Author's note: This is my first LotR fic, a one-shot that my muse begged me to write about Frodo and Sam. I know it started out as a very short one-shot fic and so I wrote a sequel to it. But for now, I hope you enjoy this one! Would appreciate any feedback and I have absolutely no problem with criticism as long as it's positive.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's characters and so I'm making no profit from this story. Just having fun with the brilliant characters he created.

Category: Angst, hurt/comfort

Beloved Master

Samwise Gamgee sat on the edge of his master's bed. It's been several months since the war of the ring had finally ended. They were back in the Shire with Merry and Pippin, back to having good times like they use to before the madness. Well, at least that's what Sam wanted. But Frodo, he wasn't so sure about his beloved Master.

That ring! Oh, Mr. Frodo…I can't stop thinking about it, what it's done to you!

There were nights he strolled past Frodo's home and would hear screams. This night, he was careful to be with him. Sam watched Frodo toss and turn in his sleep. His heart ached for him as he watched him sleep so restlessly. In the moonlight seeping through the round window and falling lazily upon them, Sam noticed something else about Frodo—his face that once beamed with an angelic-like glow had now dimmed and evidently drained. When Frodo thrashed his head from side to side, his curly brown hair was drenched in sweat. He whined and his delicate facial features were twisted from the agonizing nightmare that held him hostage.

Sam longed to free him from this nightmare, carefully extending his hand toward Frodo's shoulder. But before he touched the white sleeve of Frodo's nightshirt, Frodo screamed and bolted upright from the pillow. Sam saw the fear in Frodo's water-blue eyes and the way he glanced frantically around the room. It seemed for the moment, Frodo didn't recognize him, as if he was a stranger.

"Mr. Frodo? It's me…Sam."

While Frodo tried desperately to recall his surroundings, his chest heaved and then sank in a frenetic rhythm. Confused, he glanced at the stranger.

"Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo's eyes squinted, and then they widened again. He recognized him.

"Sam," he said softly and shivered as he breathed in shallow spurts.

Sam sighed, relieved his master recognized him. He often had nightmares himself after the ordeal and would wake up disoriented, but at the same time, he also knew it was worse for Frodo, what he had to endure with the burden of having the ring.

"It's all right," Sam reassured him, "I'm here. You'll be fine, now."

Frodo smiled a little, wanting to believe what Sam had said, that everything would be 'all right.'

"Why are you here? You should be sleeping."

"I can't. I'm worried about you, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo realized he asked a silly question. If had been anyone else, then it wouldn't be silly, but it was Samwise Gamgee who sat beside him, the gardener who risked his own life to protect him during the Quest.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm glad you're here."

A grateful smile swept across Sam's lips.

Frodo breathed and let out a deep sigh. "I keep telling myself it's over."

"It is over."

"No, Sam. Not in my mind. I need to talk to you about the dreams, especially the one about Mount Doom. You were behind me, shouting and pleading for me to throw the ring into the fire. I couldn't." Frodo trembled. He shut his eyes, squeezing them and then they snapped open. Despite the anguish he was feeling, he had to continue. "You see that's what I can't forget. I wanted the ring. And then Smeagol stole it from me."

Sam leaned closer to Frodo. "I wanted to kill him for betraying us the way he did, but then I've been doing some thinking, what if he didn't come along? What would've happened, Mr. Frodo? I'll tell you what…you would be like Gollum and Middle-earth would be doomed. But you couldn't see it, because of that ring."

Frodo's solemn face turned away from Sam. He knew his friend was right, and yet in his heart, he still longed for the ring. He would never forget the way it made him feel, how it seduced him, savoring the power when he slid it onto his finger. The temptation. The guilt. They haunted him, wishing he could forget. And then there was Smeagol. Poor Smeagol.

Frodo looked up into the moonlight, and in the light, his blue eyes seemed to glow like that of the crystal phial Galadriel had given him.

He whispered, "I forgive him."

"What?" said Sam and wondered if he misunderstood the words Frodo uttered.

Frodo's sorrowful eyes returned to Sam. "I said…I forgive Smeagol, because he wasn't always that way. The question is, can I forgive myself for what I desired?"

"Oh, Mr. Frodo, don't do this. Please…"

"Sam, I know you want everything to be like it was, but I'm not the same Frodo Baggins you once knew. Though I'm back here in the Shire, I'm different now. You know that don't you? You know the dreams will continue to haunt me."

"But I'm here. What you're going though, you're not alone. I'm with you. Remember the promise before the quest? Well, I'm still keeping that promise."

Sam reached out and gently touched Frodo's right hand.

Frodo jerked his hand away from him, the hand with a stump where his third finger had been—the finger Gollum chopped off with his teeth like spears, to get his precious he had lost. Every night, the memory assaulted Frodo. Frustrated and angry at the nightmares, he tightened his hand until it became a pale fist.

"No need to hide it, Mr. Frodo. It don't bother me, really it don't."

For the moment, Sam's comforting words eased the shame that Frodo bore each time he looked at his hand. Slowly, he opened it and rested his hand beside him. Four fingers were clearly visible in the brilliant moonlight. Frodo's eyes leapt from his hand to meet Sam, searching for a response from him.

Sam reached for his master's hand, gently grasping it into his own.

Frodo wondered what Sam would do next and to his surprise, he watched the devoted gardener kiss his hand. Tears welled in Frodo's eyes, but through the blur of hot tears, he could still see Sam whose gaze now locked onto his face.

Overwhelmed by Sam's devotion, Frodo graciously smiled and whispered, "Sam…my dear Sam."

Frodo extended his four-fingered hand toward Sam's shoulder, squeezing it tenderly.

Sam frowned. "I don't know why, but I've got an awful feeling."

A quizzical Frodo tilted his head a little. "What is it?"

"We'll always be together, won't we?"

Frodo hesitated to answer. At the moment, he wasn't sure what was going to happen. During the times he was ill like now, it wouldn't surprise him if death had come to claim his soul.

Frodo's delayed reply provoked Sam's fears even more.

"Mr. Frodo?" He grabbed Frodo's hand that still lingered on his shoulder.

Frodo felt sleep returning for him again. "I'm tired, Sam, but I'm afraid to sleep. I know the dreams will come."

"I'll stay with you…"

Frodo snuggled against him.

"When the dreams come…"

Sam lovingly cradled Frodo in his arms.

"I'll be here."

"I know you will…Samwise the Brave."

Fighting his tears, Sam forced himself to smile--a smile he hoped would chase the tears away. They came despite his efforts. One trailed down his pink cheek as he spoke softly to Frodo.

"Tomorrow we'll have our lunch outside. Remember when you would sit up in the tree and I'm sitting on the grass? Oh, and the books you read. You can do that, read one of your books to me and--,"

Silence.

"Mr. Frodo?"

Sam looked down at his master sleeping, for the moment, peacefully. He rested his head against Frodo's hair. More tears streamed down his cheeks.

Gazing up at the moonlight, he whispered, "Tomorrow will be a good day. You'll see."

He couldn't resist any longer. Sleep had claimed him as well.

Sam closed his eyes. But before he gave in, two words slurred from his lips as he held onto Frodo. "You'll see."

The End