Title: Letters to Haven
Date Posted: 24 January 2002
Author: Van Donovan
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam, Frodo
Pairing: Frodo/Sam, Sam/Rosie
Word count: 6,901
Warnings: Spoilers through Return of the King
Summary: Frodo reads through an old diary.
Notes: Written for fun. I own nothing.

---

Frodo returned to Bag End with a sigh, opening the welcoming green door so that it let the warm amber lights from inside flood his porch and spill into the night. It was silent within, which was a strange thing for Frodo to experience. Sam was gone now, as well as Rosie, and Elanor and the rest of the children. Only Frodo was left, looking into the large empty hole with a sort of sadness welling in his heart. He was happy, in part, for he knew Sam would be happier where he was now, but he knew he would very much miss him. He stood in the doorway a moment longer, then stamped his feet to loosen any dirt and shut the door behind him.

He moved silently into the kitchen, his feet not even causing a scuffle on the floor and set about making himself some tea. It would be a week at least, before the others would return, and he was content to have Bag End to himself during this time, for there were some things he needed to sort out, and he wanted to be uninterrupted when he did them. The kettle whistled and Frodo took his warm rag and pulled it off the fire, crossing to the low table and pouring the drink into his tea pot, where it steamed merrily. He rubbed his eyes as he sat down, and his hands found the tea. It was warm and soothing, like Sam used to make, although not as strong. He remained in silence sipping it for a while before getting to his feet and with a deep breath crossed into the room that had become Sam and Rosie's.

The room was dark, almost cold, and Frodo stood in the doorway for a long time, trying to will the tears that touched his eyes away. He moved inside, lighting the two lamps in the room, but found they brought no cheer with their glow. Instead, they only brought to light things that stabbed into Frodo's heart and memories. The bed was neatly made, with pillow covers that had fancy embroidery on them done by Rose herself. There was an old walking stick in the corner that had been Sam's favourite, and a table by the round window that usually had a vase full of whatever flowers were in bloom at the time. It now stood empty.

Also on the table was Sam's pipe, set in a fine little pipe dish, and beside it a large inkwell and quill. In front of both the inkwell and the pipe were several books, some of them ledgers, some story books, and one that looked like a well-loved journal. Frodo crossed to them and lifted the piece of paper atop them. In Sam's childish scrawl it simply read:

"These are for you, Frodo, to read or do with them as you please. -- Samwise"

Frodo set the paper aside and lifted the first, and smallest, of the books up. It was old, with a cracked spine and many bookmarks in it. Inside was a list of the many types of plants and flowers Sam had found and named, with little drawings by them, and handwritten notes along them. By 'Rose' there was a drawing Sam had done on his own, of a rose, and a few lines scribbled beside it, that resembled a poem. Frodo did not want to read them now, for he was not sure his heart could take it, and so he turned the page. He found "elanor" added in towards the back, drawn very delicately, with many details, and a soft quill. It was obvious Sam had not only loved the flower, but all associated with it, for so lovingly had it been added. Frodo smiled and touched the picture, then shut the book to investigate the others.

Two were log-books, of monetary records, town records, and things like official business. They were things he needed to keep, although they served little more interest than their covers, which were bound with faded green leather. He set them aside and finally looked down at the largest of the books, and the last. It was brown, although the cover might once have been red. The spine was cracked and pages were falling out, yellowed as they were, and Frodo gently folded the cover open, squinting at the faded brown ink on the pages. It was all handwritten, and the first date was quite a long time ago, set in the year 1393, when Sam was thirteen.

It was a journal of sorts, and Frodo pulled out the chair to sit in it while he flipped through the old pages of the hobbit Samwise. Here were recorded memories some of which only Sam knew, some long forgotten even by him, and as Frodo turned the pages to read them, he found himself being transported into the past, into memories that were not his, but were easily read by what Sam had once, long ago, transcribed.

The day was bright, with the sun glinting off the dew still fresh on the roses, and Sam was following his father down to Bag End to help prune the brushes around the fine hole. Sam knew that someday Bilbo would leave Bag End to a friend, or even Frodo his young nephew-cousin, and so long as he still wanted a gardener to weed the plants and trim the verge, the Gamgee's would comply. After his father Hamfast moved on, Sam would take over at Bag End, and so now he was following his father as he had been for years, learning all that he could about the excellent abode. Bilbo and his adopted nephew Frodo, who was over a decade Sam's senior, lived in the large hole together and as it was, Sam and Frodo were quite good friends, despite their age difference.

He spent the morning shaping bushes, weeding the lawn and watering the flowers, and by the time lunch came around, he was quite hungry, having skipped all the meals between breakfast and lunch. Hamfast appeared, his face red from working in the sun all day, and with a wave of his hand he dismissed Sam. "'et home, Samwise, all work and no play makes a 'obbit unhappy and unwise!" and he shooed Sam off. Sam left with a laugh in the air, for he did very much love that quote, as it fit him so well, and rhymed with his name no less. He had his hands on his trouser straps as he whistled a tune, prancing from Bag End back to his hole when he heard a scuffle down away.

Young Tom and Jolly Cotton were standing just off the road, laughing like malicious older brothers as they tossed back and forth a basket of flowers, while their sister Rose cried and cursed trying to get it back from them as it soared over her head. Now there was nothing striking about seeing Tom and Jolly picking on poor Rose, for they did it often, as most good brothers and sisters did, and often she scolded them as much as they, but Sam, who had just spent a morning trying to bring life back into flowers, grew angry as he saw the clear disregard the brothers had for the freshly cut blooms in Rose's basket. They would get ruined and trampled no doubt if Sam left them alone to misbehave, so he stalked forward with a glare in his eyes and shouted, "Hey! That's no way to treat a lady or her flowers!" Tom caught the basket with an 'oof' as all three turned to look at Sam, who was coming right towards them.

"You ought't be ashamed of yourselves, you two, picking on Rosie like that!" He came right up and snatched the basket out of Tom's hands. Sam was the same age as them, so he was not intimidating by being older, not bigger and certainly not wiser, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes and Tom forced a laugh.

"No 'arm done, Sam, we were just playin' weren't we Jolly?" Tom said with a smile, ignoring the glaring Rose gave him. Jolly rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged like it was no big deal.

"Yeah, just playin'. Rosie here can't take a joke, s'all."

"Off with both of you!" Rose shouted, stamping her foot in annoyance. "Or I'll tell father you cost me pennies from the market!" Tom and Jolly laughed and turned.

"Sure, Rosie," Tom called over his shoulder, then waved. "'Ave fun with your new boyfriend!" And Jolly burst into laughter at his brother's jokish prank.

Rose clasped her hands in front of her, blushing now, with her eyes on Sam's feet. Sam, oblivious to the situation, watched the pair walk off and shook his head. "Foolish sort, they are," he looked to Rose, mistaking her embarrassment for veiled anger, "here Rosie, I'm glad they didn't get too hurt." Rose looked up with bright eyes and reclaimed her basket smiling.

"Thank you, Sam." She put it under her arm and smiled at him. Sam wiggled his toes a little, as if unsure if he should go now, or stay and Rose laughed. "I wish I had brothers like you!"

Sam smiled and shrugged, wiping his dirty brown hands on his trousers. "Those two will grow up soon, if they know what's best for 'em," he said, glancing again in the direction they had gone, but they were already out of sight.

"Where you headed, Sam?" she asked, smiling now that her fears were gone.

"Off home to get some lunch."

"Come with me to the Green Dragon, Sam, I can get you a meal for free for saving my flowers." Her eyes were bright and pretty and Sam could not resist a free meal.

"Alright Rosie, I'll come," he said, and she laughed with happiness and leaned forward, kissed him on the cheek and took off running down the path that lead to the Inn. Sam paused, blinking at the kiss and raised a hand to touch his cheek. He suddenly blushed realizing just how sweet and pretty Rose was and instantly became self conscious about his own self, dirty as he was from gardening all day.

Samwise Gamgee had just realized what sweet things girls could be.

Frodo laughed, turning several pages into the future after reading about Sam's first real meeting with Rosie. It warmed his heart and he hoped he'd find some other gems inside this old journal as he read. The next entry he read wasn't dated, but he caught the name 'Frodo' in the paragraph and was thus compelled to read it, and as he did, he realized it was the account of Sam's first day working directly within and for Bag End, as Hamfast had taken ill, and Sam had stepped forward to fill the hole that Hamfast had left. As there was no date, Frodo could not tell the age Sam had been during this event, but he reckoned it was several years later from the events with Rose Cotton in the last entry he had read.

Dawn had not yet come as Samwise Gamgee made his way up Bagshot Row heading for the hole at the end of the row where Bag End proudly stood with it's green door round and almost glowing in the false gray dawn. Sam's breath puffed in the air before him as he breathed, and he made the trek across the dirt path and stopped before that very door. He produced a key that was his father's and opened it, admitting himself as quietly as he could. Both Frodo and Bilbo were fast asleep, and Sam wanted to make sure he had breakfast cooking in the kitchen before either of them awoke. This was his first time alone inside Bag End, and what he did now would reflect his future employment in both Bilbo and Frodo's eyes as well as his own Gaffer, who would shout his ear off if he messed up.

He shut the door with a soft click and the first thing he did, as he peeled off layers of warm clothing, was to start the fire up again, to make it merry and bright, as well as warm in the main hall. Then he set about making breakfast, trying to mind the clink and clack of the pots and pans as he found them in their shelves or on pegs upon the wall. Lots of eggs, which he fried, and bacon toasted to a crisp, with ham on the side, and his specialty: hashed taters, which were fried to a golden-brown crisp. He cut up fruit, and took bread from the oven, wherein it's warm arouma flooded the kitchen. He pulled out jams and custards from the pantry and put the tea on the pot so it could be heating. He was thankful he had eaten pre-breakfast before coming to Bag End, for even now his mouth was watering at the foods he was preparing. If he was lucky, they'd let him stay for second breakfast, and he'd like that very much.

By the time Frodo appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, the sun was streaming in through the windows, and although it was still frightfully cold outside, Bag End was quite toasty and filled with the best smelling breakfast ever, or so Frodo seemed to think. "Why hullo there, Sam," he said with a smile, as if he had not quite expected to see the young hobbit bustling about his kitchen.

Sam, who had been quite intent on the chicken he was basting, straightened with a start and smiled seeing Frodo there. "Good morning sir! I hoped my ruckus didn't wake you from your sleep!"

Frodo laughed good naturedly and gave him a smile that Sam had grown fond of. "Not at all dear Sam, in fact it was the smell that did it. It seems you've prepared Bilbo and I quite the feast!"

Sam blushed at that, for it was a mighty compliment indeed. He often had to cook for his brothers and family, but they never said much for his skills at cooking, although he was exceptionally good at it, even though he was not quite in his 'tweens. Frodo entered, sitting at the breakfast table and Sam hurried to flip over a glass and pour him some tea. "I hope you like the taste as well as the smell, Frodo sir," he said, putting the tea back on the fire so it would warm while Bilbo slept. He left the chicken alone for now, and went to gather a plate full of appetizers of sorts, for Frodo to have to start with.

"I'm sure I will, although I must profess it seems like you've been up for hours, making all this food. Won't you come sit with me and share a bite?" And to emphasis the point he patted the bench beside him invitingly. Sam paused and blinked, looking at Frodo. The boy, man really, as Frodo was almost thirty-three, obviously had no real concept of Master-Servant and Sam was quite sure Bilbo had never invited Hamfast to break the nightly fast with him. At least not before Bilbo had helped himself first. Sam had expected no less from Frodo, who he admired as much as Bilbo, knowing him to be as adventurous as Bilbo, and thinking him just as wise. "Come Sam, why do you hesitate?"

"I have to finish with the chicken, still, sir."

"Well go on then, but hurry, I don't fancy cold bacon."

"Oh, please sir, don't wait on me! It'll be done soon enough, you start right up." Sam then set the plate he'd made for Frodo down before him, and hurried back to the chicken, and started basting it again, getting butter everywhere.

Frodo's laughter wasn't malicious, and in fact Sam found he enjoyed the sound, and grinned with it, realizing how foolish he was being. He left the chicken to finish roasting and looked back to Frodo, who still had not started to eat, although Sam knew he must be quite hungry by now. "It is indeed a strange sight to see you bustling about my kitchen, Sam. Now get your plate and come keep me company."

Sam nodded, scooping up bacon and eggs and taters and toast onto his plate and then sat himself across from Frodo. It was easier to pretend Frodo had asked him to keep him company instead of just to sit and relax. Still, Sam was not entirely comfortable, eating there across from his master. "It's very good Sam, better than Bilbo or I for certain."

Sam raised his eyebrows at the compliment, and a question touched his mind. "Is it better than my Gaffers?" he inquired, not wanting to seem forward, but as his father had rarely cooked for his family, it would be interesting to see how someone else took to his food. Frodo shrugged as he ate.

"Your father does not cook for us, dear Sam: he is but our gardener."

Sam's fork froze in midair as he looked at Frodo after those words. He suddenly felt hot to his toes and was sure he was pink in the face. Hamfast didn't come in every morning and make old Bilbo and Frodo breakfast!? His mind raced then, with the words Hamfast had said to him before he had gone to bed last night: 'I like to get there 'fore dawn so there's plenty time to mix their feed before the sun comes up.'

"Oh dear!" Sam suddenly exclaimed, rising to his feet with a loud lurch as the bench scraped on the floor.

Frodo looked alert, his bright eyes wide. "What is it Sam?!"

"He were talkin' about the plant food!"

Frodo froze, taken completely aback by the statement, his brows turning up in an expression of confusion. Sam was suddenly stepping over the bench and running back to the fire where the chicken was sizzling. He took it off, as though he were going to run off and hide it away, and then looked at all the other food forlornly as well. How could he have been so stupid?! Of course Hamfast didn't barge into the Baggin's house in the wee hours of morning to make breakfast! They were gardeners; they planted flowers and fed them and watered the grass!

"What're you doing Sam?" Frodo was on his feet, by his side, looking with alarm as Sam seemed near tears, trying to gather all the food in his arms.

"I . . . I made a mistake sir! My Gaffer said he liked to be here before dawn, to get the feed mixed before the sun rose! And, O! I thought he meant he fixed you and Mr. Bilbo breakfast! I should of known, but that's what I do: always making the stupidest of mistakes! I'm so sorry! If you'd hit me with a pan out of fright I never would have blamed you sir!" Frodo laughed and put his hands on Sam's shoulders.

"It's alright dear Sam, calm down!" Sam stopped sputtering, but still seemed quite upset with himself. "This is by far the best breakfast I've ever had at Bag End! Bilbo does not fancy waking early to cook, and my skills are rudimentary at best." He took the chicken from Sam and set it on a large platter to cool, then turned the flustered hobbit around and sat him back down at the table. "Besides, as it's already made, there is no sense in wasting it." Sam sat, still holding the loaf of bread to his chest.

Frodo sat beside him on the bench, his back to the table, with an elbow resting on the top. "You did not scare me, Sam, I was only curious about the smells. I simply thought you were treating us to a breakfast to make up for your fathers illness. Is he alright?"

"Oh, yes, he's going to be fine." He set the bread on the table and stared at it.

"This can be our secret, Sam, if you're so worried about it." Sam looked to Frodo with hope in his eyes. "In fact, I think I've got a splendid idea! We can hire you as our breakfast cook! I will tell Bilbo as soon as he wakes up; he will be jealous he had not thought of the idea sooner!" Sam's mouth opened, to protest, but he was too happy to.

"Oh Mr. Frodo that'd be wonderful!" Not only would his stupid mix up not be found out, he'd also bring in some more money for Hamfast, and he could start working in Bag End even before Bilbo left.

"Although I fear I shall get hopelessly round, eating all this fine food," Frodo joked. Sam looked over to him and smiled.

"You look like you could use a few good Gamgee meals, sir, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Indeed I could Sam." And with that Frodo reached across the table and pulled his plate onto the other side, and before long the two hobbits were happily eating the fine breakfast Sam had prepared.

Frodo found himself laughing as he finished reveling in that entry, brought so to life by Sam's scrawl. It wasn't written in a dialogue so much as a long narrative, but when one read it as Frodo had, the words created a story, a novel of sorts, and it all played out perfectly clear in Frodo's mind. Seeing Sam as an unsure hobbit who was always making silly choices brought him to a warm smile. He had changed so much over the years. Frodo admired the loyalty he had, and his compassion. He had always wanted to be something like him, and even had grown quite fond of gardening because of his encouragement.

And then Sam had changed a lot, over the course of one certain year, and as Frodo flipped through the book, he noticed the entries grow shorter. Some were as short as "Gardened again", although there was a particularly long one written September 22nd on Bilbo's 111th birthday. Frodo only scanned it briefly, for he knew what had happened on that day: Bilbo had finally left Bag End, and gone off to live with the Elves, leaving Frodo as his heir. That was the same day Sam had become the full time gardener at the hole. He still made breakfast for Frodo as well, but by then, he and Frodo were such good friends that his presence was more like a long-time visit than working.

There were more pages, and Frodo found himself skipping past them, wanting to find the events Sam had recorded, if any, after his journey to Mordor. Sam had only been eighteen years old when Frodo made thirty-three and took over Bag End, so there was still much flipping to be done, as Frodo shared the same birthday as Bilbo and he had made thirty- three the same night Bilbo had reached one-hundred and eleven. Finally, the ink changed, some hundred or more pages past the Farewell Party entry, and instead of being a faded inky brown, the ink was green, and Frodo knew he was in the parts after the War of the Ring, for Sam had gotten fine ink from the elves in a variety of colours. The green was his favourite and it did not fade. Indeed, as Frodo's eyes fixed on a page, he felt that if he so much as touched the ink, it would smear, as though it had been freshly penned, although it was long since dry.

Frodo's eyes widened, as he read on, not having expected to find some of the things written on these pages. There was no date on this entry either, but it was clear the War of the Ring was over, and Sam was now living with Rose in Bag End with Frodo. The penmanship was what drew Frodo's eyes to the entry: it was hastily scrawled, sometimes big, sometimes small, with ink blots and parts of the page stained, as though water had been dripped onto it. Sam's usual childish lettering was hastily written, and Frodo had never seen such a scrawling before in the diary, so naturally, he began reading, and once more the printed narrative unfolded into a lost scene in his head.

Frodo and Sam sat in chairs before the warm fire in the main room of Bag End, Sam reading through a book and Frodo writing with smooth clean strokes in a large red tome. It had grown late out and Rosie and baby Elanor were both sleeping now in the room she and Sam had taken over as their own. Sam loved Elanor like nothing else, for she was so fair and lovely, but she was a baby and as babies did she cried a lot. So he was content to enjoy the silence of the fire by Frodo's side on occasion since she had been born two months ago and read, or just be. The scratching of Frodo's quill ceased for a moment, and Sam glanced up at his master over the side of his book. Frodo was rubbing his right wrist, as though he had written too much and was trying to cure a kink.

"It's late, Frodo sir, why not let it rest until morning?" he said, softly.

Frodo didn't appear to hear him, his eyes having that glassy-far off look to them as they had had more and more recently.

Sam sighed, moving his bookmark over to keep his place and set it down on the table beside him, rising to his feet and crossing to Frodo. He knew the book Frodo wrote in was an account of their journey to destroy the Ring, and he knew Frodo needed to write it, to get all that had happened down in ink, but the process hurt him, and every time Frodo had to recall another horrible memory from Moria or Mordor, he seemed to just transport himself there entirely, and withdrew from those around him. Sam cared too much about him to let him just float in his mind, even if he needed to write it out. "Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo looked up, finally, although he still didn't seem to see Sam. Part of Sam wondered just where in the book he was, whether it was Mordor or after, or before, but he dared not look. "Come on, sir, you should sleep." Frodo nodded then, setting his quill down and letting the page dry a bit, shut the book. He stood with Sam's help and then he blinked, and his eyes focused on Sam.

"What time is it, my lad?" he said, his voice soft.

"After midnight, sir." He put a hand on Frodo's shoulder to steer him. "Time for you to get some sleep."

Frodo resisted. "No, Sam, I want to stay awake tonight, you go on. Rosie must be waiting." His voice was empty sounding.

"I'm sure she's fast asleep, sir, as Elanor does so quickly wear her. I'll get to bed soon as you do, sir," he tried to coax him, but Frodo still resisted, his brows starting to beetle in annoyance.

"Stop it, Sam," he said, his tone a cool controlled statement. "You go on. There is no sense in you loosing sleep over me."

Sam almost turned to leave, but he looked up at Frodo's eyes and was stilled, as though he saw something there that pleaded for him not to leave. "Go on," Frodo said, his voice almost testy, "Rosie's waiting."

Sam's shoulders dropped, feeling something wrong fill the air and he turned back to Frodo fully and said, looking straight at him, "and she can wait a little longer; what's wrong sir?"

Frodo looked at Sam with those fathomlessly deep eyes as if searching his friends face for something. Finally, he pulled back so Sam's hand on his shoulder slipped off and said, shaking his head, "no. No there's nothing wrong Sam."

Sam's brows drew together, the faintest flickering of disapproval showing in his eyes, and Frodo saw it and looked away. "Please don't lie to me sir. I'd leave you alone, if that's what you wanted, but your eyes look at me and they seem to plead me not to leave. So I'm staying until you tell me your mind."

"My mind is clear, dear Sam," Frodo softly replied, then gently moved past him, with his feet carrying him towards the kitchen. Sam followed. "It is my heart that needs to be understood."

"Then tell me your heart, sir."

Frodo leaned against the doorway as if weakened by Sam's words. "I cannot."

Sam looked at Frodo's back, his mind trying to decipher what was going on inside that noble head of his. Frodo was troubled by something, and if it wasn't their part with regards to the Ring, he could not fathom it. "I want to help you, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo's arms wrapped around himself, back still to Sam as he leaned more on the curved door frame for support and shook his head. "No, Sam. You cannot help me, for it is you that causes me my grief." His words were almost whispered.

Sam felt cold, and suddenly he had to know what it was he had been doing all this time to destroy Frodo so. Ever since they had come back to the Shire, Frodo had changed, and if Sam was the cause of it, then he would be the only one to change it. He stepped forward and took Frodo's shoulder in his dark hand and spun him around. Frodo staggered, eyes wide as if he'd been hit and he backed up, into the kitchen. "Wait, Mr. Frodo!" He hadn't meant to startle Frodo, and he was shocked by the look in his eyes.

Frodo looked around the kitchen, as if seeking escape as Sam followed him. "Wait, wait, Mr. Frodo!" Sam two years ago would be crying at such an accusation, but now he only wanted to find the reason so he could try to right it. "Whatever it is sir, I want to make it better. Please, at least tell me." Frodo stopped at the large round door that lead into the pantry then turned around, his back to the door and shook his head at Sam.

"It is already done."

"What is done?" Sam was almost irritated, but he did not let himself rise to anger.

"Your heart, dear lad. She has taken it."

"'She'? You mean my Rosie?" Frodo's eyes fluttered closed with a nod and Sam just blinked. Frodo was upset because he had fallen in love with Rose? Suddenly, light dawned on him, and he felt his pulse quicken with understanding. "Oh! Oh Mr. Frodo! I never knew! You should have told me sir, I would . . . I don't know what I would have done, but," and he fretted, understanding it all clearly now. He watched Frodo sinking, defeated as if at last he would not have to keep his secret from his best friend any longer. "It must pain you every time she comes in with Elanor, the baby looking so much a cross between she and I. Oh, Mr. Frodo." He crossed the kitchen and went to embrace his master, but Frodo's eyes opened at the motion and Sam froze, merely a breath away from him.

"No, Sam, do not touch me, or I fear I shall be undone."

"'Undone' sir?" Sam said, perplexed. He only wanted to offer comfort. "Does it truly bother you so?"

Frodo's eyes looked at Sam, and Sam was taken aback by the depth of contained emotion he saw there. "Sam," Frodo said fondly, lifting a hand that Sam noticed was trembling, to touch his cheek. "I have never wanted anything more in my life."

Sam felt his heart crushing; his world shattering at Frodo's words. He loved Frodo dearly, but this was something he could not deliver, as much as he knew it pained his master to continue on like this. He raised his arm and touched Frodo's hand on his cheek, sadly shaking his head. "I said once I would give the world to you to make you happy, sir, but this thing you ask, I cannot give." Frodo's eyes closed and Sam bit his lip as tears fell down his cheek. "Rosie and I can leave sir, and take Elanor with us, if you prefer. Then you won't have to see her everyday, and wish she were your wife instead of mine."

Frodo's eyes snapped opened at Sam's sad words, and he felt sick suddenly, for Sam was wrong. "I don't want Rosie!" he retorted, and the force of his words made Sam blink in mid-sentence and gape at him, confused now.

"Then . . . what do you want sir?"

'O Sam,' Frodo heard in his mind. 'O sweet beautiful Sam, I cannot tell you, for it would break my heart, and yours, and we could never again be the same.' But he swallowed hard instead and tightly shut his eyes, for looking into that concerned face before him he felt all resolve melting away. Then Sam touched him, and he stiffened as the warm hands took his shoulders and pulled him to Sam's breast. He could not move, for he knew if he responded in like, his fate would be sealed. "Sam, no," he whispered, and against all his better reasoning he pulled away, pinning himself to the door to the pantry and stared with shame, his face turned to the floor.

"I cannot take this Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried, and it was a yell, but it was from frustration of love and Frodo clenched his teeth to hear such a cry. "If it isn't Rosie that your pining over and wasting away each day without having her, then what is it? Do you wish me to leave Bag End, sir? Are my services no longer needed? If it is my happiness alone that drives you mad, I will change! I can leave! I will do anything to take the sad look from your eyes!"

Frodo harshly reached out and grabbed the front of Sam's shirt and pulled him hard up against him, unable to help the rushed breath he had as the younger hobbit pressed into him. Sam's eyes were wide at the action, looking startled down at Frodo, who seemed to have a wild light in his eyes now, and who seemed suddenly short of breath. Frodo swallowed hard as he fought for control of his voice, and said in a whisper, "that thing I so very want, but know I cannot have is you, Sam. My body hungers for your touch and my lips crave your taste, but you must never know."

Sam, to keep himself from crushing Frodo, had put his hands out to either side of him, on the pantry door, and so now he found himself leaning into Frodo, held there by the tight grip of Frodo's hand on his shirt, and himself pinning the smaller hobbit before him. He could not mistake the hungry look in Frodo's usually listless eyes, nor could he mistake the way Frodo breathed or felt against his body. He wanted to know this was a joke, or some strange dream, but he knew it was neither. And so now what was he to do? to say? It would be a lie to say his body was not responding to the situation, but it was only from the intimacy of their positions, not because he felt likewise.

Wasn't it?

"Frodo," he breathed, finally, making a conscious decision to leave off the 'Mister' suffix. He waited until Frodo actually looked at him, and the fear in his eyes touched Sam deeply. He had never made many right choices in his life before, but he knew that above all else he wanted to see Frodo happy, and he alone could bring that joy, even if just for a short while, or a single night, so he leaned close and whispered, "I won't tell Sam, if you won't tell Rosie." Then he bent his arms a little and took Frodo's mouth with his own.

If Sam had expected resistance or hesitancy on Frodo's part he found none. The older hobbit simply shivered, and turned his head to the side to kiss Sam back. Frodo's hands released Sam's shirt, content to know he wasn't going to pull away, and the hands snaked around Sam's back, pulling his younger servant into him, letting his endless stream of pent up emotions pour out into the very one he had always craved.

Sam's arms slipped off the door and one found the back of Frodo's head, fingers lost in the dark curls there, the other slipping about his waist to pull him tighter. There was a battle raging here, and Frodo was winning although Sam had willingly lost himself. When he had been very young, Sam had had the slightest of crushes on Frodo, bordering on idol worship, and part of that longing from youth returned. Frodo broke the kiss with a gasp, and Sam found his eyes looking up at the ceiling as he sought for breath. Frodo might have seemed pretty and delicate, but there was nothing sweet about him now, as his hands explored the front of Sam's shirt, attempting to pull it out from where it was tucked into his belt.

Sam had horrible thoughts of Rose awakening to their noise and coming in to find them in such a state. He would never be able to explain it away, nor would he wish to. There was no doubt he loved Rosie, and very much so, and while he loved Frodo, it was not the same, and he would not want to lose Rosie for this. He pulled back, and doing so let Frodo pull the shirt out from his belt. "Frodo, no, I," Frodo looked up at him, eyes softer now, as if he were more controlled. Sam swallowed his pride and said, "we can't do this here." He gestured to the kitchen, with the bright lights and hard benches. Frodo pulled back, as if having known Sam would resist in the end and had braced himself for it.

Such a sadness crept into Sam's heart that he shook his head and took Frodo's hand leading him out of the kitchen and down the long hall, back to that green door which he opened easily with his free hand. It was a warm night out, and the stars were sparkling down on them. Frodo, heady with the realization of what was going on, shut the door quietly behind him and hurried along side Sam, his hand reaching to hold Sam's instead of being pulled along. They climbed over Bag End and ran along the soft grass until the light from the Shire was faded and the smoke from Bag End could not be seen.

There they tumbled in the grass together, laughing like they had in their youth, rolling down the hill. Sam lay on his back at the foot of the hill and he smiled softly as Frodo leaned up on one arm beside him, looking down into his friends face. "I know this is only one night, Sam, and afterward we must pretend it never happened, but I shall always treasure you for it, and with hope my heart will be eased."

Sam had no words to say to him, as the moon crowned Frodo's head like a halo, and he only closed his eyes as that Elven-like hobbit bent and kissed him where he lay for him on the soft grass of the knoll beyond Bag End.

Frodo, with his pulse thudding, shut the book with a sudden desire to read no more. He left the book there on the table and return to the kitchen, splashing his face with cold water and pacing a bit. He certainly hadn't expected to find that in the journal, and he was hot with sweat from it. He looked over his shoulder, into the sitting room where two large plush chairs were set up in front of the fire, one for Sam and one for Rosie, and another nearer the corner for an old friend who once had lived here, and whom Frodo had never met, although he bore his name.

Frodo, the eldest son and future founder of the family of the Gardner on the Hill walked to the old chair his father's master had once claimed as his own. He sank down into it with a sigh, for once again Frodo was master of Bag End now that Samwise had traveled over the seas to be once again reunited with his master, Frodo Baggins.

And Frodo Gardner sat back with a heavy heart, for not only did he grieve the loss of both his parents in such a short time but he realized he had quite a role to fill, now that he was master of this hole. He planned to discover all the old stories it kept secret.

And of those, Bag End had plenty.

.the end.

------
Authors Notes: Well this is finally done. Only took two days, but the story did not want to write itself, and I struggled hard and long debating on the slash scene. It is the hardest slash scene I've ever written, for it required a lot of force and tact to keep it remotely in character (for which I am a stickler for) and still have the yum of "Frodo against the wall being roughly kissed by Sam" which was what I was going for. @_@; I also am not sure this came out quite the way I wanted it to, but I think it's close to my initial intent. All the same, it inspired another Sam-centric story in my head which I may have to write in the future! (note: see When Hope Has Failed) Anyway, I'm curious about the "moral" you get from this story, and on any ways you think it could be improved. Did anyone guess the reading Frodo wasn't Frodo Baggins? Oh yes, and a note about the memory scenes, I tried to make it clear in the text, but I'll restate it here. Sam didn't write his journal like a novel, as I have posted here, but in a "I did this and that today, and Frodo said this and that" etc., but I wanted it to be a story and not a chain of entries, so I converted the and so when Frodo reads them, they "come to life". I hope that made sense! Thanks for reading!

( Leave feedback )