Chapter Six: Undressing and Uncertainty
When Frodo returned, still perplexed and flustered, to his room, Sam wasn't there. So Frodo decided to go down the hall to Pippin's room to ask for help with the bed. Next to Sam, Pippin was the strongest hobbit out of the five currently staying in Rivendell.
Frodo found Pippin gazing out of the window in his room and blowing smoke rings. He was surprisingly adept at the art for someone who had taken up smoking only a year ago. "You'll have to teach me sometime," said Frodo. Pippin turned around. "I don't think I've ever managed to make a ring that big before."
"Oh, hello Frodo," said Pippin. "It isn't hard, really. You just…" His sentence trailed off and did not continue.
"Frodo," he said, after another few seconds, "I'm-I'm sorry if I've been bothersome lately. Especially earlier today…I didn't mean to be so cross with Sam."
"That's all right, Pippin," said Frodo, walking over to his cousin and laying one hand on his shoulder. "I don't hold it against you." Pippin smiled. "Now, I need you to help me move something.
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"So, what does this mean?" asked Pippin as he grasped the headboard.
"All right, lift. What does what mean?" Frodo responded.
"That Sam's bed is going to be in your room."
Frodo, lifting the end of the bed, glanced over his shoulder to make sure he didn't hit the door frame. "It means that Sam wants to be nearby me in case I have nightmares." He lowered his voice. "Nothing romantic, Pippin."
For once, Pippin did not blush.
They had stopped for a rest at the door to Frodo's room when a voice cried out from behind them. "Mr. Frodo! What do you think you're doing?" Frodo turned around. It was Sam, looking quite worried.
"I thought you wanted your bed in my room."
"I do, but not your lifting it! What are you thinking! Here you are, sick and wounded for days, just having woken up yesterday, and you go and try to move furniture. I won't have it!"
"I'm sorry, Sam."
"And you, Mr. Pippin, letting him! Sometimes I wonder if a single thought ever goes through that – "
"Sam!" Frodo interrupted. Pippin was looking quite ashamed of himself. "I'm fine. There's no harm done. Now how about you two finish moving the bed."
Within the next few minutes, Sam's bed was positioned across the room from Frodo's. "I'm going to go down to the kitchens now and see about your breakfast for tomorrow, sir," said Sam, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Elves are fine and all, but I'm not sure that too much of their food is good for a hobbit." He left. Frodo turned back to Pippin.
The younger hobbit was looking a bit dazed. "He really does care about you," he said faintly.
Frodo smiled a tight smile. "He does."
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The sun had set and, while Sam was gone, Frodo got ready for bed and slid under the covers. Sam had been right. The exertion was too much for him. He lay silently and was almost asleep when the door opened.
"Don't you worry, sir, it's just me," said Sam, entering with a candle in one hand and a bag in the other. He glanced over at his master. "In bed already, are you? Probably the best thing to do. I think I'll turn in myself." He walked over to his bed and set the candle down on a table.
"He's still tired from being up so many long nights," Frodo thought to himself.
Sam began to unbutton his vest. "They say in the kitchens that they're fixing something called lembas for tomorrow's breakfast," he said as he reached the last button. "Sounds a bit odd to me. I asked them if they had any taters, and they said they did." He slid the vest off of his wide shoulders. "According to them, Mr. Bilbo's got a garden that they come from."
Frodo stared, transfixed. Part of him was unwilling to look away from Sam's undressing because Sam was speaking to him, and he had been taught as a young hobbit to always look at people when they are speaking to you. But that wasn't the only reason. Frodo could not say why, but another part of him was fascinated with the way Sam's fingers undid buttons.
"So I thought I'd make you some tater soup for dinner," said Sam, his thick fingers now working on opening his shirt. Frodo now became aware of his own breathing, long and heavy.
"Stop it," he told himself. "Give the fellow some privacy. Look away."
But his eyes remained stationary.
Sam was now removing his shirt and reaching for the top to the pajamas that he had taken out from his bag. He took his shirt off. Frodo sighed involuntarily, and then mentally slapped himself. This was getting absurd. He forced himself to shut his eyes.
"I'm still not sure what to do about breakfast, though," said Sam. "I should've thought to ask about eggs. They must have eggs, wouldn't you think so, Mr. Frodo?"
"It seems likely," said Frodo, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
There was a pause. "Are you all right, sir?"
"I'm fine, Sam."
"You're not just telling me that so I won't be worrying, now, are you?"
"No, really, I'm fine."
"All right. But, as I was saying, I forgot to ask about eggs." There was a soft thump, and Frodo knew that Sam had just taken his trousers off. He tried to concentrate on Sam's words only and forget about what else he was doing.
"I don't remember any of Mr. Bilbo's old tales ever mentioning what Elves eat. But Mr. Bilbo's been eating whatever that may be for years now, and he looks quite healthy. I don't think that it'll do you harm, if you follow me, but it seems to me that what you're used to eating would be better."
The darkness behind Frodo's eyelids became darker, and he opened his eyes to find that the candle had been blown out. "Now don't worry about any dreams, Mr. Frodo," came Sam's sleepy voice from across the room. "I'll be here if you have any upsetting ones."
"Thank you, Sam," said Frodo.
There was no getting around it, he realized. Love or no love, there was something about Sam that deeply intrigued him, and that something would not relent.