Warnings: Hobbit Lovin' abounds, and of course, this is slash (if you didn't know that then there's something wrong with you ;) ) slight depressive dream sequences.
Disclaimer: I don't own these scrumdidlyumptious beings; they all belong to Prof. Tolkien, the Lord of Middle-Earth.
Author's Ramble: You don't have to readA Hobbit Fairy Taleto understand this, but I think it will help understand what triggers Frodo's memories/dreams. This is also me first Frodo/Sam fic, and I found it slightly difficult to write, so I hope it's better for the trouble I had writing it. Thanks to all those who reviewed my M/P fic and asked me to post this! Hope you like it! Oh and /../ denotes a word in italics, 'cause my computer sucks.
Hobbit Of My Dreams
1. Deep Dreams and Hidden Desires
Frodo Baggins was no longer a young man. Though by physical appearances, he was hardly older than 33, he was really years older. Though no one knew it, a tiny gold band that he'd inherited from Bilbo caused his un-aging appearance. He enjoyed all the normal comforts of a gentlehobbit, and spent most of his days reading abook or taking a walk through the lovely gardens that his gardener, Samwise Gamgee, had planted around his home. He was admiring the new gladiolas that Sam had planted when the mess with Merry and Pippin, his two dearest cousins, happened.
Pippin had come to Bag End with his father, and, though Frodo had been warned beforehand, it broke his heart to see the normally sunny and buoyant Pippin downcast and frail. Pippin had poured his heart out to Frodo, telling him of his love for Merry, and the incident that Pippin called a 'mistake'; he'd told Merry his feelings and Merry had seemingly rejected him.
All had worked out in the end, Merry had realized that he'd felt the same way as Pippin and had offered him a Promise Ring, binding them heart-and-soul together without an official ceremony. But Frodo still felt that this happy occasion was bittersweet, and the dark circles under his eyes were an indication that he was not his usual cheerful self.
Sam noticed the shadows under Frodo's eyes, and that his normally pale skin had a sickly pallor. But, as his servant, he kept his mouth shut, though when he cooked breakfast that morning it was set in a thin line. He set the food down in front of Frodo who gave it a cursory glance but didn't pick up his fork. That was all the encouragement that Sam needed.
"You need to eat Mr. Frodo. You don't look very healthy, if you beg me pardon for sayin'," Frodo looked up at Sam, his blue eyes glassy and unfocussed.
"I'm fine Sam, you go ahead and eat and then you can show me those lovely flowers you planted in the garden," Frodo said, in a voice that was to Sam, weary and small. Sam shook his head.
"I think you're coming down with something, Mr. Frodo, an' I'm not letting you up from this table until you eat at least half of that." He sat down across from Frodo and gave him the sternest look he could give his master. Frodo smiled, a flash of his normal self, and then he picked up his fork and forced himself to eat exactly half of the contents of his plate. When he'd finished, he looked up at Sam expectantly. Sam nodded, his worry temporarily assuaged. He thought that perhaps a walk through the garden might actually be a good thing for Frodo, so he got Frodo's spring and fall jacket and walked outside with him.
"The flowers are lovely as always, Sam," Frodo said in a tired voice as he sat down on the garden bench. He was exhausted, having not had much sleep in the past ten nights. Nightmares and shadows chased him in his sleep; memories he'd hoped would stay buried resurfacing to cut fresh wounds in his heart. Nothing he did could chase them away, so he'd wake up in the middle of the night, sweating and sometimes even crying out, tears usually streaming from his eyes. By the fifth night, he'd forced himself to stay awake, not daring to close his eyes for more than a second for fear of the monsters that lurked behind his eyelids.
"Mr. Frodo?" Frodo started; he hadn't realized that he'd fallen asleep sitting there. Sam was kneeling before him, worry reflecting in his dark brown eyes, the breeze ruffling his sandy-blonde hair. Frodo smiled a sad smile, knowing that the deepest secret in his heart could never be fulfilled, shouldn't even be mentioned! He averted his eyes from those warm, trusting eyes, blushing slightly.
"Are you alright, Mr. Frodo?" Sam's voice sounded anxious, and Frodo involuntarily flinched when he felt Sam touch his forehead. "I'm fine, Sam," he said, trying to dodge the concerned look that Sam gave him. He stood up and gave a huge yawn.
"Why don't you take a nap before luncheon, Mr. Frodo? You look very tired." Frodo nodded, not really wanting to sleep, just wanting Sam to quit worrying.
"I think that's a god idea, Sam. Wake me up when it's time for lunch."
He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He was sitting on the bed, reading a book, trying to force himself to stay awake. If he closed his eyes the nightmares would start again. He didn't really know the moment that he stopped reading and shut his eyes; all he was aware of was suddenly not being in his bed.
"Frodo, what's the matter?" The voice again, the voice that constantly haunted him. Bright green eyes flecked with brown and a smile that could brighten up the cloudiest of days; thick blonde hair framing a cherubic face, a mouth that was always pouty, even when it was smiling. Frodo was young again, only about twenty, and this hobbit was older by seven years. How he yearned to touch that face, run his hands through that hair. "Frodo?" Frodo blushed for he was staring.
"I'm fine," he answered, hoping to ease the other's suspicions. The hobbit in question raised a light eyebrow and stared at him expectantly. He blushed again and looked away from those all-too perceptive eyes.
"I—I have something t—to tell you," he stammered, staring at the forest floor. He felt the sunlight warm on his back and the gentle breeze tumbling through his hair. He had to tell him, had to now or he never would. He snuck a glance up at his companion. His features had changed. A slight build had turned to that muscular body of a worker, his pale skin had tanned, his hazel eyes had turned a warm brown, and his hair was a shade darker. "Oh, Sam," he whispered, his heart breaking as the words spilled from his mouth unbidden. "I love you." The look of horror on his companion's face broke whatever resolve Frodo had had and he turned, fleeing the secret little grove.
He woke up with a gasp of pain, tears falling from his eyes. The dream had changed. Memory had melted into fantasy—only that fantasy had become a /nightmare/. A sob rose in his throat, and he forced himself to stop crying when he heard Sam's footsteps outside the door.
"Mr. Frodo? I hate to wake you, but lunch is ready." Frodo hurriedly wiped his eyes and willed himself calm. "Mr. Frodo?" The door opened just as Frodo got out of bed and he greeted the worried look of his friend with a forced smile.
"I'm awake Sam," he said, picking up the book that had fallen off the bed and setting it on the bedside table. He stretched and accompanied Sam to the kitchen. They ate in silence, Frodo focussing on his food, Sam trying to understand his master's sudden aloofness.
"Is something troubling you, Mr. Frodo?" Frodo winced slightly, knowing what his thoughts had been moments earlier. He shook his head, not looking up from his plate. "You got a letter, Mr. Frodo. From Mr. Pippin." Sam got up and got the letter handing it to Frodo. Frodo pushed aside his half-eaten meal and opened it. Inside was a cordial letter talking about the normal affairs of the Great Smials and day-to-day events. At the bottom of the letter was an invitation for Frodo (and Sam, if he wished) to join Pippin and Merry at the Green Dragon for a meal, or (if the weather permitted) a picnic by the river, that Saturday. Frodo drafted a response immediately, saying that he and Sam would be delighted to join them for a picnic, and he sent Sam to post it.
When Sam returned, he found Frodo outside, sitting on the garden bench, reading a rather old-looking and large book. He decided not to bother him, and went back to the daily care that he gave his flowers. Frodo, who was not actually reading the book, was waging an inner war with himself. His dream earlier was plaguing him, and the recently uncovered feeling he'd long kept buried for Sam.
He remembered how happy Merry and Pippin had looked when they finally admitted their feelings, and he yearned to find that happiness. More than anything, he wished to get the weight of his secret off his chest, but the memory of the last encounter he'd had with forbidden love left him cold with the fear of Sam's impending rejection. 'But', his heart countered, 'what if he doesn't reject you?' That thought left him even more frightened than Sam rejecting him. Their simple friendship would be changed forever, and they would have to face many difficult challenges, should their relationship be found out. 'He would probably just be horrified at the notion of you loving him', his mind told him, 'So why worry about those things when they probably won't happen?' He shied from that cold inner voice, wanting desperately to believe his heart.
He heaved a heavy, sad sigh and shut the book, getting up and walking back into Bag End, the matter still unresolved.
Saturday arrived with blue skies and a warm summer breeze. Merry and Pippin came around lunchtime, with a picnic basket and warm smiles. It was obvious that they were in love, and anyone who couldn't see it deserved to be called daft. They both hugged Frodo, and Merry commented on how tired Frodo seemed. Frodo played it off as nothing more than a slight cold and smiled brightly. A little too brightly to Pippin's perceptive gaze. As they gathered things and put them in the basket along with the things Merry and Pippin had brought, Pippin took Frodo aside.
"Is something troubling you, cousin?" Frodo glanced away from those knowing green eyes; Pippin had become a little wiser with love, and Frodo /did not/ want to talk to Pippin about his affections. He shook his head and smiled a genuine smile.
"I'm fine, Pippin," he said. Seeing Pippin's skeptical look, he added quietly, "I've been having trouble sleeping, that's all." Pippin opened his mouth to speak, but Merry called them over and he shut his mouth, giving Frodo a 'we'll talk later' look as they headed out the door.
The picnic was just what Frodo needed. It cheered him up to have a carefree day spent with his three friends laughing and talking and eating with leisure. Frodo soon forgot the dreams that plagued him and the growing yearning in his heart. He simply enjoyed the company of his friends and the beautiful summer day.
2nd Author's Ramble: I realize that I "chopped" this chapter off at a bad part, but I'm not used to having to edit my stories and I hope it works out. If you want to review and tell me if anythign could use changing, I'm open to ideas, because to be honest I'm not really as happy with this one as I was with AHFT. The second chapter should be out before I leave on Monday, but I'm not making any promises with this. Hope everyone has a great Holiday!