“Now, where are you going?” asked Bilbo, still concerned for his cousin’s health.
“I want to talk to Sam!” Frodo answered from the smial. Mere seconds later, his curly head showed out from the study window. “Don’t worry Bilbo, I’m fine now. But I need a bath before I go.”
* * *
Inside his smial Sam was restless. He had tried to talk to his father once more, but it had failed to change his decision. If there was a living legend of hobbit stubbornness, it was certainly his Gaffer.
Seeing no other chance to avoid the departure, Sam decided to go to Bag End once again and try to talk with Frodo, try to bid him a proper farewell. After last night’s failure, he had hoped to have a word with him in the morning, but without success.
Sam was halfway up Bagshot Row when he saw Frodo, heading in his direction.
They stood staring at each other in a silence heavier than stone, for what seemed like an eternity. They could see signs of worry on each other’s faces, and the dark circles under their eyes spoke clearly of several sleepless nights.
It was Frodo who spoke first, his voice merely a whisper, but steady nonetheless.
“Please, forgive me Sam. I’m so sorry. I’ve treated you very badly. I’m having a difficult time, but there are no excuses for my horrible behaviour. You don’t deserve it.”
“Don’t you fret ‘bout it, Mr. Frodo. There’s no need to worry, now.” Sam paused and took a deep breath, his eyes filled with sadness. “I’m leaving Mr. Frodo, I’m going to …”
“I know Sam,” Frodo interrupted him with a deep sigh. “I overheard you this morning.”
Seeing Sam so distraught nearly made his heart break and he tried to reassure him. “Don’t worry, Sam. You will be all right with your brother, you are a strong and clever lad, you’ll get through it fine …”
But he could not go on. Suddenly Frodo felt a lump in his throat and was unable to hold back his pain.
“I feel so bad Sam. You are my best friend, you’ve always been, and I don’t want you to leave.”
“I don’t want to go either, Mr. Frodo, but I don’t know how to avoid this.”
Then Frodo closed the distance between them and hugged Sam, who immediately returned the embrace. They wept together for a while, and all the tension between the two hobbits melted away with their tears.
“Can’t you talk to your father … convince him to let you stay?” said Frodo, still holding him.
“I tried, Sir, but he thinks it’s better for all of us if I go … I’m not of age, and I can’t decide meself...”
When they untangled from the embrace, Frodo cupped Sam’s face between his hands with immense tenderness. He stared into the gardener’s amber eyes, so honest, sweet and full of devotion. Then, without thinking of consequences, heeding an irresistible need, he brushed his lips, the lightest of touches, upon Sam’s. Caught by surprise, Sam didn’t move or say anything.
When Frodo realized what he had just done, he blushed furiously and tried to babble a sort of apology.
“I’m … I’m sorry Sam, I don’t know why I did it. Please, forget about it … and forgive me …”
