Note: Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed so far! Your words are appreciated. Again, this story is not intended to insult a particular cliche or the authors who write them. Personally, gay Sam is not my cup of tea, but if you like that sort of thing, then that's fine. Also, I should mention that this parody is a mixture of bookverse and movieverse, leaning a little more heavily toward the books. :)

Chapter 2: The Shadow of the Stalker

Seventeen years had passed since Bilbo departed for Rivendell. For most residents of Hobbiton, they were mostly uneventful years, but for the local doctor and his unusually large staff of nurses, it was a terribly busy time. Mr. Frodo Baggins of Bag End had always been an unusual sort, but since Bilbo left he was more peculiar than ever. He was always coming down with strange illnesses and twice the local undertaker had mistaken him for a corpse and nearly buried him alive—much to the excitement of the Sackville-Bagginses.

"He's bound to bite the dust sooner or later," Lotho declared over his usual ale at the Green Dragon. "Nobody can come down with tetanus that many times and live."

"Except for Mr. Frodo," Sam Gamgee said loyally, seated at his usual seat near the bar counter. He remembered just in time to glance at Rosie Cotton and pretend to make eyes at her. Rosie, who hadn't heard the rumors about Sam, thought his gesture was genuine and blushed behind the mug she was scrubbing.

Lotho was not fooled. "Seems to me like you're a little too fond of that Mr. Frodo of yours," he sneered at Sam.

Sam's ears turned red. "You shut your mouth, Sackville-Baggins."

He swallowed the rest of his ale and stalked out of the Green Dragon. Once Sam was certain he was alone, he sighed and leaned against the nearest tree.

"Frodo Baggins," he muttered to himself. "What a chump. What a weakling! I hate the way the common cold can land him on his deathbed. I hate the way he coughs and sneezes in the dead of night. Most of all, I hate the stubborn way he insists that he's fine all the time! And yet…" He pulled out the heart-shaped locket he always wore around his neck. A picture of Frodo was contained inside. "…I love him!" His eyes misted over and he held the locket close to his chest. "When will I ever gain the courage to tell him how I feel? To tell him that every time he sneezes in my direction, my heart sprouts wings and soars off into the sunset of my love! Oh, how I treasure every germ that comes my way. Every soulful gaze from those tormented eyes. Be mine, my dearest hobbit, be MINE!"

Rosie Cotton, who was lurking outside, crept over to Sam with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. Sam threw an apple at her and ran off.

He trotted back home to his hobbit hole, where the Gaffer was outside tending to his cabbages, and went to the little shrine he kept at the very back of his closet. In a fit of creativity, Sam had built a little statue of Frodo's head and shoulders using a curly brown wig, the top half of a dressmaker's dummy, and two bright blue marbles for the eyes.

Sam sat adoringly in front of his shrine, scribbling poetry in the little notebook he kept hidden in the closet.

F is for that fruit that gave you a rash
R is for the roast beef you puked in the trash
O is for operation—you've had quite a few
D is for the drugs you took for the flu
O again is for the orc that pinned you to a tree

Dear Frodo, no one loves you as well as me.
Love, Sam.

A knock came at his bedroom door. "Sam, lad, what's going on in there?" asked the Gaffer.

"Uh, nothing!" said Sam, hastily shutting his notebook.

"Well get your arse outside. Mr. Frodo's petunias need watering."

Sam gasped and ran in front of his mirror to make sure his hair looked all right. Now was his chance to tell Mr. Frodo how he felt! Armed with his watering can and a pack of breath mints, he trotted on over to Bag End to give the petunias a good watering. A fit of coughing brought his attention to Frodo's bedroom window. The object of his affections was laid up in bed, as usual, recovering from a broken arm and one of his usual springtime colds.

"There he is," Sam whispered to himself, peeking into Frodo's window. He had become an expert at peeking without getting caught, since he always watched Frodo get undressed for bed every night. He clutched the heart-shaped locket around his neck and trembled. "Oh, if only you would shine those brilliant eyes upon me with more than friendship in your heart! Why, oh why, do I fear to speak? Why won't the right words pass through these adoring lips? I long so much to say those words—the words that will unlock my soul and bind me to you forevermore!"

Suddenly he heard breathing behind him.

"Oh, Sam!" gushed Rosie, who had been following him again. "Please, say the words. I—"

He threw another apple at her and knocked her unconscious.

Sam resumed his spying through Frodo's window, hoping to catch the sickly hobbit with his shirt off, when the sound of wagon wheels alerted him. Gandalf had come along for one of his frequent visits. Frodo struggled out of bed and slowly went to meet the wizard, while Sam shifted position and found a new window to crouch under. Soon Frodo and Gandalf were in the kitchen, sharing a pot of tea.

"How's the hip feeling?" Gandalf asked Frodo.

"It aches a bit when the weather is bad," said Frodo, pouring a cup of tea. Frodo had gotten his right hip replaced last year after falling off a roof.

"Well, I must say, you're walking very well without the crutches. But I didn't come here to inquire on your frequently failing health, dear Frodo. Do you still have that ring?"

Sam's ears perked up as he continued to eavesdrop. Fear gripped his heart. What was all this about a ring? What if Gandalf was hoping to marry Frodo? It was more than Sam could bear!

"I've still got it," said Frodo. "It's in the trunk next to my bed. I can go fetch it if you—"

"No, no, allow me," Gandalf said, gently pushing Frodo back into his seat. "I wouldn't want you straining that arm of yours."

"Don't you touch him," Sam muttered jealously under his breath, watching the whole thing through the kitchen window.

Gandalf soon returned with a shiny gold ring. Sam held his breath, waiting for the wizard to get down on his knees and propose to Frodo, but instead the two old friends continued to sit around the table and talk. And talk and talk and talk…

…and talk and talk. For what felt like hours. Sam began to grow quite bored. They chatted at length about a ring, a dark lord, and something about the end of the world, until Sam thought he would fall asleep and have sweet dreams of Frodo. He must have started snoring and alerted Gandalf, because suddenly the wizard grabbed him and yanked him into the kitchen, slamming him onto the kitchen table like something out of Sam's daydreams.

"Confound it all, Samwise Gamgee. Have you been eavesdropping?" Gandalf demanded.

"I'm more interested in pants-dropping, actually, sir," said Sam. He blushed and stuttered out, "I-I mean, uh, I haven't been droppin' no eaves, sir. Honest."

"Well regardless of whether or not you've been eavesdropping, there is great evil stirring in the East. The Dark Lord, otherwise known as Sauron, is gathering power. His servants are hunting Frodo this very moment."

"I don't blame them one bit," said Sam, glancing longingly at Frodo. "I mean, uh, how dreadful! What are we to do?"

"We must make haste," said Gandalf. "Frodo has already agreed to leave the Shire. It's no longer safe for him here!"

Meanwhile, a couple of Ring-Wraiths on black horses came riding up to the Shire. They were trying to gather information on Frodo's whereabouts, but they had forgotten to bring their identification papers and were in a spot of trouble with the hobbits who guarded the border.

A hobbit in uniform was questioning the nearest Ring-Wraith. "What are you doing in the Shire?" he demanded.

"What are you doing in the Shire?" said the Wraith, deciding to be a smartass.

Another hobbit stepped forward and demanded, "What's your business in the Shire?"

"What's your business in the Shire?" the Wraith shot back.

The two hobbits looked at each other, completely at a loss.

Back in Bag End, Frodo had caught a chill from the open window and was tucked up in an armchair with plenty of blankets, while Gandalf decided what to do with Sam.

"He knows too much," Gandalf sighed. "I could let him go, but then I would have to kill him."

"Or he could come along with me," said Frodo. "I'll need somebody to carry all my stuff."

Sam tried to still the rapid beating of his heart. "Oh, yes, Mr. Frodo! Let me come with you!" He hastily cleared his throat. "So I can impress all the ladies, of course. I just love the ladies! Especially that Rosie down at the Green Dragon."

"Oh, Sam!" cried Rosie, appearing on cue. "I knew you cared!"

Sam stared at her in wide-eyed fear, then beat her with the tea kettle and knocked her unconscious again.

Note: If anyone was wondering, yes, I based some of Sam's behavior on Helga from Hey Arnold. Because it was fun. This chapter also contains a reference from That 70s Show.