Dream With Hope
by Talisha Hibdon
RATING: G (future NC-17)
PAIRING: Frodo/Sam (hints at Merry/Pippin)
DISCLAIMER: The disclaimer telling you that I don't own Frodo or Sam or any of Tolkien's world drowned in Galadriel's Mirror. =D
SUMMARY: A drama in the works. Frodo decides to return to Middle- earth to try and find new meaning for his life without the hope of ever having Sam's love. But is there really no hope?
NOTES: This fic may take a LONG time to write. I've no clue how many chapters there will be, but this fic WILL be long. Have patience and you will be rewarded! All feedback welcome, especially as this fic is still in the drafting stages.
SPOILERS: If you have not read the Return of the King, or at least know how LOTR is going to end, you probably shouldn't read this fic, that is unless you peeps like spoilers, like I do..
Chapter 4
The first time he saw him, he felt that he had been a dream for sure. He had been playing Hide and Seek among the trees that lay in a dense clump on the outskirts of the Hobbiton hills. He was named the Seeker, and Rose, Robin, and several other hobbit children had scampered of to find places to hide. After hiding his brown eyes in his hands for a whole minute and singing the customary song that went with the game, he had leapt to his feet and had started off, as swift and quiet as a fox hunting for conies in the woods.
He had known the wooded area well and had always played there, so he ran about sure of foot, knowing the safe places to step and not end up catching on some up reaching tree root hidden in the thick layer of autumn leaves that lay on the ground. Even so, he nearly stumbled and fell over one such root when he spotted a flash of pale skin and dark hair through the trees. He stopped and gazed, knowing somehow instantly that this was not one of his hiding friends. Long dark lashes hid the Person's eyes as he bent his head over a book, for a He he must have been judging from the breadth of his shoulders and the clothes he wore, dark brown trousers and a ivory tunic under a brown vest. His hair was a dark brunette that shined healthy in the tree filtered sunlight, and his skin was much more pale and smooth looking than anyone he had ever seen before. The combination of dark clothes and hair made his skin and tunic seem to glow like a star wherever the sunlight touched him. He had an inner light that was almost blinding.
Suddenly the Person looked up and he flinched as his gaze fell on him. It was only then that he realized that he had actually walked from out of the trees, edging closer and closer to where the Person sat reading. Looking into the Person's eyes, he felt the breath in him taken away. His eyes were the most brilliant blue he had ever seen, more blue and bright than the sky in spring, than light off water. He never knew that such a beautiful shade of blue existed. And now that they were focused acutely on him, he felt that his legs would crumble from beneath him at any moment.
He had heard of creatures that made you feel like that, of course. Mr. Bilbo had called them Elves, and he dearly loved the Elves, from all that he had heard. They were both merry and solemn, wise and perilously fair. And as he looked at the Person, who stared right back at him, he felt sure that he was all these things and more. A thump caught in his throat, and a moment or so passed before he could muster the courage to speak.
"A-are you an Elf?" He asked hesitantly.
The Person blinked, looking a little confused by the question, and his eyes ran over him, taking in all the detail, the scrutiny causing him to shiver curiously.
"No," he said at last, his sapphire eyes at last settling back on his simple browns. "Are you?"
Now it was his turn to blink. He didn't quiet understand how anyone could think him Elf-like in any way. "No," he shook his head. They looked at each other for several more moments before he found the nerve to ask another question. "What are ye doing here all by ye'self?"
"Reading 'Translations from the Elvish.' It was quiet here," the Person shrugged. "And what of you?"
"I'm not by meself," he responded. "I was playing with some friends of mine."
"Then why don't you go back to them?" The Person shifted to face him more completely. "They must be missing you."
"They're hidin' from me," he shrugged in turn. "We're playing a game. They can wait a bit to be found."
Then suddenly the Person smiled, and it was like a sudden burst of sunshine from behind a cloud, the effect of it causing a smile to break out on his own face. "What's you name then, me lad?" The Person inquired.
"Sam," Sam answered swiftly, then blushed, having remembered his manners too late. He corrected himself by bowing and saying, "Samwise Gamgee, at your service."
"Oh! So you must be Master Hamfast's youngest son," the Elf-like Person blinked, his smile broadening quickly. Sam nodded, feeling somewhat relieved that this person wasn't entirely a stranger. He knew who his father was at least.
"Sam..." The Person closed his eyes briefly, lashes fluttering over his skin, and suddenly Sam felt sure that he must have been in a dream. The Person said his name again, more softly this time, as if memorizing it, and Sam felt drawn to his voice. Before he knew it he found himself kneeling right next to the stranger, as if he had been invited.
"And.. what's your name, if ye don't mind me askin'?" Sam's own voice came out shaky, and his blush deepened. The Person, however, didn't seem to notice, and smiled again.
"Frodo Baggins," the Person, or Frodo it now was, reached out a hand, slender and fair, and Sam grasped it with his own slightly soiled little hand, the contrast between Frodo's soft skin and Sam's own calloused palm startling. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Samwise Gamgee."
"Just plain 'Sam' will do, sir," Sam grinned and decided that he instantly liked this fellow, and would very much have liked to make friends with him, if possible. Realizing that they needed something to talk about, Sam asked something that had puzzled him. "Why did you ask if I were an Elf? There's nothing Elvish about me."
"Your hair, Sam," Frodo murmured, almost to himself. "You have beautiful hair." And it seemed to Sam that he almost reached out to touch it but had managed to stop himself before he did so. "You must know that blonde hair is not at all common among hobbits. In fact, I've never even seen a hobbit with such light hair before."
Sam flushed and reached up to hold a golden curl between finger and thumb. "My Gaffer says it's because I'm always out and about outside."
Frodo shook his head, dark curls falling over his smooth forehead. "Nay. I think there's more at work than just sunshine." The little boy beamed at this. "Why did you ask me if I were an Elf then?"
Sam hung his head, unable to look the older boy in the face as he confessed. "You're eyes. I've never seen eyes like yours, begging your pardon." Frodo blinked in puzzlement, but Sam continued. "And not just that. Almost everything about you seems Elvish."
"Maybe you're only discerning from far away the air of Buckland," Frodo uttered. "You Hobbiton folk are always saying that Bucklanders are a queer people, so perhaps that why I seem so alien to you."
"Buckland, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes, where I was born," Frodo nodded.
Sam sat back on his haunches and thought for a moment, studying him with childish skepticism. "No, I don't think it's that. I believe it's-"
"Sam! Sam, where are you?" Robin's voice was heard hollering through the trees in the distance.
"Looks like your friends are missing you after all," Frodo chuckled and stood up, brushing fallen leaves from his trousers with one hand while his other held the book he had been reading. Sam had leapt to his feet when he heard his name being called. Upon turning back to his new friend, he noticed just how tall he was, a good two inches taller than his own father, who was a giant to his young eyes. Standing up, Sam only just came up past Frodo's elbow.
"I guess... I best be headin' back to them, Mr. Frodo," Sam said with some reluctance.
Frodo smiled fondly down at him. "Yes, you'd better." Then he took Sam's hand again and gave it a friendly squeeze. "Well, I'm glad to have run into you, Sam Gamgee. I'm sure to be seeing a lot more of you."
"Sir?" Sam blinked up at him.
"Well, your father does work for my uncle Bilbo, does he not?" Frodo winked.
"Mr. Bilbo's your uncle?" Sam gasped in surprise, causing Frodo to laugh lightly, a melodic sound to his ears.
"Well, actually he's my first and second cousin, but he has adopted me now, so I think I am in the right to call him 'Uncle'. I hope you plan on coming with your father sometime to visit me, Sam, my lad," the older boy voiced, patting the Gamgee lightly on the back. "You are the first friend I've made here."
"Friend?" Sam's earth brown eyes lit up with delight. Frodo nodded and Sam nearly jumped for joy. "Yes, Mr. Frodo! I'll come with my Gaffer everyday to see ye."
"Sam! Samwise Gamgee!" The calls were coming closer now.
"Well, I'm off for a walk. You had better go and find your other friends soon before they give up on looking for you," Frodo turned to leave. "See you soon then, Sam." And with that he started off, walking through the trees like a fading dream.
Sam stood frozen in place as he watched him leave and he barely managed to call out, "Bye bye then, Mr. Frodo. I'll be sure to see ye tomorrow!" And then Frodo was gone, and the dream ended, at least for that day.
Sam reclined in his chair and smiled at the memory of his first meeting with Frodo. Looking back now on his childhood with Frodo, he realized that his soul must have known that it would love him more than anything else, even from that very first day. The time came that he would look forward to waking up early each morning to getting ready to go along with the Gaffer as he made his daily trek to Bag End's gardens. It had been love in it's purest, most innocent form that drove him up to that round green door everyday, hopping with excitement as his Elf-like friend came to open the door, smiling fondly down at him.
It had been a love without desire, without condition or limits - just a simple, pure light of the heart that would make him giddy whenever Frodo smiled at him and sorrowful whenever Frodo grew still with a quiet sadness, as he often did even in those early days. That little-boy love, for that's what it was at first, that had developed soon after their first meeting was, in his mind, the cleanest emotion he had ever felt.
So what happened to it all then? Where did that innocence run off to? How much easier it would have been to live with the loss of platonic love than it was now, trying to live everyday feeling the emptiness in his heart where only his Frodo had ever been able to fill. Many times Sam had wished that he hadn't let himself be drawn into the wealth of kindness, sadness, and loving fondness that resided in Frodo's eyes. If he had only simply kept hold of his innocent child-like love, it would have been much easier for him to let go.
Sam sighed and looked out of the window of his study, watching the blue sky grow dark with the dusk. But then, did he really wish to let go? It pained him, of course, almost to the point of being unbearable. But the memories of Frodo's smile and of the comforting touch of his undamaged hand to his was a treasure he held close to his heart. And he knew that even as the pain of that empty place in his heart till ailed him, he would not let go of those precious memories and feelings for all the stars of Elbereth.
I may be still torn, Mr. Frodo, he thought with a sad smile. But I shan't always be so, of that you were right about at least. I can wait to be filled again, and I will wait. That is my dream with hope.
"And then Mr. Baggins cried out, 'Go back! Go back to the land of Mordor and follow me no more!'"
"Ooohh, wasn't he scared?"
Frodo Gardner looked down at Goldilocks as she lay huddled up in her bed, eyes wide as she watched him mimic and act out parts of the tale of the Flight to the Ford. He had been leaping and crying out all over the room and now looked red in the face from the effort. Goldilocks was absolutely absorbed in the story.
"Well, yes, I suppose he was. I mean, the Ring was whispering to him the whole time, you know, kinda like that little voice that tells you to try and steal a cookie from the cookie jar, only much stronger and harder to resist. It was kinda like-"And here he rushed to her side and whispered harshly in her ear, "'Put me on, Frodo Baggins.. Put me on.. come, I'm the only one who can save you...' And then there was the Riders, holding onto his will, probably saying things like-"His voice changed again as he whispered into her other ear, "Come to ussss.. Give usss the Ring... the Ring.."
Goldilocks squirmed away from her brother with a gasp, looking almost frightened herself.
"Yes, scary, isn't it?" Frodo-lad grinned knowingly. She nodded vigorously, gold curls bouncing on her shoulders. "But Mr. Baggins would not give up! Nay, he drew his sword and cried out-"And here he rose his hand high as if he were holding a sword and cried out much louder than he meant to, "'By Elbereth and Luthian the Fair! You shall have neither the Ring nor me!'"
"Who's Luthian and Elbereth?" Goldy asked.
Frodo shrugged, trying not to look as clueless as he felt. "I dunno. Some dead Elf ladies, I guess."
"Well, how could they help if they are dead?"
"They couldn't, but the Riders were dumb and they didn't know these two ladies were dead. They were afraid of those names."
"Why? What could they have done?"
Frodo frowned. "I don't know. Make them take baths?"
"Oh! Like Merry and Pippin! They hate baths too!"
"Frodo Gardner!" Mistress Rose had opened the door at that instant, causing the lad to jump and Goldilocks to screech in fright, ducking under her covers. Rose eyed both children, then frowned slightly at Frodo-lad. "What's all this shouting about? Are you trying to wake up Daisy, Primrose, and Hamfast? Ye know they are all in bed already."
"He was just tellin' me a bedtime story, Mommy," Goldilocks said from under the covers.
"You haven't been trying to scare Goldilocks, now have you?" Rose continued to scowl at Frodo-lad.
"No.. Sorry Mum," Frodo rubbed behind his head. "I guess I got a little carried away."
"Yes, well I don't see how Goldy would every get to sleep from listening to your bedtime story with all that noise your making." Rose rubbed the bridge of her nose, as if she was feeling a headache coming on. "What story were you telling her?"
"It was-" Goldilocks started, but Frodo quickly cut her off.
"It was the story about how old Bilbo Baggins fought with the spiders in Mirkwood," he inserted.
Rose eyed him skeptically for a moment. "Isn't that a bit too frightful a tale for a lass her age?"
"Aw, Mum!" Frodo-lad rolled his eyes and groaned in such a comical manner that Goldilocks couldn't help but giggle from where she hid.
Rose then nodded and yawned, stretching an arm above her head. "Well, I think story time is over for one night. Off to bed with ye." And with that she closed the door after her.
Frodo let out a sigh of relief and plunked down at the edge of Goldilock's bed. Goldilocks at last peeked out from under the blanket and watched Frodo as he stared at the floor.
"What's the matter, Frodo?" the little lass asked her older brother.
The lad sighed and shook his head. "I just don't understand why she won't let us ever talk about it..."
"About what?" Goldy blinked.
"The War, Goldy. Mum never wants us to talk about the War, and every time one of us tries to ask Dad about it, she always cuts him off and makes up some excuse not to have the story told."
"Maybe she just doesn't want to think about scary things." The little girl crawled up next to Frodo, who didn't look up from where he was staring at the floor.
"I don't know, Goldy. It's all too strange. I just don't know what to think of it anymore..."
His younger sisters rubbed his back and kissed his cheek, eliciting a fond smile from the lad. "Don't worry, Frodo. Be happy. And tell me the rest before I sleep."
Frodo-lad sighed and grinned. Goldy had a sunny disposition that was sometimes contagious. In anycase he decided to take her advice for the present and try not to worry about such matters. But only for the present.
"And then the Black Riders tried to cross the river," Frodo began again, much more quietly than before. "But they would never cross. The Elves used their magic to flood the river. It came like galloping horses of foam and whoosh!" He made a sweeping motion with his hands. "It washed them all away."
"The Elves gave them a bath after all!" Goldilocks chuckled with glee, causing Frodo-lad to laugh softly in turn.
"See what happened when you don't wash behind your ears for thousands of years?"
Para the cat stalked into the gardens of Brandy Hall, sniffing and scanning the area with his bright blue eyes like a lion on the prowl. He crept through the flowers, smelling its way, until a familiar scent was caught on the wind. The tabby's head poked itself out of the flowers and his eyes fell on a figure at the foot of a heavy laden fruit tree, sleeping the afternoon away into the dusk that grew around them. It was his Master, who had earlier gone for a walk about the gardens and had taken to napping under one of his favorite trees from childhood.
The feline trotted over to the Hobbit and immediately set to licking his toes, grooming the fur found there. The Hobbit giggled in his sleep and kicked, but the cat gracefully dodged the flying limb and proceeded to continue with his grooming. Another groaning chuckle issued from the Hobbit but the cat didn't stop until he was practically squirming away, laughing breathlessly.
"All right, all right Para!" Frodo gasped, shooing the cat away. "I'm awake already." The feline meowed loudly at him, scolding him for sleeping outside he had no doubt.
"There you are, Frodo!" Merry's voice called out and Frodo climbed to his feet to meet his cousin as he came striding down the garden path, laughter in his hazel eyes. "I've been looking for you. You realize that you slept right through tea and dinner? If I hadn't a found you when I did, I would have gone on through supper and would not have spared you a single bite."
"Yes, I seem to be sleeping through a lot lately," Frodo yawned and stretched his stiff limbs. Maybe sleeping on tree roots wasn't the best idea after all.
Merry shook his head with a chuckle and clapped his older cousin on the back as he led them both back down the path and to the main entrance. "My word, Frodo, didn't you get any sleep in the Undying Lands at all? Did the Elves keep you up at all hours with their songs and feasts?"
"Rest always comes easier, I suppose, when one is closer to home," Frodo murmured, secretly noting the irony of his words. As much as he loved Brandy Hall, it hadn't really felt like home, not even after nearly a week of staying there in comfortable peace.
"Well, you are home now, my dear Frodo," Merry grinned, seeing no sign of the troubled thoughts that flashed across his mind. "And you can sleep as much as you want, as long as it's indoors!"
The two Hobbits, close friends since childhood, took their supper in the main hall of Brandy Hall that evening, and they spoke long of past time together, of vegetables stolen, of pranks pulled, of hours spent by the fire listening to tales that the elders told. How much did they long for those memories to be reality once more. How much did both miss those carefree times, before so many things changed and were lost forever.
Then the inevitable question came, the one Frodo had been trying to avoid speaking of ever since he arrived.
"What made you come back?"
The gentlehobbit looked at his younger cousin, ready to say something, anything, to end the conversation before it started, but he suddenly noticed the look in Merry's eyes, eager and resolute. He knew then there'd be no way to get around having to answer this time. Anyone who knew Merry knew that he would pester on as stubborn as a mule until he learned exactly what he wanted to know. Was that perhaps how he and Pippin were able to draw poor Sam into the conspiracy that set both cousins on a trek away from home which they had no purpose in treading, so many years ago?
"It was Bilbo," he spoke at last.
"Bilbo?" Merry blinked. "Was his death so bad that you couldn't stand to remain with the Elves anymore?" Then a concerned frown wrinkled his brow as a new thought crossed his mind. "Or did he say something to you that made you want to leave?"
"No, it wasn't the fact that he died only that made me leave," Frodo sighed and sipped at a mug of ale that sat on the table in front of him. "I grieved, of course, but I was also happy for him... He.. He went peacefully, willingly even. He knew his time had come and he had no regrets." Frodo took a deep breath. "And neither do I have regrets in that regard. I was there for him, and that was all that mattered."
Merry blinked, his frown deepening. "Well.. Then what was it?"
Frodo closed his eyes and he could see in his mind's eye the old Hobbit's kindly face, staring up at him from his death bed, imploring him. He used his last breathes to ask him. How could he refuse? "He.. lived a good, full life. And he said to me, before he went, that he.. he wanted me to..."
"Live a full life as well?" Merry guessed, causing Frodo to look up sharply at him. "Dear Frodo, do you really think he was the only one to have wished that for you? Nay, it was only he who had the nerve to confront you about it. To no one else, not me or Pippin, or even Gandalf, to no one else would you have listened fully, and we all knew it. You are one stubborn hobbit, Frodo Baggins. But luckily, dear old Bilbo was far more stubborn than you. I'm glad he managed to get the message through before it was too late."
"And what message is that, pray tell?" Frodo grumbled, looking at his cousin warily now.
"That you should move on," Merry leaned in, looking Frodo dead in the eye. "That you should accept what you cannot change and get on with your life instead of dwelling on it for eternity."
Frodo frowned at Merry. "What would you know about it," he said more sharply than he meant to.
Meriadoc laughed bitterly. "Indeed. What would I know. You can ask me that after having watched you for most of your life, secretly pining away for someone and never once speaking of your feelings until it was already too late."
Frodo sucked in his breath sharply and stared at Merry with an incredulous expression. "E-excuse me?"
"Oh don't be daft, and don't pretend that I am as well," Merry sniffed, taking a swift drink from his mug. "As if it weren't as plain as the hair on my feet that you were and are still in love with Sam."
"Merry!" Frodo groaned, leaning far back into his chair with wide eyes.
"Now don't you go running off into one of your hateful withdrawals until you've heard all I have to say. Unlike Sam, I will not tolerate it."
Frodo's breath was coming sharp and fast as he glared with shocked blue irises into Merry's own gold kissed hazels. He did not move to leave, but neither did he speak, which suited the Master of Buckland just fine for the moment.
"I already know what your thinking, and the answer is no," Merry started in on him. "Apparently no one else was able to tell about your feelings for Sam. 'Twas only I and Bilbo, who knew you best, that were able to see it clearly. Bilbo could see it for he had a store of wisdom of his own with which to call on for such foresight. I, on the other hand, was able to see it for what it was only because... I was experiencing the same thing."
"You were what?" Frodo gasped, his four fingered hand flying to his chest as if he might have a heart attack. "You! You don't mean to say that you too - that you-"
"Are you really that dense?" Merry's eyes widened and he leaned away from the table as if he had smelt something foul coming from that direction. "No, of course I didn't love Sam. That's not who I meant."
"Then who did.. you..." Frodo trailed off as he wracked his memory for any person, lass or lad, whom could have possibly fit into the puzzle that Merry was presenting for him. Then suddenly it hit him like a bolt of lightning and he looked up sharply at his younger cousin. "Oh.. no, Merry, you don't mean..."
"Yes," Merry nodded gravely. "Why do you think I've remained unmarried for so long?"
"So!... You mean you.... And Pippin never..."
"No. He never knew."
"Oh, Merry..."
Meriadoc Brandybuck took a last draught of his ale and sat back, looking into the fire light with that same strange shine in his eyes that he had seen three days before. His jaw was firmly set and his hands gripped the arm of his chair as if he were afraid he might fall off, ash brown hair reflecting gold from the light of the hearth. After a moment of silence passed like a river between them, Merry turned back to Frodo, his face set in a stern expression that commanded every bit of the Baggins' attention.
"Now," he spoke softly, "I know you like to keep your own counsel about personal matters, my dear Frodo, but I suggest that this time you try listening to some well earned advice. Take it from me, someone who knows the pain you are feeling - no one better." At this the gaze of Merry's eyes intensified, becoming almost smoldering.
"Forget of your love for him. Think on him fondly if you must, as a friend, but no more than that. He's living a different life now - we all are, in fact - and the sooner you start thinking differently as well, the better off you'll be. Dwelling on the 'might have beens' will only bring you unhappiness."
Frodo stared wide eyed at his cousin with a shock that barely aloud him breath. Forget? Forget about his feelings for Sam? But wasn't that just the thing he had been trying to do for the past fifteen years in Valinor? It was impossible! But Merry's words held a ring of truth. He couldn't change what Sam wanted, and what Sam had wanted had not been Frodo. He needed to accept that and move on, as Merry had put it.
And hiding would not help matters. He had done enough hiding in Aman. Isn't that why he came back then? To stop hiding from facts and return to living life anew?
The two Hobbits looked at each other and a kinship was felt that neither had noticed before, shared in fondness and a common pain. Meriadoc Brandybuck, Witch-king slayer and Knight of Rohan, reached out and embraced his cousin Frodo Baggins, Ring-bearer and savior of Middle-earth, and tears were shared in their bitter comfort of each other. The Lady of Night passed by their windows but went unheeded, for Frodo would not sleep again that evening.
"Honestly, Sam, I don't know what's gotten into him lately."
Samwise looked up from the book he had been reading to see Rose slipping into her nightgown, her swollen abdomen causing the fabric of the gown to stretch around it. He was already in bed, sitting up against some pillows and he watched as his pregnant wife plopped down heavily into her side of the bed.
"Frodo's just being a normal lad, Rosie," Sam murmured, glancing back at his book. "It's only natural that he should be curious about things long kept secret."
"But to go sneaking into the study like some kind of burglar," Rose shook her head, gingerly trying to lift up her feet onto the bed without rolling off. "Yesterday was the second time I've caught him. He actually picked the lock, if you'll believe it! Inexcusable." She looked at her husband as saw that his eyes were still locked onto the words of his book. She cried out in frustration and snatched it out of his hands to set on the night stand next to her side of the bed, well out of his reach. "At least give me the courtesy of listenin' to what I have to say and stop stickin' yer nose into some silly book."
Sam frowned at Rose. He had been listening, but arguing that particular point would not have made a difference as his wife was in one of her temperamental moods again. Ah, the joys of pregnancy.
"Ye could try talkin' to him, you know, and stop encouragin' him to be such a snoop," Rose told her husband flatly. "You never see Elanor acting the like, nor hardly any of the other children, although Pippin-lad certainly has his moments."
"He wouldn't be inclined to sneak around, Rose, if ye'd only let me tell them about the War," Sam was inclined to point out. "It's been fifteen years. It's about time they learn a bit about their history."
"But it isn't their history!" Rose exclaimed, batting the bed sheets with her open palm. "It's a history that belongs to the Big Folk and to all those other outlandish peoples out in the Blue. It doesn't belong to hobbits."
Sam looked Rose intensely in the eyes. "It belongs to Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, Rose. It belonged to Mr. Frodo. It belongs to me."
"That only makes it worse, Sam," Rose raised her voice a notch. "Ye had no business leavin' me to wonder out into the Blue without speaking a word about it to me or anyone else. Ye even lied to your own Gaffer about it."
Sam winced and looked away, his work-worn hands gripping the covers over his lap, golden locks of hair falling over his earth brown eyes as he stared hard at the floor. "I had a job to do, Rose. You know that. I've told you a hundred thousand times before already. I couldn't have left Mr. Frodo to go alone."
"Oh yes, always so concerned about what yer 'Mr. Frodo' thought, what 'Mr. Frodo' needed," Rose bit out, tears springing to her eyes that Sam didn't see. "What about what your Gaffer thought? What about Robin? What about me?! I needed ye and ye weren't there!"
Sam closed his eyes and lips tight over the barrage of tears and retorts that ached to spring forth from both. A sob caught in Rose's throat, and this time he did hear it. Turning around once more, he did the only thing he could think of. He opened his arms and took his wife into them, stroking her back comfortingly and kissing her curled locks of brunette hair that fell in tumbles about her face. She heaved softly against his chest and all he could do was hold her and hope that she would calm down soon.
At last Rose pushed away from Sam, eyes reddened and cheeks damp from crying. Sam blinked at her, his face near expressionless. She turned away from that look and shuddered.
"Sometimes I wonder where yer true loyalties lie, Sam Gamgee," she murmured.
Sam said nothing. What could he possibly say in response? He could never make Rose understand that he was in fact torn, heart and soul. His heart lived with his family and were dearer to him than anything in all the world. But his soul belonged only to Frodo, and he loved him more than life itself. Rose wouldn't be able to understand that, he knew. And so he remained silent as he switched off the light on his night stand and burrowed down under his covers, feeling coldness from behind his back where his wife lay with her own back turned to him.
That night, he dreamed of the cries of sea gulls and the caress of drifting beach mists.