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The air seemed empty and still, the sort of bleeding hollowness that rises up from the ground of a space once lively with voices and now quiet. It seeped into Frodo’s veins, the utter silence wrapped around his head and crept into his ears. It was quite relieving, in a way. The quiet hum of the insects beginning to come out for the warm, dewy air of summer was far more relaxing than the bustling chatter of partygoers. Just a few hours before, the place had been buzzing with excitement- people having three conversations at once, talking over each other and interjecting, shouting to be heard over the group prattling away just to their left. The loud music emanating from a corner of the yard could be heard growing louder and rowdier still as the night went on and the guests got drunker, and eventually stopping altogether when even the band gave way to the temptation of an ale.
Frodo had borne witness to the entire debacle that had been the Midyear festivities, and while he had enjoyed himself a decent amount, it was entirely correct to say that he vastly preferred the silence and stillness that a post-party atmosphere had to offer. As he was gathering empty cups of ale and collecting a rather impressive amount of dirty dishes, he heard a rustle that disrupted the eerie quiet that he was just beginning to be used to. He glanced up from his task, precariously balancing around five steel cups in one hand and a stack of plates in the other. As he scanned his surroundings to determine the origin of the noise with a bit of fear, convincing himself that it was simply some kind of wild animal that had scampered into his backyard again. Instead, he saw a mess of blond curly hair attached to a nervous-looking hobbit.
“Sam, what are you doing here?” Frodo inquired lightheartedly, laughing at his own initial fear of what turned out to be his best friend.
“I just wanted to come and see if you needed any help, you know, cleaning this all up. I know it can be difficult to clean up after such a big group of people, and I wanted to offer a bit of aid, Mr. Frodo.”
“Thank you Sam,” replied Frodo, relieved. The gentlehobbit within him wanted to argue against the offer of help and insist that he could do it himself, but he felt that he and Sam were beyond such pleasantries. He plopped a few of the plates into Sam’s open arms and sighed. “I’ve just been picking up the leftover plates and such, if you wanted to help out with that. We can just drop them inside- I don’t think I’ll have the energy to wash any dishes tonight.”
“I could, if that would be of help to you. If you brought the dishes in, I could wash them up for you.” Sam spoke awkwardly and stiffly, his movements abrupt as he took the plates from Frodo. It was nothing like his usual, carefree demeanor, putting Frodo slightly on edge.
“All right, if you insist.” Frodo decided not to push the matter- if Sam wanted to tell him what was troubling him, he trusted that he would. Sam wandered off into the smial, leaving Frodo alone with the task at hand.
Thus began the monotonous task of clearing away all evidence of the night. Frodo was used to it- ever since Bilbo left, he always had felt a sort of obligation to host parties similar to the ones that his uncle had been famous for. Upholding the Baggins name was never going to be an easy task, but given his uncle’s reputation of eccentricity and strangeness, he felt that he had to follow in his footsteps and make all the residents of Hobbiton as uncomfortable as possible. And so, extravagant parties were held, and even after ten years of being of age, Frodo never married. It was sort of an unspoken thing that he knew enraged some of his more traditional relatives, though none of them were ever brave enough to confront him about his abstinence from the matter. Not that it bothered Frodo either way- he was perfectly content with his simple life alone in Bag End, with Sam as nearly his only companion.
While Frodo’s mind had been wandering and thinking of these queries of life, his hands had independently been gathering silverware and trash until they were full. He absently headed into Bag End to drop off his findings with Sam, who he found wiping off a plate with a towel.
“Here, Sam,” Frodo stated as he walked in the room, announcing his presence and seemingly startling Sam. He gingerly set the cups and silverware down on the countertop, pretending not to notice that Sam was completely off. He began polishing the forks first, grabbing a wet rag and setting to work. Sam opened his mouth, seemingly about to tell Frodo that he could do it on his own, but the protest died in his throat.
“Sam,” Frodo asked, after a period of prolonged, awkward silence. Coincidentally, Sam had started a sentence at the same moment, and they momentarily stumbled over each other with apologies and insistences on who should speak first, before it was decided that Sam would.
“Mr. Frodo, you know, on occasion I worry about you. And you ought to tell me if it’s not my place to say so, and I apologize, but I wanted to ask if you were alright. You’re always locked away in your study, see, and I’ve noticed that you never meet anybody.” Sam paused, sighing, seemingly waiting to be interrupted after his perceived outburst. But Frodo just looked at him, a little bit surprised, and anything but upset. This mild reaction seemed to embolden Sam to continue. “You should just get out a bit more, is all I’m saying.” he finished, rushing though his sentence.
Frodo sighed, resigned. He knew that Sam was right and that he only had good intentions for him, so he could do nothing but agree.
“I know, Sam. It’s just so difficult when everyone in The Shire can be a complete nuisance at times. You know how the Bagginses and Brandybucks and Sackville-Bagginses can be- especially those Sackville-Bagginses.” Frodo sighed, recalling the long-standing feud between Bilbo and Lobelia which he had been burdened to continue until she eventually died, whenever that would be. Frodo had the fleeting, terrible thought that she might survive longer than him through pure spite and determination.
Sam nodded, still looking worried. He went back to putting plates away, his mouth stuck in a slight grimace.
“I know you’re worried. But I have you. That’s all I really need.” he tried to give Sam a reassuring look to sell the point. It was the truth, either way.
Sam tried to hide his grin by looking down at the basin that he was washing the plates in, but Frodo could see the blush creeping across his cheeks clearly.
“You don’t mean that, Mr. Frodo.” retaliated Sam, polishing a silver goblet feverishly, avoiding eye contact.
“Of course I do. I would never jest with you like that,” Frodo teased, grinning. He spoke as if the banter was lighthearted, but he was being truthful. “You’re my best friend. More than that, even.” The words were tumbling out now, faster than he could stop them, pouring from his lips faster than his brain could process them. “I love you. You’re my closet companion, and you have been for the last ten years of my life.”
The air suddenly became still. The warm breeze trickling in from the open window lifted Frodo’s hair from off his brow slightly, and he suddenly realized that he was sweating. A look of interest faded into Sam’s face slowly, replaced by concern and then finally flickering into a softer gaze of love. Sam slowly walked toward Frodo, dropping his cup and throwing the rag over his shoulder. He softly put a hand on Frodo’s shoulder, conveying a thousand words with one touch.
They looked at each other for a few moments, before awkwardly tearing their eyes apart.
“I should be going now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Frodo.” Sam spoke, breaking the tension. Of course, he really shouldn’t have been going- but Frodo wasn’t one to point such things out. He instead simply nodded and stepped aside to let Sam walk out the door following behind him.
Frodo watched as Sam left the house, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed as Sam sauntered down the dirt path, between rows of flowers and greenery that he had planted.
“Sam,” called Frodo suddenly, just when he was nearly off the property. Sam turned around to find Frodo walking toward him. “Hold on a moment.”