“And if Sam considered himself lucky, Frodo knew he was more lucky himself; for there was not a hobbit in the Shire that was looked after with such care.” - Return of the King

A/N:  No slash which I find perfectly disgusting, just a lot of wallowing in hobbity love with a good amount of angst.  We should all be so lucky to be loved so deeply!  A little bit of movie verse in here also. As far as disclaimers go, I'm borrowing shamelessly from some of the adorable disclaimers from other kindred spirits - you know who you are :) -  Don't own any of these people, some however seem to own me; I just get to think about them day and night.  Enjoy!

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I watch you as you sleep. This has become a nightly ritual since I cannot sleep without already knowing you are. Sometimes you are able to fall asleep after some of that chamomile tea I always have ready for you and all I need to do is what I do every night regardless: give your brow a kiss goodnight and tell you that I love you and that I hope you sleep well. You are usually still awake enough to reply. I wait until your breathing evens out and I know you are truly asleep, then I leave you for a spell, but I’ve learned to sleep with my ears open. I can hear the slightest noise you make, like the time you tried to sneak back to the study to write some more after I had already tucked you in for the night and scolded you for staying up too late as it was.

Before the Quest, I wouldn’t have considered it my place to tell you to go back to bed, that you are working too hard, that you have many days and weeks and months to complete the story, that you don’t have to keep going until you collapse. Now I know my place. It is with you, my most beloved master, and I don’t hesitate to tell you that you pushing yourself far too hard. I’ve known for many years how stubborn you can be, but you have discovered how stubborn I can be too so I no longer brook any argument from you when I think something is good or bad for you.

You humored me that night as you have other times, complaining that I was being an over-protective mother hen, but I know you, my dear. I know you like being taken care of and I know I like doing it. You went back to bed that night, but you discovered how serious I was when you tried the same thing the next night and I removed you bodily from the study, carried you back to bed and threatened to sit on you if you dared to move. You laughed and it was such a marvelous, unexpected, wondrous thing to hear I was nearly in tears. Your face grew tender then, as bright and beautiful as it had always been, as you realized anew how much I love you. You assured me that I had no cause to worry and then you told me that you loved me and appreciated all I was doing to help you. You took my hand, kissed it and held it close to your heart as you closed your eyes. I wish I could preserve that wonderful, happy, peaceful look in your eyes and face forever. You haven’t tried sneaking back since then and you slept well that night, a smile on your face, your hand around mine until sleep relaxed it. I could have watched you for hours like that, but I left you after a while with a kiss on your brow and a murmured, “Sleep well, love.” Too rarely have you been able to do that: sleep through the whole night, but I thank anyone who might be listening each night you can, each morning you don’t wake up looking more tired than you did the night before, your eyes more haunted than ever, the circles under them darker.

Other times nightmares wake you screaming and I come running and hold you until you can sleep again. You clutch at me so tightly and look at me with such wide, terrified eyes after you escape from the dreams for a moment. I wonder, though, if they ever do truly leave you. I wonder what you see there in that one place I can’t follow you or protect you from, the one place you must face your battles alone. I do whatever I can, though, to keep you from going back. I talk to you, rock you, sing to you, wipe your tears, brush your curls, until you are calm enough to stop shaking. You continue to lean against me in your favorite position, your head against my heart, your arms around my waist. Sometimes that’s the only way you can sleep again.

We discovered that on the Quest, when I would take you into my arms because towards the end that was the only way I could get you to sleep and you’d lean against me and eventually fall into exhausted sleep. It was always with your head against my chest. Some of the strain would leave your face and you would look almost peaceful, your light still shining under all the filth we were caked with. I stared at you for a long time each night I could get you to rest like that. Other times tears would escape from under your lashes, muddying your face, but cleaning it as well. You never made a sound though and as I wiped at them and my own I wondered what you were feeling that was so horrible that you would be crying even in your sleep. Sometimes I would try to undo that rat’s nest of knots and grime your beautiful curls had become, but I was always defeated because I didn’t want to wake you or hurt you, so instead I’d kiss your head, wish you a good night’s sleep and close my eyes, my arms still securely around you. Nightmares would sometimes wake you then also and you would cling to me tighter. You wouldn’t tell me much about them, just that you saw fire, always fire, consuming you. I’d hold you closer and wish I could protect you from those dreams, from the reality they foretold.

I wish you would tell me where you go now in your dreams. I know you don’t because you don’t want to worry me, but I can guess it’s the same places I go, when I dream about the times I couldn’t protect you: Weathertop, the tunnel, the Tower, the Fire. I hold you, all night if I need to, until I know you are not going to go back to those terrible places you visit at night without me.

Most nights, though, are like tonight. I don’t know which break my heart more. You toss and turn restlessly, murmuring something I don’t understand. One hand twitches in mine, your maimed one reaches for your neck and I wonder if it’s for that terrible thing that so long hung there, for I now understand a bit of what you are saying. You are calling for it. I hold onto your hand a little tighter as four fingers continue to search for the Ring and you grow more anxious when you can’t find it. I wonder why it still has such a hold on you. It has been eight months since we returned to the Shire. You are sleeping in your own bed once more, but I wonder if you even realize you are home. Did you ever truly leave that blasted land we struggled so hard to reach? I close your hand around the gem the Queen gave you and you calm after that.

Before we left, you pushed me into Rosie’s arms at your and Mr. Bilbo’s birthday party, past my fears, into joy. So I pushed you on all those months we were on our Quest, keeping my eyes fixed on this one belief, this one hope that to this day remains fixed on you: that only good would come of our trials, that the Ring would be destroyed and you, my most beloved friend and master, closer and dearer to me than anyone, would be freed and returned to me. But did something else happen? Was I pushing you instead toward your doom as well as the Ring’s? I don’t know if I would have had the courage to lead you on then. The Ring had to be destroyed. I know that and I hope I would have understood that even had I known. But do you have to be, too?

I push aside those dark thoughts. They come mostly at night, whispering, taunting, tempting, but I recognize them now when they haunt me. I see them every day and every night in your eyes. Do you listen to them? They don’t have any power you and I don’t give them and so I make them leave me. I wish I could make them leave you, too. They will return, they always do, but I’ll just give them another good talking-to. To despair that you will never heal will help neither of us. Your hand falls from the gem and continues to search. I put it again around the gem and this time I close my own hand around yours.

“The Ring’s not there anymore, love,” I tell you. “It’s gone. Don’t let it hurt you anymore. Please. It’s over.”

But I know it’s naught truly over, not for you and therefore not for me and I don’t know when it will be. I told you before that there were things worth fighting for. You, my dearest, are worth fighting for. Worth dying for. And so I will continue to fight for you against evil that should be long gone, but somehow lives on still to torment you. You pull your hand away from mine and keep searching. I brush at your curls just so you know someone is with you, that you aren’t alone and I keep talking, hoping you can hear, that I can reach you, wherever you are. During our whole journey I watched you change more and more as the Ring took greater hold of you. I also watched how much you struggled against that, how hard you tried to hold on, and how much the Ring fought that. It did not stop me from loving you ever more though.

Nothing could stop that.

Not a sword at my throat.

Not abandonment on the stairs.

Not even when you barely clung to that ledge and your eyes pleaded for permission to let go.

I looked into your eyes then that used to shine so brightly with joy and love. You always showed it plainly and I saw it even on our journey and since then. But those beautiful eyes reflected then and now also the deepest pain and I felt and feel helpless to ease it even a little, though I would give anything to do so. You wanted nothing more than to die then. I wanted, still want, nothing more than for you to live. My heart never forsook you, even when you seemingly forsook it. You murmur again and I hold your hand a little tighter. Have you ever regretted grabbing onto mine at the Fire, I wonder? My heart broke again and again on that journey, and it has not ceased to even now, watching you seek peace and rest and not find it, but it still hopes. It will cease beating all together before it stops doing that. I keep looking at you as you continue to toss in your sleep.

I continue our ritual and take you up into my arms, blankets and all, and walk into the living room. The hand that was seeking the Ring wraps around my waist instead and you burrow your head into my chest. “That’s it, me dear,” I murmur encouragingly. “Lean against your Sam.” You are still far too light and I can feel you shivering. You feel the cold so much more now even during a summer night like this, but I hope I can warm you up some just by being near.

I settle us down into the rocking chair you gave Rosie and me on our wedding, put another blanket over you and begin to rock you gently as I sing your favorite lullaby, the one your parents used to sing to you when were sick or had nightmares, the one you said Mr. Bilbo sang to you as well. And now I sing it to you as you used to sing it to me and Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin when we were younger.

“Sleep now

And know that I love you.

Let aside your cares

I will protect you.

“Sleep now

And know that I love you.

Let no darkness touch you

I will guard you.

“Sleep now

And know that I love you.

Let your worries fade away

I will not leave you.

“Sleep now

And know that I love you.

Let no pain plague you

I will defend you.

“Sleep now

And know that I love you.

Let no terror frighten you

I will always be with you.

“Sleep now

And know that I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sam,” you tell me sleepily, your eyes still closed, your head still buried against my chest. “I’m sorry I couldn’t defend you, especially against all the hateful things I did to you.”

This is the part of the ritual I hate. Not that I mind you telling me that you love me. I know you always have just as I have always loved you. No, I hate that you blame yourself for things you shouldn’t. One of these nights instead of trying to get you to sleep, I am going to wake you and give you a good talking-to, like I did when you tried to sneak back into the study. I am going to look right into those beautiful, tormented eyes of yours, make sure you are looking into mine and repeat over and over what I tell you each night we do this and I’m not going to let you sleep until I can see that you believe me. If I can get you to look like you did that night I carried you back from the study, smiling and teasing me about trying to out-stubborn a Baggins, then I will consider that my victory. And make no mistake, my dear, I tell you right now, I will out-stubborn you.

But that will wait for another night. Now, I just hold you closer, kiss your brow and continue the ritual. “Hush, love, none of that now,” I say. “It was not your job to defend me and I knew it was the Ring that did all those things, not you.”

“But they still should have never happened. I should have been stronger. I should have stopped them...stopped myself.”

“Shhhh,” I tell you, “shhh. It’s all over now and you did me no harm. Sleep, dear, sleep.”

I continue to rock you and sing to you, first something my mum used to sing to me, then I keep crooning softly, making up something inspired just by watching you. You are so beautiful even now and my heart fills anew with love for you and pain for what you continue to suffer. It’s that unfair that you should still be tormented, but I don’t let my anger show, keeping my voice as soothing as I can though tears are welling up in me as they always do.

“Sleep, my dear one,

may peace come over you

and remain in you.

“Sleep, my love,

may rest find you

and comfort you.

“Sleep, my heart,

may no darkness trouble you,

only let you see the stars.

“Sleep, my beloved,

may their light shine in you

and keep you.

“Sleep, my treasure,

may arms always surround you

and keep you safe.

“Sleep, my hero,

may no shadow remain to harm you,

but only be seen in the light.

“Sleep, my brother,

may I ever hold you near.”

I watch you slowly calm, your breathing even out and your trembling cease. Your hand stills as well, no longer reaching for what I wish you had never been burdened with in the first place. You finally fall into true sleep and I can finally let my tears fall.

I keep rocking you as I think of all that has happened, still trying to figure out how to help you more. You’re home now, you should have peace and quiet, a well deserved reward for all you did, and try to forget you ever were the Ring-bearer and just concentrate on being a hobbit. I know you how hard you have tried to do that, but I also know you can’t forget anymore than I can. And you have so much more you cannot forget than I do, deeper hurts, but surrounded by love and friends, you should still be healing and you aren’t and that hurts more than anything.

I wish so much to have the Frodo I grew up with back. The one who was so filled with light and joy, who delighted in teaching me how to write and the names and stories of the stars. The one who encouraged me to read and write and compose my own poems and stories and songs, who applauded my least efforts and rewarded them with love. The one who always laughed with me, never at me, a wonderful, strong but light, clear laugh, like how I imagine sunshine would sound. The one who would listen with me to Mr. Bilbo’s stories either of his own adventures or something out of a book. The one who would, if I got too frightened, take me into his lap or hold my hand, stroke my curls and murmur that everything was all right and that he would never let anything bad happen to me. The one who took me on all sorts of adventures all over the Shire as we pretended to be far away, fighting dragons and goblins and meeting Elves. But if that Frodo is nothing more than a dying hope in your tormented eyes, it is still a living one in my heart. If it dies even there and I promise you it won’t, I will still love you, because you are still my Frodo.

I remember one of our grand adventures in particular. It had been cloudy all that day, but we had had great fun slaying dragons with the long, sharp branches Mr. Bilbo had carved for us for our swords. Then when we were still a bit away from home, it started to rain. Rain hard, with thunder and lightning all around us. I couldn’t have been more than 10 and I was that scared. You put your arm around me and I could tell that you were afraid too. I could feel your trembling as I knew you could feel mine, but you were being brave for me and I wanted so much to be brave for you. You talked to me the whole way home, holding me close, trying to distract me from what was happening. When thunder clashed right over our heads, we both jumped and I began to cry. You tightened your grip around my shoulders and talked to me more earnestly as you guided us home even though it was raining so hard, we could barely even see where we going, our heads tucked as much as could be under our cloaks. When we finally made it back to your home, you wiped my tears, gave me a quick hug and kiss on the forehead, then turned me around to face the mirror. We both looked terrible, soaked to the bone, clothes dripping on the floor, hair dripping, bangs plastered to our foreheads, muddy footprints all over the front hall. It made me laugh out loud and forget my fears, which was of course the reason you had me look. And you laughed with me and we kept laughing until Mr. Bilbo came out of his study, frowned at our mess and handed you a towel to clean up the mess we are making. Then he went off with a smile to start a fire. You cleaned up the floor and then left to go to see my mother and assure her that I was all right and to get some clean, dry clothes for me. I loved you so much for going back out into that storm.

Soon you returned and you, me and Mr. Bilbo huddled around the fire, sodden cloaks off, dry clothes on, blankets around us and hands around hot mugs of tea. The rain lasted the rest of the day. I sat at a window watching it come down. You stood behind me. When a particularly close thunderclap sounded, I looked up at you in fear. You looked down at me with those beautiful, luminous eyes of yours and smiled your wonderful smile and placed a hand on my shoulder. I felt so safe and protected and loved. I didn’t want to go outside again and I found that you had already thought of that and one piece of clothing you had brought back was a nightshirt. I slept contentedly beside you that night, the storm never bothering me.

The next morning I woke and discovered that a terrible headcold had developed. I had sneezed during dinner the night before and you had handed me one of your handkerchiefs and I held onto it to blow again in the morning. And again. And again. You touched my forehead and ran in alarm to get Mr. Bilbo who confirmed that I had a fever. You looked so stricken with guilt that you had had me out in the rain the day before I thought you were going to cry and I was sure I would if you did, but you didn’t. Your lip quivered and you apologized over and over again, but you didn’t cry and neither did I. It was now bright and sunny, but you stayed in with me the whole day, even when in any other circumstance, I knew you would have wanted to have been outside. The only time you did leave me was to tell my mother that I was sick and that you wanted me to stay with you so my brothers and sisters wouldn’t get sick also. My mother sent you back with some medicine that had always worked in the past and you anxiously made that up in some tea and brought it to me.

I was so glad to have you with me, miserable as I was, but scared you were going to get sick too. You always seemed so fragile to me. Almost ethereal. You had this almost unearthly loveliness that seemed too good to stay long. There was so much brightness in you that it seemed to pass directly through you, as though you were simply this beautiful ghost and you didn’t truly belong in this world. I could never explain it until I saw the Elves. Then I realized that was who you resembled most. Wondrously grand those Elves are, enough to take your breath away and no mistake, but you are even better because you are also a hobbit. You are much more grounded now in earth, bound to it by pain and suffering. You are not at all fragile. You are stronger than anyone I know, but still I wish to have my radiant Elven hobbit back.

I begin to get up, to put you back into that big feather bed of yours. I’m always thinking you would find that much more comfortable than my lap, but more times than not, like tonight, your arm tightens around me and you nestle your head deeper into my chest. “Please don’t leave me,” you murmur and my heart breaks at all I hear in that plea.

I lean back into the chair and kiss your head. “I will never leave you, me dear,” I say, promising you the same thing every night and you settle back into sleep again with a whispered “Thank you.”

I continue to rock you. No, I won’t leave you anymore than you left me when I was sick that time. It was the worst cold I had ever had, though I’ve had worse since then and you’ve always been there for me. You rarely left my side for the five days I stayed with you that first time. You read to me, talked to me, piled me with blankets when I was chilled, wiped me with cool cloths when the fever burned in me. You kissed my brow each night, held my hand while I slept and when I couldn’t, sang to me that lullaby in that beautiful, lilting, melodious voice of yours. You brushed at my hair and looked at me with such love that I didn’t want to fall asleep, but just keep looking into your luminous eyes and listening to your wonderful voice. I struggled to remain awake just to make sure I heard the whole song, but sleep claimed me at the end as it should have. You slept in the chair next to your own bed, which you had insisted I have for myself, still holding my hand.

My mother came to check on me each morning and Mr. Bilbo in the afternoon and neither could find any complaint in your treatment of me. They directed many proud, fond smiles at you, but I doubt you ever saw any of them. You were too focused on making sure I was all right. The only times you left me was to tell my mother each afternoon how I was doing and to fetch my meals. You fed me when I was too weak to do it myself and when I was done or when I could feed myself, you ate your own meal beside me. When I slept during the day, you would sit near the window, reading, just wanting to be near in case I needed anything. At night, after dinner, Mr. Bilbo would return and we would beg to hear more of his stories and he so enjoyed telling us of his adventures and he would make up stories for us too. I had never felt so loved outside of my mother’s devoted attention. I hope one day you will have a wife and children of your own, dearest, so you can lavish on them all the love you have inside you. Your cousins and I shouldn’t be the only lucky ones.

I brush at your curls. You don’t stir and I think you are finally deep enough asleep that I can let you rest in your bed. You don’t resist this time when I lay you back down. You curl up tightly around yourself, trying to keep warm. I watch your hand move back up to your neck and I begin to cry once more. How can I help ease your pain more than a moment, I wonder for the millionth time. I take your maimed hand into mine and kiss the space between your fingers in the one part of the ritual I’m not sure you even know about. I always wait until you are asleep to do it because I know you don’t like it, but I have to do it. It’s the only way I can think of to thank you for all you did, for the Shire, for the whole of Middle-earth. I am awed and humbled by all you endured, your courage and dedication to your task even when you had lost hope of surviving its completion. I tried thanking you aloud once and I wouldn’t be surprised if my ears are still red from the blistering you gave them. That’s another thing I am going to have to turn you rightabout on. I know you think you failed, but no, dear, no. You succeeded where no one else could have. The only reason the Ring is gone is because you got it there, even if you couldn’t destroy it yourself. What can I say you that will make you understand that?

I pull up the blankets snug around your chin, give your curls a final brush and your head a last kiss. I have to believe that even now the real you can be returned to me, that one day the pain will pass and your eyes will be clear, your heart unburdened and your laugh loud and clear. I know it can happen. I am not going to let go of that hope anymore than I am going to let go of you. Please don’t you let go of it either.

I begin to pull my hand away, but your fingers curl around mine, not letting me go. You begin to murmur again and my heart leaps to see a small smile grace your lips. I smile too as this time I understand what you so softly say as you tuck my hand under your chin. “My Sam.”

You hold my hand for a little bit more, then kiss it softly and let it go. I watch you for a long time after that, unable to tear my eyes away. The moonlight is hitting your face just so. You look as beautiful now, as peaceful and lit from within as you did that day we saw the oliphaunt, as you did that night I carried you back from the study. The smile is still on your lips. My eyes fill with new tears, not of sadness this time, but joy. This is what I fought so hard for, to see you as you always once were and I know you can be again. I have never seen anyone as lovely as you and I know I never will again. Right now you are looking like you have naught a care in the world, which is the way it ought to be. Perhaps you will have to battle anew tomorrow, but I will be there to help you.

I won’t leave you, my dear love, I won’t ever leave you.