Hearts and Souls
Sam/Frodo
"Come along, Frodo!" Bilbo's voice broke the silence that had been hanging over Bag End all day, making Frodo jump and look up, startled. "And don't look at me like some kind of frightened coney. You've been locked up in here the whole day, and now the sun's beginning to sink. You need to get out of here and take the air."
"I'm fine, sir," Frodo answered. "I just need to get this last part translated. It's eluding me..."
"Frodo...." Bilbo's voice carried an unmistakable undercurrent of warning. "You can't hide, you know. You'll see him at some point, even if it's accidental, as you're walking down the lane."
"I know..." Frodo scowled at the paper in front of him, covering it with his hand when he realised that all Bilbo had to do was look to see that the day hadn't been spent in careful translation. In fact, the paper seemed to be covered in one name and one phrase, over and over again.
"He'll hate me," Frodo whispered. "He must hate me."
"You'll never know until you ask him." Bilbo moved to stand behind Frodo, digging his fingers into the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders. "He has spent the past week in an agony of silence, desperate to ask about you but not daring." Bilbo rested his cheek against Frodo's dark curls. "It was just a kiss, Frodo. A drunken kiss. The longer you leave it, the bigger it will become for both of you." He shook Frodo gently. "The sun is still shining, even though it's bidding us goodnight, and the air is fresh." He paused. "Now, out you go."
"I'm not going to be able to avoid this, am I?" Frodo almost smiled, until the pain in his gut returned, ten-fold.
"If you avoid him much longer, he will leave," Bilbo said, straightening up and moving around the side of the desk. "He will find a job elsewhere. And Frodo, he won't just leave Bag End - he will leave Hobbiton. I will lose a fine worker, someone who knows Bag End better than any other hobbit in the Shire; his father will lose a hard-working, loving son." He prodded Frodo's forearm. "And you will lose the best friend you have made since you came to live here."
Frodo sighed and thought about pushing the paper away before he remembered what was on it, and pulled it toward him, beginning to tear it into tiny pieces.
"Go," said Bilbo, turning to leave the room. "You need to clear your head."
Frodo sighed again, and pushed himself to his feet, his breath hissing out in a surprised huff as he realised how stiff he was. He really had been sitting far too still for far too long. What he would really like now was a long, hot bath ... No, Bilbo was right, at some point it had to be dealt with, and he had let it fester for a week. Time to be done with it.
He dragged himself towards the big green door, fists digging into his kidneys to try and ease some of his discomfort. Bilbo had been right, it was a lovely evening, the blazing heat of the day faded into a dusty, dusky twilight, the sky ablaze with red and gold, fading to yellow and purple at the horizon. A perfect day.
The sight and smell of the day lifted Frodo's spirits slightly, and he set off down the lane with something approaching a spring in his step, his head tilted upward as he smiled at the sky.
It was only as he turned the corner that took him out of sight of Bag End, leading to a deserted part of the lane, that he suddenly ground to a halt, smile falling away.
"Mr Bilbo said to wait here. I didn't realise ... I'm sorry, I'll go." Sam looked at his feet, at the trees, anywhere but at Frodo." "If you want."
"Sam..." Frodo tailed off, all the memories of that night hurtling back. "Don't leave. If you can't bear to be around me, I'll leave, I'll go, just please stay. You have so much to give this place..." Frodo stopped himself, only too aware that he was babbling.
"You do, too," Sam protested, his earnest gaze finally settling on Frodo. He looked so unhappy that Frodo's heart actually skipped a beat. "I don't want you to go. I just didn't know what to say, what to do." He tore his gaze away and looked up and down the lane.
"What do we do?" Frodo asked plaintively. "Do we go our separate ways and pretend we never saw each other?"
"Would Mr Bilbo believe that?"
Frodo shook his head. "I suspect that he organised this." He looked around as well. "Shall we at least go somewhere a little more private? That is if you want to. If you’d rather not be alone with me, I would understand."
They stood awkwardly for a long moment, before Sam shook his head.
"We can’t stand here like a couple of ninnyhammers, beggin’ your pardon. Shall we walk down the lane a ways?"
Glad that one of them had finally taken the lead, Frodo nodded and they began to walk slowly. He kept a respectable distance even though he was itching to touch. But it was touching that had led to this awkwardness in the first place.
"Let’s not go to the Dragon," he said suddenly. "I don’t think it’s the place for us to be at the moment." He looked up at the sky. "It’s a beautiful evening. Let’s go down to the river."
"Yes," said Sam, his mouth lifting in the smallest of smiles. "Let’s."
*
They sat quietly, shoulders close but not touching, toes curled in the dry grass.
"It needs to rain soon," said Frodo. "Things are so dry now, and the river is low. You’re the weatherman, Sam. Will it rain soon, do you think?"
Sam squinted at the sky, the last rays of the sun turning everything a glorious mauve.
"Aye," he said slowly. "Feel the breeze beginning to build? See those clouds over there?" He pointed past Frodo, who turned obediently. He could feel the breeze lifting the hair on the back of his neck, and he realised that it was slightly cooler.
"See them?" Sam asked again, and Frodo nodded. "Thunderheads," Sam said. "Another day or so and the good weather will break."
"The end of summer," Frodo whispered, his voice wistful.
"Don’t sound so melancholy," Sam said, his voice soft. "We’ve a ways to go yet before the earth starts to sleep."
"That’s a nice way of putting it," Frodo said, his head still turned away. "You have a poet’s soul, Sam."
"Only what I’ve learned from you. Poetry is your world; mine is soil and growing things."
"It’s a good world."
They sat in silence as the evening darkened around them. Frodo could hear the water as it laughed on its long journey toward the far-off sea. He could hear Sam’s breathing, feel the heat of him.
"Sam…"
"I liked it." The words came out in a rush. "Don’t turn around."
Frodo kept his gaze fixed on the horizon. He couldn’t hear the water now. All he could hear was the beating of his heart, and underneath that, oh so softly, Sam’s voice.
"I liked it," Sam said again. "I just didn’t know how to say it. Do you remember what you did? You kissed me. I let you kiss me. Frodo, I may work for the Bagginses, but that don’t mean that you can just do what you like with me."
Frodo felt his hair move again, but it wasn’t the breeze this time, and he drew in a shuddering breath as Sam’s fingers touched the nape of his neck.
"Sam…"
"No. Let me speak. I don’t have the words, not like you, but let me try, please?"
Frodo nodded, closing his eyes as he tried to absorb Sam’s words.
"I remember the day you came to Bag End, even though I bet you never even noticed me. You – I had never seen anybody like you. You were so scared, but you were trying to hide it. It wasn’t working, because even from where I was, I could see you trembling like a leaf before a storm."
"I saw you," Frodo whispered. "The little lad hiding in the lane." His whole body shook as Sam’s hand cupped the nape of his neck.
"Sssh, there’s nobody here but us. Shall I stop?" Sam’s voice had deepened, taking on a tone Frodo had never heard before.
"No," he said finally, "don’t stop."
"So there you were," Sam continued. "elven fair. I thought I would be happy just to watch you through the years, making sure you never lacked for nothing."
"I never did." Frodo tilted his head back, gasping as Sam’s work roughened fingers stroked the delicate tip of an ear.
"And as I grew older, I realised that the feelings I had for you ran deep, deeper, maybe than they ought." The hand dropped away and Frodo held his breath.
"But I couldn’t help it," Sam continued eventually. "I saw you with your cousins, and I wanted that. I wanted some of your light to reach me."
"Sam…" Sam tried to quiet him, but this time Frodo would not be gainsaid. "I never knew, never realised. Love is such a complicated, complex thing. Such a small word to embrace such feelings."
"Aye," Sam said softly. "I reckon you’re right there. I’ve loved in vain for many a long year."
"Why did you never say?" Frodo missed Sam’s touch, but didn’t know how to get it back.
"What was I supposed to say? It’s not the kind of thing that I could casually mention to you over second breakfast! Serve up an ‘I love you’ with the scones."
There was an awkward silence.
"Oh," Frodo said.
"Oh indeed," Sam agreed. "I’ve been and gone and said it now." He paused, and Frodo again felt the hesitant touch of fingers against his neck. "But I suppose that what’s said is said, and maybe it’s best that way. At least you know."
They were silent again, listening to the distant revellers in the Dragon.
"They have no idea what’s going on, do they?" Frodo whispered. "Their lives are just the same now as when they woke up this morning."
"Mine can never be the same," Sam answered. "Nor can yours." Frodo heard him sigh. "If you want me to leave this place, I understand that. If you want to go, then I won’t hold you back. But believe me when I tell you this: I truly think my heart will break if you leave."
Frodo lowered his head, closing his eyes as he let Sam’s words wrap around his heart, as Sam’s hand once again closed gently on his neck.
"When I kissed you," he said finally, slowly. "I had drunk too much, that I can’t deny, but my reasons for the kiss were true, no matter what." He shook his head slightly, and Sam’s hand faltered in its gentle stroking, before resuming, feather light.
"I never had the courage," Frodo continued, "never realised that you felt as you did." He paused, gathering his next words and inspecting each one. "I don’t want to leave," he said finally, "and I don’t want you to leave." He stopped.
"What?" Sam asked, a laugh somewhere in his voice. "Are you struck dumb?"
"I am," Frodo agreed ruefully. "You have robbed me of what eloquence I once possessed." He swallowed. "And so I must do this."
He pulled away and turned around so that he was facing Sam, who was now little more than a shadow.
"A declaration, Sam. I love you. My eyes are never more clear than when they see you, my spirits never higher than when you are near." He smiled, even though he doubted Sam could see it. "You make me happy," he concluded.
His hands were lifted, held against Sam’s warm lips.
"I can’t match that," he stuttered finally. "The kiss … the kiss was everything I had ever hoped for, but it also started something in me – started a hunger in me. One isn’t enough, can’t be enough. I will need your kisses every day until I die because they are my nourishment."
"Such fine words you speak," Frodo laughed breathlessly. "I would not want you to pine away. Would you allow me to – nourish you?" He stopped, feeling Sam tremble. "What’s wrong? Sam, I’m sorry. I thought…"
"Yes!" Sam said. "You were right." He was able to say nothing more as Frodo leaned forward and claimed his lips.
It wasn’t how Frodo remembered, and yet it was as familiar to him as his own reflection. Warm, weather-chapped lips yielding to reveal a wet and willing mouth, a remarkably eager and educated tongue.
"Oh," Frodo said as he pulled back, maintaining contact with Sam by the simple expedient of tangling their fingers together. "Oh, Sam."
"I’m here," Sam’s voice was muffled. "I’ll always be here."
"Bilbo is a wise hobbit," Frodo said. "He planned for us to meet. I wonder if this is how he meant our conversation to end."
"It’s not an end," Sam protested.
"No," Frodo agreed. "That was a bad choice of words. This is where our conversations begin. Where we start to talk to each other, and never stop. We go on from here."
"Together," Sam whispered, leaning forward.
"Together," Frodo echoed.
The End
Feedback would be nice