; he hoped that if he got Frodo alone, he could get him to share what his dream had been about, besides the obvious: the Ring. Frodo still seemed troubled by his dream, more so than usual, and it was Sam's belief that talking about it would help his master to heal.
"Please, Sam," Frodo implored him.
Sam never had been able to resist those eyes, especially when they were staring pleadingly up at him, and he knew that this time would be no different. What's more, he appreciated Frodo's conscientious effort to include him in what most would consider a family outing. "Alright, I'll come with you," he said at last.
"Hurray!" Pippin cheered, prompting the others, even Sam, to burst into laughter.
Each of the hobbits then set about preparing for the proposed picnic: Merry and Pippin gathered blankets to rest on so that the grass wouldn't prickle their sensitive skin, while Frodo and Sam worked together in the kitchen to make the food they would eat.
Sam watched Frodo carefully: he was still suffering from the occasional tremor, a result of the nightmares he was tormented by on a regular basis. And, if Sam was being honest, his own presence probably wasn't helping matters. Frodo most likely still felt guilty for nearly strangling Sam that morning. Sam didn't blame him, though. He understood that it was the Ring controlling his master's actions, even in sleep. Frodo, however, didn't have the same understanding. Logically, he knew that the Ring would forever exert a certain amount of power over him. That didn't mean he had to accept it. And so he held himself accountable for his actions against Sam, as well as against countless others who he believed he had wronged in some way.
Despite these thoughts running through their minds, both kept silent. Sam, though he wanted nothing more than to comfort his master, didn't see it as his place to speak unless spoken to first. For this same reason he kept quiet about the love he bore for Frodo. It wasn't right for him to declare himself and thereby lose his place, as the Gaffer often warned him about. Frodo, likewise, kept silent because he was fully aware of Sam's position in his household and didn't want to appear to be taking advantage of that fact, or have Sam accused of using his position to seduce the master of Bag End.
"I'm sorry about this morning, Sam," said Frodo at last, speaking haltingly. It wasn't the apology that was hard for him; rather, the reason behind the apology.
Sam heaved a sigh of relief at Frodo taking the initiative. "You were dreaming, sir. You couldn't help yourself."
"But what does that say about me - that I can harm my best friend without even being aware of it?" Frodo swiftly countered.
"The Ring had a powerful effect on you. That effect obviously still lingers. You are not to blame for what It makes you do," Sam reasoned with him.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo whispered. "I don't mean to further burden you. I just... I'm not strong enough to handle this on my own."
"No one expects you to, Frodo," said Sam, his passion making him careless as he forgot to address Frodo with an honorific. Frodo, of course, was not about to point out what Sam would view as a 'mistake,' in the hopes that Sam would continue to address him by his given name rather than the continued deference he showed by his use of 'mister,' sir,' and even 'master.'
"Everyone's been strong enough for me, already," Frodo continued. "First, on the Quest: when Gandalf fought the Balrog to buy the rest of us time to escape; when Merry and Pippin sacrificed themselves to draw the Orcs' attention away from me; and you, my dear Sam, went without food and drink to ensure that I would have plenty."
Sam gaped at him. He hadn't thought that Frodo had been aware of what he was doing. Certainly during the latter half of their journey, Sam hadn't been entirely sure how much of his Frodo remained, or whether Frodo would even care about the trials Sam had undergone to see that his master reached his final destination.
"And now," Frodo went on, "Everyone continues to offer me their support, without a thought for themselves! What about you, Sam, or Merry or Pippin? Who's there for you, to hold you when you cry and tell you that everything is all right?
"Oh, I don't matter none, Mister Frodo," said Sam, waving off Frodo's concern as inconsequential. And, to his mind, it was. His master and those Frodo cared for would always take precedence to Sam's own needs. "And as for your cousins, I'm sure they support each other plenty."
"How can you say that, Sam?" Frodo asked, incredulous at Sam's disregard for his own well-being. "You are the most important of us all. You carried me up Mount Doom on your back! You're the reason our mission succeeded in the first place. Without you, I would have been lost -"
"Have you forgotten that your capture by Orcs was because I left you behind?" asked Sam quietly, interrupting whatever his master had been about to say. "I'm the reason you bear as many emotional scars as you do physical ones."
Frodo shuddered as he was reminded of the torture he had undergone in the tower of Cirith Ungol. The Orcs had been cruel and vicious, harming more than his body, but his mind as well. When Sam had found him, he'd been bound and naked, blood pouring from the many wounds he had sustained. He'd been whipped, but more than that - he'd been violated in the worst possible way. Had it not been for Sam, Frodo would have willingly thrown himself into the fires of Mount Doom, in addition to the Ring.
And ever since, Sam continued to save him: in the morning, when he entered Frodo's bedchamber and threw back the curtains, allowing for the sun to shine through the windowpane, his bright smile would convince Frodo to go on, to continue living; in the evening, when he would see Frodo settled into the most comfortable chair, a fire blazing in the hearth, a cup of tea by his arm and a book in his lap, Sam's care and concern for him reminded Frodo that there was still some good left in the world he had sacrificed so much for. Even Sam's presence in the garden was a comfort to Frodo: as he watched Sam breathe new life into the plants he tended, Frodo was reminded of how Sam breathed new life into him.
Frodo felt hands on his face and realized that he was crying. He looked up to find Sam watching him, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.
That's my Sam, he thought, refusing to appear weak when he thinks I need someone to be strong for me.
"I owe you my life, Samwise Gamgee," he whispered, "And should I live to see my eleventy-first birthday, I doubt I will have yet repaid my debt to you."
He took one of Sam's hands, which was pressed against his cheek, and raised it to his lips, kissing the knuckles quite firmly. Apparently, that was all it took for the tears to flow unchecked down Sam's cheeks. Frodo pulled him into his arms, and Sam - for once ignoring propriety - returned the embrace with equal fervor.
Merry and Pippin, unnoticed by either of the other two hobbits, had been watching Frodo and Sam's exchange for several minutes. Quietly, they backed away until they were well out of ear-shot.
"They love each other," Pippin remarked to Merry. "I mean, I always knew that Sam loved Frodo - even a blind man could see that - but this is the first inkling I've had that Frodo returns his feelings."
"I think Frodo's known for quite some time," Merry mused, gently correcting Pippin's assumption in regards to his cousin. "He's just been denying his feelings for both his own sake and Sam's."
"But why?" asked Pippin petulantly.
"Think about it," said Merry, "Throughout Bag End, Sam is known as Frodo's servant first, his friend second. What are the implications, then, if Frodo and Sam take up with each other? My guess is that Frodo won't admit the truth to Sam for fear of others thinking that the master was seduced by his servant so as to better his position in society, which is also the exact same reason that Sam won't say anything either. He knows his place is as Frodo's servant, despite whatever Frodo himself or you and I might say to the contrary. That's how he was raised: to see himself as less than those he deems 'gentle-hobbits' - us."
Pippin pursed his lips as he considered all that Merry had said.
"What can we do to help?" he asked at last, wanting Frodo and Sam to be as happy as he and Merry were.
"Nothing, unfortunately," Merry replied. "This is something they have to work through and come to terms with on their own."
Frowning, Pippin nonetheless agreed with Merry's assessment. Reaching for his hand, he twined their fingers together, squeezing reassuringly, before allowing Merry to lead him back towards the kitchen. They entered just as Frodo and Sam were pulling away and discreetly wiping at their eyes.
"Ready to go?" chirped Pippin.
Sam turned to the task of filling a basket with the previously-ignored food, leaving Frodo to answer his cousins.
"Of course, Pip," said Frodo, offering him a wan smile.
"Alright, there, Fro?" asked Merry.
"I'm fine," Frodo replied, his standard answer whenever anyone inquired after his health.
The other three chose to ignore Frodo's obvious lie in favor of enjoying the day together. They set out along the path leading away from Bag End, walking side-by-side at the insistence of Frodo, who didn't want Sam to feel left out or as if he should remain several paces behind Frodo and his cousins as society dictated was proper for hobbits of lower social standing. Sam conceded to Frodo's will, but insisted on carrying the picnic basket, to which Frodo relented, knowing that Sam only wanted to feel that he was taking care of him as was his nature.
The four walked along in quiet contentment, happy just to enjoy the sun shining on their faces. For too long they had known only fear and darkness and shadows; never again would they take a clear sky for granted.
Frodo's strength wasn't what it used to be - the Ring had taken a lot out of him - and he soon had to rest. The spot he picked proved as good as any for their picnic, and Sam spread the blanket before doling out food.
They conversed quietly among themselves, saying nothing of consequence and reveling in that simple fact. For many months, their lives had revolved entirely around the Ring and seeing that it was destroyed; it was a relief now to talk about nothing and everything in the same breath.
Eventually, though, Merry and Pippin drifted off by themselves to smoke. Seizing the opportunity to be alone with Sam, Frodo grabbed the younger hobbit's hand and tugged him along down a nearby path. Sam followed, implicitly trusting in his master to not lead him astray.
Frodo halted in a clearing and turned to face Sam, who was watching him with avid curiosity. "I wanted to talk to you, Sam," he said. "It's about my dreams..."
"What about them, sir?" asked Sam.
"Please, Sam - it's just us. Won't you call me Frodo?" It had been a while since Frodo had aired this particular grievance with Sam - he knew his gardener's opinion on the subject - but he still hoped for success in convincing Sam to call him by his given name without the honorific.
"Begging your pardon, Mister Frodo, but it wouldn't be proper," Sam protested, before immediately averting his gaze from his kindly master and staring fixedly at the ground.
Frodo watched as Sam lowered his eyes, seeming to close in on himself, and placed a hand on his shoulder before slowly shifting to grip his chin and tilt his head upwards. "It's alright, Sam," he whispered. "Whatever you're most comfortable with."
"Thank you for understanding, sir," whispered Sam, smiling shyly at Frodo. When he showed no signs of continuing their previous conversation, Sam cleared his throat before daring to speak: "What did you want to say about your dreams, begging your pardon, master?"
Frodo shook himself before re-focusing his gaze on Sam. "I wanted to tell you what I dream of, Samwise. You've guessed - and accurately, I might add - that my dreams involve It, the Ring." He gestured for Sam to take a seat on the ground; once he had done so, Frodo began to pace back and forth in front of him. "In my dream, I'm standing over the fires of Mount Doom; I've just claimed the Ring as mine when Gollum appears. We tussle and I throw him over the edge. I then turn to you."
As Frodo said this, he turned to fully face Sam, and the younger hobbit was taken aback by the haunted look in his friend's eyes - for in this instance, Frodo could be nothing but Sam's friend, and propriety be damned - and the utter pain and misery reflecting back at him.
"What happens next?" asked Sam, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I... throw you to the ground... and... hurt you," Frodo admitted, lowering his gaze in shame.
Although tempted to dismiss his dream-self's pain as inconsequential in the wake of Frodo's own torment, Sam knew that this wasn't the response Frodo wanted, much less needed. And while he sensed that Frodo would more than welcome Sam's censure for his actions, Sam would never be able to forgive himself for lashing out at his master, even should Frodo so order it. So Sam did the only thing he could think of, what came most naturally to him, despite his Gaffer's repeated warnings to never touch his master without his express permission: he rose to his feet and wrapped his arms securely around Frodo, rocking him back and forth and swaying in place.
"It's all right," he whispered over and over again. "I'm alright."
"Are you? Truly?" asked Frodo after several moments. Abruptly pulling away and ripping Sam's shirt collar open - the buttons scattered and flew through the air to lie hidden in the grass - he stared at the bruises ringing Sam's neck, disgust evident in his eyes at what he'd done.
Sam grabbed for Frodo's hands and raised them to his lips, placing a number of feather-light kisses across his open palms. "It's all right," he repeated. "You woke up before any lasting damage could be done."
"And if I hadn't?" Frodo countered, condemnation harshening his tone of voice.
"But you didn't," Sam insisted. "It does no good dwelling on 'what if's,' Mister Frodo; best to live in the here-and-now rather than constantly look behind you at the past."
"Sound advice, Sam the Wise," said Frodo with a chuckle, and Sam's heart was gladdened by the sound, which was accompanied by a sparkle in his master's eyes that had been missing since setting out for Rivendell the previous year.
There was a moment where the two eyed each other before Frodo disengaged his hand from Sam's, only to hold it out to him, his eyes questioning what Sam's choice would be. With less hesitation than Sam usually showed when it came to demonstrations of affection, he took the proffered hand in his and swung their joined hands in between their bodies.
"Let's go home, Mister Frodo," he suggested.
"An excellent idea, Sam," Frodo agreed.
So, hand-in-hand, they made their way back along the path to where they had left Merry and Pippin. They discovered that the other two hobbits had not been idle while they were gone. Frodo and Sam broke through the line of trees to find Pippin on top of Merry, trailing kisses down along his neck and back up his face, across his cheeks and forehead, and ending with a simple peck on Merry's nose. Merry smiled up at him, the love light shining in his eyes, before raising his head to briefly connect their lips.
"Love you, Pip," he whispered.
"Love you, too," Pippin replied. Frodo and Sam had never heard him so serious or seen him more sincere.
Sam had frozen in place upon seeing Pippin and Merry in such an intimate position. While two lads loving each other wasn't unheard of in the Shire - or elsewhere, for that matter - it was still rare enough. That was one of Sam's reasons for keeping silent about his own love for Frodo (the other, of course, being that it wouldn't be proper for a servant to proposition his master). But now, seeing Merry and Pippin acting on their love for each other gave Sam hope for himself and Frodo… that is, if Mister Frodo felt the same.
For Frodo's part, he was glad that his cousins had found happiness with each other. No two hobbits deserved each other more than Merry and Pippin did. He snuck a look at Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam looked stunned and slightly shocked; Frodo wasn't sure whether that was from seeing two lads kissing or the fact that it was Merry and Pippin, and he found himself wondering what the future had in store for them based on Sam's reaction.
"Maybe we should leave and come back again," he suggested, leaning over to whisper conspiratorially in Sam's ear.
"Right you are, sir," Sam responded brightly, but his thoughts were elsewhere, picturing himself and Frodo in Merry and Pippin's positions.
A safe distance away, Frodo turned back towards where his cousins were, making plenty of noise as he did so. Sam followed his lead, and when they once more broke through the line of trees, they found Merry and Pippin leaning against a fallen log, smoking, and a respectable distance away from each other.
The four exchanged tired smiles and moved to pack up the picnic, all without saying a word. Sam even accepted the help of Merry and Pippin, while he insisted that Frodo rest. As they walked back in the direction of Bag End, Frodo noted how low the sun was in the sky. Apparently they had been out longer than they had thought; it would be time for dinner by the time they returned home. Upon first entering the smial, Sam immediately went to help Frodo remove his overcoat before unpacking the picnic basket while Merry started to fix dinner. Sam made as if to object, but at the look on Frodo's face, he kept silent, merely pitching in and watching as Pippin attempted the simple task of chopping vegetables that Merry had given him. Frodo, meanwhile, hovered in the background, wanting to feel useful, but knowing that Sam would protest his exerting himself.
In this manner, the four hobbits worked together to prepare their evening meal. They took their seats at the table, Frodo tugging on Sam's hand to urge him to sit on his right, and with little resistance, Sam acquiesced. They chatted quietly for some time about Frodo's latest translation of an Elvish text, and how Merry and Pippin were enjoying Crickhollow. When Pippin, the youngest among them, began to yawn, Merry made their excuses and asked which rooms would be theirs for the night. Frodo rose to show them the way - he thought they'd be pleasantly surprised to find that he'd arranged for them to share a room; he couldn't imagine there being any objections on the part of either of his cousins - while Sam started to clear the table and wash the dishes.
"You should tell him how you feel," said Merry, following along behind Frodo down the darkened hallway.
"What?" Frodo turned sharply at his cousin's words, his neck cracking painfully in the process.
"I'm talking about Sam, of course," said Merry. "You should tell him that you love him."
"I love Sam?" Frodo chuckled nervously. "That's ridiculous."
"Careful, he might hear you," Pippin cautioned him.
"If he did, I'm sure he'd agree with me whole-heartedly: the idea that we could love each other is fantastic," said Frodo. By now, they had arrived at Merry and Pippin's room. "Here you are," said Frodo, opening the door with a flourish. Inside was a single bed, big enough for two. Merry and Pippin glanced between each other and then looked suspiciously at their cousin. "It's alright," said Frodo. "Sam and I saw you two together this afternoon. I can't speak for Sam, but I, for one, am thrilled for you."
"Thank you, Frodo," said Pippin, moving forward to wrap his arms tightly around his cousin's waist. He clung to Frodo desperately, having suddenly been overcome by a feeling of melancholy. There was a reason he and Merry had sacrificed themselves for Frodo on the Quest: they loved him dearly, and wanted to see him survive and flourish. This was why Pippin wanted to see his cousin happily settled down with Sam, who was Frodo's reason to live.
"Thank you, Frodo," added Merry, moving to join the embrace between his cousins. He could read Pippin's moods better than anyone, and knew that this would be a night spent comforting each other as they reaffirmed that they had, in fact, survived the ordeal of the Quest: they were alive and in one piece. They would reverently undress each other and kiss the scars that their bodies bore, which told the stories of all they had seen and done, before falling asleep wrapped in each other's arms with their limbs entangled.
Frodo found himself close to tears as he held both of his cousins in his arms. He would be forever grateful to Gandalf for insisting that they accompany him on his journey to destroy the One Ring. While he would have protected them, as he would have Sam, if he could, he was nonetheless glad for their presence. He knew that both had suffered equally - each had come to him with tales of their time with the Orcs: Frodo knew of Merry's despair as he had watched Pippin make his break for freedom, seemingly alone, while Pippin had told Frodo of how he had pretended to be the Ring-bearer to convince the greedy Orc leader to take him and Merry away by themselves. They had each acted in his best interests, without a thought for their own needs and wants. Even when volunteering to accompany him, they hadn't known where they were agreeing to go; yet when they finally did learn, nothing would persuade them to desert Frodo.
"No, thank you," he whispered, his voice cracking as he fought back tears while continuing to clutch them both close to his chest.
Merry and Pippin chose to ignore his moment of weakness, knowing their cousin wouldn't want attention drawn to the fact that he was close to crying.
"Think about what we've said, Fro," Merry whispered in his ear. "We just want you and Sam to be as happy as we are."
"I know you do, and I promise that I'll give your advice some consideration," Frodo replied.
"That's all we ask," said Pippin, he and Merry waving as Frodo took his leave of them to return to Sam in the kitchen.
Frodo could hear Sam's voice drifting to him from the kitchen; he was singing the same song he had sung in the tower. Frodo's steps faltered as he recalled the darkness he had wished would claim him, and the light Sam had shone with that called him back from the edge of despair. He paused in the entryway, leaning against the doorframe to observe Sam in his element: he was enthusiastically scrubbing the dirty dishes; his shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing his tanned and muscled arms. Frodo shivered as he imagined being enfolded in those same arms; the strength they contained was enough to break Frodo should Sam so desire...
Shaking his head to rid it of such dismal thoughts, Frodo joined Sam at the sink, picking up a discarded cloth and drying the dishes that Sam handed to him. He was surprised that the other hobbit offered no resistance to his helping out, but then maybe he was feeling as mellow as Frodo himself was. It was a peaceful night, one for throwing away propriety and enjoying the company of one's friends, whether they were servant or master.
Oh, Sam, if only you knew how much I love you, Frodo thought as he silently regarded the hobbit who was more than his gardener; he was his best friend, and Frodo held him in as high regard as Sam himself held Frodo.
"Will that be all, sir?" asked Sam, observing his master curiously as he wondered what Frodo was thinking.
"Yes, Sam," Frodo replied tiredly. "You can go to bed now, if you like." He wished that, just once, Sam would address him simply as 'Frodo.' He'd like nothing better than to hear his name pass Sam's lips without being accompanied by an honorific. While he knew that the younger hobbit felt it was his due, both as the master of Bag End and as a hero in the war of the Ring, he didn't ask for the respect that Sam gave him. He wanted nothing more than to return to the simple days in the Shire before the Ring had passed into his possession, when his main concerns had been keeping Merry and Pippin out of trouble and listening to Bilbo tell him and Sam of his adventures.
"Alright, then," said Sam.
"Good night, Sam," Frodo replied, forcing a smile on his face as he watched Sam leave for his own bed in the smial, though he would eventually find his way to Frodo's room - to keep an eye on him should he suffer from bad dreams, Frodo suspected.
Frodo retired to the parlor and picked up a book of Elvish poetry that he was in the middle of reading. However, he couldn't seem to focus on the words in front of him when all his thoughts were of Sam, who had a similar interest in both poetry and in Elves.
"I might as well go to bed," said Frodo, speaking aloud to the empty room.
After banking the fire, Frodo walked slowly down the hallway, pausing outside the door to Sam's room, which was next to his own. How he longed to enter, taking Sam in his arms and claiming him as his own - just like in your dream, his guilty conscience reminded him - but Sam would never accept his advances. Or if he did, it would be out of a sense of obligation or duty that he felt he owed his master.
Better to dream of what might be than to have Sam reject me outright or merely act as he thinks I wish for him to, Frodo thought dejectedly.
Undressing and slipping on his nightshirt, Frodo crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. Ever since being stabbed by the Morgul-blade, Frodo found that he was incapable of staying warm, even on a hot summer day. As he lay curled up in a ball with his arms wrapped around his middle, shivering due to the cold emanating from the wound on his shoulder, he saw a sliver of light appear from a crack in the door and heard Sam quietly creep into the room.
"Sleep well, master," Frodo heard him whisper as he arranged himself on the floor next to Frodo's bed. "Your Sam's here, now."
As Sam's words of comfort washed over him, Frodo felt a tingling sensation that started at his toes and worked its way up his body, warming him from the inside out. He realized, then, that he would always need Sam; he couldn't imagine life without him, and he didn't even want to try.
As you watch over me, so I do over you, Samwise Gamgee, Frodo thought in the moments before sleep claimed him. I love you, now and forever, and will continue to do so for as long as we both shall live.