[REVIEWERS!! HUZZAH!] piplover: By your request, they shall take a detour to Tuckborough. Let it be so. *taps magic wand on story* Blue Jedi Hobbit 007: Ah, my lovely, loyal reviewer. ^_____^ Glad to see you hopping on for another wild ride.
Mistress-Samwise: Whoooo… Anime burnout! I just finished reading two Love Hina graphic novels and now, when I close my eyes, all I can see is Keitaro being thrown around by Naru.
Anywho, I've got this next chapter for you. Crazy fun-time,
and with a little bit of Frodo— er, Sam-angst. Oh, man. Almost slipped into
regular fanfic mode, there.
FRODO (cowering): Y-You mean… it's not me this time?
No, if you can believe it.
FRODO (suddenly cheerful): Alright! I'm free! I'm free! No
self-mutilation today!
(FRODO runs off, laughing like a maniac.)
Um, okay. But don't worry, I'm not going to torture my lil' Sam near as much as I do Frodo. It's not as much fun, anyway, soooooo… Yeah. Read and have FUN!
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For much longer than the two could bear, Frodo and Merry detected the scent for their meal wafting in from the kitchen. Merry was shifting uneasily in his seat while Frodo was patiently reading a book.
"Fro-do…" Merry whined. "Is dinner ready yet? I'm starving!"
"Patience, patience, my young hobbit," Frodo cajoled. "It will be ready in good time." He sniffed the air. "And very good, indeed. I believe he's making mushroom stew."
Merry nearly fell out of his seat. "Mushroom stew!" he exclaimed.
"He didn't bring those mushrooms just to tease us," Frodo answered plainly. "My, you're quick to hunger and slow to thought, aren't you?"
Merry made a very silly, vacuous face as he waited several moments. "… No, I'm not!"
Frodo groaned and tossed a pillow off of the coach at Merry. It hit Merry in the head, but it took him a few seconds to respond.
"Ow," Merry said vapidly and monotonously. "That hurt." He grabbed the pillow and slowly began to raise it over his head. "I'll get you for that."
Merry was just about to throw the pillow as Frodo was cowering, awaiting the fated blow, when Sam entered the room.
"Mister Frodo?" he asked. The two other hobbits stopped in mid-motion and looked up at Sam with eager looks on their faces. Sam was going to continue when Merry cut him off.
"Is dinner ready yet?"
Sam looked surprised at being interrupted. Frodo decided to take over Sam's brain-freeze.
"You wanted to speak to me, Sam?" Frodo questioned. Sam was going to respond, but Merry cut him off a second time.
"Is dinner ready yet?"
"I-I'm sorry, Mister Merry," Sam replied softly. "But I wanted to ask Mister Frodo something." He waited for Frodo to stand up and they both left the room, leaving Merry alone and still hungry. He grunted.
" 'I'm sorry, Mister Merry, but I wanted to ask Mister Frodo something'," he mocked Sam's accent sarcastically, his voice high-pitched and squeaky. Then, he spoke in Frodo's voice. "Sam, I have a splendid idea… Let's starve poor, hungry Merry." He switched back to Sam's voice, this time making it especially sarcastic. "Oooo, yes…! Anything for you, Mister Frodo!" He let out another humph and threw the pillow into the place where Frodo was formerly sitting. Grumpily, he crossed his arms and thought about how famished he was.
"Merry…"
Merry nearly died when he realized Frodo was standing behind him.
"Ah! F-Frodo!" He gave a nervous, toothy grin. "Wha-What ever brings you back out here?"
Frodo gave a sardonic smile. "I heard all of that." He leaned in close over Merry. "And I don't think Sam liked that very much, either."
Merry cowered, shielding his head from Frodo. "Eee! You can do what you like to me, but just don't send him after me! I'm very hungry, that's all."
Frodo slowly traced his finger from the corner of his eye down his cheek while mouthing the words "boo-hoo". He then grinned wickedly, his blue eyes shining like fire, as he watched Merry boil over.
"Why you… you… son of a—"
Before he could finish, Merry found his face coming in contact with the pillow again. He let out a yelp as the cushion whapped his cheek, but before he could do anything, Frodo had leapt over the couch and started running back into the kitchen.
"Stupid Brandybuck!" he called back. Merry hurdled over the couch and proceeded to chase after Frodo.
"Bloody Baggins!"
Sam, who had only been listening to all that was going on, soon found himself acting as a hobbit-shield for Frodo.
"Help!" Frodo cried, cowering behind Sam. "Don't let him get to me!"
"Your gardener can't save you now, Frodo Baggins!" Merry shouted resolutely. He stormed up to Sam and just looked at him. That was when he noticed that Sam was a few inches taller than himself, so he had to tip his head a bit back to look up at Sam properly.
"Sam," Merry continued, staring up at Sam's stern face. "If you would be so kind as to move, so that I may get to my cousin." Sam did not move. Merry tried stepping around Sam, but Sam just moved in his way. Merry then took a stride the other way around, but, again, Sam hurriedly shifted and blocked him off. Merry soon grew aggravated.
"Grr!" he snarled, trying to dodge and weave around Sam. "Out of the way! This isn't your problem, anyway."
"Harm my master and I will make it my problem," Sam replied sternly. Merry grunted and reached his hand over past Sam's shoulder. He was able reach far enough to bat at Frodo's hair, causing it to become rather disheveled.
"Hah-hah-hah!" Merry laughed maniacally, taking much pleasure out of ruining his cousin's hair. "Take that—"
Suddenly, Merry found his wrist caught in Sam's grip, Sam's powerful fingers crushing deep into his flesh.
"Ah-ah-hah-hah-howwww…" Merry whimpered painfully as Sam slowly brought his hand away from Frodo's hair. Sam gave Merry's wrist one last squeeze before releasing it.
"I told you, Mister Merry," Sam stated, his face profoundly serious. Merry was tenderly holding his arm, staring at the glaringly red welts.
"Goddamn it, Gamgee!" he hissed. "That's going to leave a mark!"
"Now, now, Sam…" Frodo said, his dark brown hair still unkempt. "Was that really necessary?"
Sam immediately flushed deeply, his face changing from grave to shocked. "I-I'm sorry, sir! B-But I thought he was tryin' to hurt you—"
"We were only playing around, Sam," Frodo cut in, laughing nervously. "We're cousins… We're always at each other's throats, but we never really mean anything by it. Do you understand?"
"Y-Yes, s-sir," Sam struggled to say as he felt his throat grow tight. He quickly turned away from Merry and Frodo, too scared to look at either of them anymore. The look of disappointment in Frodo's eyes pierced him like a sword. "Forgive me, Mister Merry…"
Merry let out a quick sigh. "Well, I'll be alright. I was being an ass." He snorted. "This better be the food I ever tasted…"
"Oh, that reminds me, Mister Frodo…" Sam dipped a ladle into the stew and drew some out. He timidly held it up to Frodo. "I thought you might like to try some out before I served it."
Instead of taking the ladle into his own hand like Sam thought he would, Frodo placed his lips onto it and drew some into his mouth. Sam blushed darkly and gently tipped the ladle forward, draining the rest of the soup down Frodo's throat. Thoughtfully licking his lips, Frodo savored the flavor for a moment, then broke into a smile.
"Your best yet, Sam," he stated beamingly.
Sam's eyes widened. "Really, sir?"
Frodo grinned. "Why would I lie? Try for yourself, if you haven't already."
It was true Sam hadn't even tested his own fare yet, so he dipped the ladle back into the pot and pulled it out again. He blew on it, blowing away the little clouds of steam. Gingerly, he brought it to his lips, being sure it was not the same place where Frodo's were. And, true enough, the stew was especially delicious this time around.
"Yes, I reckon you're right, Mister Frodo," Sam replied.
"Artists are always skeptical about their work, eh?" Frodo asked.
"Art?" Sam questioned incredulously. "Pardon me, sir, but I can't see why cooking is an art—"
"Of course it is!" Merry exclaimed. "Especially amongst hobbits. And if this stew is as good as both of you say, then you, my dear Samwise, are an artist."
Merry snatched the ladle out of Sam's hand and got himself some of the stew. He took a tentative sip, but then he quickly downed the rest.
"You're not an artist," Merry commented. "You're a miracle worker!" He turned to Sam. "When do we eat?" Even before Sam got to open his mouth, Merry immediately answered his own question. "Now? Why, yes, I think that's a great idea!"
With a grin on his face, Merry started off for the dining room, but was anchored back by Frodo.
"You're not leaving until you help set the table," Frodo stated. Merry let out a whine.
"But I've been doing work all day!" Merry complained. "You haven't done a single thing—"
"Except not turn you back out onto the road, you sot," Frodo replied tersely. "There are only three of us, not all of Brandyhall." Frodo pointed to the cupboard where the china was kept. "Get moving."
Merry groaned anyway, reaching into the cupboard and pulling three plates out. They were of heavy earthenware, and combined, were also quite weighty. He carted them off to the dining room. Promptly, he retuned for silverware and mugs.
"Don't you think you're bein' a bit harsh on him, sir?" Sam asked as Merry left the kitchen again. "He's a guest, after all."
"Guest, yes," Frodo commented. "Over-worked, no. He's here on punishment, and Saradoc trusts me to keep him in order. A little 'hard work' will more than keep him away from the bottle."
"Oh, huzzah, Frodo," Merry called back from the dining room. "Knowing you, I'm sure my desire for alcohol will soon be replaced by a desire to strangle you in your sleep." He walked back into the kitchen. " 'Frodo Baggins' One Easy Step to Sobriety…! Manual Labor!' " He let out a guffaw.
"Well, Merry," Frodo added. "All I know for certain is that it works very well for our friend Sam here." He patted Sam on the shoulder. "I've seen this fellow knock back quite a few and never so much as stagger." He turned to Merry. "But you, my dear cousin, are of completely different stock."
Merry wagged a finger. "Pot calling the kettle black, I'm afraid. Seeing you after several glasses of wine is a very amusing spectacle, indeed."
While Frodo and Merry argued over their past encounters with alcohol, Sam got the food ready. Soon, he was finished setting it out on the table and patiently stood beside Frodo as he waited for them to finish.
"Sam," Frodo said to him after a few minutes of bickering. "Please tell my cousin that I am not a helpless drunk!"
"Actually, sir," Sam replied. "I wanted to tell him (and you) that dinner is all set and ready."
"Why didn't you say before!" Merry exclaimed. "And I'm standing here, talking about drinking, when I could be eating!"
With that, Merry hastily hustled off to the dining room to greet the food that awaited him. Frodo sighed and followed, leaving Sam to depart the kitchen last. When they got to the table, Merry had already helped himself to the bread.
"Thif if vwery good, Stham," Merry commented, his mouth full.
"Pardon me, Mister Merry," Sam piped up shyly. "But you use the bread to dip into the soup."
"Oh?" Merry tried it out. "Ah, I see what you mean… Very good!"
Frodo did not immediately sit down at the table. Instead, he left the room and momentarily returned with a bottle of wine. Merry gave Frodo a very cutting stare.
"Merry," Frodo cooed, as if speaking to a child. "If you're a good boy while on the camping trip, I'll give you a glass of wine."
"Oh, drat!" Merry exclaimed sarcastically, throwing his piece of bread down onto the plate. "And to think I was planning on making the trip a living hell… But now there's alcohol involved! Sigh… No troublemaking for me, then…"
Merry laughed as Frodo rolled his eyes.
"That's good to know," Frodo replied as he stood up to get a wine glass. Almost instantly, Sam produced one, and set it beside Frodo's plate.
"Here you go, sir," he said. Frodo blinked.
"That was… fast," Frodo stated while sitting back down, slightly confused. "Uh… Thank you, Sam."
"No wonder I haven't seen you do a single bit of work around here, Frodo," Merry commented. "He does all of it for you!"
"Believe me, I've tried to stop him," Frodo told Merry. "But he keeps doing it anyway. It's like he enjoys doing everything for me…"
"Please, sir…" Sam murmured shyly.
"Yes, well," Frodo sensed Sam's discomfort. He did not like being talked about very often. "Why don't you sit down? There's no need for you to stand around while we eat the meal you prepared." Frodo pulled the chair next to him out. Sam timidly sat down next to his master. Merry hastily continued to eat, while Frodo mannerly brought his spoon to his mouth.
"I can't tell you enough, Sam," he said after finishing. "This is your best yet."
"Mmm-hmm," Merry shook his head, his mouth full. Sam blushed brightly as he felt Frodo's and Merry's eyes on him. He nervously looked away from them.
"It's nothin' special…" he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I really don't see what the whole fuss is about…" He lowered his face and anxiously fiddled with his sleeve cuff. Merry let out an aggravated grunt as he dropped his spoon onto the table.
"You just can't stand compliments, can you?" he asked, slightly huffy. "I hate it when people think all they are is a failure! You try to be nice to somebody, and what do they do…? Throw it back in your face!" He folded his arms across his chest. "It's false modesty, if you ask me." When he looked back at Sam, he found Sam's face starkly drained of all color, his eyes large and shining wetly. He then quickly turned and hid his face in his arm, wiping away at his eyes.
"Hey!" Frodo shouted very irately while slapping Merry upside the head. "Now that was unnecessary! You may be my cousin, but if you go insulting my friends like that…"
"I didn't mean it that way!' Merry snapped back as he rubbed at his head. "Can't I say a word around this place without somebody barking at me for it?"
"Well, it certainly didn't seem like harmless criticism to me," Frodo replied.
"That's alright, s-sir," Sam squeaked shakily, stifling a sniffle as he was bent forward, hiding the tears gathering in his eyes. "M-Mister Merry didn't know…"
"Know what?" Merry inquired.
"We shouldn't be arguing at a time like this," Frodo stated, purposely ignoring Merry's question. "Let's stop acting like silly little lads and start acting like friends." Turning to Sam, he held his arms open. "Come on, Sam."
Sam looked up at Frodo, into his crystal blue eyes. They were deep and full of understanding. He felt as if he was staring into the eyes of a friend, not his master. Then, quickly forgetting his fear, he let out a soft sigh and allowed Frodo to embrace him.
"There, there, Sam," Frodo cooed warmly, holding the back of Sam's head while it was buried in his shoulder. Sam felt Frodo's gentle fingers stroking soothingly at his hair as he inhaled the delicate scent of Frodo's lavender soap with each breath he took. Sam's cheeks burned hotly as he stretched his arms around Frodo's back, tightly pressing his face deeper into Frodo's shoulder. He breathed a shuddering sigh and felt his tears quell. Even though his tears were gone, he still felt very awkward and ridiculous. Here he was, being held by Frodo as if he still was a small boy.
Oh, heaven help me…! What am I doin'? Poor Mister Frodo must be embarrassed out of his wits!
But Sam just turned his head and laid his flushed cheek against Frodo's shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw Merry rolling his and drumming his fingers on the tabletop. He looked back at Sam and stared at him quite plainly. Then, he turned his attention to his cousin.
"Are you about done yet?" he asked Frodo politely. "If not, I'll just take the rest of your food before it gets cold…"
"Oh, no, you won't!" Frodo cried, suddenly releasing his arms from around Sam. "You try that one on me, and you know what'll happen!"
Merry stuck out his tongue. Sam was thoroughly confused. He then remembered that his arms were still around Frodo, and he quickly drew them away. As he tried sitting up straight in his chair, he looked over at Frodo and caught sight of his eyes. Sam suddenly blushed very deeply. Frodo looked back at him and furrowed his brow slightly.
"Sam?" he asked, noticing the rather dark shade of red of Sam's face. "Are you alright?" Sam shyly nodded his head.
"I'm fine, thank you, sir," Sam replied softly, squirming under Frodo's gaze. Leaning forward, Frodo took a closer look at Sam's face and silently examined it for a few moments. Sam's eyes were wide and full of confusion. Then, suddenly, Frodo poked him in the cheek. Surprised, Sam gave a small jump. Frodo laughed.
"Alright then, Sam," Frodo chuckled. "Just checking." Frodo continued to laugh to himself and Merry smiled amusedly. Sam's eyebrows knit in severe confusion as he rubbed his cheek. He then realized how warm it was.
"Oh, dear!" he exclaimed. His face turned a deeper shade of red, if it was possible. Merry whistled incredulously.
"Wow, Frodo," he said, amazed at the spectacle before him. "Look at what you're doing to this poor fellow. He must be scared out of his mind."
"What do you mean?" Frodo inquired. "If it wasn't for you and your far-from-constructive criticism, maybe he wouldn't be about ready to have a nosebleed."
And, sure enough, that was when Sam noticed a small, wet trickle in the back of his nose. He quickly got up from his seat, taking his dishes with him.
"'Cuse me," he muttered and he hastily left the room. Frodo and Merry watched him as he left. Merry looked at Frodo, but Frodo just shrugged his shoulders. Groaning and shaking his head, Merry was the one who gave Frodo a slap in the back of the head this time.
Sam had retreated to the kitchen and was busying himself with washing the dishes.
"I noo I shoulda stayeb home to-day…" Sam grumbled to himself while he was holding his handkerchief to his nose. He made a long sniffle and continued to scrub away at the mixing bowl, which was even hard for him with only one hand. For many minutes, he miserably washed the dishes one by one. He was on the last one when he finally let out a growl and threw the dishrag into the water, splashing suds everywhere.
"Damn it!" he swore, which was extraordinarily rare for him to do. He took another long sniffle and started coughing as he felt the blood run down his throat. He mumbled other obscenities under his breath as he hung his head to his chest. Leaning against the counter, he silently brooded in anger as his sandy-colored curls were hanging loose over his face.
You're a fool to end all fools, Sam Gamgee… You just should have listened to your Gaffer in the first place and stayed at home tonight. Not only did you humiliate yourself, but you embarrassed Mister Frodo in front of his kin… You're a fool… A damn fool…
"Sam?" Frodo appeared in the kitchen doorframe, cutting off Sam's mental self-cursing. "I heard you coughing. Are you alright?"
"Jus'…" Sam made a loud sniff. "… Fime."
Frodo frowned worriedly and stepped up to Sam. He saw the bloody handkerchief that Sam was holding up to his nose. His heart pained to see this.
"Sam… I…" he murmured as he softly laid a hand on his servant's shoulder. Sam tensed up at the touch.
"Leabe me ah-lone, sir," he growled, sneering behind the handkerchief. Frodo's face was marked with surprise at Sam's unusual show of anger. He slowly withdrew his hand from Sam's shoulder.
"I… see," Frodo said humbly. "I'll let you be, if that is what you wish."
Frodo silently left the kitchen and left Sam all by himself to finish washing the last dish. He clenched his jaw and mercilessly scrubbed at the china as his vision gradually grew blurry with tears. Blinking them away, he jammed his handkerchief further into his nose and continued to scour the dinner plate. He took a long, hard sniffle, and ended up coughing painfully as the blood seeped down his throat. The dishrag slipped out of his hand and he slowly slid to his knees, hacking dryly as he gripped the counter rim with one hand and weakly kept the handkerchief to his nose with the other. He silently coughed into his handkerchief until it hurt, and his coughs turned into soundless sobs. Hot tears rolled helplessly down his cheeks, for he no longer cared to quell them. His hands weakly dropped to his sides and he leaned his head against the counter, blood seeping out of his nose.
"Hopeless…" he whispered.
For many minutes, he laid reclined against the counter until he brought himself to stand up. He took a deep breath and wiped the blood away from under his nose. From out of the living room, he could hear Frodo and Merry conversing. Silently, he slipped out of the kitchen into the hallway, from where he made his way to the washroom. He splashed his face with the tepid water from the washbasin, cleaning away the last of the tears and blood on his face. Letting out a sigh, he looked at himself in the mirror, watching the droplets of water trickle off of his bangs. For a moment, he stared blankly at his reflection, but then let out a groan and quickly dried his face off with a hand towel. He impatiently smoothed his hair back out as best he could into a semi-tousled state (hobbit hair being very hard to control in the first place). Before he left the washroom, he took one last gaze at himself in the mirror.
"Hello, I am Samwise Gamgee," he said to himself while tugging on his face. "And I am an idiot." He then left the room, closing the door behind himself.
Merry and Frodo were discussing the next day's plans when they noticed Sam passing by in the hallway. Sam also sensed he was being watched, and he stopped and stared back. Frodo was about say something to him when he disappeared down the hall again. Both Merry and Frodo waited until they heard Sam's footsteps diminish.
"Is he still upset?" Merry inquired incredulously. "I thought he was supposed to be a very laid-back fellow."
"I did so, too," Frodo replied, his tone as questionable as Merry's. "He's been acting very strangely lately (you wouldn't believe the way he acts around me, sometimes). But I have never seen him this angry before."
Merry looked surprised. "So, you're telling me that this is the angriest you've ever seen him?"
Frodo paused. "Well… There have been times when he would be extraordinarily annoyed with something and lash out about that, but, this time, it seems different." He stopped to look down the corridor in which Sam disappeared. "He was hurt… I can tell." He looked back at Merry. "One of said or did something that did not go well with him." He paused and added quickly, "So, it was most likely you."
"Me?!" Merry exclaimed. "You mean you! He's your friend, after all."
They continued to argue amongst each other. Sam had wandered back to his knapsack, which was still in the front corridor. He rummaged through it and drew out his pipe along with a pouch of pipeweed. Finding smoking a good idea, he opened the door and stepped out onto the front stair. He sat down onto the cold stone and let out a slow sigh. The night sky was clear, save for a few wisps of cloud, but the stars still shone through. The moon had just started waning from its full.
Placing the pipe between his teeth, his clenched down on it tightly as he struck at the steel bit with his flint. The weed caught on fire and the scent of its fragrant smoke soon filled the air around him. As he silently smoked on his pipe, Sam's thoughts wandered off into nothingness just like the puffs of smoke he breathed out. The calming hush of the night caused him to lose track of time. It was when he started to feel himself drift off when he heard the door behind him open.
"Sam?" Frodo asked as he looked out from behind the half open door, holding a candle in one hand. Sam peered over his shoulder.
"Hmm?" he mumbled with his pipe still between his teeth.
"It's getting late, Sam," Frodo continued. "Merry and I are going to bed. You should get some sleep, too. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."
Sam said nothing, but tapped the ashes out of his pipe and stood up to follow Frodo back inside. He softly closed the door and turned to Frodo. The only light still on in the house was the candle Frodo was holding.
"I'm sorry," Frodo apologized, handing Sam the candle and his knapsack. "I should have told you to come in sooner."
"That's alright, sir," Sam stated, slinging the knapsack over one shoulder. "Where will I be sleeping?"
"In the living room, if you are alright with that. I apologize, but I tried making the couch as comfortable as I could. You see, the other guestroom I gave to Merry—"
"It's fine," Sam politely interrupted, smiling weakly. "I can more than manage, thank you."
Frodo nodded and stepped aside to let Sam into the living room. Sam slipped the bag off of his back and waited to hear Frodo walk away. Setting the candle onto the end table, he looked over at the couch that had been prepared for him. There were several pillows and an old quilt that Sam used to "borrow" from Frodo when he was a boy. He smiled slightly at that memory and continued to change into his nightshirt. Before he laid down onto the couch, he looked around the room.
Aside from the orange light that came from the flickering candle, the living room had a pale blue glow to it that was strong enough to see by. The curtains were thinly drawn back from the windows, allowing the moonlight in. Sam sighed and blew out the candle as he rested his head onto the pillow. The couch, though he had sat on it many times before, was surprisingly comfortable when laid upon. With the quilt pulled up to his shoulders, he was patiently waiting for sleep to take him. He really wanted to fall asleep, but it just wasn't happening. Too much had happened in the past day for him to simply forget about. This was the first time he had done anything like this before in his life; spending the night at Bag End and then going on a camping trip… and all this within too close of quarters of his master for his comfort.
Ah… Best not to think about it. I should be sleepin', if I know what's good for me…
Minutes passed like hours. Through the still silence, Sam heard the familiar footfall of his master approach, then stop in the doorway. He sat up and tried to make out Frodo through the dull moonlight.
"Sir?" he asked quietly. Frodo said nothing, but walked over and sat down into a chair near the couch.
"Sam," he said after a few moments. "About earlier today… I wanted to apologize to you." He paused. "I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you. It was my fault that you were so upset." He promptly continued before Sam had the chance to apologize for himself. "It wasn't right of me… I shouldn't treat you like a child anymore."
"Sir—"
"I want you to know that I respect you as a servant and as a friend, Sam," Frodo continued. "You always try your best to treat me with dignity, so it's time I did so, too." He got up from his chair and went to kneel down beside the couch. He took Sam's hand in his and squeezed it tightly. Sam's eyes widened and he blushed surprisingly.
"Also," Frodo added, clasping Sam's hand with both of his. "I want you to know that I don't think you are a failure, no matter what you, or your father, thinks." His last words were deeply meaningful. He looked into Sam's eyes, and Sam tried hard to look back. Sam could see the truth behind Frodo's words just by the way his gentle blue eyes shone in the moonlight.
"Mister Frodo…" Sam whispered, his lips barely moving. He flushed darkly as he felt Frodo's hand press into his one last time while the other one lightly smoothed over his shoulder. Then, both of Frodo's hands left Sam as he stood up and he softly padded out of the room. He stopped in the doorway before leaving.
"Good night, Sam," he stated, and then quietly left down the hallway. After a few moments, there was the faint click of Frodo's bedroom door shutting. All was silent again.
Letting out a deep, trembling sigh, Sam collapsed back onto his pillow. His head was slung back, doing nothing to keep the burning tears from welling behind his eyelids.
"…Good night, Mister Frodo…" he whimpered as the tears ran helplessly down his hot, red cheeks. A great feeling of emptiness overcame him, and he clutched at one of the extra pillows in his aching arms. Then, burying his face in it, he wept bitterly and silently, his shoulders quaking with each sob. His arms felt painfully empty as he feverishly grasped at the pillow, desperately wishing its tear-soaked fabric was that of his master's shirt, or his soft, cool cheek pressed against his own. He dug his nails deep into the cushion at that thought, and plowed them further in with each suppressed sob. Ache spread through his entire body. Eventually, he grew exhausted of vainly quelling his powerful weeping and slumped over to his side. There, he tiredly gasped for breath and, giving up the useless struggle, allowed sleep to take him from his pain into numbing, dreamless darkness.
Hopeless fool…
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Mistress-Samwise: Awww… Poor lil' guy. He'll have much more "fun" next chapter, anyway. Can't wait for that one. Stay tuned, for when they finally start camping (huzzah)!