Work Text:
The rain was coming down just as it had all those nights ago. Frodo was amazed at how persistent rain could be. From the two experiences he’d had so far, it always seemed to be raining in Bree, through either coincidence or plain bad luck.
He briefly considered that it might be nice to be rain, to just fall and fall and break into yourself and drift endlessly. But then he realised that this thought meant nothing and remembered unhappily that he was going mad.
He was almost home. He was ready for the adventure to be over, he had been for a long time, but over did not mean undone. Over did not mean a happy ending. A change of scenery would hardly succeed in stopping the corrosive sensation growing in his chest, the one that consumed him whole and was forever hungry for more than he could offer it. He felt empty about this as he sat in one of the booths at the Prancing Pony, watching the last of the night’s bar patrons stumble tiredly to their rooms. He was a shallow shade of them –a ghost– substanceless where they were satisfied. Frigid, while they were warm and rosy.
The rest of his company had already retired for the night, as they were to get an early start on the last leg of their journey the next morning. Merry and Pippin had spent hours recounting their adventures to Barliman, but having talked themselves into exhaustion, they’d left at last, creating a void of silence in their wake. Frodo was fairly sure Sam had gone with them, but he couldn’t say he’d been paying much attention in his state. He did not see the point in leaving his post by the window in order to lay disquieted in bed while envying the sound sleep of his friends.
The common space was almost entirely empty now, the evening’s laughing and drinking having subsided, the inn workers having cleaned up and likewise allowed rest to claim them and carry them to a tranquillity Frodo could no longer reach, even on his best days.
‘Holdin’ up all right, me dear?’
The sound of speech in the otherwise lonely and cavernous room startled Frodo to the point where he briefly considered his end might have come. It was only Sam (apparently not gone to bed). But after all, Sam was, in a way, the end of Frodo.
He was standing by the side of Frodo’s table, clearly looking for an invitation to sit down. Frodo gripped a flagon of beer that had been full for about three hours. He felt as though he might fade into the wooden backing behind him if he let go of the handle.
Sam had stayed by Frodo’s side throughout the journey back, but Frodo presumed this had more to do with fulfilling an obligation than anything else. They’d barely talked. They were drifting, and when they got home and Sam went back to his family or started a new one, they’d keep drifting and drifting until the moments they’d shared together became nothing but strange memories of a darker time. They were on the precipice of shattering. And Frodo knew that returning to the Shire would be the final blow.
He wished he’d done more and said more. His heart told him that there was still time, but he knew he would squander it. He was famous for squandering good time. He’d done it for decades.
‘What’re you after?’ he asked.
‘Well, ‘m not after anything,’ said Sam. ‘I’m just wonderin’ about you.’ He was less shy in his retort than he might have been a year ago. Frodo liked that about him. He’d gained confidence. He was sure of himself, but never unkind, and he’d carry that incredible quality forth into his doubtlessly wonderful future.
‘Can’t well go to sleep if you’re wondering too hard,’ Frodo said. It was bitter. He disliked that it was, but his voice had been undeniably bitter.
‘Exactly right,’ said Sam, not minding.
He sat down next to Frodo. Not across from – next to. Frodo pretended not to be thinking about it. He pretended it didn’t recall for him a conversation he’d had with one of the barmaids when she’d come to converse with him at the end of her shift, not but a few minutes prior.
I’ve heard the stories, she’d said, plainly. Everyone’s talking. You and your friends, your kin, have really done so much for all of us. I can’t say how much it means.
Frodo had thanked her curtly for her praise and expected her to move on.
I’m glad you two had each other, she’d added. You seem to really love each other, y’know? It’s nice, that.
Frodo had known that she was talking about Sam, but he’d been too disoriented by the comment to say anything to the contrary. He was starting to understand that their closeness had looked a certain way for quite some time. It wasn’t the look of it that bothered Frodo, really. It was the fact that he didn’t know whether something genuine lay beneath that impression. He didn’t know whether he wanted that something or not. He didn’t think he could afford to want it. It wouldn’t matter soon, regardless. The particulars of who they’d each become clashed and contradicted. It was a river forked into two distinct branches – Sam destined to be remembered as a champion of the world, keeping whatever sweet company he wished, and Frodo perpetually marked by a doom that, with the destruction of the Ring, was not so much averted as delayed.
‘What’s wrong, sir?’ Sam asked. ‘I can tell somethin’ is.’
Dear one moment and sir the next, thought Frodo hollowly, wishing Sam might make up his mind, or at least venture to call Frodo by his name for once. He longed to hear it unimpeded by formal prefix.
‘I can’t go on,’ he confessed, staring out the window and into the rain. He tried not to think about how Sam’s eyes must look. ‘I can’t go home, I mean,’ he expounded, ‘I ought to just stay here.’
‘Here, Mr. Frodo? In Bree? But you haven’t any of your belongings here. You haven’t a home. And I’d…miss you.’
‘I haven’t a home anywhere, Sam. Things have changed since the last time we were here, can’t you see it?’ Frodo felt Sam take hold of his hand. He hadn’t done that in a while. Frodo felt empty about it, or at least, he tried to. But something secondary lurked in that conjured emptiness. He was reminded of his own tangibility, that for all his feeling so, he was not transparent, nor invisible, nor lifeless.
‘I’m certain things have changed in the Shire as well,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been afraid to say it, but there’s darkness everywhere nowadays. Even amongst all the hope. And I think…well, I just don’t think I can handle it. It might break me to see how much the world has altered beyond my knowing. How much of myself has gone…It might mean I’ve failed if I don’t return, but I can’t care about that now. I took the Ring to Mordor, didn’t I?’– Frodo thought of the consequences of raising his voice and decided they were worth it. He also thought of the consequences of wrenching his hand away from Sam’s and decided they weren’t – ‘I got so far, I really did, but these final steps seem the worst of all! I don’t want to be a hero anymore, Sam, I just want someone to tell me it’s all going to be all right, even though I’d know it as a lie the second I heard it!’
Sam was silent. This had puzzled him. Or so Frodo thought, because in truth, the following sequence of events made him into the more puzzled of the two.
In an instant, Sam’s arms were around Frodo, and, while not an uncharacteristic embrace, it was a startling one. Frodo didn’t know the etiquette for it. He didn’t know if there was a simple way to say what he felt, so he said and did nothing at all.
‘It’s going to be all right, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam whispered. The unfounded certainty in his voice was nearly enough to move Frodo to tears. It was too much and it felt too sincere. He knew the words were empty and the touch was temporary, but in the moment it was easy to convince himself that this was not so. Easiness was something he feared.
‘I never thought I’d be back here,’ Frodo said. He closed his eyes and waited to feel Sam’s arms retreat from around him. The feeling did not come. ‘I never thought we’d all make it back here. I never thought about what comes next.’
‘Don’t you worry about what’s next,’ Sam said, releasing him enough to look at him. ‘What do you want to do now? We’re here, ain’t we? And not for much longer, seein’ as we do leave at dawn.’ He emphasised this part, as if to say, respectfully, I’m not going to let you stay here alone . ‘You haven’t a task to complete anymore, so you can do what you like, really. What would you like, Mr. Frodo? I’ll do my best to help you have it.’
‘Well, I don’t expect I’ll be singing and dancing on any tables again.’ Frodo recalled his last visit to the Prancing Pony with a funny sort of heartbreak. It was regret, yes, for his carelessness, but also envy of that very same quality, one he wished to know again. Perhaps there was something only slightly careless he could throw himself into. Something unwise but not deadly. He contemplated Sam’s question a little more and was surprised when an answer surfaced.
‘I’d like to stay awake and watch the sun rise, I think. Peacefully, without worrying about what the next day will bring. Would you do that with me?’ Frodo thought it would be something like closure, Sam and himself, quietly witnessing the break of one of their last real days together, before their lives came rushing back to them.
‘Of course, Mr. Frodo, that sounds right lovely to me…’ He trailed off reluctantly. ‘There’s only the issue of the rain.’
‘Ah.’ Frodo had indeed forgotten that rain would impede the sunrise. ‘You’re right,’ he said, biting back tears. ‘Forget I said anything.’
‘Now, Mr. Frodo, I won’t have us givin’ up so easy!’ Sam protested. ‘We’ll just have to hope the rain stops, won’t we?’
‘Sure,’ Frodo said in a quiet voice, once again finding himself flattered by the lengths that Sam was willing to go to in order to cheer him. Even if he thought it his responsibility, his manner of execution was overly considerate. ‘Let’s find out if it does.’
There was little else to do but sit facing the window, and wait.
Frodo half-wished he had something more to say to Sam, something to help them pass the time, but he didn’t want to force it. And besides, the absence of conversation was thoroughly unfelt. It seemed thoughts alone were enough to crowd the room.
Frodo found himself trying to look at Sam in such a way that Sam wouldn’t notice. At first, he glanced over every now and then to ensure that he wasn’t bored or frustrated or tired, but once Frodo had verified that Sam was, in fact, content with this, he kept looking anyway. He didn’t think he could be blamed for it. He’d never really had the chance to take in the trueness of Samwise Gamgee, and he might not be able to at a future date.
Sam’s hair was longer than it was in Frodo’s memory. It was the first time Frodo had realised this, and it took him at least four subtle looks to see it. It made him seem more knowing and wise, as did some aspect of his eyes, or maybe the way he directed his stare, since it was too dark to see his eyes anyhow.
Frodo had never thought him simple, despite that being the general impression most tended to get, but he was only just beginning to understand the sheer volume of what went on in Sam’s head. From what he’d heard so far, he was fairly certain he was qualified to say that all of Sam’s thoughts were beautiful, or at the very least, worth listening to.
After they’d been sitting awhile, they began to pass Frodo’s flagon of ale between them with a steady, reliable rhythm, each taking a few slow sips before allowing the other to have it. Frodo was careful not to imbibe too much, but he drank enough to quiet his mind.
When the rain dissipated and the fog behind the windows began to take on the greyish-pinks of morning light, Sam spoke again to Frodo.
‘I’d like to say, I’m glad we shared it,’ he said.
‘The ale?’
Sam shook his head. ‘The journey. The…well, all of it. Life. Everythin’.’
‘Oh,’ said Frodo, not wanting to feel these words as deeply as he did. He countered with, ‘I daresay you’ve known me too long.’
Sam seemed mystified, but still easy. Easy in his eyes and in his hands, one of which had found itself on Frodo’s arm, stroking gently against his shirtsleeve. ‘Well, I’d like to know you longer.’
‘You’ll see differently one day.’ Frodo said. ‘There are things you might not care to know.’
‘I can’t think why you’d say that.’
Through gaps between the trees outside, the sun began to spill. It flowed slowly, as if to fill the silence; it lit up the wooden floor, the tables around them, Sam’s hand.
Frodo decided to show him. Even if it ruined them, he couldn’t stand to let one more thing eat him from the inside. He wanted it out of him. He’d lose Sam anyway, and it was better to have it done quick. The method he chose was unwise and not deadly, but it pretty easily approached the area where foolishness and deadliness intersect.
It was almost not a kiss, as the manner in which Frodo pressed his lips to Sam’s was, on the whole, quite faint and reluctant. However, he lingered. He couldn’t help it. He was cognizant of the fact that it was an invasion, but Sam had not yet made any move to indicate that he was displeased. A hand was suddenly cradling the side of Frodo’s face. There was kindness in the sensation. He didn’t want to say love , didn’t even want to think it, but there was maybe a bit of that there too. He broke the kiss, which was undoubtedly a kiss after all, despite its uncertain beginnings.
‘My dear Mr. Frodo,’ was all Sam said. Frodo realised that he had drawn those words out himself, and he wondered if he’d perhaps be given a prompt opportunity to do it again.
The sun shone benevolently. Sam smiled tentatively. This time, it was Sam who kissed Frodo. And he kept on doing so thereafter.
It frightened Frodo, at first. The quiet, unhurried kisses placed on his lips felt like more than he had earned. He felt they belonged to someone else, that they were not his to have, and not his to return, though return them he did.
Amidst all this, Sam began murmuring things to him. He would say my dear , and they would connect again. My love . Connect. Adore you . Connect. Everythin’ to me , and then they came together once more.
Frodo was hesitant to stop. Once they stopped, they’d have to talk – real talking, different from what Sam was doing –and maybe if they talked they’d discover they didn’t have the same ideas about what this was. If they talked, Sam would realise that it was Frodo he’d been kissing, just Frodo. Frodo, who had torn apart on the slopes of Mount Doom and would never quite piece himself back together. Frodo, who was responsible for every scar and ache Sam carried with him. Frodo, who was not something to want, who didn’t even want himself.
But what scared him more than the thought that he might later be despised or cast aside by the one currently showing him so much affection, what scared him far worse than the idea that this was not real, was the way he was starting to believe it.
Somewhere in between all those kisses and gentle words, he’d begun to truly understand that he was loved. That he was deserving of all of it. That he was more than just a corpse of someone who could have been. He didn’t know what to think. It was the most terrifying thing.
Frodo smiled at that realisation. It might have been that he was very tired, or that he was lightly drunk, but he found something comical in it. He was daunted by this, of all things. If anyone should be able to have some perspective at the moment, it was him.
He kissed Sam again. It wasn’t so scary, the more he did it.
It was true he’d hardly ever imagined coming back to Bree alive, but even if he’d hoped, he would never have foreseen this aspect of it. The rainy night had been awfully similar to last time, but everything else was new.
It was like the same tune put to different words. He laughed thinking about it.
Sam looked at him, a bit of trepidation in his expression. He seemed like he might be a little afraid too. Frodo wanted to allay that. Possibly, they did need to talk. The morning was coming on rapidly and they’d need to get ready to leave soon.
‘My Sam,’ Frodo said. ‘Do you–’
‘Please come home with me,’ Sam interrupted in a whisper. It answered Frodo’s unspoken question. ‘I know it won’t be like before. But I’ll be by your side. That ain’t gonna change. Not ever. I’ll carry you if I’ve gotta; y’know I can, y’know I’ve done it. I’ll carry you all the way there if you can’t find the will in you to walk. So please, will you let me bring you home, Frodo?’
‘Yes,’ said Frodo instantly. He knew he could keep this promise. This time it was not an oath to the world, but an oath to Sam, and to himself. ‘Yes.’ He figured he might start doing more things for just Sam and himself and no one else. They’d done more than enough to warrant it. He’d try. ‘Yes, let’s go home, Samwise.’