Dwellings

“God has two dwellings: one in heaven and the other in a meek and thankful heart.”

Paulo Coelho

Sam grinned at the content look drawn in Frodo’s face.  “Mmm,” muttered the Baggins as he dabbed his wet lips with a piece of cloth, rubbing the grease and gravy off his mouth.  “What a marvelous breakfast, Samwise.  Or did you just bring Bell over here to prepare it?”

Crimson hue now adorned the Gamgee’s feature, but Frodo’s returning appetite meant a lot more than the good-natured tease.  Sam had been trying anything just to make his ailing master eat more.  And apparently magical hands had worked their way this morning as even a mere whiff of fried sausage and fish had been able to rouse Frodo’s inquisitiveness and bring him over to the kitchen while Sam was still cooking.  “‘Twas nothin’, Mr. Frodo.  P’haps just because you’ve been not eating well so far,” the gardener mumbled.

“Noo.”  Frodo was wagging his index finger.  “Shouldn’t be too humble, should we, Sam?”  But he did not give the other hobbit a chance to bicker with him.  “I feel much better now,” Frodo spoke softly.  “And I feel like working on something.  You haven’t done much with the sunflowers, have you?”

“You can’t work the garden, Mr. Frodo!”  Sam was startled, knowing exactly where his master was going with his query.

“And why can’t I, Sam?”  asked Frodo with a low voice.  “I might not be as good a gardener as you are but I’d sure be able to plant something with your guidance.”  Sam frowned at him, his lips scrunching up showing his objections.  Outside the sun shone so brightly Frodo could never stand working under it.  Not with his current state.

But Frodo seemed to be able to read Sam’s mind.  He reached out and squeezed the stout hobbit’s forearm gently, his now dimming eyes catching Sam’s initially determined ones, wordlessly pleading the other to understand that this might be his last request.  Slowly, very slowly, Sam dropped his eyes, admitting defeat while in his heart he began to understand Frodo’s true wishes.

“Mr. Frodo,” his voice was strangled, clearing his throat while withdrawing his arm slowly from Frodo’s grasp.  Frodo smiled and nodded a little, letting go of Sam.

“I just want to help, Sam,” he spoke with a usual voice as if nothing had happened.  Well, nothing had happened save for the flutters in Sam’s heart at the upsetting realization that Frodo might be…

Sam wrenched up, not wanting to complete his own thoughts.  “I’m readying the shovels and the grains, sir.  You might want to wait outside while I go pick up those things from the stockroom.”

“One shovel, Sam,” reminded Frodo.   Sam would not look up, merely mumbling his compliance.

~  *  ~

Shove, shove, shove.  And Frodo straightened up, grimacing.  Digging these trenches was not easy at all, but this flower loved new earth so Frodo had to work the soil before sowing the grains.  Then he had to give enough room for each row.  Before long Frodo had started to get weary.

Sam watched him anxiously.  Not once did Frodo let him touch his shovel or take over the work.  The Gamgee had to force him to drink, even, when he thought Frodo looked more than worn-out.  Deep down Sam knew Frodo had no right to torment himself like this, no matter how much he wanted to do something or whether this would be the last thing he did before…  before…

Suddenly Sam’s heart lurched as Frodo swayed before his eyes.  “Master!”  He threw away the water jug and paced towards the sagging form.  Frodo was crumpling on to the ground when Sam got to his side, leaning heavily on his shovel.  His breaths were labored.  “Sam…”  Frodo heaved, and Sam dropped to his knees, his arms ready behind Frodo’s back, and he was right.  Looking depleted, Frodo went limp into Sam’s chest.  The sturdier hobbit slowly sat back on his heels as Frodo weighed down on him.  But it was not that Frodo was heavy.  Not at all.  He just wanted Frodo to be more at ease.

It was almost time for elevenses and the sun got brighter every minute.  Yet they would never hinder Sam from staying here with Frodo lying half on his lap and half on the soil of Bag End.  As for the light, should it become more blinding and intense for Frodo, Sam was prepared to shield him with his own body just like what he had done in the bleakest times of their lives.

And Sam was reminded of those times when it sufficed for him to simply have Frodo curl up within the reach of his arms.

~  *  ~  fin  ~  *  ~