Time fell along the Shire quickly; seemingly making up for the moments lost while Sam and Frodo were not there.  Two years had come to pass since they first set out on the road towards Bree and now autumn had fallen upon them once more bringing along a shadow of old troubles. 

The days had passed well, and hopes had risen that they would become better still.  Nothing seemed out of place except for the ill feelings within Sam’s heart about his master.  Quietly he dropped out of all the doings of the Shire, secluding himself away in the study where he would write feverishly for hours on end in the pages of the Red Book, never once pulling his hand away from his quill for rest.  It pained Sam to see Frodo acting so strangely and it pained him even more to notice how little honor he had within the Shire.  Very few wished to know or even knew about his deeds and adventures; for all their admiration and respect were given to Merry and Pippin.  Yet, through it all, Frodo tried with great effort to conceal the hurt within but on an evening in October, Sam could hold back no longer and went to Frodo as he sat before his desk that rested near the hearth in the study.  A small fire burned brightly casting an amber glow upon Frodo’s face.  He looked very pale, even in the light of the fire and Sam quickly took it to notice as he came to Frodo’s side looking at him with a deep sadness in his heart.  He whispered Frodo’s name softly but he did not turn aside for his eyes were fixed upon the wall almost as if he could see things far away.

“Mr. Frodo please do not go where I can not follow.”  Sam said quietly trying to hold back the tears he could feel welling up in his eyes.  “Mr. Frodo, tell me what is the matter…”  Frodo’s eyes then blinked and he took in a deep breath as he drew his left hand slowly to his chest taking a small white gem that hung from a silver chain around his neck into his sweaty palm.

“I am wounded.”  Frodo replied quietly almost as if speaking to himself.  “It will never really heal…”  Frodo said his words fading to a soft whisper.  Still his eyes did not turn away from the vast emptiness before him as Sam came closer to his master concentrating on his face and the absent stare it held.  Frodo’s fingers wrapped tighter around his jewel and his eyes soon grew rigid and cold as his breath began to quicken.  Sam had seen the look before and to see it again only drew back memories from the day when he had found Frodo in the tower of Cirith Ungol.  The pain, the torment, the undying desire for that accursed ring seemed to be taking a hold on Frodo once more.  Sam could feel the warmth of his tears fall along his cheeks as Frodo fell apart before his very eyes reliving a memory that could not seem to escape his mind. 

“Please, please make it stop!”  Frodo cried out closing his eyes tightly as he drew his other hand up to his left shoulder.

“I am here Mr. Frodo.”  Sam softly replied setting his hand on Frodo’s shoulder.  “Just let me in and I’ll help bring you back.”  Suddenly Frodo turned in his seat his eyes wide with fury as he grasped Sam’s wrist drawing him forcefully down to the floor while knocking his head against the edge of the desk.  Frodo stood over him breathing in rapidly while Sam lay on the floor his arm raised in defense as blood began to slowly fall along his brow.

“It’s your Sam Mr. Frodo sir!”  He shouted.  “You are not yourself.  Your Sam is calling… please come back!”  Frodo’s eyes then fell downward looking to Sam whose face was full of despair.  Tears fell along his bloodstained cheeks as he slowly began to lower his arm as Frodo’s hand drew away from his gem.  His eyes were now filled with sorrow, his lip trembling with fear, and he fell to his knees before Sam burying his face into his hands.

“Oh dear Sam, what have I done?”  Frodo sobbed as he collapsed within.  “This is not me!”  Sam quickly gathered himself and came to Frodo pulling his hands away from his face.

“That was not you.”  Sam said gently as Frodo’s eyes met with his own.  “That I know.  I was merely trying to pull you away from what troubled you so.  I am sorry if it was not my place.”

“You should not be the one asking for forgiveness.”  Frodo replied as he brought his fingers to Sam’s brow drying away the crimson blood that had come forth from the gash upon his head.  “I should be asking for yours for inflicting such pain upon you my friend.”

“Yet I would take another…”  Sam answered grasping Frodo’s hand, “If it would save you from the wounds internally that you try in vain not to show.”  For a moment no words were spoken, for no others needed to be said.  A faint smile then came over Frodo’s lips and he rose to his feet reaching out to Sam helping him up from the floor.

“I can hardly find the words to say…”  Frodo began, “Yet a thank you seems to come to mind.”  Sam smiled brightly for now Frodo stood before him, the old hobbit he knew him once to be.

“You do not need to thank me.”  Sam said quietly.  “That’s what I’m here for being your friend and all. 

I can not let you suffer all alone.  I have seen you sacrifice so much already.”

“Dear sweet Sam…”  Frodo replied.  “I could not ask for nothing more than to have you at my side.  Even with all that you have been through you are still loyal to the end.”

“And I shall always be.”  Sam said softly.  Frodo then grew quiet and it seemed as though the turn had passed when he drew himself into his favorite chair near the fireplace.  He brought a quilt around his shoulders and looked to the fire taking it the warmth of its embrace.  Sam watched standing nearby as his head began to ache from his fall.  Not once did he take his hand to his brow as he stood guard keeping a close vigil on Frodo until at last he found peace within a restful slumber.  It was then that he reached to his own wound, wielded by the hand of his dear master, and he at last remembered the day.  Two years before all was dark in the dell on the road from Bree… for it was October the sixth the anniversary of Frodo’s stab by the morgul blade.