Author's Notes: I would just like to warn that this chapter has a mild non- consensual sex scene (nothing graphic!)

Chapter 3

Sam had been worried about Frodo since just before his birthday. Frodo had seemed distant lately, preoccupied. He hardly ever went out, except to go on long walks. When Sam had suggested that maybe Mr. Pippin or Mr. Merry could accompany him on his walks, Frodo only laughed oddly and said that it was not their company he wanted. Sam thought Pippin and Merry were fine hobbits, a bit childish at times, but good, honest hobbits all the same.

Frodo was not eating as well, Sam had noticed. A hale and hearty hobbit enjoys all his meals, but Frodo only picked at the food Sam cooked and insisted he wasn't hungry. Frodo claimed that he had eaten earlier in the day, but Sam doubted that.

Whispers were beginning to spread around the Shire that young Frodo had finally cracked; that he would be leaving Bag End and following his cousin Bilbo into the wild.

"He's cracking, just like old Bilbo did," said Ted Sandyman loudly one night at the Green Dragon Inn.

"He's not!" said Sam. "Mr. Frodo's just feeling a bit unwell lately and if I was you I would not be starting nasty rumours!"

Ted looked at him. "He's seems to have taken a liking to you, lad. Seems you're the only hobbit he lets into his home. Sounds like he's keeping secrets."

"Well, if he is keeping secrets, it's none of your business," said Sam hotly. The other hobbits sitting around the table mumbled with agreement. Most didn't like Ted anyway, as nasty a hobbit as you could find.

Ted took a large gulp of ale. "It's no problem of mine if he leaves the Shire." He looked at Sam. "Be a bit of a problem for you, though, I should think." Ted pushed back his chair and nodded a terse goodnight. Sam watched him leave, thinking hard.

Sam shook his head at the memory. Frodo wasn't going to leave, was he? Surely he would tell his Sam, his loyal servant and friend. But he was acting funny lately. Maybe he didn't want to hurt Sam. Maybe he would just up and leave like Bilbo had, just disappear into the night. Sam felt tears well in his eyes. Frodo was the best hobbit in the Shire and he didn't care what anybody else thought. If he left what would he do? Sam wasn't worried about his job, although the thought of working for the Sackville-Bagginses was not pleasant. He felt upset at the thought of never seeing Frodo again. At not hearing his laugh. Watching him working at his writings. Seeing his smile, or his beautiful blue eyes. He didn't realize Frodo had pondered at the thought of losing Sam many weeks before.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sky overhead was cloudy as Frodo walked through the field. Small twigs and pine needles littered the path. A little creek gurgled to Frodo's right. A chill breeze came from the east and Frodo hugged his arms around him. Dark shapes flitted through the bushes. Not a cheery place by hobbit standards.

But that was all right, because Frodo didn't feel cheery. It was now a month since Sam's birthday and still no news of Sam and Rosie's marriage. Poor Sam was terribly shy around Rosie; he probably hadn't screwed himself up to ask her to wed yet.

Frodo sighed a kicked a stone with his foot, ignoring the pain it caused.

Frodo thought about Sam. Frodo loved how his sunny curls stuck to his forehead after working in the garden. How he always got embarrassed over the silliest things. How he sang softly in the garden of elves and jewels and orcs and other things he didn't understand. Frodo smiled: he simply loved everything about Sam.

Yes, Sam had his faults, but Frodo loved them, for they were part of Sam. He put himself down a lot, he was sometimes seemed a bit slow, but not as much as the other hobbits thought. Sam without his faults...wouldn't be Sam.

That was Sam: so sweet, so beautiful, but he would never know. Unless somebody told him. Oh, how Frodo wanted to tell him all the things he felt for him! He imagined stroking Sam's flushed cheek, telling him how much he meant. He would whisper sweet words into Sam's ear. Frodo would never tire of telling Sam how much he was loved. He would tell him at every opportunity. Then he would kiss Sam lightly on the cheek, take his hand and gently lead him to his bedroom.... Those were sweet dreams.

But sweet dreams were not what Frodo was having of late. He dreamt of dark riders on menacing horses, galloping wildly across the Shire, looking for something...or someone. Frodo awoke drenched in sweat. Sometimes the nightmares would make him so ill that he would have to rush to the bathroom and be sick. He would sob and lay his head against the cool tiles as the sweet smell of vomit lingered in the air.

Frodo toyed with the ring in his pocket. It was cool and smooth. Lately, the ring had been on his mind. Sometimes Frodo could hear a voice when he thought about the ring, but he didn't know if it was real or his imagination. He felt like the ring was calling him to put it on. But, Frodo had resisted the urge; he wasn't sure, but he felt only evil would come of it.

Frodo stopped at a blueberry bush and popped a blueberry in his mouth. He savoured the sweet taste that rolled around in his mouth. He put another one in his mouth. Ugh! He spat it out. It was rotten. Frodo smiled at the irony. With pleasure always comes pain.

He wished so hard, so much, that somehow, someday, someway, he would be able to tell Sam how he felt. That somehow, like in the stories, he and Sam would end up living happily ever after. But, those were only stories, not real life. Real life was cruel...hard. Things don't always work out how you want them to.

Frodo put on the ring. Later on he would have no idea why he did it. Frodo's senses were heightened. He realized he could hear the baying of wolves, far past the borders of the Shire. He could smell the fragrant herbs growing near the creek. But a dark mist seemed to descend over Frodo's eyes. Shadows darted across his vision.

A thought came to Frodo. He imagined creeping up to Sam, perhaps while he was watering the garden. Sam would be humming as so often did. Sam would turn around and greet him, and Frodo would smile kindly. He would grab Sam and kiss him on the lips. Sam would jump back with surprise, but Frodo wouldn't care. He would rip Sam's dirty shirt off and touch the lovely brown skin. He would kiss Sam again, pushing his tongue into Sam's wet mouth. Maybe Sam would wonder what his Mr. Frodo was doing to him. Sam's hot skin would drive Frodo mad with lust. He would jam his hands down Sam's breeches and stroke swiftly. Frodo would be panting with excitement. Sam's brown eyes would be open wide with surprise and, maybe, fear. Frodo would push Sam to the ground and lay on top of him, his hardness jabbing Sam painfully. Frodo would rip of the buttons of his own breeches to free himself. Then Frodo would turn Sam over onto his belly and claim what was rightfully his..

The hoot of an owl broke Frodo's reverie. He stood rooted on the spot, gasping. He quickly took the ring off and sat down, tears spilling onto the ground. How could he think of doing that type of things to someone he loves? Only sick people did those kind of things -- evil people with no heart. Is this what happens to someone when they cannot have something they greatly desire? Frodo wanted Sam dearly, but he would never, ever, do that to him.

Frodo sat weeping until the cold breeze froze his limbs. Wispy clouds flitted over the full moon and he realized with a start that it was quite late. Sam would have left Bag End by now, probably worried sick about him. Frodo rose and hastily walked home, chilled, but not from the cold.

End of Chapter 3

To be continued...