“How much farther is it?” Frodo asked wearily.

“Nearly sir, nearly”. Sam helped Frodo up the last couple of steps, worried that perhaps this had not been such a good idea after all. Frodo was still weak from the virus he had contracted, and the healers had said his recovery would probably be slower than most. Still they had ordered sleep, quiet and as much fresh air as could be got into him, and Sam knew just the place for all three.

“We’re here now Mister Frodo”. He put a smile on his face and helped Frodo over to the nearest stone bench. Beside this was a fountain filled pool shaded by trees in full blossom, the water reflecting their colour like a collage. All around them birds filled the garden with song.

“It is beautiful”. Frodo whispered in awe, reaching out with a pale hand to touch one of the flowers nearby. Yellow pollen rubbed off on his fingers, and he blew the loose dust into the air.

“I found it just before…just before you had to go to the healers”. Sam explained. “It’s my sanctuary, reminds me of home, with the birds and the flowers. I think I almost forgot how beautiful it all was”.

“I had forgotten”. Frodo looked at the water, where fallen blossoms floated upon the surface. His eyes became heavier and with Sam’s help he slowly curled up on his side on the bench. His breathing evened out while Sam carefully readjusted the blankets, one as a pillow and the other around his Master’s body, turning away only when the right hand fell into his view. The stump of the missing finger was healing nicely but that made it no less painful to see. Sam began to feel sick, his own hand aching in empathy, and he quickly hid the disfigurement beneath the blanket.

What to do now? His Master was comfortable, he was sleeping peacefully. Sam was a bit tired, but he couldn’t sleep yet. The colour was starting to come back into Frodo’s face. Food! Sam wasn’t hungry, but Frodo probably would be when he woke up. It would not hurt to have some food ready to hand.

Getting up slowly, Sam left for the kitchens.

It didn’t take him long to put some sandwiches and cakes together, along with a small flask of drink. Carefully balancing it on a tray through ease of practice he carried it up the stairs back to the garden, all the while revering the tranquillity of the suburban area.

Until a cry broke out.

Jumping over the dropped tray Sam flew up to the garden entrance. Frodo was lying on the bench as Sam had left him, but now his face was contorted in pain, or fear, and his limbs were flailing as if trying to ward off a blow. “No!” He cried again, though it was quieter this time, defeated.

“Mister Frodo”. Sam gently shook his Master’s shoulder. Frodo sat up so abruptly that Sam fell over backwards.

Frodo took several deep breaths, eyes closed until he felt safe enough to open them. The colours and safe tranquillity of the garden flooded his senses again, and he sighed with relief. “Dream”.

He looked down at Sam, who was still sat on the ground. “Are you hurt?” He asked hurriedly.

“No, you just startled me is all, Sir”.

“You woke me”. Frodo said. “You got me out just like before”.

“Where were you?” Sam felt he already knew the answer.

“I was…I was back there, the tower”. His words became faster. “I wasn’t just dreaming, I was reliving it. Everything was happening again”.

“Now Mister Frodo”. Sam sat beside his Master, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “It’s in the past now, none of it matters anymore. You’re safe, and so is everyone else thanks to you”.

Frodo smiled, but it wasn’t out of joy. “That is what everyone keeps saying. Me. What did I do?” Frodo pulled his right hand out from underneath the blanket, the fingers of his left caressing the stump. “I let the Ring control me Sam. I was too weak to do what had to be done…Sauron came so close to claiming everything. If He had done, it would have been my fault”.

“Sir!” Sam said. “You carried and fought that evil thing all the way to the Mountain of Fire. When you turned it was because you were tired, in too much pain because of what those stupid orcs did. If I hadn’t let you be captured…” Sam stopped himself quickly, biting his lower lip.

Stupid Samwise Gamgee, very stupid

“Hadn’t let me be captured, Sam what are you talking about?”

I’ve hidden the truth for long enough.

“I let the orcs take you to Cirith Ungol. I saw the marks from the whips. It was because of me…”

“It was because of you that I didn’t die in that ghastly place. Where in Middle - earth is all this coming from Sam? None of it was your fault”. Frodo remembered his friend telling him about how he had been hit from behind. When he had come round he had found the Ring dropped on the ground nearby, and tracks leading to where Frodo was being held. “How could it possibly be your fault? You didn’t choose to be knocked unconscious”.

“I didn’t…”

“No, you didn’t. It wasn’t your fault”.

“I didn’t get knocked out”. Sam shouted, jumping up. “I didn’t find the Ring I took It. When you were unconscious after that beast poisoned you I thought you were dead, so I took the Ring and was going to just leave you there and go to the Mountain. You weren’t alone when the orcs came either, I had put the Ring on so they couldn’t see me, I watched them take you away. They said you were alive and I had left you alive. In my heart I had known you weren’t dead, but I was so stupid that I left you lying right there and betrayed you to them. I as good as put you in the tower myself”. By the last line he was screaming his words through a broken voice, breathing hitched as he bit back painful sobs. He fell to his knees, took a deep controlling breath, and then looked up at his Master.

His next words were barely above a whisper. “So you see it was my fault”.

It took a moment for Frodo to absorb everything he had just heard, running events through in his head, making sense of Sam’s words and meaning. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sam shook. “You weren’t yourself. I thought that if I told you the truth you might have sent me away, and I couldn’t leave you alone in that place. So I made up the story to protect you.

“I was going to tell you when the Quest was over. Then I got afraid of what you would think, what others would do, I might still get punished or sent away even though nothing would be as bad as I deserve. I kept the story up, I kept lying, not to protect you anymore but to protect myself, but I don’t deserve it”.

He turned away to face the water, looking at his own reflection and grimacing as if sickened by the sight. “I shouldn’t be here, with all this service and praise and people bowing everywhere I go. They think I’m special, they think I’m a hero and I’m not. I nearly destroyed everything”.

“Don’t say that”. Frodo snapped back angrily.

“Why not, it’s the truth. I’m sick of lying, fighting and hiding, I want to stop being afraid of the dark, of being alone, causing pain. I just want it all to go away”. Sam had withdrawn into himself, tears rippling the water of the pool below like rain. “I just want it all to go away”.

Frodo wasn’t speaking, was he even still there? What if he did send Sam away? The gardener couldn’t return home without Mister Frodo. He could never go home.

He looked over his shoulder and flinched, Frodo was standing behind him.

“Do you want to leave?” His Master asked with his own breaking voice.

“What?” Sam turned his head to face Frodo, wondering it he had ever been so afraid in his life. “No, please I don’t…” He stopped, took a deep breath. That was out of order, it wasn’t his place. “If that is your decision Mister Frodo”. He whispered, looking away and then closing his eyes. He was trying to control his sobbing, but that just made it more painful.

He felt Frodo sit down beside him and tensed, waiting for whatever was going to be said. Instead an arm was placed around his back, gently pulling until he gave in and rested his head on Frodo’s shoulder. The embrace encircled him, rocking gently, and he felt Frodo’s cheek rest on top of his head.

“You ninnyhammer”. Frodo murmured, and for Sam it was as if every single knot and weight within him was taken away, his tears now ones of painless relief, relief from everything dark that had happened between the Shire and the Cracks of Doom.

Neither took much notice of the time passing, but it was a long time before Frodo spoke again.

“You were wrong, saying that you’re not a hero Sam”. He whispered. “Don’t you see it? I could not continue, if you had not left me we would have both have been captured, and the Ring taken to Sauron. The moment you took It from me you saved everything. You could have run away, but instead you were determined to take on the Quest alone. That was a very brave thing”.

“I was scared”.

“Aragorn would have been scared in that situation, even Gandalf. Bravery is not immunity to fear, it is conquering fear and that’s what you did. And now you’re safe, and so is everyone else thanks to you”.

Sam didn’t say anything. After a long pause Frodo started to laugh quietly. “You are not going to get arrogant about this are you Samwise Gamgee”.

Before he knew it Sam was laughing with him. It was spontaneous; out of relief, embarrassment, or simple mirth he didn’t know. Maybe it was all three. Anyway he was laughing and Frodo was laughing, in that musical way Sam had feared he would never hear again.

“Arrogant?” Sam replied with false shock. “Me sir, never in my life”.

Frodo loosened the embrace letting his friend sit up. The gardener dried his eyes on his sleeve, still chuckling.

“We’re forgetting Gollum”. He said. “He was really the one that got It into the fire”.

“Yes the One Ring was destroyed by Its own power over another”. Frodo, himself becoming increasingly tired, shimmied across to a small slope of the ground and laid back, arms folded behind his head. “It is actually rather poetic”.

Sam took the blankets from the bench and put one over him, but before he could do anything with the second Frodo sat up and took it, motioning for Sam to lie down as well.

“You look as tired as I feel”.

“Trouble sleeping”. Sam let the blanket cover him and turned onto his side, facing his friend.

“What ever made you afraid I would send you away? You’re only family after all”.

“Family?” Sam said, raising his head slightly.

Frodo smiled. “Something Bilbo said once. ‘Always in life we have two types of family, relations we are given, and friends that we choose’. If my memory is right, we were discussing you at the time”.

“You and Mister Bilbo said that about me?” Had he not been so tired and comfortable, Sam would probably have jumped up with excitement and pride.

“Did you honestly think you were just a gardener to us?” Frodo rolled his eyes. “No matter what, you will always be part of our family, which means you can stop worrying about stupid ‘punishments’, as if you deserve them anyway”. He covered Sam’s hand with his own. “Promise?”

“Promise Mister Frodo”. Sam nodded happily, and then stifled a yawn.

Frodo raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I know you won’t have any trouble sleeping this afternoon”.

Sam’s rubbed at his eyes but he couldn’t keep them open any longer. Frodo lay back down, closing his own eyes.

“Oh, I meant to tell you”. He said. “I love this garden, thank you for showing me”.

“Thank you for showing me”. Sam said before sleep took him.

“Peregrin Took that is the most ridiculous thing that I have ever heard. You don’t really expect me to believe that do you?”

“It’s true Cousin Bilbo”. Pippin pointed window desperately. “It flew in and took it away”. He started to sulk, unaware of the telltale crumbs that covered his shirt.

Bilbo gave a slight chuckle and shook his head. “Well if that is fact then I best bake another one. Can’t be going without cakes now can we now Precious” Pippin shook his head, smiling triumphantly as he climbed up onto the table.

Bilbo took of his waist coat and laid it on the back of a nearby chair, not hearing the quiet tinkle against the floor as he did this. He had been checking on Frodo and Merry who were playing down by the river. Pippin couldn’t go, he had only recently recovered from a summer cold and had been forbidden any form of play that involved getting wet. Frodo and Merry had originally offered to stay with him in Bag End, but the day was hot and Pippin didn’t want to spoil their fun so he had insisted they go. He had his Cousin Bilbo, and his marbles.

Sitting cross legged on the table, Pippin took one of the glass balls from his pocket and started pushing it around the assault course of cooking utensils. Bilbo disappeared into the pantry towards the back of the hole, muttering ingredients under his breath along with several occurrences of ‘typical child’ and ‘wild imagination’.

Pippin took another marble, knocking it against the first and watching them follow each other around the large, recently vacated cake dish. Pippin laughed and took a third, hitting it harder to make them go even faster, faster, faster…too fast.

The marble flew out of the bowl, narrowly missing Pippin, and landed on the floor behind. It rolled under one of the cupboards, gently tapping the back wall.

“Oh fiddlesticks”. Pippin muttered as he slid down from the table, using his cousin’s coat as leverage. He knelt down on his knees, peering under the cupboard and making out the shape of the marble in the shadows. The fringe was to low to get his arm under, so he reached for a long rolling pin and swept it along the floor, revealing from the shadows two spoons, one discarded biscuit, his marble, and a ring.

It was the ring that got the child’s attention, golden in colour and glistening in the light from the window. He picked it up; surprised by how heavy it felt, and watched in awe as in his small hand it changed shape to become an almost perfect fit for his tiny fingers.

In the pantry, Bilbo’s utterances changed from an annoyed “Where are they?” to a slightly more hysterical “Where is it?”

“Cousin Bilbo, I found something?” Pippin stood up, meaning to take the ring back to Bilbo, but why should he? He found it after all. The child studied the ring, this beautiful and perfect creation, flawless, precious, it came to him. The urge to try it on…just to try it…was too strong to ignore and he slid it onto his middle finger.

Immediately the kitchen seemed to change, everything was dimmer around him, sounds sharper yet distorted. He could hear Bilbo’s footsteps coming out of the pantry, Frodo and Merry laughing as they played in the Water, the clouds moving in the sky.

Bilbo looked at him…no through him. “Where is it?” His eyes swept the kitchen, and then looked elsewhere. “Precious?”

“Cousin Bilbo I’m over here”. Pippin said, worried. What was happening, why was everything different, why couldn’t Bilbo see him. He reached to take the ring off…no not yet, leave it on a little while longer, just a little while won’t hurt…Bilbo still couldn’t see him, and if he could hear him he wasn’t acknowledging it.

The older Hobbit fled to his bedroom, checking through every single coat and trouser pocket he owned, leaving no corner unchecked. “Cousin Bilbo here I am, your precious”. Pippin cried, but got no response.

‘There ou Are’. What was that voice? It wasn’t one Pippin had heard before. Deep, booming...dark. The child felt warmth spread through his body, getting hotter, hotter.

The window, look out the window, watch the forest rush by, the mountain range, miles of endless marsh and fog, the tower…sinking into the ground…

…the Eye.

‘You heard my call. Have you found a bearer, yes’ Fire. Pippin didn’t know he could feel such heat. It was burning every inch of his form, and the ring was so heavy, reaching out to the Eye. ‘I Seek You. Soon’.

“NO!” The Eye blinked, focused on the screaming child as he grabbed at his finger, willing to tear his whole hand off if it got him away from the tower, from the voice.

Finally it gave way, the ring flying in one direction, Pippin falling in the other to land on the solid wooden floor of the bedroom. He was panting hard, knew something had scared him, but the memory was already fading like a waking dream.

Why was he in the bedroom? He shouldn’t be playing in here? What had he been doing?

“There you are my precious”.

“Cousin Bilbo”.

Bilbo was knelt by the door, shaking with relief as his hand rested in his pocket. “Oh…Pippin?”

There was something in the older Hobbit’s eyes then, and Pippin realised he wasn’t Bilbo’s precious. That was Bilbo’s secret name.

He knows this one. ‘So you have come back?’ It is he who bore the Precious, perhaps he still does so. ‘Why have you neglected to report for so long’. So many years.

He does not answer. He is older now, stronger he may think, but still he can be broken.

‘Who are you?’

“A Hobbit”.

His mind opens, Sauron laughs, for it was almost too easy. He can see that this is the Palantir of Saruman, the Uruk-Hai taking the ring bearer and his kin to Isengard. So, the ring is in Isengard, away to the west. The White Wizard is near by; it was from him that the bearer has taken the orb. Foolish.

Foolish, yes but not weak, he has strength of mind.

‘Wait a moment! We shall meet again soon’. Yes my precious. ‘Tell Saruman that this dainty is not for him! The ring is mine and mine alone. I will send for it at once, do you understand? Say just that!’ He leans forward. He can see that the pain is great for the bearer, and it amuses him. ‘Say just that, I am coming for it, my precious’.

The last word. The ring bearer has broken away, with a strangled cry he disappears.

Not to matter. The winged Nazgûl were afar, they would find the White Wizard and with him the bearer, they would take the ring.

‘Soon’.

The Eye of the enemy moved to the west. It looked towards the world of men, distracted from the three small figures crossing the borders into darkness, distracted from the true bearer.

The ring was closer that Sauron knew, he did not see it and therefore the quest lived to see its end.