A Fallen Angel

By Haeharmaiel

E-mail: Haeharmaiel@aol.com

Rating: PG-13

Paring: Frodo/Sam

Disclaimer: I don't own the charecters, places, and so son. All belong to Tolkien Estate and others. Not mine.

Author's Notes: This is set pre-Quest. It's book and movie based, as are most of my fics. Fluff ahoy.

Part One

In the homely, if a little disorganised and cluttered kitchen of Bag End, the kettle on the stove steamed and whistled. Biting his lip in concentration, Frodo poured the boiling liquid into two large cups, careful not to spill any on the table. He set the kettle down on its stand and stirred the tea absently, lost in his own thoughts, mesmerised by the sound of the teaspoon clinking against each rim. Picking up the cups, he took them to the parlour, where a very subdued Sam was sitting in his usual chair, pulled up close to the fire. Frodo sat opposite him, and wordlessly handed him a teacup.

"Thank you, sir," Sam muttered. A long, pregnant silence ensued, in which Frodo could very nearly hear Sam seething.

After an eternity, Frodo took it upon himself to break the tense silence that threatened to reign all night if something was not done.

"Sam." The sandy-haired Hobbit looked up at the sound of his name, but rather unusually, he said nothing and ducked his head, staring into the murky tea as though it could explain everything.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Frodo ventured further. Sam continued to stare resolutely into the cup, his fingers gripping it so tightly the knuckles turned white. He looked up at Frodo and met his gaze, his bottom lip trembling a little as he did so. He spoke in a low, hushed tone.

"It's nothing, Mr. Frodo. Nothing really. It's just…"

Frodo nodded encouragingly, holding his breath, waiting, wishing, trying to ignore the way the firelight flickered across Sam's face, trying not to lose himself in those hazel eyes. Trying to remember when he had first realised he was in love with Samwise Gamgee. Sam took a deep, steadying breath, bringing Frodo back to reality.

"Rosie and I…we've – well, I suppose you might say we've had something of an argument, sir." A spasm of pain crossed Sam's face at this revelation, and he rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

A strange sensation shot through Frodo; his heart ached terribly to see Sam like this. Sam rarely showed it when he was upset, so to see him moved to tears like this, over her, was a grim implication indeed. But even as Frodo loathed seeing Sam like this, his stomach gave a little jolt as he realised that this might just be the glimmer of hope he had been longing for, for what felt like forever. 'Will he tell me? Do I want to know?' Frodo wondered. 'If he won't tell me, dare I ask?'

He didn't need to give the prospect of questioning Sam further. His companion continued, his reluctance to discuss the matter seemingly forgotten.

"We seemed to be gettin' along fine, Mr. Frodo, just fine. But then she started to fuss. She was always badgering me, and she was always there. I couldn't go anywhere without seeing her." Sam looked startled. "Not that I don't want to see her of course," he hastened, "but sometimes I need to be on my own, with my plants and so on. It's partly why I love working at Bag End so much, if you follow me. And Rose…well, she doesn't like me hearin' all these stories about Elves and the like sir. Seems to think I'll go getting' ideas."

Frodo opened his mouth to object, but Sam carried on regardless. "Not that she has no respect for you of course Mr. Frodo, but after Mr. Bilbo left and all, she worries. She saw what it did to you, and it put ideas in her head, I reckon."

Frodo shivered, remembering that winter after Bilbo had left. Fending for himself in a cold, empty house had taken its toll on him. He had never felt so lonely. 'I don't know how it would have been if it wasn't for Sam.' He had been the only thing to keep Frodo going through those dark evenings and bitterly cold days. Sam had visited him whenever he could, and had always made sure that Frodo was eating, and not "stayin' up all night porin' over those old books."

Sam heaved a deep sigh. "So it all built up like that. One little argument after the other, until I go to see her and she's all cold with me, actin' like I'm hardly there, spendin' all her time talking to that oaf Ted Sandyman. It's like – it's like she doesn't love me anymore, Mr. Frodo." Sam's voice cracked, and unable to contain it anymore, he burst into tears, his broad shoulders shaking with every heartbroken sob.

Frodo sprang from his chair and was at Sam's side in an instant, putting his arms around Sam and pulling him into a comforting embrace. Sam tensed at first, unsure of how to react to this kind of contact from his master. But he settled into the hug, and let himself cry onto Frodo's shoulder, as Frodo patted Sam's back reassuringly, and told him that "everything would be fine," "it will all work out in the end," and feeling like a scoundrel because in his heart of hearts, he did not wish it to be so.


Later on that evening, Frodo walked Sam to the door to see him out. Sam had stopped crying after a while, and had seemed so melancholy that it was even worse than seeing him break down and cry. He seemed resigned, almost as though he was now willing to accept the circumstances, against all of his hopes and his better judgement.

As he turned to leave, he looked Frodo right in the eye, which Frodo found somewhat unnerving and yet so perfectly natural at the same time.

"Thank you Mr. Frodo," he said quietly. "I'm sorry that I did that back there. I don't mean to do it again." He bowed his head and stared at the floor, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"Sam…it's quite alright." Frodo hesitated, then leant his hand comfortingly on Sam's shoulder. "This is what friends are for, Sam. I'm sure you'd do the same for me." Even as he said it he felt the usual pang of regret that inevitably followed after these kind of sentences. Sam would so the same for him, but it would not comfort him. It would only make Frodo feel even worse.

"That I would, Mr Frodo." Sam looked up at the other Hobbit. "D'you remember, Mr. Frodo, when my Ma used to tell me stories?"

Frodo gave a soft laugh as he recalled it. "Of course I do Sam. She used to tell you about angels."

"That's right."

"Why, I even recollect when you first heard of them. You came running in to see us when your Da had finished work, to ask us if we knew anything else."

Sam nodded, and gave a weak, watery smile. "She said that angels were spirits, sent by the Valar to help the people of Middle Earth. They walk among us unseen, but they're always there."

Frodo returned Sam's smile wistfully. "You were enchanted."

"Aye, I was." Sam sighed. "I always believed it you know. Always. But I don't now, Mr Frodo. That's all they were; just stories. There's no one there watchin' out for me." He nodded in farewell, and walked away, shoulders hunched against the chilly breeze, leaving Frodo standing in the doorway alone.