Part Five
A/N: Many thanks to MeatLoaf for providing me with a soundtrack of inspiration for this part.
The rain clouds kept their promise. By eleven o'clock, the rain was pouring down in sheets.
Frodo was sat by the window of his bedroom in his dressing gown, watching rivulets of water trail down the pane, and thinking. What had been wrong with Sam earlier? The intensity of his concern had taken him quite by surprise, and had left him with an uncomfortable sensation. Sighing, Frodo picked up his mug of tea and sipped at it tentatively, lost in his thoughts. 'Of Sam,' he admitted to himself.
A sudden snore jerked him out of his reverie – Merry was curled up under the eiderdown of Frodo's bed. Glancing momentarily at the sleeping figure, Frodo felt a pang of affection. He was fond of his cousin. 'I love him.'
Suddenly, Frodo recalled what Merry had said to him that night 'I think I'm in love with you, Frodo.' And he had reciprocated. But he had not mentioned love. He had talked about feelings. 'But am I honestly, truly in love with Merry?'
He took another look at the bed. This time, he saw that Merry was curled tightly, a position that made him seem vulnerable, almost afraid. Looking more closely, Frodo could see that his brows were knitted together, and he tossed and turned as he slept. 'He has something on his mind,' Frodo predicted grimly.
He turned back to the window, back to Sam. The rain had stopped. Gripped by sudden determination, and knowing what he must do, Frodo dressed hurriedly and went out into the night.
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He found Sam sitting damp and forlorn under a tree by the banks of the Water. Walking as lightly as he could, Frodo made his way over to his companion. As he neared, Sam sat up straighter, then got to his feet and turned around, only to find himself face to face with the one person he had just been thinking about, the one person he wanted to see so much, and yet didn't.
Frodo smiled inwardly as he saw shock and disbelief register on Sam's face. "Hello Sam."
"Mr. Frodo, what in all of Middle Earth are you doing out here at this time?" Sam cried, scandalised. Frodo gave a shrug. "I couldn't sleep."
"Aren't you cold, sir?"
"Not really." Frodo sat himself down in the spot where Sam had been, and gestured for Sam to join him. He obliged, and seated himself on a clump of moss. Another of the long silences that Sam seemed to have grown so used to stretched out before them again. 'Oh, when did it get like this?' Frodo asked himself. 'Since when was it so hard just to talk to my best friend?' Deciding that there was nothing to lose, and that he had after all, come here for a purpose, Frodo took a deep breath. He felt as though he were balanced on the edge of a very high, very steep cliff, looking down. The ground seemed ever so far away.
He jumped.
"Sam…I've been wanting to talk to you about a few things that have been on my mind for a while now." Sam said nothing, just looked at Frodo with those patient, hazel eyes, waiting to hear what Frodo had to say.
"I suppose I'll have to start from the beginning, though I'm not even sure when the beginning begins, if you understand me." Frodo could feel himself blushing, but he carried on regardless. "I honestly don't know when it began. I don't remember when I first began to really notice the way you would stuff your hands in your pockets like you do when you're feeling nervous and on edge. I don't know when it first occurred to me that your eyes were a warm, clear hazel, or that on a chilly day when you're out in the garden, your cheeks turn that certain shade of pink. I can't remember a time when I haven't noticed these things. But what I do know is that I have left too much unsaid."
"I know now that I have to tell you. I have to forget all these hopes and dreams. I have to get everything out in the open, even if it means that you'll never want to see me again. I have to do it, Sam." He leaned closer, and took one of Sam's larger hands in two of his own. "I'm in love with you."
If it had not been Frodo who had just made such a startling admission, he would have laughed out loud at the look on Sam's face as his jaw dropped.
"What about Mr. Merry?"
Frodo looked down, frowning. "I love him. He's my cousin. I wanted him, I needed him. Understand me Sam, I needed someone just to be there, just to love me. It was only a few days with him-"
"It felt like forever."
Frodo stopped, and looked curiously at Sam before carrying on. "It was only a few days, but I had someone there to love me, truly love me."
Sam began to protest, but Frodo silenced him with a look. "But I was never in love with him. I never felt the same way about him as I do about you." Frodo bit his lower lip so hard it brought tears to his eyes, though they probably would have come anyway. "I'll understand if you don't ever want to talk to me about anything more than the kitchen gardens and the sunflowers ever again."
"But I do. I will. Want to talk to you, I mean."
Frodo sighed. "Good. I'd like that." He hurriedly changed the subject. "What were you doing out here anyway?"
Now it was Sam's turn to blush. "Thinking."
"About what?" Frodo enquired, feeling almost reckless as he pushed the boundaries of this new agreement between them.
Sam looked at him. "You," he stated simply. Frodo inwardly commanded his heart to beat again. He racked his brain for some kind of reply, any kind, as long as it wasn't –
"I was talking to Mr. Pippin earlier," Sam said, looking almost earnest. "And he said a few things, a few plain simple truths, that got me thinking, and I realised…I realised…"
"What? What did you realise?" 'Please tell me Sam, please, please.'
"I think I feel exactly the same way about you as you do about me."
Time slowed, and Frodo faltered, taken completely by surprise. The tables had turned, and he decided to ask.
"What about Rosie?"
"She's a nice lass. We get along well, though if truth be told, we might as well be betrothed. The Gaffer, he always had his eye on her for me, and I grew up knowing that. I grew up expectin' it. It was what was proper, Mr. Frodo. Me and Rosie, we're right. We're meant to get married, and have children, and do all those things Hobbits are meant to. But we're two rights making a wrong. I-I don't feel the same way about her as I do about you. I think Rosie is…well, she's courtesy, tradition. She's common Hobbit sense. But you, Frodo…you're," his cheeks reddened further, "passion, and starlight, and Elves, and moonlight on a clear evening."
"Oh do stop that Samwise, you're making me blush like a maid!"
Sam quietened. "Thank you," Frodo said. "No, not for stopping, but thank you for telling me. You have a chance to be a great gardener, Sam. You can have lads and lasses of your own, and a pretty wife to cook you dinner every night, and look after you when you come home from work. And when you're old you can sit in The Green Dragon, telling stories to the 'young 'uns' around you. Would you honestly give all of that up just for me?"
