Chapter Text
The celebrations marking the end of the war seemed never to cease.
Which, Frodo supposed, was something that made a great deal of sense. In times of despair, it tended to appear as though darkness was all-consuming and final, so when the clouds parted at last and hope arose again against all odds, people wanted to make sure they properly relished in their new freedoms. He couldn’t blame them for being happy.
Frodo only wished he could’ve been eased into it a little more gently. It was the suddenness of it all that bothered him. He’d become so accustomed to forcing himself to make it through just one more day, to survive taking just one more step, that it now felt unnatural to be surrounded by so much comfort and so many kind people. They were always offering him food or singing songs about him or asking him to take part in an important ceremony. They meant well –in fact, they meant to honour him– but Frodo was suffocated by them nonetheless.
He was most troubled by how overwhelmed he felt around his own friends, who had all changed for the better while Frodo had been changing for the worse. Merry and Pippin were heroes of Rohan and Gondor, who now walked around in the regalia of warriors, speaking of people and events that Frodo knew nothing of. And Aragorn was a king.
If the end-of-war celebrations had at all begun to die down before, they surged again in both magnitude and enthusiasm directly following the official coronation of King Elessar. Everyone was rightfully overjoyed, but Frodo just wanted to go home. Or go somewhere else, at least. Staying in the White City made him nervous, but the looming return to his old life was possibly more terrifying. Because it wouldn’t be his old life at all, and he’d be forced to face something he’d already known for a long time now: it was impossible to truly go back. He didn’t know what to do, and every choice seemed like the wrong one. Every place felt like somewhere he didn’t belong.
The night after Aragorn was crowned king, Minas Tirith was full of singing and dancing. The members of the newly-reunited Fellowship of the Ring naturally took part. Frodo had been content to simply observe the delight of his companions from afar, seeing as he didn’t have the heart to engage in any of the revelry himself.
For the most part, Sam sat with Frodo and kept him company. Frodo was glad of his presence. After months and months of having only each other to confide in, Frodo had figured that Sam would want to spend some time away from him, as anyone might, given their circumstances. Frodo wouldn’t have faulted him for it one bit, but Sam hardly ever left his side, and in the brief instances during which they were separated, Frodo found himself sorely missing Sam.
Still, they hadn’t talked much since the Ring’s destruction, not in terms of a real conversation anyway. Sam would sometimes ask Frodo if he was feeling all right or if he was in any pain, and regardless of the truth, Frodo would always nod in response to the first question and shake his head in response to the second. Frodo desperately wanted to talk to Sam, but he also wanted to make sure the first proper and serious exchange they had was about something that counted. He didn’t want to waste his words on anything trivial or banal; he owed Sam much more than that.
He’d mentally formulated countless hypothetical conversations, and the best ones always began with an apology. Frodo knew there was a lot he had to apologise for. He had a running list in his head, and he’d already decided that the most effective apology would be something halfway between professing individual remorse for hundreds of small mistakes (and a few big ones) and a general all-encompassing utterance of ‘I’m sorry for everything.’ He was indeed sorry for everything, but that didn’t feel personal enough.
‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it, Mr. Frodo? The music, I mean,’ Sam said from beside him.
‘It is,’ Frodo agreed distractedly. For a brief second, it almost seemed like they were both about to say something else, though neither of them did, and they returned to absently observing the festivities in silence.
Frodo’s evening took a turn for the worse when Merry and Pippin pulled him into the celebration.
More specifically, they pulled him onto a table and encouraged him to join them in a drinking song. He politely endured the first few verses and mumbled through the lyrics as well as he could, but he quickly became aware of how much attention he and his companions were drawing from nearby groups of people. He began to feel nauseous and immediately insisted on getting down from the table.
Pippin asked Frodo if he was all right, to which Frodo replied that he’d simply had too much to drink. In truth, he hadn’t had anything, but the explanation satisfied his cousins, who told him to go get some rest and heartily resumed their song.
Frodo had planned on returning to the spot where he’d been sitting with Sam, but Sam was no longer there. Frodo urgently looked around for him for a few moments before forcing himself to give up. Sam had likely gone off to find Legolas or Gimli or to get a closer view of the musicians and minstrels who were performing. He had a right to enjoy himself, yet Frodo still felt slightly downhearted. He was surrounded now by strangers and it brought him no comfort. On the contrary, it made him wary of some nonexistent peril, as if at any moment, any of the people around him might try to hurt him or take the Ring from him. No, that was wrong. He didn’t have the Ring anymore. It was gone, and so was the constant threat of danger. Nevertheless, neither seemed to have truly disappeared from Frodo’s mind.
Frodo slipped away from the crowd and kept walking, turning corners until he found himself in one of the city’s empty hallways. He could still hear the faint sounds of music and gleeful shouting, but this area was far quieter than the banquet hall he’d just come from, which was a small, but welcome relief.
After his eyes adjusted to the comparative darkness of the hallway, Frodo realised that he wasn’t as alone as he’d initially presumed. A short ways away from him, a small figure was leaning against a pillar and gazing out one of the large windows.
‘Sam?’ Frodo asked.
Sam jumped in surprise, as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. ‘Mr. Frodo!’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’
‘I can leave, if you like,’ said Frodo, though he took a step closer as he said it. ‘I wouldn’t want to intrude if you need a moment alone.’
‘No, you needn’t leave, sir,’ said Sam. ‘It’s true that I was tryin’ to get away from everyone, but you hardly count as an intrusion. I’m sorry I left without tellin’ you. I didn’t want to spoil your good time, it’s just a bit much for me, all the parties an’ all those people.’
‘I feel the same,’ Frodo said with a sigh. ‘It’s quite a lot. And all at once too.’
‘Are you well?’ Sam asked abruptly.
‘Yes, of course,’ Frodo answered instinctively. It was the answer he’d been giving everyone, including Sam, for weeks. However, it was starting to feel like a horrible lie. A betrayal of trust. ‘I mean… truthfully, I’m not so sure,’ Frodo corrected. ‘Though, I find it difficult to discuss.’
‘That’s fair enough, sir. I won’t press you for answers if you’re not comfortable. Is there somethin’ else you’d want to talk about?’
‘There is,’ Frodo remembered. ‘Sam, there are many things I’ve been meaning to say to you.’ Sam looked at him apprehensively, and Frodo wished the hallway wasn’t so dark. It would have been better if they could see each other properly, but Frodo wasn’t willing to put off this conversation any longer. ‘Most of all, I want to apologise,’ he continued.
‘What for, Mr. Frodo?’
‘Well, all of it, Sam!’ Frodo exclaimed, his voice raised and incredulous. He collected himself. ‘But there are a few things for which I am most sorry, and I’d like to express my regret properly, if you’d hear me out.’ He looked at Sam for permission. Sam nodded at him, though he still looked a bit perplexed.
‘First,’ Frodo began, ‘I’m sorry for underestimating you. When it was decided that you would come with me, at the very beginning I mean, when we thought we were just going to Rivendell and back, I thought I’d have to look out for you and make sure nothing bad happened to you. But it was never that way; it was always you keeping me safe, and I constantly failed to see that at the start, which is why I almost left you behind. I am thankful you joined the Fellowship and even more grateful that you insisted on coming to Mordor with me, Sam. I would have died without you.’
‘Oh, Mr. Frodo, you don’t need to–’
‘And I’m also sorry for treating you harshly. There were times when I took your help and your selflessness for granted, as it seemed to me that everyone in the world was against me. On more than one occasion, I insinuated that you were conspiring to steal from me, and though I was not of sound mind at the time, I still feel responsible for any hurt that may have caused you. Please understand that I know you would never do any of the things I accused you of, and that I hold you in the highest regard. Sam, I’m sorry, for those wrongs and all the rest I’ve committed.’ Frodo concluded his speech feeling as though it wasn’t quite enough. It could have been a grander apology. He could have said more, and he thought about trying to add on, but Sam didn’t give him the opportunity.
‘It’s forgiven, Mr. Frodo!’ he cried immediately. ‘Of course it is! I don’t blame you for any of it. Nothin’ that happened is your fault at all. I’ve never thought poorly of you and I never will. You haven’t hurt me, and I care for you just the same as I always did.’ He moved forward and placed a reassuring hand on Frodo’s shoulder.
‘I wish you didn’t forgive so readily,’ Frodo admitted. ‘You don’t need to, not right away, at least.’ It didn’t feel like he’d earned Sam’s forgiveness yet. It would have been easier if Sam wasn’t so kind.
‘Then I’ll forgive you later,’ Sam said resolutely. He released his hold on Frodo’s shoulder and took his hand instead. ‘When you decide you want to be forgiven, let me know, and I’ll do it right then and there. I’ll forgive you any time, any place. How’s that, Mr. Frodo?’ He smiled hopefully, and the somber mood was suddenly broken.
Frodo almost laughed. It was a silly idea, an absurd promise, but oddly, he felt better.
In the banquet hall, a song of celebration concluded and Frodo could distantly hear the sounds of the crowd cheering and clapping. In that moment, though he might not have realised it, he forgave himself a little.