Frodo Baggins was sitting in his favorite armchair, gazing
at the sparkling fire in front of him, holding an empty glass of wine. He was
nursing the glass for hours now, comparing it with himself: once filled with joy
and spirit; now empty and useless. An empty glass had no meaning for naught. He
sighed, then, disgusted with himself, he threw the glass into the lit fireplace,
watching yellow and orange tongues rise while the fine crystal exploded.
He knew he should come to a decision, but it was a very
difficult one. He also knew that things should not stay the way they were. Too
much sadness and loneliness, even though Sam, Rosie and little Elanor’s love
encircled him. But it was not the love he once had almost asked for. He had
rehearsed the scene back then: asking him to move in, telling him about his
feelings after dinner. That was when his world and hope were devastated one more
time. The marriage had been announced and he lost his chance. But still his
heart never stopped loving and it was breaking piece-by-piece, day-by-day.
Seeing Sam trying so hard to please both him and his darling, understanding wife,
dividing his attentions between a bright, cheerful baby girl and a tainted, old
hobbit. It was not fair. And so he decided.
He was leaving. Tomorrow morning. Forever.
But he hoped his departure would not be a lonely moment,
that at least he
Hurried footsteps and an infant angry wail robbed him from
his reverie. He stood up, searching for the font of the noise. Suddenly, as he
turned his back to the fireplace, he almost bumped into Sam and an all huddled
and sniffy Elanor.
“Mr. Frodo! I’m sorry to disturb you sir!” Sam
bended his knees in an apologetic gesture and at the same time adjusting his
child in his arms. “She was crying sir, and being so insistent to see you, it
seemed…when Rosie told her no, she started giving us a hard time, you see…I
beg your pardon!”
Frodo reached out for the girl who practically jumped into
his neck. He kissed her nose, blew her light bangs from her forehead, tickled
her belly until she was laughing out loud, letting out high pitched squeals of
pleasure and happiness.
“This little flower was just looking for some fun my
friend! Look at her Sam!” Frodo smiled widely, clutching the baby to his chest,
playing with her with ease and delight. Samwise looked at the pair, joined in
humorous teases, and thanked his daughter for such purity and free love. She was
the only one who could bring Frodo back from his sorrowful state of late.
Night fell and a chilly wind blew through partially opened
windows, invading Bag-End’s rooms with a fresh and sweet aroma of season’s
fruits. Autumn was beginning and this would be another rich and prosper year.
Dinner was served and Frodo was forced to eat by an over
zealous young mother, under the threat of a pointy kitchen fork on his arm. He
tried the best he could and managed to swallow half of the food offered on his
plate. He knew his inability to eat worried Sam and could very well end up
insulting Rosie in her cooking skills.
During the meal he heard Sam’s tales of the working day
he had had, Rosie’s stories and news of their six months old daughter. The
couple shared smiles and laughter. They were beautiful together…Frodo kept
silence, waiting to hear a topic he was anxiously waiting. The topic never
surged.
Two days ago he’d called Sam in his study and told him
about Bilbo’s birthday and his desire to go to see his older cousin. He had
asked Sam to go with him, at least for the first part of the journey, having it
clear in his mind that Sam’s absence for a long period was not something to
really consider anymore. So he asked, almost begged Sam to talk with Rose about
it. Sam’s face was a turmoil of emotions as he looked torn in two, again. He
wanted to go, but needed to stay.
That day Frodo just meant to visit Bilbo in Rivendell. Go
there, see his beloved and dearest cousin and then return to the Shire. But he
changed his mind. He remembered Queen Arwen’s offer to him: that he should be
able to cross the sea in her place, when or if a time came for him. The time had
come, and Frodo felt ready to say goodbye.
Later that night Frodo was sorting his clothes and
personal objects, trying to decide what was really important to him and what was
not. Even though he had conscience that his most precious possession would not
be allowed to be taken with him.He still waited for an answer from Sam.
Paying attention to the sounds out side his bedroom, he
wondered if he was hearing well, he was picking sounds of a muffled discussion,
barely whispered arguments and then a door being slammed shut with force. This
was no good. Frodo felt his heart clench and for a not too brief moment he lost
his orientation. They were fighting! Sam and Rosie fighting? Because of him! How
could this have happened?
As if he was blind, Frodo tattered for his bed, trying to
find a place where he could sit safely. Not falling. Oh there was the floor…but
it was moving beneath his feet!
The couple’s cries rose but still Frodo couldn’t
understand their meaning. The only thing he understood well enough was that he
would travel all the way alone. Sam was not coming.
A thin whine escaped from his lips, accompanied by a
ragged breath. His chest felt so full now! It did not accepted air to breathe…it
did not… The blue eyes widened and turned upwards, and his body shook all
over. This feeling was so alike to that one he used to have when the ring
threatened to dominate him. He was doomed now, for Sam would not rescue him.
Pain. His eyes shut down and it was all darkness again.
The moon was full and shone in all its glory. Her silver
tendrils fell on well cared gardens, making flowers, fruits and leaves glisten
in a bluish light. These silver rays also reached through Bag-Ends opened
windows, lending its interior an ethereal appearance. And when the silvery light
found a passed out hobbit, curled in the middle of his bed, a hand grasping
tightly the white even star lying on his chest, it did not left him for the
entire night. And as Frodo re-opened his eyes, he gazed at the moon, bigger than
ever, seemingly mocking his small soul.
It took him sometime to realize what was happening and why
he was laying full clothed across the bed. As realization came his lips quivered
in an attempt to repress a wail that menaced to escape. No matter how he tried
to suppress his crying, tears already were washing his cheeks, falling into his
pillow and blanket, which he clutched his hands into. His sobs found their way
out and now he stopped fighting and abandoned himself into a heartfelt weeping.
The sounds of his sorrow were carried, against his will,
beyond his bed and pillow. They reached the outside of his house, disturbing the
peace and quite of the gardens around it. Filled attentive ears of another
saddened hobbit who sought comfort among the plants he cultivated, trying in
vain to steal a little bit of life force from them, because in his inner he was
dying slowly.
Frodo lay face down, as still and quiet as his breath
allowed. His tense and closed eyelids encased torturing fantasies of a lonely
journey ahead of him. Sleep would never come, nor rest.
He didn’t care to worry about the sound of his door
opening and closing quietly. He had more important matters to think of. And as
he kept thinking and going insane, he felt a slight movement in his mattress,
someone sitting on its foot. He listened for the other’s familiar respiration,
but the rhythm was wrong, labored and cut.
“Sam? Is that you?” his voice so thin, timid, that
Frodo was afraid he hasn’t been heard. When no answer came he tried again: ”Sam?”
The answer came silently as he felt himself under the full
length of Sam’s body. Desperate arms were holding Frodo close and firmly. He
felt Sam’s nose and mouth next to his ear, almost kissing him. He reached for
a hand and took it in his own, adding some pressure and not letting it go while
he sensed Sam’s battle to not give in into tears. And Sam apparently won it,
although a couple of hot, thick, stray tears fell on Frodo’s neck, making him
shiver at the light and non intended, sad caress from his secret love. And then
Sam spoke:
“Mr. Frodo…excuse…” Sam seemed to have lost his
voice. “Frodo, my dearest! Forgive your Sam! Forgive me dear…” A gentle
weeping got out of Sam’s breast and Frodo turned to look at the face of the
only hobbit who ever made him feel really loved. And this hobbit was crying over
him now…
“Sush Sam… dear Sam.” It was Frodo’s time to hold
and sooth, kissing the top of the head he laid on his good shoulder. “You can’t
go with me tomorrow, right?”
“Yes. I’m sorry…talked to Rosie but…” still in
tears he left the sentence in the middle. “Sorry.”
“Don’t cry anymore my sweet love. I understand you.
Your Frodo is not hurt!” Frodo declared his love to the sobbing figure in his
arms. “Just stop crying and let me see your beautiful face. Please Sam…”
Tenderly cupping a wet cheek, Frodo forced Sam to lift and look at him. His
brown eyes were reddened and moist, but very alive under the intense moonlight.
Their eyes locked in each other’s for such a long time that life had resumed
into that moment and nothing more. Finally Frodo whispered to Sam’s ears only:
“I love you Sam. Always have loved you.” Sam let out a whimper, shaking his
head in disbelief. “Oh Frodo…the time we lost… I love you so much… Let
me show you this love!”
Frodo was amazed, because Sam was actually asking
permission to love him! “Show me! Kiss me, sweet Sam!” Cradling Sam’s nape
with both hands, he closed the distance of their faces until he felt the soft
touch of warm lips on his own. They both let out small gasps of surprise and
delight. This was so right, so good. Thus they put more contact, more pressure
into the kiss, enjoying their mouths tastes and textures. And when the tongues
met, it felt like lightening, a powerful energy which dominated both bodies.
Frodo’s hands began to seek for Sam’s skin under his
heavy clothes and he felt himself being denuded as Sam opened the buttons of his
shirt and traced a path of small kisses across his chest, reaching his navel,
going back to his shoulders. The scar on his shoulder was kissed and lovingly
licked, the magical mouth went down again to find an erecting nipple and lightly
nibble on it, and then on the other one. The small, wet kisses went up again and
Sam nuzzled Frodo’s neck and jaw, and went back in search of that magnificent
pair of eyes.
Frodo looked at his lover. He saw lust and love there.
“Oh Sam, why did you stop?” And that was Sam’s password to a series of
ravishing, hungry, thirsty, passionate kisses that ended with them completely
unclothed.
The moonlight made their sweat skins shimmer, giving Frodo
an almost translucent appearance and Sam was looking golden next to him. Now
they were both kneeling on the comfortable bed, a small gap between them,
allowing their eyes and hands to roam and study, trace and memorize the other’s
body.
A sudden urge to feel Sam’s scent possessed Frodo, and
he leaned into Sam, making him lie down on his back. Frodo rubbed their cheeks
together, and so he went on, smelling the perfume on the sandy hair, the thick
and sensitive neck, the broad, strong shoulders… the same that carried him
once so easily… He nuzzled the round, hobbit like belly, gracing it with
butterfly kisses that continued their path to a very hot place. Frodo’s mouth
had reached Sam’s groin and did not intend on leaving the area. Frodo could
not ignore the reactions his ministrations were bringing on Sam’s body. He got
closer to the fine erected member, kissing and licking its moist tip, while one
of his hands fondled the tightening balls, marveling at the softness of the burning skin. He knew that if he went a little farther Sam would lose control
and certainly would explode in his mouth. Frodo did not desire that, so he let
go of his worshiping task.
Frodo’s face floated above Sam’s, eyes semi closed, a
dreamy and inviting smile. One hand still caressing Sam, the other seeking for
one of Sam’s. He entwined their fingers, kissing them together and then guided
the hand to his aching erection, feeling the certainty of the of the finger’s
hold. He took Sam’s other hand, and as he gently kissed Sam’s lips, he slide
his lover’s hand over his hip, touching his small back, resting it on his
bottom. Sam’s hands started their own moves, taking time searching for
sensitive spots, skimming on smooth surfaces, stopping and gripping on aroused
parts.
Still kissing Frodo, Sam had understood his need and was
intent on relaxing him the most. He turned them both sideways, face-to-face. He
run his short and well trimmed fingernails along Frodo’s arm, torso, hip, and
leg. That slow, teasing caress woke even more Frodo’s skin, while tickling and
relaxing, bringing a small, pleased laugh from him. “Feeling good love?”
Sam smiled wickedly, repeating the gesture.
Frodo embraced Sam in a furious move, forcing Sam to lie
on top of him. He shuddered when their risen members collided and a delicious,
tantalizing friction began. “Sam, please… I need to feel you, love…Sam!
Join us!” His breath came in gasps and he fought hard to find coherence to
speak.
Sam eyed his beloved’s facial expression; he saw despair
and longing there. He could not deny it too. No, this pleasure he would give his
master, friend and lover, even if he was afraid to hurt him. Sam fumbled in a
close drawer, looking for a small bottle of scented oil he knew Frodo used to
stock there. It would help and ease their encounter.
The big blue eyes closed as Sam’s slippery fingers
touched his intimate parts. At first it was odd and, even with all delicacy Sam
bestowed on him, a little painful. But as his mouth was claimed again, there was
no more pain and his muscles relaxed in response; his legs opened further apart,
going around Sam’s hips. He was so light-headed, his surrender was so complete
that when Sam finally began a slow penetration movement, he sighed in pure
contentment and joined in rhythm and balance. A sure hand started stroking him,
making him feel feverish all over as the friction increased.
Their foreheads rolled against one another, their lips
slightly opened, murmuring silly but meaningful endearments. But while they
spoke of their love, no promise was made, for the time for them had stayed in
the past.
Release was found at the same time, their bodies spamming,
stretching and than melting on the other. Limbs were entangled and their breaths
sounded as one.
One last, long, tender kiss was shared. After that they
kept looking at each other’s faces. Frodo wondered if Sam knew this was their
first and also their farewell night. He touched the tired, sleepy face of his
beloved with the back of his right hand. “I love you. And now you know it. And
I’m glad for this.” He whispered in a barely audible voice. “Sleep now, my
sweet Sam.”
Sam closed his eyes, obeying his master’s command. But
his sleep was so superficial that among strange dreams he could hear Frodo
singing softly, and running soothing fingers on his hair.
"Still round the corner
there may wait
A new road or a secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun."
The song’s significance was clear to Sam and it brought silent
tears to his eyes again. He hide them on the white pillow case and let them lull
him into a restless sleep.
Frodo awoke from his short rest. He gazed outside his
window and saw the beauty of the day. Breathed on the fresh, fragrant air. Heard
birds singing happily on the trees. He took it all as a good signal, an approval
of his decision.
He stayed lying for some more minutes before rising. Sam
had left the bed a couple of hours ago, but Frodo could still feel his presence,
his wamth beside himself. The pillow, which Sam had used, was permeated with his
scent and perfume, and to Frodo’s amusement, stained with tears marks. Frodo
caressed the pillow, pondering a second if his travel was the right thing to do.
But it was. Already decided. So he embraced the pillow and stripped it from its
case. Carefully, Frodo folded the pillowcase and guarded it on a hidden place of
his backpack.
He was ready to leave. He said goodbye to Rosie, kissing
her tenderly on both cheeks, hoping for her forgiveness after the last night. If
she heard anything, she acted as innocently as possible. He held Elanor and sang
a prayer for her future; the
little girl cried and smiled, kissing him back. He waited for Sam, who had left
Bag-End early morning, in emergency business it seemed, or so said Rosie.
“Are you sure he won’t come back before lunch? I
wished to say goodbye…” Frodo was disappointed beyond words with Sam’s
disappearance
“Yes Mr. Frodo. I’m sorry…” Rosie’s heart was
breaking as she looked at the downcast face of her friend. “I am so sorry
Frodo. I hope your journey bring you peace, happiness and good fortune.”
“Thank you very much Rose. I know you mean it.” They
embraced once more. “Take care of your beautiful family, I’m sure it will
grow soon. Take care of Sam…”
“I will dear Frodo. I will.”
And so Frodo left Bag-End, memories and experiences,
tragedies and adventures, all behind him now. He did not turn back.
Rosie watched her old friend go away and waited till he
was out of her sight to go back inside her home. She picked Elanor up from the
green grass of their garden and kissed her round face.
‘Help me now darling.”
Entering Bag-End, she went straight to one of the usually
unoccupied and closed guestrooms. She opened the door and tried to see in the
thick darkness. Then she found what she was looking for. Not helped by her
eyesight but by her ears. The heartbroken, discreet sounds of muffled sobbing
and weeping coming from the curled and hidden hobbit lying on the narrow bed.
She approached Sam and rested a gentle hand on his shaking
form. “He is gone dear.” The only answer she got was a deep hurtful moan,
the sound of a dying animal caught in a trap. ”I only wish to comprehend why
you did this Sam…”
Sam was trying to compose himself a bit, or at least stop
sobbing so much. He evened his breathing and murmured through clenched teeth:
“I could not…wished not…to see him go. Without me!” His sobbing
resurging again as control was lost.
“It is alright love. You will be fine. We will be
fine”, Rosie bent down and brushed her lips on Sam’s damp cheek. Then she
lowered Eleanor and made her kiss her daddy. This settled, Rosie stood up and
left the room, only stopping to say: “It was your choice Sam. Not to go with
him. I told you to go. Now it is done sweetie. Mourn all you need. But come back
to us dear. We love you too.”
She left her husband to heal his soul wounds. She was
hurting too. But they would cope with the changes.
Life must go on.
The end.
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