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That was a beautiful night of full moon. The stars shone brightly and there was hardly any sign of clouds wandering in the sky. It was a night like any other for the hobbits, almost too normal for Frodo. After all that he had been through, Frodo’s sense of normality was altered. He still didn’t sleep peacefully, always reacting sharply with the slightest leaf rustle in the garden. He didn’t want to be there, but his friends insisted that he needed to leave Bag End for some fun. Now everyone danced around him, partying for no apparent reason. Maybe they celebrated that they still had their lives, something Frodo didn’t think he could understand — no more. The Ring had taken away part of his joy of being alive, but not only the Ring: the dark blade on his shoulder, death before his eyes, every minute of pain, hunger. In the nights that he could sleep a few hours, he had nightmares and woke up panting, sweating from head to toe, shouting for them to leave him alone. Sometimes it happened in the nights that Sam spent with him, although most of the time the arms of his now-boyfriend calm his turbulent mind.
“Do you wanna dance?”, Sam invited him for the third time that night, always hopeful. Behind him, Frodo could see Rosie Cotton peeking. Sam had just danced a few songs with her, nothing that bothered Frodo particularly; he almost considered her as Merry and Pippin, although some days something in his heart told him she could make Sam happier if she was his companion instead of himself.
That was one of those days. Therefore, Frodo just lowers his head to the untouched drink in his hands. He had been left alone at the table, while the younger hobbits went out to dance with the others.
“I’m afraid not, my dear Sam.” Despite anticipating that response, Sam didn’t seem any less unhappy. “But don’t bother with me, go back to Rosie, she’s waiting for her dance partner.”
His intention wasn’t to imply that Sam was unfaithful or something like that, but his almost harsh tone made it seem so and the hurt almost overflowed from Sam’s eyes. Frodo felt like beating himself up for being such a terrible boyfriend. He lowered his eyes once more, unable to bear looking at Sam.
“Why do you push me away, Frodo?”
“I don’t do it.”
“You know well that you do, I’m quite sure of it.”
With that, Sam turned his back to him, pulling Rosie by the hand. Frodo noticed the girl asking if they had argued, so innocently expressing her concern for her friend. She was so good to him, unlike what Frodo would ever be. He wasn’t a good hobbit, he never had been; everyone always thought him strange, especially after the departure of Bilso. Frodo wasn’t a good friend, constantly refusing the requests of Merry and Pippin to go for a walk beyond Bag End. He wasn’t a good boyfriend, often hurting Sam deeply. Perhaps the only thing he was good at was being Bilbo’s nephew, and he no longer had Bilbo.
The thought grieved Frodo, who, with a heavy chest and a cloudy sight of tears, left the ballroom by the back, invading the small wood that was there. He walked stumbling until he fell on the roots of a tree, where he burst into tears, hugging his knees.
How could he be so clumsy and not good at nothing? He had failed in everything he tried. He was failing with Sam, his sweet Sam, always willing to carry Frodo. It wasn’t fair with Sam being so often up to his neck in the mess that was Frodo.
He was so distracted that he barely noticed when a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and shook him.
“Love? Are you okay?”, it was Sam. “I saw you leave the table with muddy eyes. What happened? Why did you come here?”
“Oh, Sam… A deep anguish struck me and I had to come to hide. Sorry for worrying you. You shouldn’t have to come looking for me, I don’t deserve your concern.”
“Don’t say that, my love. Come, let’s go home.”
Sam held him up in his arms, as if Frodo were unable to walk. Perhaps, he wasn’t, because instead of protesting, he grabbed the shoulders of his boyfriend and hid his face stained with tears in the curve of his neck.
Pausing for a moment, Sam raised his face to the full moon and seemed thoughtful.
"By any chance, are you having cramps, love? I just realized that it is that time of the month."
Frodo just shook his head.
“No. I mean, a little bit, since I took my medicine before leaving home.”
“I see, you get more emotional these days. I’ll make you some tea when we get to Bag End, okay?”
He nodded, snuggling up in Sam.
“You smell so fragrant, my love.”
“You would have noticed sooner if you had agreed to dance a song with me.”
Frodo didn’t answer. The rest of the way to the Bag End was quiet, but Sam didn’t drop his boyfriend inside the house. They stopped in the garden, under the starry sky. Frodo stared at the younger hobbit with curiosity, as he reached out to him.
“As a die-hard fan, I must insist: give me a honor of a dance, Mr. Frodo.” The title was strange to hear again after so many months, but the context made Frodo smile and hold the companion’s hand.
“Since you insist.”
Away from the ballroom where everyone else was partying, the music could still be heard as a whisper, driving the hobbit couple. Frodo let his restlessness be forgotten for a moment, long enough for Sam to take care of everything, as he always did. He took the dark-haired hobbit by the waist and led the way. The flowers and potatoes that sprouted spied them.
Nothing else existed in the Shire or in Frodo’s mind. There was only him and his beloved, dancing on the carefully trimmed, slightly moist grass. Two or three fireflies shone near the rose bushes and a friendly frog complemented the low music with a spaced croak.
The suffering had been replaced by a bit of long-forgotten rhythm in the feet of the sweetest hobbit couple.