Chapter Ten: Reflection and Realization

"You know," said Frodo, "it's not that I don't want to spend time with you, Sam, but I really should go and see Bilbo. We have a lot of catching up to do. I'll see you at second breakfast."

"All right, then, sir," said Sam, snipping a thread.

Frodo walked out of the Lady Arwen's chamber and into the hallway. The bit about going to see Bilbo had just been an excuse to leave Sam. Clear thinking didn't seem to be possible in his presence.

Frodo exited the Last Homely House through one of the side doors and walked out into a small garden. It was circular, with a colorful assortment of autumn flowers built around a grey stone fountain that splashed and bubbled. Frodo lay down on the edge of the fountain and looked up at the sky.

In matters of love, he realized, he was hopelessly inexperienced. He had never courted any lass, though there were a few in his tweens (before he became "odd") who had been interested in him. But the thought of being with any of them had never held any allure.

He loved Sam, that much was plain. He loved his gentle hands and his willingness to help others and the way he had hardly left his side. But what kind of love was it? What kind of relationship was between them?

Though it wasn't something talked about in the Shire, at least not often and never in public, Frodo knew that there were some lads who fancied other lads and some lasses who fancied other lasses. This was considered quiet abnormal and potentially dangerous, though no one would ever say that to their faces. That wasn't what bothered him, really, at least not for himself. People were already thoroughly convinced that he was peculiar, and one more bizarre thing wouldn't do him much harm.

But then there was Sam. If, theoretically, Frodo was in love with Sam, and if, once again theoretically, Sam loved him in return, it would be an instant scandal. Though the Gamgees weren't rich, they were far more respectable than the Bagginses. And there was the fact that Sam was twelve years younger than Frodo. It wouldn't look like love or even affection; it would look like an older, lecherous hobbit seducing a young and naïve one who couldn't possibly understand what he was doing.

For a second, Frodo hated the Shire.

He closed his eyes and thought about Sam's fingers undoing buttons and, before he knew it, Frodo had fallen asleep.

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They were in the Lady Arwen's chamber, lying on her bed, and Sam was kissing Frodo's neck. "Do you like this?"

"Yes," Frodo breathed, his eyes half open. "Don't you dare stop."

Sam's tongue was warm and wet, and Frodo gasped. He pulled Sam on top of him and began to kiss him passionately, his tongue exploring the recesses of Sam's mouth.

"Frodo," Sam moaned, and began to undo his shirt buttons.

"Yes," Frodo gasped, "don't stop, I've been wanting this for so long…"

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"Frodo! There you are!"

Frodo squinted, his eyes adjusting to the sun, which was now much higher in the sky. He looked at the figure before him. "Merry?"

"Yes, of course it's me," said Merry. "Who else do you think? Come on, Pippin and I have been looking for you for the past hour. Second breakfast is ready."

Groggily, Frodo sat up and climbed off of the fountain. As he walked behind Merry, who was rambling on about all of the things he and Pippin had seen in Rivendell, Frodo recalled the dream.

"I've been wanting this for so long?" he thought. "But I – " But then he stopped. Some buried, hidden part of his mind was very familiar with the dream, and all its variations. He had dreamed it before. He had dreamed it before, and his mind had not let him remember it until now.

"Why," he thought, "I must have been in love with him for years, and just never let myself think it!"

"Frodo, what are you doing? Come on, we're already late."

"Coming, Merry," said Frodo absentmindedly, and began to walk again.

"Yes," he thought, "it all seems familiar now. Funny how things like that can happen, a person's mind keeping things from him. But now that I've realized it…what am I going to do?"