Chapter 8
Frodo slept mostly for the next day. He had not eaten anything except a few more spoonfuls of broth. His frail body was still cold to touch. Sam was mad with worry. Mrs. Gamgee had visited twice to check on Frodo, but she could do nothing to help. "He doesn't seem to want to get well," she had murmured the last time she had visited. "He just seems to want to drift away. We'll have to fetch the doctor soon."
Two days after Frodo had collapsed, Sam sat by his master's side, the garden unattended since Frodo had fallen ill. He twisted a handkerchief anxiously in his hands, occasionally raising it to his eyes to dab away the tears. Sam watched his master's face for any sign he was getter better. His face had become paler and he looked as if he was in great pain. Sometimes he sighed heavily and muttered garbled words.
Frodo's dreams were dark; an eye seemed to be searching for him, from a land of shadows. It called to him in a black language, and for some reason, Frodo could understand the words. Frodo saw flames, and horrible orcs, and black pits of sickened darkness. Frodo sensed the eye wanted something from him, and would never stop searching for him.
Despite Frodo's pale countenance, Sam thought he looked beautiful, almost elvish like. Lines wrinkled his forehead, and his curls were dull, but he still glowed, with something Sam couldn't put into words. "I love him," muttered Sam, "Sometimes it just shines through. But that doesn't seem to do him justice." But what kind of love? Sam also wondered.
In the next few hours, Frodo seemed to become sicker. Red blotches appeared on his fair skin. His face was strained with pain, and he lips mumbled incoherent words. The words seemed dark to Sam, in some foul language that couldn't fathom.
Sam's shoulders heaved with sobs. He knew Frodo was dying, and couldn't do a thing to help. "Mr. Frodo, please, wake up," he whispered breathlessly. "I-I love you. Please don't leave me. I love you!"
Frodo stirred and Sam clutched Frodo's hand. "Sir, please stay awake for yer ol' Sam!" he said desperately. He seemed as fragile as a newly born babe. Somehow Sam knew if Frodo fell asleep again, he would not awaken.
Frodo smiled faintly and coughed. A mist seemed to cloud his vision, but his thoughts were clear. "I know you love me, Sam, and I love you too. But you don't understand how I love you," Frodo managed to gasp.
"What do you mean, sir?" asked Sam.
"Sam, all this time. I-" Frodo coughed. "I've loved you. I love you with all my heart." Frodo took a deep breath and willed himself to continue. His strength was fading. "Do you know what I mean by that? The way-the way a husband loves his wife. That kind of love." Frodo's eyes fluttered as he gasped for breath.
Sam squeezed Frodo's hand as his true feelings became clear in his head. "Oh dear, me dear. I know what you mean, sir. I love you..that way. Me and Rosie-it was set up by our families, you understand-I never fully loved her. I wanted to tell you, but, well, I didn't want to bother you. It's you I love. I always have. I-I was too scared to tell you. I was too scared to tell myself."
Frodo forced himself to open his eyes. The coldness seemed to drift away and a warm feeling seeped through his body. Sam loved him? But-but how? The whole time Frodo was tormented inside? His head spun.
"Really, Sam?"
Sam nodded fiercely. "I didn't realize that I loved you that way-till I had a dream and, well, I didn't think you would feel the same way.."
"I do, Sam, I do!" Frodo said with as much strength as he could muster.
"I know." Sam kissed Frodo hand, as his tears fell.
Suddenly Frodo felt weary to the bone, but the cold grip on his heart seemed to loosen. "Sam, I must rest now," sighed Frodo and drifted off to sleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Next time Frodo awoke, he felt better and Sam patiently fed him half a bowl of broth. Sam blushed whenever Frodo looked into his eyes, and Frodo smiled awkwardly. They both wondered at each others thoughts, but Sam pushed them to the back of his mind, too busy caring for Frodo and getting a little gardening done when he was asleep.
Frodo slept a great deal during the next few days. His dreams were joyful; of hot mushrooms and bright blue skies and cheery laughter. He even forgot about the ring.
Slowly Frodo became well, and after three days of Sam's care, he was nearly completely healed. Yet, they did not mention their feelings for each other. Frodo rose from the bed for the first time since his collapsed, and found Sam in the kitchen, making some tea. Frodo pulled at his nightshirt and ran his hand through his hair.
"Sam?"
Sam turned around and gasped. "Sir! Bless me, you're up! Come, sit down."
Sam settled Frodo on a chair at the table and quickly fixed up two cups of tea. He placed the steaming liquid in front of Frodo. Frodo cupped his hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth.
"How do you feel, sir?"
"As well as I ever have," said Frodo, taking a sip of tea. He shifted uncomfortably at the silence. Surely his conversation with Sam had not been a hallucination? What if he had imagined the whole thing?
"Sam, about-"
Sam blushed. "It wasn't a dream, was it sir? It feels like a dream..but I don't know."
Frodo took Sam's hand and smiled. "I wondered if was a dream too. But, I know how I feel. My illness has made me realize that I should have told you my true feelings, for they tormented me inside till I could not stand it any longer. I love you, Sam, and will never stop."
Suddenly Sam burst into tears, and hastily drew his sleeve across his nose. "Oh, Mr. Frodo-I thought it would never happen. I thought I was wrong- having those type of thoughts. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin said you were pining for a lass, and I believed them. But I couldn't help myself. I love you, more than anything!"
Sam's hand shook as Frodo squeezed it tight. "Sam, there is nothing more I would like to do right now that kiss you."
"Oh, me dear!" was the surprised response.
"But, Sam, you are still to be engaged to Rosie lass. Do you still want to marry her?" Frodo bit his lip and held his breath. What if, after all this, he-
"No! I want to be with you. She's a fine lass, to be certain, but I don't love her-like I love you."
Frodo sighed. "I think you should tell her, before we.." he trailed off.
Sam nodded. "You're right, sir, it wouldn't be right on her."
"You know, perhaps you should go right now and tell her. I fell *much* better now, and I have been waiting for so long," said Frodo lightly, brushing Sam's trembling hand with his fingers.
"Oh!" Sam cheeks reddened. "All right. But it will take a few hours to reach the Cotton's farm and return. It will be dark when I arrive back here."
"That suits me perfectly," said Frodo, grinning. "Hurry up now, or I shall burst!"
Sam nodded again, and, muttering a quick goodbye, ran out the door. Frodo laughed gaily as he watched the stout hobbit run down Bag End as fast as his legs could carry him.
End of chapter 8
To be continued...
Frodo slept mostly for the next day. He had not eaten anything except a few more spoonfuls of broth. His frail body was still cold to touch. Sam was mad with worry. Mrs. Gamgee had visited twice to check on Frodo, but she could do nothing to help. "He doesn't seem to want to get well," she had murmured the last time she had visited. "He just seems to want to drift away. We'll have to fetch the doctor soon."
Two days after Frodo had collapsed, Sam sat by his master's side, the garden unattended since Frodo had fallen ill. He twisted a handkerchief anxiously in his hands, occasionally raising it to his eyes to dab away the tears. Sam watched his master's face for any sign he was getter better. His face had become paler and he looked as if he was in great pain. Sometimes he sighed heavily and muttered garbled words.
Frodo's dreams were dark; an eye seemed to be searching for him, from a land of shadows. It called to him in a black language, and for some reason, Frodo could understand the words. Frodo saw flames, and horrible orcs, and black pits of sickened darkness. Frodo sensed the eye wanted something from him, and would never stop searching for him.
Despite Frodo's pale countenance, Sam thought he looked beautiful, almost elvish like. Lines wrinkled his forehead, and his curls were dull, but he still glowed, with something Sam couldn't put into words. "I love him," muttered Sam, "Sometimes it just shines through. But that doesn't seem to do him justice." But what kind of love? Sam also wondered.
In the next few hours, Frodo seemed to become sicker. Red blotches appeared on his fair skin. His face was strained with pain, and he lips mumbled incoherent words. The words seemed dark to Sam, in some foul language that couldn't fathom.
Sam's shoulders heaved with sobs. He knew Frodo was dying, and couldn't do a thing to help. "Mr. Frodo, please, wake up," he whispered breathlessly. "I-I love you. Please don't leave me. I love you!"
Frodo stirred and Sam clutched Frodo's hand. "Sir, please stay awake for yer ol' Sam!" he said desperately. He seemed as fragile as a newly born babe. Somehow Sam knew if Frodo fell asleep again, he would not awaken.
Frodo smiled faintly and coughed. A mist seemed to cloud his vision, but his thoughts were clear. "I know you love me, Sam, and I love you too. But you don't understand how I love you," Frodo managed to gasp.
"What do you mean, sir?" asked Sam.
"Sam, all this time. I-" Frodo coughed. "I've loved you. I love you with all my heart." Frodo took a deep breath and willed himself to continue. His strength was fading. "Do you know what I mean by that? The way-the way a husband loves his wife. That kind of love." Frodo's eyes fluttered as he gasped for breath.
Sam squeezed Frodo's hand as his true feelings became clear in his head. "Oh dear, me dear. I know what you mean, sir. I love you..that way. Me and Rosie-it was set up by our families, you understand-I never fully loved her. I wanted to tell you, but, well, I didn't want to bother you. It's you I love. I always have. I-I was too scared to tell you. I was too scared to tell myself."
Frodo forced himself to open his eyes. The coldness seemed to drift away and a warm feeling seeped through his body. Sam loved him? But-but how? The whole time Frodo was tormented inside? His head spun.
"Really, Sam?"
Sam nodded fiercely. "I didn't realize that I loved you that way-till I had a dream and, well, I didn't think you would feel the same way.."
"I do, Sam, I do!" Frodo said with as much strength as he could muster.
"I know." Sam kissed Frodo hand, as his tears fell.
Suddenly Frodo felt weary to the bone, but the cold grip on his heart seemed to loosen. "Sam, I must rest now," sighed Frodo and drifted off to sleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Next time Frodo awoke, he felt better and Sam patiently fed him half a bowl of broth. Sam blushed whenever Frodo looked into his eyes, and Frodo smiled awkwardly. They both wondered at each others thoughts, but Sam pushed them to the back of his mind, too busy caring for Frodo and getting a little gardening done when he was asleep.
Frodo slept a great deal during the next few days. His dreams were joyful; of hot mushrooms and bright blue skies and cheery laughter. He even forgot about the ring.
Slowly Frodo became well, and after three days of Sam's care, he was nearly completely healed. Yet, they did not mention their feelings for each other. Frodo rose from the bed for the first time since his collapsed, and found Sam in the kitchen, making some tea. Frodo pulled at his nightshirt and ran his hand through his hair.
"Sam?"
Sam turned around and gasped. "Sir! Bless me, you're up! Come, sit down."
Sam settled Frodo on a chair at the table and quickly fixed up two cups of tea. He placed the steaming liquid in front of Frodo. Frodo cupped his hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth.
"How do you feel, sir?"
"As well as I ever have," said Frodo, taking a sip of tea. He shifted uncomfortably at the silence. Surely his conversation with Sam had not been a hallucination? What if he had imagined the whole thing?
"Sam, about-"
Sam blushed. "It wasn't a dream, was it sir? It feels like a dream..but I don't know."
Frodo took Sam's hand and smiled. "I wondered if was a dream too. But, I know how I feel. My illness has made me realize that I should have told you my true feelings, for they tormented me inside till I could not stand it any longer. I love you, Sam, and will never stop."
Suddenly Sam burst into tears, and hastily drew his sleeve across his nose. "Oh, Mr. Frodo-I thought it would never happen. I thought I was wrong- having those type of thoughts. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin said you were pining for a lass, and I believed them. But I couldn't help myself. I love you, more than anything!"
Sam's hand shook as Frodo squeezed it tight. "Sam, there is nothing more I would like to do right now that kiss you."
"Oh, me dear!" was the surprised response.
"But, Sam, you are still to be engaged to Rosie lass. Do you still want to marry her?" Frodo bit his lip and held his breath. What if, after all this, he-
"No! I want to be with you. She's a fine lass, to be certain, but I don't love her-like I love you."
Frodo sighed. "I think you should tell her, before we.." he trailed off.
Sam nodded. "You're right, sir, it wouldn't be right on her."
"You know, perhaps you should go right now and tell her. I fell *much* better now, and I have been waiting for so long," said Frodo lightly, brushing Sam's trembling hand with his fingers.
"Oh!" Sam cheeks reddened. "All right. But it will take a few hours to reach the Cotton's farm and return. It will be dark when I arrive back here."
"That suits me perfectly," said Frodo, grinning. "Hurry up now, or I shall burst!"
Sam nodded again, and, muttering a quick goodbye, ran out the door. Frodo laughed gaily as he watched the stout hobbit run down Bag End as fast as his legs could carry him.
End of chapter 8
To be continued...
