A/N:  This is a sequel to Galadriel's "The Kindest Choice" and includes an expanded version of the letter from that story that Frodo wrote to his Sam explaining his decision to go West and also Frodo's letters from my story "Letters I've Written Never Meaning to Send" (which is why this story is rated what it is and because Sam has a nightmare after reading one of the letters).  No slash, lots of angst and a good amount of love, even some fluff, but you'll have to wait for the epilogue for that! :)

Through the Flames by Antane and Queen Galadriel

Chapter 1: The Nature of Grief

It was too quiet. If it weren’t for Elanor’s coos from her cradle, Sam thought he might have gone mad. Too many other things were missing – there was no scratch of a quill scribbling across a piece of parchment; no word of welcome and thanks when a cup of tea was received; no smile from one almost too weary to do so, but who always would for his Sam; no loving gaze from eyes that had never stinted from showing what was in his heart and soul. Bag End felt too big now with its master gone. Then Sam realized with a start that he was Master now. He shuddered. He would never feel that way. He felt like an intruder now as he walked through halls and rooms that were as familiar as his own home and just as dearly loved because of who had lived in them: both his masters.

And now they were gone and the rooms were cold and empty of cheer. Only memories lived there now: ghosts, voices he heard so clearly that he expected just to turn around and look into the bright, shining eyes of either Mr. Bilbo or Frodo. Rose would sometimes find him standing stock still in one or other of the bedrooms, the dining room, or even the hall, just listening, staring into space, sometimes in tears. For neither hobbit would be seen here again, not the master who taught him his letters and so much more or the brother of his heart he had adored since childhood.

Frodo’s walking stick remained at the front door, never to be used again. His pipe was on the mantle over the fireplace where it had always been. His favorite armchair had the blanket he had used last still draped over it. His customary teacup awaited him on the table near his chair. A wardrobe full of clothes that would never be worn again stood in a bedroom whose bed would never be slept in again. Almost more books than Sam could count would not be read again by the one who most loved them. Quill, ink and paper all waited to be used. The last pages are for you… It was too much.

Sometimes Sam just wanted to run out the front door and keep running until he reached the Havens and then beg for passage or start swimming on his own. Then Elanor would smile and crow at the sight of him, or Rosie would call for him, and he’d be grounded again and reminded that Frodo wanted him to be happy, to have a full life.

But that was hard! The first night back was the worst. He found himself automatically making Frodo’s nightly tea and then realized he didn’t have to. Rose had stopped him from throwing it out and told him to sip it himself until he felt a little better. Before retiring for the night, he had started going toward the study to see if Frodo was still up, to coax him to get to bed, but then stopped. His brother wasn’t there, nor was he in his bedroom, which Sam did not even visit that night. He had woken several times during the night as he had done for the last few years just to listen, to see if he was needed. He sat up in bed, ready to leave to check, then realized there was no longer anything more to listen for, no one to check on. Elanor was already sleeping through the night. He glanced at her in her cradle at his side and looked at her for a long time, before he settled down again. I know you want me to be happy, dear, he thought. And I hope you know how much I want you to be happy. But, how I wish you were still here!

I am, dearest, came a still voice through the open window. I haven’t left you.

Sam startled to hear that beloved voice so clearly. He stayed awake for a long time, almost breathlessly, straining to hear it again, but he did not. The wind through blew through though and gently caressed his cheek and he was able to sleep again.

The second night was no better. He did not do more than reach for the tea kettle before he realized his mistake and he had nearly burned his hand from holding it too long before returning it to its place. He had not visited the study that night but had the bedroom. He stood there for a long time, staring at the neatly made bed, then went to the wardrobe and brought the vests and shirts up to his face and breathed in the scent he wondered if he would ever breathe again. Course I will, he told himself fiercely.

He turned away and picked up the book that was on the nightstand, the one Frodo had been reading his last night. Tears blurred the writing before Sam read too far. Most of it was in his brother’s own elegant handwriting, stories and poems he and Sam had composed on their own, long before the Shadow grew over them. Some of it was Sam’s first lessons in writing that Frodo had given him, and the praise that his brother had written alongside. The younger hobbit saw his own childish drawings, one of an oliphaunt, one of a dragon like in Mr. Bilbo’s tales with two small hobbits fighting it; another of two hobbits, walking down a trail, hand-in-hand. The book was open to that page. Sam gazed at the two figures, drawn by Frodo’s skilful hand, both their faces radiantly happy. A song issued from one pair of lips, written in tiny print. Sam then noticed there was writing at the bottom, fresher than that decades-old drawing. I look forward to doing this again with you, my Sam. I love you, my brother, so very much.

Sam looked at the picture, remembering, until he could not see through his tears; then he reverently laid the book back down on the stand. Then he lay down on the bed and buried his face in the sheets, breathing deeply the scent lingering there, and sobbed as he never had before. He wrapped his arms around the pillow, a poor substitute for who he wished he was holding.

Rose came in later and found him asleep. She brushed at his curls, wiped at his tears and kissed his brow. She laid a blanket gently over him and then quietly left the room.

The next morning Sam woke to find himself still in Frodo’s bedroom. What was he doing there? Where was Frodo? Then he came to full wakefulness, and memory returned. Frodo was gone, gone away over the sea, never to return. With this thought came a flood of fresh tears and he could not even try to check them.

“Oh, Mr. Frodo, me dear, me dear!” he murmured into Frodo’s favourite pillow. “Why did you have to leave? If only you knew how much your Sam misses you!”

He lay quiet, hoping for an answer. He could almost hear the beloved, gentle voice saying softly, Oh, my Sam, I miss you, too.

At that moment there was a quiet tap at the door. In response to Sam’s soft, “Come in,” Rosie entered with a cup of tea. But on seeing Sam’s tear-streaked face, she set it on the bedside table and sat down on the bed and drew him close. She did not speak, only held him.

When the tears showed signs of stopping, she ventured to murmur, “I know, love, I know. We all feel it, even Ellie.” She held Sam’s head against her shoulder for a moment so that he would not see the tears that glistened in her own eyes.

When she had regained her own composure she let Sam go and pressed the teacup into his hands. “Drink up, and then come on in to elevenses,” she said, smiling bravely.

“Elevenses?” Sam repeated, stunned. “Rosie, don’t tell me I slept that late!”

“Aye, you did. Don’t worry, my Sam. You didn’t have a proper sleep last night, in fact you don’t look as if you’ve slept at all. But perhaps the tea will help revive you a bit…” At that moment Elanor began to cry, and Rose hurried off to attend to her.

Sam held the cup in his hands for a moment, staring into it. From it rose the distinct aroma of peppermint. That had always been Frodo’s favourite morning tea: peppermint with a bit of lemon and plenty of honey, Sam recalled with a pang and a sad smile. Oh, what he would give to go into the kitchen and make that tea this very minute, carry it to the study and know that there would be one there to receive it. But there would be no one. With a grieved sigh, Sam began to sip at the sweet, refreshing tea.

After elevenses Sam put on his work clothes and went out for his usual work in the garden. But he found, to his frustration, that he could not concentrate. When he came to tend the flowers that Mr. Frodo had so loved, his eyes filled again so that he could not see to work.

Finally, when he had pulled four potatoes by mistake and accidentally broken one of the tomato vines, he gave up and tramped back inside. Rosie looked at him questioningly as he entered the kitchen and poured himself a cup of cool water. “Can’t seem to concentrate, and I’ve been and ruined enough already,” he said in reply.

Rose nodded sympathetically. “Aye,” she said softly. “I went and burnt a whole pan of scones yesterday morning myself. Sam love, would you keep an eye on Ellie while I run to market? We need flour something fierce, after my mess yesterday, and eggs and milk too, and we could do with some butter and…” She stopped suddenly. She had been about to say, “and chamomile tea,” but had remembered just in time that it would not be needed so much any more.

“And what, Rosie?” asked Sam, completely unaware.

“Nothing. That’s all.”

“You go right along then, lass, and I’ll look after Ellie,” Sam said, forcing a cheerful smile.

In short order Rose had made a list and was out the door, her going-to-market basket on one arm. Sam settled down with Elanor in the rocking chair close by the fireplace in the little sitting room which Frodo had given to him and Rosie when they moved in. Elanor had wakened early from her morning nap and so was a little more fussy than usual.

“Oh, Ellie love,” Sam murmured into her hair. “I’m so glad I have you and your mum. I think I’d go mad if I didn’t. You…you won’t remember him, dearie. But he loved you…still does and always will. And all your brothers and sisters to come. He saw them, he did, and I know he saw clear.”

Sam fell silent, letting his thoughts drift for a while, and then he began to hum absently as he patted his baby daughter’s back. Suddenly he realized that he was humming a lullaby that Frodo had composed and often sung to Elanor, and he groped for the words.

“Hush, O hush, thou child of my heart,

And list while I sing unto thee.

My joy, my light, my treasure thou art,

A star in the sky over me.

Cradled safe in Eru’s arms,

Thou hast no cause for fear.

Now close thine eye, sleep till the morn,

My joy, my heart, my dear.

“Hush, O hush, my little one dear,

And list while I sing unto thee,

And in your blessed dreams thou wilt hear

The sweet sighing song of the sea.

Though far from hither shores I be,

I’ll aye be to thee near.

O sleep and dream the dreams of bliss,

My joy, my light, my dear.”

The beautiful, poignant words sounded quaint to his ears, not nearly as rich and flowing as they had seemed from Frodo’s lips, but he kept singing, for it seemed to bring his beloved brother nearer.

When Elanor was finally asleep, Sam rose carefully and laid her down in the cradle in the bedroom which the little family shared. What was he to do now? He was afraid of doing more damage to the garden and he couldn’t go out of hearing distance of his daughter.

Without thinking he wandered towards the study and pushed open the door. He felt a twinge of grief as his eyes fell upon the empty chair, but then he turned his attention to the desk. It was an absolute mess of papers and envelopes and the great red book. But at the very top of the pile was a clearly marked envelope. “To my dear Sam,” read the lettering on the front. Beside it was the familiar stationery box with its key resting on the lid.

Sam stared at that key for a long time. He was a little afraid of what was inside. He remembered when Mr. Bilbo had given the box to his nephew to write out his frustrations and fears. “You can’t keep things always bottled up, Frodo,” he had said. “It will eat your heart away, and you need your heart for loving things and people, not for being bothered.”

Sam knew the box had been well used as he had over the years heard his master and then brother scribble furiously and then lock what he wrote away. It seemed to Sam that he wrote more since he had returned from the Quest than in all the long years before it, but while it had always eased his heart before they had left, it hadn’t seem to have been so successful afterwards. Frodo had never shown his Sam what was inside the box, but here was the key now, waiting for him, inviting him. The gardener fingered it a bit, then left it be, not yet ready. He lifted up the letter instead, slid his thumb under the wax seal and unfolded the paper inside.

Dearest Sam,

I have made the choice; I have chosen to take the ship into the West. I must. What other choice do I have? I must either leave Middle-earth to perhaps find healing and some measure of peace, or remain here to die, weighed down by the burden of dark memories that lies so heavily on me. I cannot allow that, for your sake. I cannot let you, who gave so much for me, watch me die in an agony that nothing can ease.

But oh, dear Sam, my brother and most beloved of friends, how shall I tell you? How shall I tell you why I must leave? I know you will be grieved and to me that thought is unbearable. I would not have your heart broken by my actions yet again and I fear you will blame yourself. Oh, Sam, you must not! For it is not because of you, but for your sake, that I must go.

Sam, I am dying. Every day I must fight against the shadows that ever surround me, and every day I lose a little more ground and feel more sure that I will never gain it back. The Ring is gone, but it took a great part of my soul with it into the fire, and sometimes... sometimes I wish it had taken the whole. For I still want it, Sam; I long for it, and yet I hate it, hate the very desire of it. I cannot fight much longer. I have tried to be strong, indeed I have, for your sake more than for any other reason. But I am mortal. I feel my life and strength slowly, slowly ebbing away. The darkness is slowly taking me, as a wasting illness might take a hobbit who has long endured it. I fear that if I must stay here to endure another illness, the end will come, and the battle will be lost. I will lose my sanity, and my life as well, though perhaps not so swiftly. But I could not bear to have you see such a thing happen, could not bear to let you watch the darkness consume me at last.

Tears blurred Sam’s vision, making it hard to continue, but he wiped at his eyes and read on.

Even if I could live, I could not remain here to be a burden of anxiety on your heart. I know that you do not see it in that light, but I see what you do not: the care lines that too often furrow your brow, the worried look in your eyes amidst that tremendous love you have always given me. But you have begun to see that the Ring still has a hold on me, though it and its master are gone. You were meant to be one and whole for many years, Sam. You must stay here and be a father and husband without worrying about me.

‘But I want you here!’ Sam thought. ‘You weren’t a burden to me. I would have taken care of you the rest of your life. Oh, my dear, why did you have to leave? If you were to die, why couldn’t it be here, in my arms, surrounded by those who loved you? What if you die now without me? I couldn’t bear it!’

But how do I tell you? How can I tell you without breaking your heart? Shall I say, “Sam, I must leave because I am wounded, and even all that you’ve done is not enough”? No! I cannot! I can only go, and hope that you will understand and forgive me for what I must do.

‘Of course I forgive you.’

But will you then try to banish me from your thought and pretend I and our friendship never were? No, I cannot imagine that you are capable of such a thing; it is but an unreasoning fear. Don’t forget me, dearest Sam,

‘Forget you! How could I ever forget you?! Why would I ever want to?’

and don’t feel guilty, for this cannot be prevented. I go because I love you, because I cannot bear to cause you further pain. Oh, I see the sacrifices you daily make for me. How many nights have you come to comfort me when I woke screaming from tormented dreams, and then gone without rest so that I might know peace? How many other small things have you done to ease the struggle, leaving a light on the table and staying up to extinguish it when I can sleep at last, never failing to make the nightly cup of chamomile tea, sacrificing your own peace of mind in seeing that I don’t overwork myself?

‘Those weren’t sacrifices, my dear. I did them because I wanted to, because I could not bear to see you in pain, because I loved you more than my own life. I still love you. I always have and I always will. Oh, why couldn’t you stay so I could keep doing all those things? Or why couldn’t I have come with you?’

All these things bear witness to your love. Oh, how I wish that love was enough to heal the hurts that I might remain!

‘I wish that too. Oh, I wish that more than anything!’

I would have so liked to be here to see all your children come into the world, to hold them, tell them the tales Bilbo told, sing them the lullabies my parents sang to me, to teach them the best jokes and pranks, to be Uncle Frodo to them. But it is not to be. Kiss their heads for me and tell them to never doubt how much I love them, though I never knew them.

‘I will, me dear, my heart, my brother, I promise you I will. I will tell them everything about you, how wonderful and beautiful you are and everything you did to keep them safe.’

Do not think that your loving sacrifices and extra efforts have been in vain. I could not have borne up half so long if not for you. Why, I would have been dead before getting halfway to Mordor! I’ve been so blessed to have you, Sam, brother of my heart.

‘Oh, why did you have to leave!’

There is scarcely a drop of oil left in my lamp now, but I still have so much to write, to tell you while there is still time. We leave for the Grey Havens on the morrow, though you do not know it, and I am so weary, but I will not leave you with things unsaid, questions unanswered.

I’ve been told that grief is like a door. The only way to get to the other side is to walk through it. You can’t ignore it; you can’t go around it. You have to go through it, through the flames. And the pain doesn’t stop until you are through that door. I learned that after my parents died, you after your mum did. But, Sam, I feel as though I’ve walked forever this time and I’m still not through. I do not even see the end. And I am so sorry that you have to walk through the door yourself now because I left, but I hope you know this is only a physical parting. That is a sore enough trial for both of us and believe me, I did not make this decision lightly. I had long given up hope of ever returning home, but when we did, I let myself hope again. I never thought I would come back here and then discover I couldn’t return. But that is what has happened. I never left the fire, Sam, and the more time passed, I saw that it was inevitable that I would have to leave you and nearly all I hold dearest in my life. But this does not separate us in our hearts and souls, or at least I hope it has not, because I still wish to help you take this journey through the door since it was I who put your feet on this path. The door is more than wide enough, my brother, for both of us to walk through it together. I hope when you get through it, I am with you still.

I am leaving you the key to the box Bilbo gave me, my box of fears and tears. I hesitated whether I should or not, knowing it would only cause you further pain, which I was most loathe to do, but I feared even more that you would blame yourself for my leaving, that you would say to yourself that if only you had loved me more, done more, I would still be here with you. But you must not do that, my Sam. I am well acquainted with ‘if only’s and I will not let them torment you as they have tortured me. No one could have done more or loved me better than you, dearest heart of mine. You must not blame yourself, not one bit. This was something completely beyond your control to stop or change. I fought against it as fiercely as you did, but it has come to be. Perhaps you will understand why when you read the letters. Your heart I know will break when you see how full the box is and I cannot tell you how sorry I am for that, but you will learn inside that none of this is your fault and I have only ever held you in my highest regard and deepest love and gratitude for all you have done for me. I wish I could hold you as you read them as you have ever held me when my fears and griefs have been too much for me, but do not think I do not, even though I am now gone from your eye’s sight. You ever saw me clearest with your heart and I hope your vision there never dims as I hope you know mine never will for you.

When you are done reading the letters, then do what you will with them. I do not want you filled with all the pain that is inside that box. I want you to be filled with joy, but I do not want you to rush through your healing. That cannot be done and it will only make matters worse if you try. Perhaps, when you know you are ready to, you will burn the letters and when the last of the ash floats away, your heart will be free again and perhaps I will be blessed to know that you have healed. Or perhaps there will be another way you will know what to do. Your heart has ever led you correctly, my Sam. It will not fail you now.

Oh, dearest guardian of my heart and soul, there is so much more I want to say to you! But how can I? There are no words that can express my gratitude for all you’ve done for me, always being at my side when I have most needed you, even up to standing on the dock. When I took on the burden of carrying the Ring, I accepted an enormous task that would have been beyond all capacity of bearing had you not been there to strengthen me. Because of you, I did not have to carry alone what I could have never carried alone. You were there to protect me, to sustain me, to carry me. Your love, your faith and your hope accompanied me then and I know they will accompany me now on this journey I must take without you. But though it will start without you, dearheart , it will not end without you. I have the greatest hope that we will see each other again. It will sustain me until we do as I hope it will help you.

I am sorry that I never could make up to you all you so selflessly gave to me. I think I knew it was impossible. You’ve done so much. How could I ever do anywhere as much? From the first hour we met, you wrapped your heart around mine and soon found a permanent home in mine, moving very quickly from stranger, to friend, to brother. Thirty-two years, my Sam, you have been that. Thirty-two years I have been held in your heart’s embrace and you in mine. You have never ceased to care for me, to watch over me and I have no doubt, that even though we are parted now, you will not cease to do so.

‘No, dear, I will not stop. How can I?’

I have not told you often enough, dearheart, but it has been and is the greatest honor to be your friend and to count you as my friend. You have always been my light, shining so brightly on the clearest days and the darkest nights. I hope to be a beacon like that for you to follow when it is your turn to come over the Sea. I will be waiting for you, brother of my heart, best part of my heart and soul

I leave you this prayer that Gandalf taught me when I told him that I had lost any hope of recovering in the Shire, that the voice of the Ring was still so strong and my efforts against it were weakening me to the point of despair and self-destruction and that I wished to accept the gift that Arwen had longed to give me, but I had hoped I would not need to accept. It is my dearest wish that it gives you as much hope as it has given me. We are loved so greatly, Sam. You may be remember from the Elven tales about Iluvatar and the Elves being His children. We are His children too. It is this prayer that is giving me the hope that I can find healing with Him, even though I cannot find it here in the Shire or in your arms that I have so longed for. It is that hope that is giving me the strength to leave and it is from this that I have my hope that we will see each other again and when we do, it will be with joy surrounding us, not tears and grief.

‘Oh Iluvatar, I am so convinced that You keep watch over those who trust in You and that we can want for nothing when we look for all from You, that I am resolved in the future to live free from every care and to turn all my anxieties over to You. I may be deprived of possessions and of honor. Sickness may strip me of strength and the means of serving You. I may even lose Your grace by sin. But I shall never lose my hope. I shall keep it till the last moment of my life and at that moment all the powers of darkness shall strive to tear it from me in vain. I know only too well that I am weak and unstable. I know what temptation can do against the strongest virtue. But so long as I continue to hope, I shall be sheltered from misfortune and I am sure of hoping always, since I hope also for that. I am sure I cannot receive less than I hope for. So I hope You will hold me safe on the steepest slopes, that You will sustain me against the most furious assaults and that You will make my weakness triumph over my most fearful enemies. I hope that You will love me always and that I shall love You without ceasing.’

The tears continued to blur Sam’s vision, but he kept reading. He had to. He heard his brother’s voice behind each words. ‘I will hope, my dear.’

Ah, I hear you now. “Mr. Frodo,” you call softly from the hall outside the door. “’Bout ready to lay down the pen? We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Just another moment, Sam,” I reply just as softly.

There are no retreating footsteps and I know you intend to wait right there before the study door until I come out. So I will close this letter and lay it where I know you will find it. The oil has run out and I can only hope I have not made an illegible mess of this, writing in the near dark. I will come out and allow you to fuss over me as much as you wish, and I will not protest; for it will be the last time you can do so for a very long while. But remember, my beloved brother, that though the Sea lies between, it cannot sever the bonds of love and friendship that have long bound us together.

Namarie, my Sam, but only for now.

Ever yours,

Your brother, Frodo

Sam lay the letter aside and sat and wept long and hard for his brother’s pain, for his despair of healing, for all the unfairness that such a gentle, loving, beautiful spirit was broken by a burden too heavy for anyone to carry. So many nights he had stayed with him, guarding that seemingly fragile soul that was stronger than anyone or anything he knew and still the burden had been too much. The nightmares, the illnesses, the memories that never faded even in the bright daylight... I did everything I could for you, my dearest friend and brother, and it wasn’t enough. I tried to relieve your pain and your loneliness and... Oh, why couldn’t I have done more! I would have carried your burden, all of it, if you had allowed me.

You carried so much more than you know, my Sam, came the soft response. You carried me and not just up the mountain.

When Sam’s tears finally stilled, he looked back at the key and locked box. He didn’t think he was ready for that yet. He left the room, the box silently waiting for him.

__

A/N: The stationery box is from Larner’s "For Eyes to See As Can" as is the quote of Bilbo’s about Frodo needing to write things out instead of having them eat his heart out. The analogy of grief being a door to be walked through is adapted from Parent’s Grief, Help and Understanding After the Death of a Baby, by Carol Parrott, RN. The part about not being able to carry the burden alone and being sustained by Sam’s love is adapted from part of the Installation Homily of Pope Benedict XVI. Frodo’s prayer is taken from "An Act of Confidence in God" composed by St. Claude la Colombiere, SJ.

A/N:  Some of these letters deal with Frodo's struggle against suicidal depression, hence the rating of PG-13.  If you've already read "Letters I've Written..." then you already know what's coming.  If you haven't, consider yourself warned. 

Chapter 2: The Stationery Box

He wasn’t ready for the next several days. He avoided the study all together, though each time he passed the open door, it was as though he heard the box calling to him. Sometimes he thought he even heard Frodo himself inviting him in to read the papers within. But he was afraid of confronting all that pain when he had so much of his own still. He repaired the damage he had inadvertently done to the garden. He fixed the squeak the front door had acquired and the wobbly stool in the kitchen. He painted Elanor’s high chair a bright yellow. He cut wood for the upcoming winter. He continued, though not as often, to go toward the study or the bedroom, only to stop himself.

It was a week before he slept all the way through the night and he had cried the first morning when he realized he had done that. So many things were going to change now, be different, not be done again, not at Bag End at least. How long would it be before he could do those things again – make a mug of tea, watch his brother sleep and marvel at the light shining from him even in the darkest times, hold him? He thought he would go mad if he didn’t have the hope of doing all those things and more again.

A week of avoiding the stationery box was making his mood no better and he finally took the box out of the study late one afternoon and sat down in the living room near the fire. His fingers trembled slightly as he put the key in the lock. He found himself holding his breath as he opened the box. It was stuffed with years of frustrations, fears and disappointments. Sam bit back a tear just to see how full it was. He gingerly reached in and opened one of the folded papers.

That Ted Sandyman, I wish I could just belt him one and show him that he can’t just go round and treat lasses in that way or beat on those lads who rush to defend them. How can he stand himself doing what he does? I will show him one day. He can’t get away with all he does.

Sam almost smiled at that. He well remembered the day Frodo had dropped Sandyman to the ground with only one punch and left him spitting out a tooth that had been knocked loose. The bully had walked around with an ugly purple and yellow bruise on his jaw for days and couldn’t talk or eat right for a week. Many of the younger hobbits had been thrilled to see the fight. Frodo had simply been disgusted and Sam had heard him scribbling furiously after he had returned home.

Bilbo heard about it, smiled and clasped his nephew’s shoulder and told him he had done the right thing and he was proud of him. Frodo, who had been afraid of what his uncle would think, returned the smile and relaxed after that.

Another letter read, Merry can’t come for Yule after all. I am so disappointed I could scream. I was so looking forward to it. I have half a mind to go down to Buckland myself, but with this blasted sprained ankle of mine, I can hardly even move out of my own bed without crying out in pain. Bilbo and Sam have been so good to me, bringing me all my meals and eating with me, reading to me, helping me to the privy, everything. I hate being so helpless, but after Sam found me on the floor after I had tried and failed getting around on my own, I have had to resign myself to being an invalid for the duration, probably for all of Yule. How that galls me! My favorite time of year and I am stuck in bed!

Sam pulled out another paper. Bilbo left a week ago and Merry and Pippin left this morning. I miss them so much already! Bilbo talked so long about leaving that I thought I would be prepared when he finally did, but how can one prepare when a piece of heart just leaves your life and you don’t know if you’ll ever see it again? And so I am Master of Bag End now and as such I have to deal with those despicable S-B’s. I am ready to cry tears of frustration as they are already spying on me, waiting for me to leave too and saying all sorts of things about Bilbo being cracked and all that. I am that ready to scream back at them, but that would only reinforce what they are already saying about me. I wish I could use Bilbo’s ring, but Gandalf warned me against that so I am stuck. If it weren’t for Sam, I think I would go mad.

Emotion threatened to close Sam’s throat as he thought of how much he missed both his former masters. He almost stopped reading, but he reached for another of the letters.

The dream came again last night. I stood on a vast, rocky plain, devoid of any life. In the distance, there was the tower with a red light in the shape of a gigantic eye on the top of it, rotating slowly, looking for me. I tried to hide, but there was no place to do so. I felt its gaze on me, then through me, as though a hot poker from the fireplace had pierced me. And last night I understood the voice I had never been able to before. “You cannot hide! I see you! There is no life in the void...only death...” Then I was lifted up and moving toward the eye, closer and closer, faster and faster. That burning orb filled more and more of my vision until it became my entire world. Then I passed through the center of the eye and was absorbed into it. It became me and I became it. I have no idea what it means, but it’s coming with more and more frequency. I must have scared Sam half to death because I woke screaming, nearly right into his ear. He had noticed that I wasn’t sleeping well and had stayed the night. Dear, faithful Sam. What would I do without him? But I wish Gandalf was here. I wish Bilbo were here.

‘So do I,’ Sam thought. ‘I wish you were all here.’ He reached for one other. Rosie would be calling soon for supper, he knew.

I think this will be the last time I will be writing for a while; for I doubt I can bring this box with me, though I fear I will long for it ere I return...if I return. Gandalf has finally returned and with the most evil tidings. He told me Bilbo’s ring is really the One Ring of Sauron’s and the entire Shire is in peril if it remains. So I must leave. I must go from my home into danger and peril that I don’t even know if I will survive. I offered the Ring to Gandalf but he refused to take it. He was actually frightened by it, frightened by what he could do with it, what it could do to him. And that terrifies me. If the power of the Ring is too much for even a wizard to withstand, how can I, a small hobbit, possibly do it? It has to be destroyed and I already know I can’t bear to part with it. I tried and it just ended up in my pocket again, but Gandalf trusts me. If all he said is true, then this is all meant to be, so I must trust in his trust. I can do this. No one else can and I wonder how even I can, but there is Another too, I sense, that trusts me as well as I felt tonight the same peace, reassurance, comfort and strength that I’ve felt at the most grievous times of my life, after my parents died, after those dreams that are only getting worse. I am not alone. And I am so glad of that and I am so afraid. What dangers are out there already hunting for me? And soon will be hunting for Sam as well? I do not even want to think of it. If I did, I would never leave and I must.

I have spent so many years longing to leave, but it was always on an adventure with Bilbo or like the many I have had with Merry and Pippin and Sam, tramping all over the Shire. Those have been full of fun and thrills and we imagined all sorts of dangers, but we have always come back home, to a warm fire and a half-pint of ale and our pipes and laugh about it. I don’t know if I’ll be coming back from this. My heart quails within me, but I must be strong. I will be strong. I must protect the Shire. I must protect Sam because for worse, or better, I don’t know which, he is coming with me. Worse because I don’t want him to be going into such deadly danger as I am about to enter. He is far too dear to me to risk losing, as I’ve already lost my parents and Bilbo. I can’t bear to think of enduring another loss. But better because he’s been my steadfast friend and companion throughout all my years here at Bag End and if we had been born brothers, we could not be closer. I treasure him as much as I do my cousins, but I fear for him as well. What am I taking him into? And now the S-B’s will finally sink their claws into Bag End. I can sense their predatory anticipation and glee already. I can’t bear the thought of them being here. Even if I do return, I won’t have this home to return to. It’s making leaving even more bitter, but leave I must.

I will bring this box with me to Crickhollow at least. Merry is coming tomorrow with Pippin and will make sure the furniture and everything else will make it there all right. And then I will have to tell them that I can’t stay. That I am fleeing from terrible danger into terrible danger. At least I have the comfort that they will be safe here at home. But I fear, no, I know, that is only an illusion. They will follow, curse them, bless them. I don’t know whether to scream at them for such folly or hug them tight to me and tell them how much I love them for it.

Sam smiled at that last. He put down the letter, locked the box again and left the room to eat with his Rose and Elanor. There were other letters, but he needed the light around him again before dealing with those.

The next morning, after second breakfast, Sam took the letter box out into the garden. It was still warm enough even this late into October and he needed the sunshine around him for such as he feared he’d be reading.

I still want it. Why do I still want it? I hate it but I hate myself more for the longing that fills me. I don’t want to want it, but I do. And I can’t have it. It’s gone forever. And it’s not. At least Smeagol and Bilbo had the hope of seeing and holding it again. I don’t even have that. I will forever want it, knowing I can never have it. That would be enough to drive one mad, but I know I already must be. What sane person would long for something so evil? It consumed me, violated me, bit by bit, until it took nearly every bit of myself. Every time I resisted it, it taunted me and every time I gave in, it jeered at me. I became it and it became me. It tore me apart until I went mad. I tried to kill Sam and Smeagol because of it and in the end I claimed it for myself and I was glad then, glad to call it my own. And so I want it, after all the terrible things it did to me and I did to others because of it. If that is not madness, I don’t know what is. It drove Smeagol mad. It even made Bilbo mad when he was around it. That grieves me sorely. But it is gone now. It filled me with its incessant whispers, then shouts, then screams, then emptied me, leaving me with nothing but itself. I am nothing but a shell now.

Sam began to cry again. ‘Oh my dear, why didn’t you tell me? Why couldn’t I have known what was truly hurting you? All these months I watched it consume you and still I did not know that it did not die in the fire, but still held you.’

After I was stabbed on Weathertop, a gray veil fell over my eyes that made it hard to see what was around me. I was glad when night came and hid the veil from me, when things could look almost normal again, when I didn’t feel so cut off from everything. I feel it again now, but instead of it being in front of my eyes, it’s around my heart. Sam comes to me every night I scream out from nightmares, from the terrible longing that can never be assuaged and he holds me and rocks me and sings to me until I can sleep again. What a wonderful father he is! And not just to Elanor. It is the only time I can sleep, the only time the Ring is silent, drowned out by his voice and heartbeat in my ears. Dear, loving, faithful, sweet Sam. I wish I was selfish enough to stay in his arms forever, but I know I can’t do that.

‘You could have, dear. If it would have helped you, of course, you could have. I wish I was holding you now. I hope Mr. Bilbo or Mr. Gandalf or one of the Elves is doing it for you or even more, that despicable thing has finally let you go.’

Sam barely had the strength to reach for another letter, but he did. His brother had had much greater strength against much greater evil than merely reading a letter filled with pain. He could at least be brave enough to read through that torment.

I hated the darkness during the Quest. It was all I had at the end and I mourned every bit of light that disappeared day by day within my soul. I devoured every bit that still lingered, holding onto it jealously, but it was like trying to hold sunlight or moonlight. I could only watch as it slipped through my fingers.

But now when it should be all over but I know all too well that it’s not and I fear so greatly that it never will be, I love the dark. It’s a comforting presence now. I can hide or pretend to at least. I can have peace or the pretense of it. I don’t have to pretend in the dark that I’m not hurting. I don’t have to hide my tears or see them. I don’t have the chance of a glance in a mirror and see the eyes of a stranger look back at me or grieve at the hollowed out soul that stares back from those once bright eyes.

I see the sparks that still fly from that burned out place, see in the reflections of my dear Sam’s tears, the dying embers that he still so fiercely guards. I don’t know if he realizes that’s all they are. I pray he does not. For if he does, then all my hope is lost and I will not be able to withstand the voices that call all the more insistently that I just let go. But while I hold onto that, I hope, unbreakable thread of my dear guardian’s faith and love, I can endure the unendurable a little longer, for him, my brother, who I do not wish to be parted from. Not in the way the voices keep insisting. So I pray for his strength as much as I pray for mine.

If I don’t look at his tears, but just into his eyes, I can see the one place I still exist as something other than a burned out shell. That is the only reason I don’t stay in the dark forever. I need to see all that love he has unceasingly given me nearly as much as he needs to show it. I see it everyday in so many ways, in his constant care for me and I am so grateful for it.

‘You’re welcome, my dear treasure. Oh, how I wish you were still here to let me still take care of you!’

Sam sobbed silently all the harder, shoulders shaking as his grief took him, but he pulled out another letter and kept reading.

I am beginning to fear the dark again. The voices are getting louder and more insistent that I cut the thread that binds me to this life, to Sam and Merry and Pippin, to everything and everyone I hold so dear. Even if I don’t, I know I won’t see Sam’s children. I won’t hold them and look upon their sleeping faces with wonder and awe and so much love I would think my heart would burst with it. I won’t run with them and laugh at their bright, shining faces and play games and read to them or do anything with them. I won’t be there to share in Sam’s pride of them or smile at his great heart swelled with so much love for them. I know there will be many and I know I won’t be there to see anyone of them, but the first.

I think on some level Sam realizes this, though he hasn’t said anything. I wonder though if I have burdened him with that terrible knowledge through murmurs during the night when my struggle is the greatest against that which seeks to destroy me. I know he has come into my room, lamplight glinting off his tears, checking on me. Sometimes I will wake in the morning, exhausted from the battle to find him asleep beside me, holding me or my hand and I know then that’s how I survived the night. Other times, I stare at a lamp he has left for me for hours and hours as the long night passes, mesmerized by the light, drowning in it, drawing it into my soul. It is only when dawn comes that I can finally sleep, to try to find the strength to endure the next battle.

‘But where am I going to find the strength to endure mine?’ Sam wondered ‘I will not harm myself, I won’t. I have Rose and Elanor and I still have you, my dear, to look forward to seeing again. But it is that hard now just to breathe without you near!’

The gardener’s courage to keep reading faltered, but did not fail. He had to do this. He reached for another letter, another shard of pain that he wished he could have thrust into his own heart instead of letting it harm his beloved master and brother.

Sometimes I want so badly to give in. I cry so long. I am so tired, but I go on, dismissing each terrible idea as it comes to me, because I know no matter how carefully I make it look like it was just an accident, Sam will always know or at least wonder that it wasn’t. And I will not do that to him, my dearest, faithful friend. He nearly gave his life to safeguard mine. I have promised myself that I will not abuse or betray that tremendous gift. I counter each of those ideas with a prayer for light and endurance and courage, but every day my resolution weakens and I am praying harder and harder day by day for the strength to keep my promise.

Sam put the letter aside and looked at the box that still had many left to read. He didn’t feel strong enough though to continue. ‘Oh, my dearest, you always seemed so fragile to me, but you are so strong, so very strong, to endure all you did without breaking completely. It is your Sam that is weak, that he can’t even endure to read of your pain all the way through.’

The young hobbit took a deep breath, wiped at his tears and carried the box back into the smial. He’d read more later, but he needed Rose and Elanor now.

Just as, dear Sam, I needed you, came Frodo’s voice so clear it was as though he had spoken it into Sam’s ear. You are stronger than you know. But go now. Your family will always be there for you, just as you were always there for me. Le hannon, gwador nin.

Sam half-expected to see his brother standing next to him, eyes sad but smiling lovingly. He raised his hand to touch that beloved cheek he could almost see, then the vision faded from his eyes and he entered the foyer.

The next day was cloudy and the day after that and Sam could not bring himself to read anymore of the letters and cursed himself for being the weakest of ninnyhammers that he had not even the courage to pick up a piece of paper when his brother had carried the weight of the world’s evil around his neck for months.

But I needed the light, too, my Sam, to endure what I did. Your light. Don’t be so cross with yourself. You were my strength the entire time we were together.

The voice came so clearly again that Sam half-turned to see if Frodo was standing there and again, in his heart’s eye, he did. The same sad smile was there, but the love was even stronger. He stared and stared and stared as Rosie watched.

The next morning was sunny and Sam took the box back out into the garden. The weather was turning cooler, but he sat out there for some hours reading and crying.

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My ----

It’s not working! Why isn’t it working?! The pain won’t leave! Words cannot bleed it away as it always used to. I looked tonight at some of my earliest writings I’ve kept in this box and almost laughed. Such terrible things I thought at the time, consuming my whole world. I thought I knew what pain was. I had no idea, no idea at all. I thought I knew what despair was. I never knew that until the Ring came.

Always before I could write out my torment and leave it behind, no longer a part of me, but just some ink on a piece of parchment, no longer able to harm me. Oh, how I wish I could do that now! Why can’t I?

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My…

Leave me alone!! I have to leave. I must leave. NOW! Please let it be by ship. There are so many other ways I could. So many. The voices are getting ever stronger and it is taking all my will not to give into their cries.

I stood for a long time tonight at the threshold of Sam and Rose’s bedroom and just watched him sleep. My light in dark places. No night has yet been blacker and I so wanted to wake him and have him hold me and listen to his voice as he sang to me instead of the incessant whispers that haunt me day and night. But he has already spent far too many nights awake, watching over me, so I just watched, watched for hours, until I thought I could be on my own. But I know now I can’t be.

Earlier tonight, a small drop of ink dropped onto my wrist. I turned my hand over and watched fascinated as more dripped on it. My wrist became black as I drew the quill across it over and over again. It was sharp, but not enough to cut. I must never let it be. It would be so easy... I kept darkening my wrist with the ink, wasting it shamefully as it dripped down onto the paper. I raised my hand and the ink dripped down my fingers. I wish it could be all the poison in me coming out, but it isn’t. To do that, I would have to break the skin. It is tempting to do that, so tempting. I pressed the quill down a little harder onto my skin. But it was still not strong enough and I was glad. If it could break the skin, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop. I would dig deeper and deeper until I was bled out.

Sam put down the letter and sobbed loud and hard. ‘Oh, my dear, my dear...’ Rose came out to him, hearing it, and held him and rocked him, singing to him softly. He held onto her tightly and cried all the more until finally she was able to let him go and return inside where Elanor’s cries echoed his.

Rose wiped at her own tears and picked up their daughter. Sam followed her inside. There would be no more reading today. Elanor reached out her arms to her father and Sam held her and rocked her in the chair Frodo had given. He stroked her back and kissed her head and sang to her of how much he loved her, and in doing so he found a comfort which nothing else could give.

Sam reached for another letter the next day, thought it was raining and cool enough to have a fire going. He looked at the fire for a long time and thought that he had brought Frodo back from it, but in many ways, his brother had never left it. It remained inside of him and continued to ravage him. But fire was also light and life and warmth, not just destructive force and it was those elements of it, the young gardener drew on for strength as he started to read.

Sam knows now. He saw my wrist at breakfast, darkened with ink that I couldn’t scrub off and I know from the look in his eyes that he didn’t see black, but red. I had tried to clean myself up, but I couldn’t get it all. He didn’t say anything, just got a cloth and some soap, then he took my hand tenderly in his and wiped at the ink until it was all gone. I cried so hard at his gentleness and my torment, unable to stop. When he finished, he brought my wrist to his lips and kissed it, then looked up at me. There was so much pain there for me, but so much more love and compassion just like there had been at the Fire and throughout the entire Quest, throughout the last thirty years. I cried even harder looking at it all. He still didn’t say anything, not with words, but we have long passed beyond the need for that. The voices keep telling me that I am all alone, that there is no hope, that only pain will attend to me the rest of my life. And it is when Sam is not near that I fear they are right and I look down the long path of years that stretch before and I know I can not endure that, not alone. But then Sam comes. He always does, my dearest, most beautiful friend. He held me then and rocked me until there were no more tears in me. I looked back up at him and wanted to beg him to forgive me for what he had seen of my weakness and pain, but I saw that he already had. He wiped my tears and kissed my head, then let me go.

We spent the whole day out. He packed a large basket, holding it in one hand, my maimed hand in the other. He didn’t let go the entire time we walked. It was a bright, sunny day and I felt it slowly seep into my body and heart and soul. We didn’t talk as he led me past all the places I’d be missing if I let it all go. We had lunch at my favorite tree and I rested in his lap as he stroked my curls and sang to me. I fell asleep listening to his heart and slept, truly and deeply, for the first time in months. We didn’t return until it was nearly dark and there was a warm light in the window welcoming us back. The basket was empty, but my heart was fuller than it has been for longer than I want to remember. He spent the night with me, too, sitting in the chair next to me, holding my hand all the night. I know the voices are all lies. Perhaps the pain will not ease much, but I shall always, always have my Sam guarding me and loving me far more than I deserve. I shall never be alone.

‘No, dear, you never will be. And I won’t be either. I know that now.’

The next letter was very short and written in shaky handwriting. The thread is fraying so quickly, growing so thin. I have to decide soon what to do, before the power to make that decision is taken from me.

The next was in a stronger hand, more akin to the elegance that Frodo’s writing had nearly always had. Gandalf has told me that the ship is ready to sail. I will be on it. I must be on it. There is no choice anymore. Or there is, but this choice is the least evil. But how to tell Sam? How to tell my dearest, most faithful guardian and brother, the one who never abandoned me, that I must now abandon him, with only the hope of healing, not even the certainty of it? It will hurt him, but better this way than any other and this hope is more than I have had in a long time.

Sam put the letter down, covered his face with his hand and sobbed. ‘I hate that you had to leave, dear, but better the way you did, with hope, than any other way. Oh, I hope you can somehow tell me you are happy and when this dark night passes for both of us, I hope I can tell you too. If only when we meet again. And we will, my treasure, we have to. I have to know you’re all right.’

He put the letter back into the box. Then he looked to the fire. He wondered if he should burn the letters now that had so much pain in them, but that didn’t seem right. The letters also had much of Frodo’s love in them too and Sam couldn’t bear to part with that.

Dear Sam, his beloved brother’s voice and smile came in his head and heart, you will always have that, whether you keep the letters or not.

And you, my love, will always have mine, he replied.

I know, my Sam, I know. Thank you.

Sam locked the box and put it away in one of the drawers in the study, then walked away.

Chapter 3: Comfort

That evening Sam returned to Frodo's room and sat on the bed for a long while, thinking of all the joys and sorrows they had shared. He thought of the day they had first met, when Frodo had arrived at Bag End with a terrible cold, of how they had laughed and talked, of how Frodo had shone with vivacity and happiness, his cold forgotten. The gardener thought of all the adventures they had had in childhood: long walks and camping trips with just Frodo and himself, and sometimes Merry and Pippin or even Bilbo.

He thought of the time after Bilbo had left that he had accompanied Frodo on one of his many wanderings, and the elder hobbit had fallen from a tree and broken his ankle. Sam had carried him home, amid much protesting. A healer could not be found as it was the time of the Free Fair, and Sam had had to set the ankle. Frodo had put his fist in his mouth to stifle the cries that he knew were inevitable as Sam set and splinted the broken bones, terrified that he might do something wrong and make it worse. But in the end it had been done, and then Sam had hugged his friend and cried. He couldn’t bear to see Frodo in pain, but to be the cause of it was too much. Frodo had held him and told him bravely that it hadn’t hurt so badly, that it was all right, and for the next six weeks Sam had made Bag End his home, doing whatever needed to be done so that Frodo need not stir.

Sam sighed heavily and rose to his feet, feeling as if he were made of lead. He drew a sleeve across his red, swollen, aching eyes. He felt as if he had done nothing but weep all day. With an effort he checked his tears and made for the kitchen. He needed to do something, find some task that would take his mind off the grief. He found Rose busily washing the supper dishes.

“May I, love?” he asked softly, laying a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

She turned to him with one of her beautiful smiles and handed him the dish cloth. “You wash and rinse, I’ll wipe and put them away.”

For a long while they worked side by side in companionable silence, listening to Elanor’s soft, drowsy cooing from her blanket on the floor near them. Then Rosie began to hum an old Shire love song, and presently Sam joined in, singing the words:

“If I could climb the sky so blue,

My lassie, my lassie,

I’d fetch the sun to give to you,

My lass, my dearest darling.”

Rose replied,

“What need have we for sun so bright,

My laddie, my laddie,

When our love outshines its light,

My lad, my dearest darling?”

Then Sam sang again:

“If I could swim the deepest sea,

My lassie, my lassie,

I’d fetch a dozen pearls for thee,

My lass, my dearest darling.”

Rose replied, a smile growing on her face:

“What need have we for wealth of gems,

My laddie, my laddie,

When love surpasses all of them,

My lad, my dearest darling?”

Sam was smiling as well by now, and looked lovingly at his wife as he replied:

“Then what gift shall I offer you,

My lassie, my lassie?

Not sun or gems from depths of blue,

My lass, my dearest darling?”

“Neither’d be so sweet to me,” Rose replied,

“My laddie, my laddie,

As your love will ever be,

My lad, my dearest darling.”

The song ended, and acting on a sudden impulse, Sam turned and kissed Rosie’s cheek. In that moment he was happy, and he knew that he could go on.

When the dishes were done, Rose collected Elanor, and the little family retired to the parlour. Rose settled Elanor and herself into the rocking chair, and Sam sat across from her. But his eyes kept straying to the empty, overstuffed armchair beside him. Frodo had always sat there in the evenings and read aloud to them all. The book he had been reading on that last night still lay on the table, and the blanket which he had wrapped about himself was still draped over the back of the chair. At last Sam could bear it no longer. He rose and began to pace, saying in a tone akin to despair, “Oh, it’s haunting, it is!”

Rose, with Elanor in one arm, went to him and put her arm about his shoulders. “Come, dearest. You sit here and rock Ellie. I’ve one more thing to do in the kitchen.”

Sam willingly obliged, and Rose bustled off, humming to herself. She stoked the fire and put the kettle on. When the water began to boil she steeped the last of the chamomile tea, making a mental note to buy more when she was next at market.

 Sam’s voice drifted to her ears, and she caught the words he sang:

“Sleep now

And know that I love you

Let aside your cares

I will protect you…”

Tears came unbidden to Rose’s eyes. That had been Mr. Frodo’s favourite lullaby. How often had she listened from a distance while Sam sang it over and over during those long nights? She had even sung it herself sometimes, when Sam was away and Mr. Frodo’s nightmares were worse than usual. Get a hold of yourself, Rosie! she told herself sternly. He needs you to be strong now. You might be sad, but you haven’t lost half what he has; you know that! So stop your crying and pour that tea.

Sam sang until Elanor’s eyes closed and she lay quiet and still in his arms. He let his voice drop to a low hum and finally fall silent as he gazed down at her, simply watching her sleep and rejoicing in her. She was so innocent, so pure, so beautiful-unmarred by care and sorrow…and she was his, his sweet Star-flower, as Frodo had often called her. He did not notice that Rose stood before him with a cup of tea until she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Sam, drink this,” she said, offering the steaming tea.

He recognized the smell of it instantly, took the cup with a murmured “thank you, dear” and a ghost of a smile and sipped at its contents. Rose smiled at him, and then took Elanor from his arms and carried her away to tuck her into bed.

A short time later Sam and Rosie retired. Sam felt drained, just as he had every night since Frodo’s departure. He remembered feeling just so after his mum’s death. The feeling had eventually gone away, but now he wondered if it ever would. But he said nothing of this to Rosie and soon fell asleep, listening to her breathing and trying to hold onto the feeling of peace he had known earlier that evening.

Rosie lay awake for a long while that night, watching over Sam as he slept, now and again smoothing his brow when it furrowed in some discomfort at which she could only guess. Oh, dearest, she thought, you’ve gone through so much. I wish I knew how to spare you this. It makes my heart ache to see yours so broken. I’d like to say I understand, but I don’t really. I can only suppose you feel as I would if Jolly died…like you’ve lost part of your soul; and I know that’s how it is. I see it in your eyes. I miss him too, Sam, and I wish with all my heart he hadn’t gone. Bag End seems so empty without him. But keep up your heart, love. You’ve still got Ellie and me, and we’re not going nowhere.

She remembered one of the last nights Frodo had spent in the Shire. Her husband had sat bolt upright in bed, wrapped in some terrible dream...

“Frodo!” Sam called out. “Frodo, watch out!”

Rose startled awake to see her husband scramble out of bed and run down the hall, still crying out. “Frodo! Frodo!”

Frodo sat up abruptly in his bed as Sam rushed into his room. “The Riders, Frodo, the Riders!”

Still sleep-mazed, Frodo looked at his dearest friend and fear gripped him. He looked around, drawn into Sam’s dream, afraid he would see wraiths reaching out for him. His shoulder ached in sympathy and he had to concentrate hard on remembering that he was in his own bed and the Riders were gone.

He reached out for Sam and took him into his arms. The gardener clutched at him, looking at him blindly. Frodo winced to see the terror he saw by the moonlight shining through the window. “I’ve got to get you out of here!” the younger hobbit cried. “They’re coming! They’re coming!”

Frodo held onto his beloved guardian tighter and resisted Sam’s pull to get him out of bed. “No, my Sam,” he said softly. “You are having a dream, just a bad dream. The Riders are gone. Listen to my voice, dearest. It’s all right now. It’s all right. We’re safe. We’re home. You got me there.”

Rose watched from the threshold as Frodo continued to murmur comforts and reassurances, as he stroked Sam’s curls and rocked him gently while holding him tight. It took a long time for Sam to calm and each moment it did broke Rose’s heart a little more that her husband was still not recovered himself from all the traumas he and Mr. Frodo had endured. Tears streaked down her cheeks barely noticed as she watched Sam finally wake, then fall back asleep in Frodo’s arms.

The elder hobbit raised his eyes to her and Rose nearly gasped at the haunted, sorrowful look there. She wondered anew what had happened to her love and her friend. She had imagined many terrible things, but she knew that she would never have enough imagination to come close to the reality that her Sam and his Mr. Frodo had endured. She didn’t ask anymore what had happened. She knew they would not tell her, but she saw enough in their eyes.

“I’m sorry, Rose,” Frodo said quietly. He looked down at Sam. “He shouldn’t still be burdened with these trials. He shouldn’t have been burdened at all.”

“He wouldn’t have been parted from you, Mr. Frodo,” Rose said just as softly.

Frodo placed a grateful kiss on his beloved guardian’s head. “I know, and Middle-earth will always be grateful for that, and so will I, but I will grieve also. We had no idea what was to come, Rose, no idea.”

Rose held her breath. Frodo had spoken in such a haunted voice. She wondered if she would hear something of their terrible journey. It frightened her, but she also very much wanted to hear, to help share the burden.

“It became so dark,” the Ring-bearer continued, almost to himself, as he continued to look down at Sam, “so very dark. He was my light in those places but I couldn’t be his. He had to be his own and mine. Even now he has to be. I had no idea then how much that took from him, how much it’s still taking. We kept waiting for the dawn, but it was so long in coming. For me, it never came. But now, I think I am beginning to see it, on the horizon, rising in the West, beyond the Sea.”

He kissed his Sam’s head again softly and held him tighter. Rose didn’t think he was even aware of her anymore. “Forgive me,” he murmured into those dear curls, then he closed his eyes and tried to sleep once more.

Rose remembered leaving the room that night in tears. It was a long time before she had slept again. But in the morning, Sam was his normal cheerful self, though his eyes were a little more haunted and at the same time more tender as he watched his brother. Frodo had watched him as well with a fond smile. To Rose, it had seemed as though the master of Bag End was looking at his friend to store each beloved feature into his memory, but she tried to tell herself that was only her imagination. Then Frodo had looked at her and nodded and she had nodded back in silent understanding and then she knew with sickening certainty her worst fears were coming true. She had barely been able to keep back her tears as she set the breakfast table with Frodo’s help, but even as her heart had broke for her friend and even more for her Sam, she knew some peace and happiness also that maybe her dear friend would be healed. That hope had given them both the strength to smile for Sam and enjoy the breakfast together, one of the last they’d share.

Rose fell asleep again with one arm around her husband, her head buried in his chest to listen to his heart.

Sam was remembering Frodo also, but his dreams were not the same. He stood in the study doorway, gazing in at the untidy room. Papers and books lay everywhere. Then his eyes fell upon the desk. To his great surprise, Frodo sat there. But how could that be? Frodo had gone West with Mr. Bilbo and the Elves. Was it a dream? Oh well, if it was, he didn't want it to end. Then he noticed what Frodo was doing.

The stationery box was open, and Frodo was writing furiously on one of the beautiful papers. His face was pale save for the spots of colour in his cheeks. At last he stopped writing and held the pen in mid air, breathing hard. His other hand rested on the desk, and a drop of ink dripped onto it. He began drawing the pen over his wrist again and again, letting the ink cover his hand. His lips moved, but no words came out.

Sam stepped forward and laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder. “Oh, my dear, please don't,” he said softly. “Here, give me your wrist.” He took out a handkerchief and tried to wipe away the ink that stained Frodo's fair flesh.

But the quill came down again, and as it touched Frodo's wrist, it changed shape and to Sam’s horror, became a small, but sharp, knife. It cut deep, and the black of the ink changed to red.

“Mr. Frodo, no!” the gardener shouted. “Stop! Please stop! You can't do this to yourself!”

“It’s too late, Sam. I can't go on.” Frodo's voice was strained and seemed to come from far away.

“Yes, you can, dear. Please, please stop!” Sam begged. “I'll help you. I'll love you always. Only please don't do this! Please stop, pleeease!”

Frodo suddenly sat as still as a stone. Then his face turned an alarming grey, and he first trembled and then slumped forward. Everything began to fade, as if Sam was being carried slowly away on the breath of a wind. “I’m sorry, my Sam. Good-bye," came Frodo's clear but sorrowful voice. And then he and the study were gone.

“No, no, no! Mr. Frodo, no! Please come back!” Sam sobbed. “Please don’t go!”

And then arms were around him and he heard a gentle voice from far away:“Sam, Sam dearest, wake up. Wake up, darling. It’s only a bad dream. It’s all right. Wake up, love.”

It was Rosie’s voice. He felt himself held to her shoulder and being gently rocked. He suddenly threw his arms around her, still sobbing and unable to stop, try as he might. “Oh, Rosie,” he managed to say through his tears. “Oh, Rosie…it was so…horrible!”

“Shhhh, Shhhh, there, me dear. It’s all right now. It’s all right.” She held him more tightly, rocking him and humming softly until the sobs quieted and the room was still. “Would you like to tell me about it, my Sam?” she whispered presently. “It may help.”

Frodo had never told; he had kept the darkness locked away inside him, had tried to hide it from all eyes. And that was what had eventually driven him from Middle-earth. It had sought to claim him, and in the end had taken him from those who loved him best. Sam would not make that same mistake. “Yes,” he said at length. “I must.”

Then he told her everything-all about the letters, Frodo’s darkness, self-loathing, and shame, the ink stains on his wrist, and finally the dream. “And then everything faded out and I woke up,” he said in conclusion. “Oh, Rosie! The look in his eyes…he looked…wild…mad…like…”

He began to sob again, and Rose held him, murmuring reassurances. “Oh, Sam, that was horrible. But it was just a dream. It didn’t happen and it won’t happen. Why, Mr. Frodo’s with the Elves now, and Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Gandalf and all. And if he could see you now, I’ll warrant he’d tell you he’s all right and you mustn’t fret so. That would be like him, wouldn’t it?”

But Sam could not reply, for he suddenly felt as if his heart’s brother could see him. And again he heard that beloved voice: Oh, my Sam, I’m so sorry. Don’t weep so. It was but a terrible dream. I’m all right. I am beginning to heal. Listen to Rosie, and don’t be frightened any more.

Rose saw the change in her husband’s face and waited quietly until the distant look passed. Sam gave a deep, shuddering sigh and nodded. “Yes, Rosie-lass, that is just like our Mr. Frodo.”

Rose smiled bravely at him and lay down, pulling him close to her so that his head rested over her heart. “There,” she said. “Are you comfortable?”

“Couldn’t be more so,” he murmured, feeling suddenly exhausted.

“Sleep then, dear.”

He returned her embrace, and she began softly stroking his curls and singing the lullaby he had sung to Elanor that evening:

“Sleep now

And know that I love you…”

Sam closed his eyes and let Rosie’s sweet voice and the gentle words of the song soothe his fears. The melody flowed over and under and around him like a vast ocean of love, carrying him slowly and sweetly into blissful, dreamless sleep.

Rosie gradually stopped singing and gazed tenderly into Sam’s sleeping face, still tear-streaked but peaceful. She kissed away the mark of a tear on his cheek and brushed his curls one last time before her hand came to rest, burying itself in them. “Sleep well, dear heart,” she whispered.

Chapter 4: Beginning to Heal

It was a month later that Sam took Frodo’s walking stick from where it had stood forlornly by the front door all that time and went on a trip past all his brother’s favorite places, stopping at each to remember and to cry a little and then to smile. He increasingly felt that he did not walk alone, that Frodo was beside him, smiling, laughing, teasing with such love in his voice and eyes that Sam stood for a long time just looking and listening to what his heart saw and heard. If anyone had seen him, they would have shaken their head and wondered at the solitary hobbit that stood staring into space, but Sam knew he was not alone, that he never would be. The ties of friendship and love did indeed stretch far enough to reach across the Sea as Frodo said they would. Nothing would sever them.

The last thought before he closed his eyes each night was the same thing he had said every night his brother had been with him, Goodnight, dear. Sleep well. I love you. And each night he heard, I love you, too, my Sam and then he’d be able to sleep, immensely grateful that at least one thing had not changed when everything else had.

Six months after that day, Sam stood at the edge of the dock at the Grey Havens, looking out to the Sea, to where he had said goodbye half a year before. Gulls wheeled and cried in the sky, the Sea lapped against the dock and Sam’s heart was at once torn by longing and eased by it all. Before this place had been a place of desolation, but now it seemed to be a place of hope and even healing.

Hullo, dear, are you well? he asked in the silence of his heart and awaited the answer he knew would come.

Yes, dearest Sam, I am beginning to heal. When you come, I will be well again.

So will I then. I can’t wait to see you and hold you again.

Nor can I, my Sam.

Sam watched the water for a long time, simply enjoying being the closest he could be to his brother physically, then he began to softly sing.

“The water is wide,

And bright are the stars o'er the grey flowing sea.

I'm thinking of you, dear, wherever you may be.

“The water is deep,

And long are the days since your face I have seen,

And many the tears I have shed for your going.

I love you, though the sea lies between,

Though the deep rolling sea lies between.

“I stand on the shore,

And I gaze at the ocean, so wide, deep and blue.

I weep as I wonder, oh why did you leave me?

“I stand on the shore,

I stand and I list to the song of the sea.

O wait for me, dear one, and do not forget me,

For soon I will come, to thee;

I'll come o'er the ocean to thee.”

A breeze caressed Sam’s cheek. Oh, my Sam, that was beautiful. I have missed your songs. I’m so glad you are well enough to sing once more. I love you so much.

The humble gardener did not notice Cirdan the Shipwright at first, smiling at him, but then he did and he blushed furiously that his simple attempt at singing had been noticed. Now the Elves, they could sing! he thought.

So can you, my brother, so can you.

Sam then returned the smile. He’d return to this place one day, and he knew the Elf would be there to take him...

Home, my brother. I’m teaching some of the Elves Westron and they and Bilbo are teaching me Quenya. And then I’ll be able to teach you! It amuses me to hear them speak our language, as I’m sure I amuse them with my Shire accent and their words! Oh, Sam, I just can’t wait to welcome you here!

Sam could hear his brother’s laugh and laughed as well, overjoyed to hear such. It eased his heart so much. To anyone else, it would seem he laughed to himself, but Cirdan knew very well he did not.

I love you and miss you still so much, too, but you never really left me, did you?

Sam felt Frodo’s loving smile, saw the same shining from his eyes. No, dearest heart, just as you have not left me. Live your life, Sam, then come. I will still be here. I have begged that favour of Iluvatar and I have the greatest hope that my prayers for that and for your healing and mine will be answered.

The voice was full of peace and a quiet joy, as it had been before the Ring stole so much from him, and Sam’s heart was eased to know that his brother was finding the peace he so desperately needed.

He nodded to Cirdan with a smile. The Elf returned both and then the hobbit left with Frodo’s prayer of hope echoing in his mind. He met Rose and took her by the hand and Elanor in his arm.

Epilogue:

Sam leaned on the rail of the ship’s deck, straining his eyes to see the glistening white shore. He could just make out what seemed a multitude of Elves bustling here and there, making ready for the ship that would soon arrive, the ship that bore him; but the figures were as yet small and unrecognizable. Oh, if we could just get closer, I could see him! He is still there, I hope. Oh, he has to be!

He heard a laugh inside his head and nearly burst with joy. Of course I'm here, mell min. And don't you dare jump off and try to swim to get here faster! I can feel how much you want to do that. It’s just as hard to keep myself from swimming out to you!

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Cirdan standing by his side, smiling down at him. “Patience, mellon nin,” he said, just as if Sam had spoken aloud.

Sam looked down and blushed. “Oh, sir, I didn’t mean…”

“Nay,” Cirdan interrupted gently. “Do not apologize. I, too, am eager to reach the shores of the Blessed Land, and even from here I begin to make out the faces of my kindred who wait there. I am not near enough to see one of Iorhael’s stature, but he is there, I assure you. Soon, soon...”

Sam sighed inwardly and turned his eyes back to the shoreline, willing the boat to move faster, clutching the rail tightly to resist the urge to jump overboard and start swimming ahead.

At long last the sails were furled and the ship came into port. To Sam’s own shock, all the Elves aboard it stood back, that he might go before them. For a moment he was uncertain, but then he forgot his embarrassment and ran forward; for there on the dock stood a small figure with silver curls and shining eyes.

“Mr. Frodo!” cried Sam, nearly falling into the water in his haste.

Frodo laughed and caught his friend in his arms. “Easy, my Sam, easy! You must find your feet on land again, after being so long on the water. Oh, my dearest, I’m so very glad you’re here at last!” He covered his brother with kisses.

They held one another, beaming, as if they would never let go. Frodo smelled the Shire for the first time in over 60 years and Sam smelled tea and ink and sunshine...and pipeweed! He was so glad that his brother had healed enough to want to smoke a pipe again. He had not been able since they had returned from the Fire. And to hear his brother laugh again, so full and deeply! He could have burst from such joy.

At last Sam drew back so that he could look more closely at his Frodo. The brother of his heart had not changed in body, save that he shone more brightly than ever he had in Middle-earth. His eyes were still amazingly blue. The radiance that emanated from him made his smile seem yet more beautiful and full of joy.

“Well,” Frodo said in a light, teasing tone, “has a little time among Elves improved my looks?”

Sam laughed. “A little time, sir? Why, it’s been sixty years! I would have never thought your beauty could be improved upon, but you look splendid, more than splendid! More…more...I don’t know how to say it... more full than you ever looked back there.” He waved a hand vaguely behind him. “And especially since…since…”

“Since the Ring came to me, and especially since it was destroyed,” Frodo volunteered, growing serious but still seeming unperturbed. “It’s all right, Sam. Evil things cannot come here and that evil is gone from the world.”

Sam smiled in relief. “Oh, Mr. Frodo, you look so much better…and it goes deeper than looks…I don’t know how to describe it,” he murmured, embracing Frodo again.

Frodo returned the embrace and smiled. “I have been healed, Sam.”

They let those words sink into their shared heart and soul, then Frodo held his brother at arm’s length, just to look into that shining face. “And now to matters at hand,” he said with a mischievous smile. “First, I’ll have no more of this ‘Mr.’ and ‘sir’…and especially not ‘proper!’”

Sam laughed. “Now you sound like Merry and Pippin! They made me stop that right after you left.”

Frodo pretended to be hurt. “Do you mean to tell me you did it for them just like that and never would stop when I asked you? Oh, Sam, I’m shocked!”

Sam laughed again, knowing his brother was teasing. “I didn’t stop right off!” he said in his defense. “It took a long while. Old habits die hard, but I suppose I could get used to saying ‘Frodo’ instead of ‘Mr. Frodo.’”

“Excellent!” said a deep, beloved voice from behind Sam. “Well, my lads, if that is settled, it is high time you both prepared for the feast.”

“Mr. Gandalf!” cried Sam, turning and throwing himself into the Maia’s arms.

Gandalf laughed as he embraced the hobbit. “Ah, my dear boy! It gladdens my heart to know that you are again at Frodo’s side.”

“‘My boy,’ sir?” laughed Sam, emboldened by Frodo’s teasing admonitions about honorific titles.

Frodo laughed. “Well, I haven’t been successful in breaking him of the habit, though I have tried. He still calls me ‘my lad’ and I’m...I’m...” The former Ring-bearer craned his neck up and squinted into the sun to look at his friend. “How old am I, Gandalf? Time goes by so differently here.”

“You are 114, my lad,” Gandalf said with a twinkle in his eye. “And I can call you that because I will always be much older than you, no matter how long you live.”

“I didn’t miss wishing you a happy birthday each year,” Sam said. “Thank you for all your wonderful gifts.”

Frodo smiled lovingly at his friend. “You’re welcome, dearheart. I was so amazed when Gandalf said I could still talk to you and so grateful.”

Sam returned the smile with just as much love. “Must be that bit of Elvishness in you, dear. I remember you telling me they could do that over distances, but I never understood or believed it until I heard with my own ears, or my heart or...or...oh, I don’t care how they do it, I’m just glad they can and you could! I think I would have gone mad without it, though I wondered if I was getting cracked the first times I heard it. I didn’t know if it was real or not.”

Frodo laughed and hugged his friend tight. “It was real, my Sam.”

Sam returned the embrace. He didn’t want to ever let go.

Gandalf watched with great satisfaction and contentment. “Well now,” he said after a long while. “Are you going to attend your welcome feast, Master Samwise?”

Sam looked at his brother’s shining face. He would never, ever tire of looking at that. “A feast? For me? What for? I don’t need no feasting...”

Frodo chuckled. “What for? What for? What kind of talk is that, coming from a hobbit! I assure you, my dear Sam, you won’t want to miss this. Feasts here are always enjoyable, and I myself had a hand in the preparations for this one. As to what for...” Frodo took his brother’s hand. “You are here, dearest,” he said softly. “You are here.”

That evening, after much feasting and merrymaking, Frodo took Sam to the little house in which he lived. It was built after the manner of a Shire dwelling, but much smaller than many, having only a kitchen, a sitting room, and two bedrooms.

“Bilbo and I shared this house for as long as he lived,” Frodo told Sam as they entered. “But we never spent a great deal of time here, so we didn’t need it to be very large. We stayed mostly by the Sea. And even now I don’t often stay here, even at night. There is never bad weather to worry about and it’s so pleasant just to lie under the stars and listen to the singing of the Elves.

“But tonight we shall stay here and have a cup of tea and a good talk, Shire fashion; for I have missed it sorely at times. Have a seat, my Sam, and I’ll put the kettle on and find us something to fill up the corners with.”

Sam grinned. “What corners?” he asked as he sat down on a cushioned chair before a low table in the sitting room.

Frodo laughed, and Sam thought it sounded even more melodic than it had in Middle-earth, even before the Ring. He would tire of listening to it.

Soon both hobbits were comfortably seated with cups of hot tea and small dainties to nibble on. They fell to talking of the years they had spent apart. Frodo told of the glories of this land. Sam told of all his children, of their childhood adventures and misdeeds, of their spouses and children. Then they began to talk of their healing. Frodo told of how the illnesses had suddenly ceased, and even the nightmares had quickly grown less and then abated altogether. Slowly he had strengthened, both physically and mentally.

“But it isn’t the same as it was before the Ring, Sam,” he said. “I feel…new…as if my soul had been gently disassembled, all the poison leeched from it, then refined and put back together. And I dare say that’s very nearly what did happen.”

“Frodo,” said Sam in a moment of silence, “remember in your last letter, you told me there was no way round grief, that you had to go through the flames?”

Frodo nodded.

“I understand what you mean now. Of course, as time passed and my little ones were born, I began to heal; but I always felt something was missing…you were missing. But now I’ve really come through and found you on the other side.”

Frodo reached across the table and took Sam’s hands. “I was always there with you in spirit, my dearest, every step of the way. Just as I knew you were with me. But I wished that I could have been there physically many, many times...far too many to count.”

Sam thought for a moment and then said reflectively. “You know, when I woke up in Ithilien after Mordor and all, I asked Gandalf if everything sad would come untrue. I thought, that day at the Havens, saying good-bye to you, that a tale couldn’t have a sadder end. But the truth of it is that in the end, when we get to the Presence, it don’t matter how our tale ended here, as long as it ended well, because we’ll all be together, and we’ll all come through.”

Frodo squeezed his brother’s hand. “That’s very true, my Sam. And it will end well.”

Sam stood for a long time at the threshold of Frodo’s small bedroom that night, watching his friend sleep as he had longed to do for over sixty years. Frodo lay perfectly still, his hands folded upon his breast, his face serene and smiling even in slumber. He now seemed not only to shine softly but to glow. He could just as easily be a star up there among all the others, Sam thought. But the thought chilled him; for in body Frodo looked so fragile that a strong wind could bear him away. But he had always looked that way and Sam well knew how strong he truly was. Still there was a brush of fear against his heart.

“Don’t go yet, Frodo dear,” he whispered. “Not again without your Sam.”

Frodo opened his eyes and smiled gently. “I won’t, Sam. I’ll be here until you are ready to depart, then we’ll go together.” His smile widened and became a little mischievous as he added, “You can’t stop worrying about me even now, can you?”

Stepping to the bedside, Sam bent to brush back the curls and bestow a kiss upon the fair brow. “No, I can’t, me dear. Rosie told me once that I had been loving you and taking care of you so long, that I couldn’t have no peace while I wasn’t doing it. So I haven’t stopped for one moment. I love you too much to ever stop.”

Frodo’s smile grew more tender. “I love you, too, my Sam. Thank you. Thank you for all you ever did for me, and for being willing to let me go when I could not stay. I didn’t want to leave, you know. But…”

“But you couldn’t heal there. I know now. I know. Sleep now.”

Sleep now. Oh, those words brought back so many memories! Sam closed his eyes and began to sing very softly. The tune was as familiar as the memories it stirred, but the words were new, straight from his heart.

“Sleep now,

And know that I love you.

Pain and care are gone.

I am with you.

“Sleep now,

And know that I love you.

I’ll never leave you.

I’ll always be by you.”

“Sleep now,

And know that I love you.”

  Frodo smiled and closed his eyes, slipping almost at once into a light but sweet slumber. When Sam had ended his song, he gazed down at his sleeping brother, rejoicing in the peace in that beloved face. Yes, they had both come through in the end.