Autumn, 1420

Sam sneezed again into one of the many stacks of handkerchiefs by Frodo’s bed. He had never felt so wretched. It was bad enough that he was so sick he hadn’t been able to get up for three days, but that was not the worst part. The healer, Mrs. Grooch, had sent Rose back to her family for the duration, fearing such a high fever, coughing, sneezing and retching could prove harmful to the young mother or her unborn child. Sam missed her fiercely, though he was also glad she was not near to also sicken. Mr. Frodo had insisted that Sam sleep in his own bed until he was well. As miserable as he felt and certainly not worthy of such, Sam had vehemently protested that, but his master would have none of it.

“It’s the most comfortable bed in the whole smial, Sam,” Frodo had said that first night as Mrs. Grooch stood by. “You are going to need that with how wretched you are. I’d make you sleep in it every night, well or ill, if I thought I could get away with it, for you certainly deserve that and more for all the hard ground you had to sleep on for months for my sake. I can sleep very comfortably in one of the guest bedrooms, or even on the floor here, so I can take care of you better.”

Sam and the healer had both look horrified at those words.

“Oh, no, Mr. Frodo,” the matronly Mrs. Grooch had said. “You should be leaving also. You can’t risk getting ill yourself, with your constitution already weakened. You could die...”

“Please, Mr. Frodo...” Sam said, but he knew from the look in his master’s eyes that it was a lost cause.

Frodo drew himself up to his full three feet six inches. “Then, Mrs. Grooch,” he said with quiet dignity, “I should consider it an honor to die in his service, since he very nearly died in mine. No, I will not abandon him in his dire need as he did not abandon me in mine.”

The middle-aged hobbitess, who had never been beyond Hobbiton in her entire life, wondered about the tale behind those words, the pain that spoke so eloquently from Frodo’s eyes that had once been so bright in his early youth. Oh, he was just as beautiful as he always had been, but there was a torment in those eyes now that she could not imagine the cause. It was just as bad as she had seen after his parents had died. He had thrown himself in her arms unexpectedly once shortly after that, when Mr. Bilbo had come to have him stay for a little while, away from the scene of the tragedy, to try to distract Frodo a bit from the overwhelming pain. She hadn’t been able to imagine then anything else causing such agony of loss and despair that she had heard and seen in him as the young lad had clung to her and sobbed his heart out. He wouldn’t be doing that this time and she wished suddenly that he would for she saw that he needed that desperately to do so. Of course, she had heard all the wild stories, growing ever wilder with each telling, of black riders and a terrible blade that had wounded Frodo, of the Elves and of the spider that was twice as tall as any hobbit, of the walking and talking trees and the oliphaunts that had been part of a huge battle and of the horrible battle that had cost Frodo the finger he was ashamed to show that he was missing. She didn’t believe for one instant the story about the trees and she hadn’t believed the one about the spider until she had seen the mark on Mr. Frodo’s neck that its stinger had made, far worse than any other bite she had ever seen, more like he had been impaled than stung. She had seen the scar on his shoulder as well when she had been called to his side one day as he drifted in and out of a terrible fever. Sam had been nearly beside himself with fretting as his beloved was drenched with sweat and murmured in his delirium about his trials. But more than anything, what convinced her of the truth of at least some of the tales was the agony in those eyes. There was far more than one digit missing from the Ring-bearer as some called Mr. Frodo.

Sam watched the contest of locked glances between his master and the Hobbiton healer and he knew exactly who would win, though he wished it were otherwise. Mrs. Grooch looked away first and sighed something about “Mr. Bilbo was just the same way.” Frodo smiled at that, for indeed he remembered well his uncle talking in the same tone to her when Frodo himself had been just as ill as a tween and there was naught that was going to keep Bilbo away from his heartson’s side.

“I’ll come back each afternoon to look upon you, Mr. Sam,” the matron said, looking back at her patient. “Now drink you plenty of fluids throughout the day and take plenty of rest and this tea every two hours with a good dollop of honey in it. That’ll help you drain. The willowbark will help your aches and the yarrow tea will help your fever.”

“I’ll make certain of it, Mrs. Grooch,” Frodo said, taking the tea bags on Sam’s behalf.

He saw the healer to the door, set the kettle to warm for the first batch of tea and then returned to his friend’s side.

“Mr. Sam,” the gardener muttered, “where did she get that?”

Frodo smiled and Sam’s heart could have melted right there. If that smile was because Mrs. Grooch had come and called him ‘Mr. Sam’ then he was glad for the first time since this illness had laid him lower than low.

“You have moved up in the world, my Sam,” Frodo said in a more cheerful voice than Sam had heard in a long time, a loving, teasing tone that he long missed. “Mr. Mayor, they will be calling you next and rightly so.”

Sam blushed. “I just want to take care of you, Rose and the little one and your garden.”

“Our garden, you mean.”

“‘Tis yours, Mr. Frodo, and it always will be.”

“But this will all be yours one day, Sam. Yours and your family. But until then, I am more than happy to share it with you. Now, do you pillows need any more fluffing, is the light enough to read by, do you want something more to drink or should I draw the curtains so you can rest?”

The younger hobbit squirmed. “You shouldn’t be the one to take care of me, Mr. Frodo, what with...”

“Everything else?” Frodo finished and the shadow fell back across his face and Sam cursed himself for being the worst of ninnyhammers for causing it. Then Frodo smiled again, though not as brightly. “Well,” he said as lightly as he could, “maybe this will help me forget ‘everything else’ for a while. I think I would welcome that. Now, should I read to you or do you need to go to the privy or...”

“I don’t need anything right now, Mr. Frodo. Thank you. I think I’ll just close my eyes a bit.”

The erstwhile Ring-bearer smiled again and it seemed that the sun had once more come out from behind dark clouds. Sam’s heart could have burst with the joy that coursed through his tired body. “You’re so beautiful when you smile like that,” he said softly and Frodo smiled even brighter. Sam could have died happily at that very moment.

Frodo leaned down and kissed his brow softly. “Then, my Sam, I shall try to smile for you more often. Let me get that first bit of tea for you.”

He returned shortly with the steaming mug. Sam couldn’t help but make a face as he sipped it cautiously.

“I know it’s bitter,” Frodo said, “but it’s no worse than the draughts Aragorn made us drink now, is it? And we didn’t have honey then!”

Sam drank the whole thing down and then leaned down again. Frodo brought the covers up to his chin. “Are you comfortable, my Sam?”

“Yes, Mr. Frodo.”

“Rest easy then. I’ll just sit here beside you, in case you need.”

He pulled up a chair, sat down and took Sam’s hand from under the covers. It was his maimed hand and it always felt better when Sam held it. Softly, slowly, the elder hobbit began to sing as Sam closed his fingers around his master’s and then closed his eyes.

“Rest now, my dear one,

the sun rides high in the sky

but soon evening will be nigh

and here, by your side, I shall stay

until the break of day.

“Sleep now, my beloved one,

the night will come to cover all

with its blanket and I will come

to cover you with mine and watch

over you with my light held aloft

so you can see your way in the dark

and so we shall journey together into the morn

“Slumber now, my treasure,

it is time for healing of the day’s sorrows,

rest from the day’s labors,

release from the day’s burdens,

comfort for the day’s hurts.”

Frodo sang it once more, then hummed for a little bit, until he knew that Sam was well asleep, then he kissed his beloved’s guardian brow once more. “I love you, my Sam. Sleep well.” He sat back and closed his own eyes.

* * *

It was early the next afternoon that Mrs. Grooch returned as she had promised. She knocked, but then when there was no answer, she cautiously let herself in. She found Frodo supporting Sam who was very busily and noisily vacating his stomach into a chamber pot. There were little snatches of toast on a plate that the healer could see that Frodo had cut up into bite-sized pieces smeared with a bit of strawberry jam. But it would seem that even that was too much for the gardener.

“There, my Sam,” Frodo said when his friend was done heaving. “There. Are you feeling any better now? I always did after I threw up. It was the before part that made me feel the worse.”

“It’s a little better, Mr. Frodo. Thank you.”

Frodo grabbed a handkerchief and wiped the spittle from Sam’s face and then gently laid him down again. Sam was shivering badly and Frodo brought the covers up to his neck. Neither seemed immediately aware of the healer standing there in silent appreciation.

“Thank you, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said again. “I’m that sorry about the mess.”

Frodo clucked his tongue. “You’ve cleaned up worse after me, dear Sam. This is nothing. It makes me feel useful. It’s a very small bit of repayment for all you did for me.”

The elder hobbit looked up now and saw Mrs. Grooch standing at the threshold. Frodo kissed Sam’s brow. “Just lay you quiet for a bit, my Sam, and I’ll be back straightaway.”

Sam didn’t respond as Frodo left the room. The fever merged his master’s words with his own that he spoken in the spider’s lair and he dreamed he was back there. The agony of the loss he felt then poured over him and he wept as past and present misery melded and became one.

When Frodo returned to his beloved guardian’s side a quarter hour later, he was surprised and saddened to see Sam’s cheeks covered with tears. He wiped at them gently and wondered at their cause. Sam opened his eyes at the caresses.

“Are you in pain, my Sam?” the elder Ring-bearer asked fearfully. “Should I call Mrs. Grooch back? She left just a moment ago. I can...”

“No, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said softly. He reached out from under the covers and took his treasure’s hand. “Just sit here with me, if you don’t mind, and let me look at you and listen to you. I was dreaming about the time I lost you after that wretched spider got you and it was like it was happening all over again.”

Frodo kissed his dear friend’s head and sat down in the chair beside him. “Oh, my poor Sam. What a terrible journey I dragged you on.”

“I’d go again if you had to.”

Frodo stroked Sam’s curls. “I know, I know.”

They sat in companionable near silence for a long while, the only sound was Frodo’s soft humming, the only thing Sam felt as his eyes closed after a while was his master’s thumb rubbing back and forth against his hand, a soothing caress that assured him that he had naught to fear.

* * *

It was after dark that Mrs. Grooch returned and through the slightly open window, she saw a glow that first she thought was just reflected moonlight, but when she got closer, she saw that it was inside. Mr. Frodo was lit as though starlight was coming through him and Mr. Sam was not much dimmer. They were both brightest where their hands joined. Both were sleeping peacefully and Mrs. Grooch wondered at the sight. She remembered Mr. Bilbo telling her long ago about the Elves and how they were lit from within and how Mr. Frodo was the same. How proud and loving Mr. Bilbo had sounded when he said that. Mrs. Grooch had never been able to understand, and she hadn’t truly believed, even when she did see Mr. Frodo as a lad shine almost as brightly as he did this night. Iorhael, Mr. Bilbo called him sometimes and she had seen his face lit up like the sun when he was addressed so. Wise one, Mr. Bilbo had said it meant in the language of the Elves. Mrs. Grooch hadn’t thought anything of it until she thought of the pain in those once so sparkling eyes. Mr. Frodo was wise now from the pain of his experiences, though what exactly those had been the healer knew no one truly knew for Mr. Frodo was very close about that. The other Travelers were very protective of their Mr. Frodo though and when Ted Sandyman or one of the others thought to besmirch his name, then...then...a little came out in soft but heated words, more powerful than any shout or scream of anger could be. There would be peace then for a little while, but no peace in the increasingly troubled soul of the Ring-bearer. That storm blew ever harder and Mrs. Grooch mourned the cost of it. Harvests had been destroyed by such winds and this was blowing across just one heart. Or so she thought. But then she knew it was blowing across the hearts of all the Travelers’ when they would look at their beloved Mr. Frodo and silently grieve. And it blew across hers at times too.

* * *

It was the afternoon of the fifth day that Merry found Frodo wiping off Sam’s feet from another mess caused by vomiting. Sam was protesting, but of course, the eldest hobbit was having none of it.

“I remember when Aragorn did the same thing for you two after you were brought back by the eagles,” Merry said softly and it was only then that the other two became aware of his presence.

Frodo looked up and Merry looked at his cousin for a long time, saw the pain in his eyes and he wanted just to envelop the elder brother of his heart into his arms as Frodo used to do to him whenever he was sad and just hold him until the hurt went away. But all Merry did was brush a kiss against the side of his cousin’s head as they both acknowledged the mutual longing, and Frodo returned to cleaning Sam up.

“Aragorn was so tender with you two,” Merry continued as he remembered it all. “He was just like a mum with her two little lads, cleaning you up. Did you know you needed four different baths because the water kept getting so black? He washed your hair and bound your wounds and tended to you so lovingly. Then when you were all clean, he kissed your feet and your heart and thanked you. We were so afraid then, you two were so thin, and so near to death. Aragorn said he had called you back just as he had called me. I saw you, Sam, tug on our Frodo’s hand and I told Aragorn about it and he said you, my stubborn, beloved cousin, seemed to much rather not come back, but Sam was having none of that and you came back because he did.”

Frodo and Sam looked at each other, at the tears that were silently tracking down both their cheek. They didn’t say anything, but Merry was very aware that much was passing between them and he felt an intruder into such sacred space.

“Well, Sam,” the Ring-bearer tried to say lightly after a while, but it came out in a voice so thick with emotion he could barely speak, “if a king can wash your feet, then surely a hobbit could. And besides, it’s all your own fault for trying to get out of bed and getting all dizzy.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo, just that sorry for everything,” Sam said.

Frodo smiled a little through his tears. “I remember when I said that to you when you came to rescue me in the tower and how you gave me such a loving, forgiving gaze.” He leaned down to kiss Sam’s feet himself and his heart. “You have nothing to be sorry for, my Sam.”

He kissed then his head and frowned. “Your fever’s up. Let me get you some more of that willowbark tea.”

“I’ll get it,” Merry said.

The erstwhile Ring-bearer glanced at his cousin. “Thank you, Merry. The kettle should still be hot. I’ve been keeping it so.”

He looked back at Sam. “I think I have a little more sympathy and understanding for you now, my Sam, for all the times I’ve tried to get out of bed before I should and how hard put you were to keep me abed. I should know better than to cross you in such matters. I’ve seen in your face how much you’ve wanted to put your feet up against my chest so I wouldn’t move, but you never have. Do you think I shall need to do that myself?”

Sam flushed, though he knew he was being teased and he rejoiced in that. “I’m that sorry, master.”

Frodo smiled. “Don’t master me, dearest Sam. I am your servant. If I ever doubted you were my superior, that was burned away by the Quest. You are my master. Master of my heart and you always shall be.” Frodo looked back toward the open door for a moment, awaiting Merry’s return. “I have four masters actually. I am very blessed, very, very blessed.” The last he said almost too softly for Sam to hear, as though he spoke it only to himself, to remind himself of the fact or to hold it out against something that wished to destroy it. He clutched at the white gem around his neck for a moment.

“You are master of mine, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said softly, “just as much as Rose is mistress, and both of you ever were and ever shall be.”

Frodo looked back at his dearest friend and squeezed his hand and he seemed to come back from wherever he had been. His smile was loving and genuine. “Then we shall always be together, shan’t we, you and I, ruling over each other.” This was another thing he said that he seemed to need reassurance for, though Sam could hardly understand why, since they had been inseparable since the day they had met and Sam knew they always would be.

“Yes, Mr. Frodo, my dear, we shall always be together.”

Frodo smiled brighter. “Thank you, my Sam.”

There was more in those troubled eyes than was being said and both knew it, but neither spoke of it. The younger hobbit had a sudden urge to just hold his beloved master and reassure himself with that solidity in his arms and feel those arms around him against the cold wind that blew suddenly hard against his heart. He knew that same wind had long been battering that heart he loved far more than his own and as always he wanted to place himself between the two.

Then Merry returned and Frodo propped his beloved guardian up against the headboard and arranged the many pillows for maximum comfort so Sam could sip the tea carefully and then settle back down to rest again. They didn’t ever speak of the wind, not aloud.

* * *

That night Frodo was wakened from his sleep in the chair by Sam’s bedside when his friend cried out and thrashed around, twisting himself in the blankets.

“Don’t leave me here all alone! Don’t go where I can’t follow!”

Quickly, Frodo lit the lamp and then crawled in beside his guardian. His heart twisted to hear such words and he knew that Sam was dreaming again. Dreams he shouldn’t have to have, dreams he wouldn’t be having if he hadn’t gone on the Quest. Frodo took Sam into his arms and tried to calm him. His hand brushed against Sam’s hot forehead and he was alarmed at the heat that radiated from there. He looked up gratefully when the door opened and Merry came in.

“Merry, go and fetch Mrs. Grooch. Sam’s fever’s gotten higher.”

Merry gave one fretful look at his thrashing friend and frightened cousin and bolted out the door.

“Don’t leave me here all alone!” Sam cried out again

“Shhhh, my Sam, shhhh,” Frodo said as calmly as he could. “I haven’t left you. I’m right here. I’m not leaving. Rest easy now.”

Sam began to weep and Frodo’s already broken heart broke even more. He rocked his friend and tried to sing, but his voice kept cracking. He stroked his beloved guardian’s curls and just tried to hold on to him tightly, murmuring all the while that he was there.

Mrs. Grooch came a few minutes later and Frodo looked up gratefully. Her lamp light glinted off his tear-stained face. Sam was still sobbing, but he wasn’t thrashing around so much. He lay almost limp in his master’s arms, giving no sign he even knew he was being held. His body trembled with the force of his tears.

“I think the fever’s having too much of an effect on him,” Frodo said, raising frightened eyes for a moment to the healer as Sam still piteously begged not to be left alone. “I gave him some of that tea before he went to sleep, but I couldn’t leave him to get more now.”

The matron came forward and touched Sam’s forehead and then handed Merry another bag of tea. “This is elderflower, Mr. Merry, it’ll help with the fever. Have you some apple cider, Mr. Frodo? We should soak some of your handkerchiefs in them and wrap them around Mr. Sam’s wrists. That’ll help bring down the heat as well.”

“I’ll get the tea going, then get the cider,” Merry said as he dashed off, seeing that his cousin was torn between not wanting to leave Sam and wanting to help get the supplies needed. Frodo looked at him gratefully.

They tried all the remedies, but Sam only worsened until Frodo was nearly out of his head with fright. The younger hobbit lay still now and trembling. He had stopped talking all together and his fingers twitched. Frodo brought them up to his lips and kissed them and held them in his own, but Sam did not respond. He spoke to him, stroked his curls and sang to him softly. Mrs. Grooch’s heart nearly broke to hear such a lovely voice, sung in a language she had no idea, but the tone struck her powerfully. She saw Mr. Frodo’s light shine brighter and it was as though he was shining just for Mr. Sam then, so he could find his way back.

Then she and Merry watched in wonder as it seemed that Frodo’s light actually entered into Sam. The Ring-bearer’s maimed hand tightened around Sam as he Called to his beloved guardian. Those lovely eyes were the first things Sam saw when he opened his eyes again and he reached out to touch Frodo’s cheek so near to him. The elder hobbit smiled and Sam traced that and Frodo kissed his fingers as he did so.

“Welcome back, my Sam.”

Mrs. Grooch had never seen anything like it. Frodo’s light dimmed a bit until his and Sam’s were separate again, though still melded where their hands remained joined.

“What happened?” Sam croaked.

Frodo looked at his dearest friend. “I don’t know exactly,” he said. “I Called and you came, just like Aragorn Called us.”

“But you’re a hobbit! I didn’t think...”

Frodo smiled. “I don’t think it was me, Sam. I was just the one you saw, but I felt something else. I didn’t want to lose you, and the words just came to me. I felt a power beside me.”

“That’s love, Mr. Frodo,” Mrs. Grooch said. “Love can work wonders that medicine cannot.”

Frodo looked fondly at his Sam. “That it can, Mrs. Grooch. I have been saved by it many a time.”

The matron shook her head, knowing she had witnessed something she couldn’t explain, something profoundly beautiful when a dear one was helped by another as happened often enough among hobbits, but this was different and they all knew it.

* * *

That night Frodo crawled into bed and curled up next to his Sam and so they both slept, hand in hand. They did so each night until Sam recovered enough that Rose was able to come back, and each night unspoken fears seemed to ease more and more until they ceased all together. It was only on the way to the Grey Havens did that cold wind blow again and for many nights afterwards, until the summer after Frodo had left, it was banished by a light, warm breeze from the West and they both knew the words they had spoken to each other were true. They would always be together.

A/N:  The lullaby is my own.  The teas are actual herbal remedies and using apple cider to bring down a fever I found in some research on the web.  Actually it was apple cider vinegar that was mentioned, but I just made it cider.