Chapter 6

The next morning, Frodo watched Sam tending the garden. The soil was damp from last nights rain, and Sam's face and clothes were streaked with mud. Frodo couldn't help noticing that Sam seemed glum; he wasn't humming or smiling cheerfully like he usually did.

Frodo shifted uncomfortably, wondering if his activities last night had something to do with Sam's mood. He wasn't sure what had come over him. It felt so good to touch himself there..to touch Sam there. Frodo felt the tips of his pointy ears turn pink. Many times, late at night in his cozy bed, he had stroked himself, moaning Sam's name, till a delightful warmness spread over him. Then Frodo, in shame and embarrassment, would sob into his pillow until his could weep no more tears. He would then reluctantly get out of bed and change his nightshirt and sheets, wet from his seed and tears. Frodo's sleep would be fitful, even pleasant dreams about Sam were no comfort anymore. They just made Frodo's heartbreak worse.

Sam looked hot and tired, so Frodo decided to bring some water to him and find out what the matter was. He hoped he didn't suspect anything. What if he had somehow found out it was Frodo doing those wicked things in his room last night?

Frodo gazed at Sam as he brought the water to him. Sam was kneeling on the soft grass, pulling prickly weeds from the soggy dirt. His sleeves were rolled up and his shirt clung to his broad back.

"Sam?" said Frodo softly. "I've brought you a drink."

Sam pushed himself off the ground and brushed the caked mud from his breeches. "Thanks, sir," he said, taking the glass and swallowing a mouthful of water. "It's very muddy today, after last nights rain," he observed.

"Mmm." Frodo looked into the distance. Sweat glistened on Sam's face and neck and the top button of his shirt had popped open.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo smiled and concentrated on looking at Sam in the eye. Not that that really helped much. Frodo felt he could drown in those brown pools of light. "I was just about to ask you the same question."

"Well, well," said Sam, flustered. "There's nothing wrong, at least I don't think so. I suppose I must tell you what happened. Everybody is very excited."

"Sam, what are you talking about?" said Frodo quickly, dread filling his heart.

Sam looked at Frodo, surprised at the harshness of his voice. "Last night, I - I asked Mistress Rose to be wed and she said yes. We'll be married in a couple of weeks." Sam blushed.

Frodo felt his heart skip a beat. The world spun dizzyingly around him. Frodo quickly grabbed a tree trunk to steady himself. Shadows seemed to cloud his vision and he heard a fell voice in his head. He thrust his hand into his pocket and stroked the ring, taking deep breathes to calm himself.

"Mr. Frodo?" said Sam, alarmed.

"I - I'm sorry Sam," said Frodo, forcing his voice steady. "I was just shocked, that's all. I wish you and Rosie the best in the world." He couldn't believe he had just lied to his love.

Sam smiled crookedly. "Thank you sir. Rosie is certainly a lovely lass. Her Ma all a-bustle, planning the wedding and all."

"It should be a busy time for you," said Frodo, wondering if his legs would be steady enough to walk up the path to the door. He could feel the voice whispering in a foul language, beckoning him.

Sam nodded. "It wont be a big wedding, just our good friends will be invited. Of course you will be, sir," he added shyly.

"Of course." Frodo nodded his head numbly. "I've got some more work to do inside. I'll see you for lunch."

Frodo turned around and somehow managed to reach the front door without bursting into tears. He turned around and saw Sam looking at him, wonderingly. Frodo waved at him shortly, opened the door and sank inside.

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

Sam watched Frodo walk, rather unsteadily, to the front door. He frowned and waved back to Frodo. Frodo didn't seem overjoyed that he was to marry Rosie. Maybe he was just a little shocked. Sam would be busy with a new wife; perhaps Frodo would be a little lonely. Or maybe he wasn't feeling well. He hadn't been eating much lately. Perhaps he was pining over the lass Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin thought he liked.

Despite Sam's good news, he wasn't feeling well this morning either. He had had a strange dream last night. He couldn't remember much. Frodo was there. He was whispering about someone being sweet and beautiful...but surely he wasn't talking to Sam? Sam shook his head. He was probably talking to a lass he was fond of.

But Frodo was doing other things in his dream. He had touched Sam's cheek and leant over him and breathed in his scent. And Sam found himself enjoying Frodo being so close to him, looking at him intensely. Then, Frodo had lowered his hand down his body and touched him there. Embarrassingly, Sam had found himself stiffen. That had only happened before when he was alone in bed, late at night, when he explored himself.

Sam felt himself turn pink. How dare he think of those things about Mr. Frodo! What a silly dream! Sam knelt down on his knees, tearing the weeds from the soil furiously, forcing himself to think about how pretty Rosie lass was; and how lucky he was to be marrying her.

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

Frodo stepped into the hallway and fell to his knees. He sobbed into his hands as his world came crashing down around him.

"Oh, Sam, my dear, my love. How could you? Don't you know I love you? Why, my precious, Samwise, why?" he murmured between sobs.

So the inevitable had occurred. In the bottom of Frodo's heart he had denied that Sam would marry Rosie. He had a small hope that, just maybe, Sam would realize that he loved Frodo. That he would not marry Rosie. But, of course, that was not to be. He would only be friends with Frodo. Nothing more.

Sam would come to work at Bag End every morning and leave at night, to walk home to his Rosie. He would kiss her on the cheek lovingly and she would have the table set with Sam's favorite food. He would ruffle his children's light curls and ask them what they had done today. After dinner Sam would smoke his pipe and tell his children stories of dragons and wizards and trolls. Then he would retire for the night and find Mistress Rose in the cozy bed, dozing lightly. How could Frodo deny Sam such a charming, peaceful existence?

All the while Frodo would be sitting at the silent kitchen of his home, alone and cold.

Frodo slowly walked to the kitchen. He opened a drawer and picked up an object. The world seemed to fall silent and calmness descended on Frodo. Yes, this is what I must do, he thought.

He thought he heard the foul voice again in his mind, willing him, encouraging him. Frodo imagined he saw a vision of an evil eye, haunting him, laughing at him. He shut his eyes, willing the fell visions to disappear from his mind. But they would not let up.

The knife glistened in his hand. Frodo studied the knife carefully. Its wooden handle was intricately carved and the blade was as sharp as ice. He wondered what it would feel to press the blade into his soft flesh. He imagined the sound of his hot blood dripping onto the floor.

Frodo took the knife and put it to his wrist. A slight nudge and it would all be over. Nothingness. Painlessness. He just had to press down. Frodo faltered for a moment, and the voices departed, but then Frodo remember his plight, and the voices returned.

The knife echoed ominously as it clattered on the kitchen tiles.

End of chapter 6

To be continued...