One Night

Hey everyone! This is my first story posted, and I hope you all like it. Disclaimer: I really wish I owned the Lord of the Rings franchise, but I don't. Oh well.

Everything had started with The Ring, so it only seemed appropriate that their epic journey had ended with It as well. The Ring had been destroyed in the depths of Mount Doom, bringing with It the demise of Sauron as well as the fall of his once mighty army. With the final fall of Sauron came the rise of the Fellowship as the heroes they truly were. But as with any war's conclusion, there are the fallen heroes to consider as well. The Fellowship mourned the loss of Gollum, for he was a different type of hero from the seven. He willingly plunged himself into the fiery core of Mount Doom, taking The Ring down with him. He redeemed himself in a way no one else could, or would, for that matter. So they carried their grief with them as this horrific chapter of their lives came to a close. Even as the once fresh, painful wounds began to seal themselves up, one seemed to carry more weight on his shoulders than the rest: Frodo. Whether he liked it or not, Gollum had saved him from that accursed Ring, even if he took some of his fingers with him. Frodo felt lost and confused still, which in turn led to him falling into a state of deep depression. He longed for The Ring, yearned for the unequivocal power that only It held.

All of Middle Earth, in contrast, could not be happier; all were rejoicing in the permanent demise of Sauron. Even the Fellowship was joining in on the celebrations; it was no surprise that almost no one had noticed this change in Frodo. Almost; for the one did take notice was Sam. Once they were back in the Shire, life resumed as it does for Hobbits, excepting the fact that there were far more feasts and a light-hearted melody that drifted across the entirety of the Shire. Life was good for the Hobbits, and old Bilbo especially wanted to make this known far and wide. He, along with Gandalf and the Fellowship (what was left of them, any way) had a feast to top all feasts. It was full of good food, plenty of alcohol, and an abundance of Gandalf's famous Fizzling Wizzpoppers, which had brought small Hobbit children running out of their holes to see the display and their parents reprimanding them to return, lest their dinner get cold. With the manifold activities taking place around them, Sam was genuinely shocked how no one else had taken notice that Frodo was moving in slow motion in comparison.

"Mr. Frodo, come join the festivities!" Sam called cheerfully. "Merry and Pippin are about to rig Mr. Bilbo's pastries to explode with Gandalf's Wizzpoppers!" Frodo only turned his head, weakly, in Sam's direction and stared at him blankly. Sam's grin faded. He began to make his way to his friend, in a futile attempt to get him to join in on the fun, when Rosie popped out of seemingly nowhere.

"Come Sam, dance with me!" she exclaimed, giggling and grabbing his hands. Sam gave another glance to where Frodo was quietly seated and sighed.

"I suppose one dance couldn't hurt."

~LOTR~

Well, it turns out that one dance turned into two, which turned into many more. Sam and Rosie ended up dancing and laughing the night away, Sam forgetting about Frodo's troubles. Towards the end of the night, Rosie even kissed Sam, surprising him, although not enough to prevent him from enthusiastically reciprocating.

Frodo, still seated exactly where he was earlier, witnessed this exchange between his best friend and the girl he knew that Sam cared for immensely. This made him sink further into his almost catatonic state.

~LOTR~

After the festivities had concluded, for that evening at least, clean up had commenced and Sam realized that he had yet to speak with Frodo, which was still a necessity. Sam searched for Frodo through all of the hustle and bustle of a Hobbit feast clean up. He looked all over the yard and found no trace of Frodo, save for his uncle, telling more "adventure tales" to the young Hobbits sitting around him.

"-and then, Smaug reared back his enormous head and spewed fire all around the treasure room, in hopes of catching me!"

Sam cleared his throat. "Mr. Bilbo, have you seen Mr. Frodo? I cannot find him anywhere."

Bilbo looked up at the other Hobbit, briefly interrupting his story to respond, "Inside my dear boy, he was looking quite knackered. Long day, I suppose."

Sam took off toward the front door of the Baggins' hole, throwing a hurried "thanks" over his shoulder.

Bilbo resumed his story.

~LOTR~

Frodo felt drained. No, drained was an understatement; he felt like he'd been through the ringer, both metaphorically and literally. Sam, his friend- nay, his best friend- Sam, was kissing that girl. In addition to his omnipresent depression, it is a recipe fated to bubble over and fizzle out. And that is exactly what Frodo was doing right now; the moment his head hit the pillow, he burst out into hysterics. Why him? He was the one who was given The Ring to destroy and he (with help from his friends) had done so! He deserved to be happy, not depressed, not lusting for the Power of The Ring, and he most certainly does not deserve to stand by, watching his best friend end up with someone who is all wrong for him. Rosie would domesticate him like a common animal. Sam deserved to be free, to have adventures with him.

With him.

Frodo never thought much on it, but yes, he could not see Sam with anyone but himself. It seemed unnatural. Blasphemous. Sam should always be by Frodo's side.

Certainly not Rosie's.

As Frodo thought this, he heard a gentle rapping at the door, along with a familiar voice.

"Mr. Frodo? I know you're in there. Your uncle told me you are." A pause. "I must speak with you."

Sam. Frodo stumbled out of bed, fumbling for his dressing gown and attempting to wipe away any evidence of tears in the process. After succeeding to put on his dressing gown and failing to completely hide the fact that he'd been crying, Frodo opened the portal to his and his uncle's Hobbit hole, revealing Sam.

He motioned for Sam to enter, and shut the door behind when he did. He knew the jig was up; Sam had most definitely seen his eyes, and would have been daft if he did not realize that Frodo had been crying before.

"Mr. Frodo, please tell me what is troubling you. You have not been the same since our return from Mordor. I am worried about you." he says, concern for his friend evident in both his voice and his expression.

And for the first time all day, perhaps even the first time since their return to the Shire, Frodo speaks.

"I do not wish to talk about it."

Sam sighed. "Please Frodo, let me help you!" he exclaimed, exasperated.

"No one can help me, not even you Sam."