In The Grey Twilight

*

After a final double-check of his pack, Samwise set it neatly by the foot of his bed. "Now what have I yet to do?" he fretted to himself, as he had much to prepare for his trip with Mr. Frodo.  From there he padded into the sitting room, where he could hear Rosie in the kitchen, washing up the supper dishes. It was the treasure-box he was after.

The small trunk was put to rest respectfully, but it did not command any presence in the shadows of the room. Sam knelt before it and took a little key from his pocket, hesitating, then opened it with care. Firelight glimmered on the objects within, and for a long time Sam merely looked upon them. All of them were at once strange and wonderful, familiar and foreign, for they bore witness to their deeds in the war. Sam took out his sword and set it aside, for he was leaving tomorrow he had a mind to bring it along, but he did not close the box yet.

Memories and visions glowed up at him, as if he were looking into Galadriel's mirror. He knew Frodo did not like to look at the things inside but Sam was troubled, thinking Frodo would have packed up his treasures to take to Rivendell. Everything lay untouched: the silver circlet that had been placed on his head in Ithilien, the Lady's glass, his mithril shirt, and Sting. Then there were Sam's things, the garden-box from the Lady among them, plus new items for them both, tokens from the King that shone brightly. Sam picked up the mithril shirt and held it out, taking in the feel of it, and remembering how it had saved Frodo from spear and arrow until at last it was stolen from him. Miraculous mail it was indeed, for it had been light and almost like silk against Frodo's skin, and when Sam cast his arms around Frodo it had never felt like he was embracing cold, unyielding armour. That was lucky, for Sam could not bear to think of Frodo being burdened further, or separated from the simplicity of feeling Sam's arms about him. He put the little shirt in his lap and then took out the Lady's glass.

Secretly he thought it was the most beautiful object of all, so pure and lovely it was. He remembered its pale, shimmering light, like a lonely star warmed by the company of a watcher. That was just like Mr. Frodo, rare and dear and eternal, and Sam's breath caught as the image grew in his mind. There's naught to describe it, for there's naught so beautiful. If hope were something as you could see, that's what it would look like.   

With the glass still in his hand he peered again into the box, looking now at the things the King had sent. He did not touch them, and he shook his head at them, frowning, for he felt they were wrongly given. 

You are to be honoured, the King had written, far more than I can ever accomplish in all the years I shall reign. It is to remind you of my debt that I present you with these gifts.

The words pained him. Sam had helped and fought and done his best, but he'd never had to make a real sacrifice. He'd lost a few pounds maybe, but that was easily got back, not like what Frodo had given. Why ought he be thanked for something he had wanted to do, and had cost him nothing? All this talk of honour and debts was nonsense, for it was Frodo alone who was owed. If Sam had an easy and happy life now it was because of Frodo, and his master had paid for it with his own flesh and spirit besides.

In his hand, the little phial began to glow softly. Startled, Sam stared at it, remembering suddenly what Frodo had said to him under the mallorn tree. I am going to keep company with Bilbo, and hear more elven-songs than I can ever write down, and I believe I shall be happy. I shall have hope, Sam, hope enough to hold onto.

"The trouble with you is that you never really had any hope," Sam muttered to himself. "He can be healed yet, don't you see? As long as he has hope we'll keep going. We'll go to Rivendell and I'll stay with him, and maybe the Elves can help him. The quest's not over yet, and if you help him be happy, you'll have done the greatest thing you can."

The phial glowed brighter still, and for a moment it almost seemed to blind him, before it faded away altogether. It was like a dream, it happened so swift. But he was assured now of what he had to do.

"Sam?" Rosie said from the kitchen. "Don't you go checking that pack again. I've made you some cornbread to take, now come along and have a bite."  

Jarred from his thoughts Sam closed up the box, having put everything away except his sword, and went into the kitchen. He accepted a bit of cornbread in one hand and the dishtowel in the other.

"Don't you stay up all night either. A full night of sleep is worth a forgotten errand."

"I have more to do yet." Sam set to drying the dishes, wondering how to tell Rosie his plans. "This trip is right important, I reckon. Mr. Frodo will be comforted in Rivendell. I know you don't care much for Elves but if anything can lift Mr. Frodo's spirits, it'll be the Elves for sure."

Rosie nodded with stern approval. "It's good for him to get out of the smial. And since he's not got a care for normal hobbit-doings, he might as well take up where he fits in."

Sam shifted, frowning. This wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. "But Rose dear, there's something else besides. I've made up my mind to stay with him a while. He's only asked me to see him off but I'm awfully anxious, seeing as it's coming on October sixth, remember."

Redness crept into Rosie's hard-set face. "Won't those Elves take enough care of him? I don't see why you have to stay."

"He might try to keep it to himself, he's done it before. Or maybe he'll be out travelling, and no one will be there to help him. He needs me."

The dishes were forgotten. Rosie faced him, tears of betrayal in her eyes. "What if I need you? What if Elanor needs you?"

Sam suddenly he felt very cold, as if all the fires in the smial were blown out by a blast of frigid wind. And then heat rushed up from within, curling around his limbs and flooding his face, as if he were sweating in the sun. He backed away, upset, staring out the window with the soft twilight view.

Words tumbled forth unbidden. "He's my master, and it seems so's he's been since I can remember. I promised myself to his service. What's more, I promised myself to him. I went all the way to Mount Doom to take care of him. I think I can help him, I believe he can be healed yet, and so for me the journey isn't over."

"Just duty, Sam, nothing else?" Rosie asked in a whisper. Sam found he could not answer. He evaded her searching gaze and went to the nursery, watching Elanor sleep. Finally he began to sing softly to her as his feelings battered him like a gale-storm wind.    

* * * *

Late that night Sam awoke to Elanor's little cry, and he went to lift her from her cradle. He fussed a bit, wondering if she were hungry and whether he ought to feed her. But as he held her to his chest and rocked her, kissing her tiny curls, she quieted almost instantly in Sam's arms. Still Sam hummed a lullaby over her, and when she lay limp and peaceful in his lap, he returned her carefully to her little nest of blankets. Softly he padded down the hall and couldn't help himself from stopping outside Frodo's door. Pressing on the door and peeking inside, he froze in dismay: the bedclothes were rumpled but Frodo was not there. Sam tried the study next, expecting to see him fallen asleep over his desk, but it was empty. The bathroom, the kitchen, the living room--all were dark and still as graveyards.

He's gone, he's left without me!

Gasping he opened the front door and then he saw him, a pale ghostly figure in a rumpled white shirt glowing under the moonlight. He was stooping as he walked, as if looking for something along the ground. Sam stepped back into the smial only long enough to grab a cloak, for there was a biting chill in the air and Frodo was barely clothed; then he stumbled out toward him. A sick nervous tension beat through his body.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam stood over him now. Frodo's face was dark in the shadow and his hands dug into the dirt. Swallowing hard, Sam draped the cloak over his slender shoulders and fumbled with the clasp. Frodo looked like he had tried to dress himself while still asleep, as his braces were twisted over his thighs and some of the buttons on his shirt were overlooked.  His voice breaking with helplessness, Sam pleaded, "Let's go inside, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo's unnatural snarl cut through him: "I've lost it...it must have fallen off...or someone stole it...it's gone--I have to find it!"

Without thinking, Sam slid off his wedding ring and held it out to his master, the gold band glimmering in his trembling hand. "Here it is," he said, and Frodo snatched it up, holding it with painful desperation to his chest.

"O," he said, "oh, I thought it was gone for ever."

"It's yours," Sam affirmed awkwardly, caught trying to make a lie into truth. "Come, master. It's late. Let's go home and to bed."    

Frodo allowed himself to be led through the field towards Bag End. Sam took him into his room and unclasped his cloak, fixing the bedclothes and steering Frodo to his bed. "There now, there now," Sam whispered.  "You need your rest."

Slowly Frodo got into the bed, his eyes beginning to close. "You sleep too, dear Sam," he mumbled. "We'll be safe."

Sam stood over the bed. He couldn't possibly leave him. And he admitted, as a simple quiet fact, that he didn't want to. He wanted to lie down with Mr. Frodo as he had so many times on their quest. He wanted to feel like he was protecting him. Shyly, wondering if he were somehow making a mistake, he climbed into bed with Frodo and moulded his body around the older hobbit's back, holding him like a precious treasure to his chest. One hand cradled his master's stomach; the other reached into his hair, gently stroking. Frodo's breathing was deep and calm and his hand loosened its grip on the little ring. Sam carefully picked it up and, after a thought, put it into Frodo's breeches-pocket lest he search for it again in the night.

Sam pressed a tender kiss to Frodo's neck. "May you life safe in the arms of love," he mumbled as sleep began to settle over him. "I love you, Mr. Frodo, whether or no."

And so when he woke again weak morning-light was glowing around the curtains.  Frodo was sound asleep pressed against him, but now one of his hands gripped Sam's. Ever-so-gently, Sam pulled out of his grip and slowly sat up. He looked down at the small pack on the floor and remembered that they were going off today; absently he went to Frodo's desk and started putting things to order. The Red Book lay there, his now, and thoughtfully he began to flip through its pages.

He was looking at the picture of the Doors of Durin when something fluttered out and alighted on the floor. A small white envelope, with a bit of writing on the front: For Samwise Gamgee...

Sam tensed. A letter for him? Why had Mr. Frodo hid it here? Though painfully curious he was reluctant to open it. Frodo usually did things for a good reason.

He looked back at Frodo lying asleep on the bed. That ancient, unnamed emotion swelled up in him; something like when he leaned in to kiss Frodo's neck and he could smell his sweet dark hair, and feel the living warmth of his body. Like when Frodo opened his eyes and bright blue flashed at him, finer than any cornflower Sam had ever seen; finer than the clearest sky or the deepest water.  That odd little twinge in his heart when he touched Frodo's shoulders though his soft, light shirt. Like the warmth in his belly when his master smiled at him. 

Swallowing an impulse to go to him, if only to smooth back his hair and listen to his sleeping breath, he clutched the letter to his chest and went out to the garden instead. He felt it was urgent to read what words Frodo might write for him. He sat out in the dirt and dew, not conscious of the fact that he was hiding, and opened the envelope with unsteady hands.

Dear Sam,

I know you will devour our book for its songs and stories, so I suspect it will not be long before you find this letter. I shall not leave unsaid the depth of thoughts that toss within me, though no more will I storm you with my sharp confessions before I have departed. Many drafts I have written and fed to the fire, trying to mix honesty and dignity onto the page, and even now my heart pounds but I am resolved. I have carried my silence far too long, and at last I am tired. As I write this you are singing little Elanor a lullaby, so soft my own eyes begin to drift closed. Tomorrow we set off, but you don't know I'm leaving you forever.

Which are the right words, the strong words which can bear my meaning across the distance between us, and the light words that will not burden you or trouble your heart? 'Tis a hobbit's way to speak lightly and jest of matters grave, but I can ill afford such luxury. I must make my thoughts known; I must speak plainly. I wish to be like a clear pond under your eyes, a pond that has stilled and come to rest, revealing the rippled sand and rocks at its bottom for you alone to see. 

I often wonder how you remember the time we have spent together. I do not think I shall ever know. But I must tell you how I remember it, now as the hour grows late.

I walked into danger with Samwise Gamgee, my friend of friends. It was not a journey I would wish upon my worst enemy, let alone he who meant the most to me, but he came bravely and without complaint. As I felt myself beginning to falter he gave me his strength, and upon him I hung my very life. My errand was terrible and he and I did not expect to return. Together we drew nearer to a fiery end and I took what comfort he could offer, clinging to him as one who is drowning. It was comfort freely offered, and he would have offered me his own life if it were needed. He was strong, his spirit unmatched by any I have ever met. We walked in ugly, filthy lands and he was the most beautiful thing in the world. I remember settling against him in sleep, out in the forbidding wilds, and my last fading thought was of being safe in each other's arms for the rest of our lives. When I remember our travels across the River Anduin, and Emyn Muil, and Mordor, I recall a love so great it comes wordless to my mind.

The task needed love, that's simple enough I suppose. Ours was both pure and binding, for the journey stripped us to our bones, and there we were joined, fully revealed to each other. Hand in hand we stood at the end of the world, but I did not fear because my Sam was with me. When, beyond all hope, we woke safe in the land of Men, the world was given back to us but I found that all I wanted was Sam.     

I knew then that I loved you more than friendship, more than family. I knew then that I was in love with you.

Long have I battled with these thoughts. At first I thought you might feel the same, or something nearly the same, for suddenly our closeness seemed to cross a line. I began to believe that our journey had brought us beyond friendship and bound us together, and I wanted nothing more than to become closer still. Brand-new feelings came to me, thoughts of sharing sleep with you, wanting to hold you and touch you and kiss you. I let myself dream, for I thought our journey had brought us so far.

Yet we drifted. Here in safety the desperate comforts we shared on the road were out of place. I could not bring myself to your bed, nor could I find strength to speak. I wish I had spoken, Sam, but I thought we had as much time as we wanted. But time alone let my feelings grow confused. I did not want to push you, for I knew that want and love could be a terrible thing. I had tasted such love. I was sickened with myself and I felt that all the good in me was consumed by the Ring. I needed you to show me that my love was still beautiful, that my love was yet untouched by evil.     

Then Rosie came, and I had to let you go. I knew you deserved the best, and I knew I could not give you all that you're worthy of. You had already sacrificed so much for me, so I dearly wanted you to be happy now that you were at home. Please know that I just want you to be happy, Sam. My love has tainted our friendship, it's torn you in two, it's threatened your marriage, and I cannot bear to burden you further. I think of the children you'll have, and you'll be Mayor of course, and you'll read things out of the Red Book and be wise and beautiful to the end of your days.

I must let go of these secrets, as I shall soon be letting go of everything else. I need to let you know, irrevocably, what you mean to me; how my every breath is indebted to you, and how your sweet devotion ignited in me a flame that shall never burn dark. Of course there is more, for I find myself in love with everything about you. You have no idea how extraordinary you are, and sometimes that saddens me. But you were never one to think about yourself, as I know from experience, and I can only hope this letter awakens something in you; insight or self-worth or possibility.

Please let not my words trouble you. I am sorry if it seems a cruel thing to read these words after I have gone, when you have no way to answer them. Let them fall if you must; then we shall both let go and pass on. I shall find healing and peace over the Sea, and you must be healed and whole in the Shire. The book is closing for us. I cannot bear to think of how I shall miss you, but I have thought deeply and I know in my heart that I cannot stay. Dear Sam, I love you; if you care for me, do me one last thing and always remember this.

~Frodo

Sam was breathless, stunned and shaking. It couldn't be true...and yet his heart knew better, for the words of longing and pain burned into his memory. Yes, his heart affirmed, as if a recognition of an age-old truth, as if it were written in the tilled soil of his many years. Frodo loved him. And Frodo was leaving him. He was shaking so hard he had to stop himself from accidentally tearing the precious paper in his hands. Finally he folded it up and put it inside his shirt. He walked back into the smial and leaned on the kitchen table for a long moment, feeling a sort of drunken numbness wash over him. But Frodo's face kept flashing into his mind. Frodo's fine skin. Frodo's eyes. Frodo's dark hair. How often had he wanted to touch him, how often had he wanted to hold him in sleep, without stopping to think if it were love, and what it meant? How badly had he wanted to have now the closeness they shared then, but to have such love free of fear, to give to each other as freely as they had in danger, only to do so now when they were safe? How had he not known?

I love him. I love him and he loves me, and he's leaving.

*

TBC. Comments are welcome as always.

A/N: I stand corrected! Frodo/Sam is canon. And thank you to everyone, for being encouraging and letting me share this with you. You make it worth it.