Chapter Three: Heavy

Author's Note: I know I haven't updated in a while, I'm sorry about that. I've been wanting to post this chapter, but the great evil known to the world as the 'term paper' worked its way into my life. Essays are *so* not creative writing. ;)

And yes, I know this seems like the end, but NO, it's not. Muahaha. You cannot escape. Two more chapters are a-comin' up in the fairly near future, so strap yourself in 'cuz it's gonna' be a bumpy ride filled with hobbit luurve.

And just as the second night had reflected the previous, the second morning reflected the first. Sam awoke again entwined within his master's arms, the other hobbit's warmth still in contact with his own body. Sam was once again breathing in the familiar dusty and grassy, yet meaningfully sweet, scent which belonged to Frodo and only to Frodo. Yet something about Sam's arrival to the morning was different this time. Frodo's face was significantly different. The muscles of its chiseled structure seemed to be more relaxed and at ease than Sam had seen them in a while, and a faint but noticeable rose glow had crept into his upper cheeks. And besides all of this, all of this comforting beauty, this time Frodo's eyes were open and looking directly at Sam with a clear intensity that brought a question to Sam's own eyes as soon as they were opened.

Too afraid still that he was in a dream, Sam made neither noise nor move, waiting for Frodo to do one or the other. Frodo only continued to gaze at him, his eyes focused intently as if he were trying to scold Sam into doing something with a look. He blinked; once, twice, then shut his eyes for a few seconds, when a single tear pushed its way out from behind his right eyelid. Frodo opened his eyes again as the tear flowed down his cheek.

"What is it?" Asked Sam in a whisper, his brow furrowing in confusion. He turned his head to look over his shoulder, his arms still wrapped around Frodo, but looked back when he saw nothing. "What is it?" He repeated, his voice slightly louder this time.

"Let me go," said Frodo, in a staccato tone of voice. His face stiffened, and he looked past Sam, who slowly loosed his grip and withdrew his arms. Frodo stood up, brushed off his clothes slightly, and took a few steps away from the spot where he had lain moments before. Turning his back to Sam, he stood there, breathing heavily. His shoulders could be seen plainly rising and falling with each breath, and his head hung down between them.

Sam got up from his own position on the ground and looked behind him uncertainly once more. Turning his head forward again, he ventured a few steps closer to Frodo. "Mr. Frodo?" He questioned. His voice came out soft and timid, like that of a child who has just been in a fight with their parent. "Mr. Frodo, is everything all right?"

There was a silence between them before Frodo made his reply. "I feel so tired," he said. Sam heard the words come out through his master's teeth, although he couldn't see his face. Frodo clenched his hands and his neck stiffened for a moment, but he soon stretched out his fingers again and lowered his head. "None of this was supposed to happen."

Sam's gaze softened and he approached Frodo from behind, placing his hand on his master's shoulder. Frodo turned his head to look at Sam, staring at him with reddened eyes. Then he smiled sadly but gratefully and pivoted his body. Sam's hand dropped from Frodo's shoulder as he turned.

"Please don't cry, Mister Frodo," said Sam. "You know I can't bear to see you cry."

"But sometimes you have to let me cry, Sam," replied Frodo, smiling sadly once again. "Sometimes I'm not as strong as you are." Sam shook his head in objection and looked to the ground in an almost bashful manner. "No, you are," continued Frodo. "You are strong, and you are my strength."

Sam raised his head slowly. "Can I ask you..."

Frodo nodded his head, encouraging Sam to continue.

"Well, can I ask you what I mean to you?"

"Oh Sam," said Frodo in a near sigh. He raised his hand to Sam's cheek and brushed it against his skin softly before lowering it again. "Everything." He smiled at the startled look he received from Sam. "You've meant everything to me for a while, you know."

Sam looked at Frodo, still trying to find some deeper answer in his face. "But what does that mean?"

Frodo shook his head. "I don't know. I'm sorry, I don't know."

"Well," said Sam, craning his neck to look for a few seconds into the distance. "I suppose we had best be on our way."

Frodo nodded, then placed his hand under Sam's chin and turned his face directly towards his. He closed his eyes and kissed Sam softly on the lips. "Just to say good morning," he replied in answer to the slightly questioning look on Sam's face when he pulled away. "And perhaps goodbye."

"No, Mister Frodo. I would never leave you."

Frodo shook his head. "I mean goodbye as in the end of something. Maybe the end to whatever it is that we have just begun."

Sam nodded, a saddened expression on his face. He couldn't say anything to that...he didn't know what to say. He wasn't even sure if he agreed with or objected with what Frodo had just said to him. All he knew was that he wanted to say something more to his master, but that some force was preventing him from doing so, muting him every time the words would come to the tip of his tongue. But it's no matter now, Sam thought to himself. You keep him safe, Sam Gamgee. That's all counts this time.

The two hobbits ate a breakfast of lembas, loaded their packs on their backs, and were soon on their way. The first minute of their walk was spent in silence between them, their footsteps and breathing the only detectable noises. Then, as the two of them passed a large boulder side by side, they looked at each other simultaneously and smiled. Frodo reached out and took Sam's hand, and their hands hung loosely at their sides, linked together, as they continued their journey.