Chapter 23: Of Herbs, Stewed Rabbits and Taters

Sam looked down at his sleeping master. They had been traveling for some days now. The gardener had given up trying to keep track of Slinker and Stinker. Sometimes the creature stayed with them all day, sometimes he went off on his own for hours, but Frodo seemed to be right - he always returned. Sometimes Sam would wake and find him asleep or sometimes staring at their joint slumbering master. From the look the young hobbit thought he saw in the other’s eyes, he imagined it was not Frodo but the Ring he truly was looking at, either hidden under the Ring-bearer’s clothing or clasped in his fist. The more tender, hopeful look that softened Slinker’s features when he was regarding Frodo himself, Sam did not want to even think about. They both frightened him, the former because of what Slinker may be driven to eventually, the latter because it reminded the gardener of how he thought of his master himself. He wished he could stay awake, but he knew to be of any use in protecting his dearest friend, he had to sleep sometimes too.

Frodo was unconcerned by Smeagol’s frequent disappearances. He trusted Sam to keep him safe and he did not see any threat from their would-be guide, collapsing exhausted each night, pausing only to accept some water and food from his guardian with a murmured thanks, then drop off into sleep. The younger hobbit had been careful each day to make sure that they stopped each day after sundown and didn’t start again until dawn, but he wondered how much actual rest his beloved friend was getting. Frodo was already hardly eating, sometimes even nodding off midway through he was so exhausted. Other times Sam had to practically hand fed him and raise the water skin to his mouth.

But this morning he thought those beloved features did not look so pinched with exhaustion and strain and the light that was in him shone more brightly than it had since Rivendell. It had helped their spirits tremendously just to leave the Marshes behind and enter the beautiful woods of Ithelien. So bright, so beautiful, Sam thought as he continued to gaze at his master, loathe to end such perfect, peaceful sleep, but realized he had to if the brightness would be more than fleeting glimpses amid a re-gathering darkness. It was a long while though before he could tear his gaze away from that light. I love him more dearly each day whether it is there or not, but oh, isn't it so wonderful to see.

He stroked Frodo’s cheek gently. “Wake up, me Frodo dear,” he called softly. “We’ve got to get going again. Wake up for your Sam. The coneys are all cooked and I’ve made some of those taters I brought along.”

That woke Frodo. He drank thirstily from his water skin and hungrily downed the rabbit and potatoes Sam brought to him. The gardener’s eyes barely left him the entire time even as he supped his own portion. Smeagol had politely declined to dine with them for which Sam was only grateful. The creature had brought back the rabbits and herbs the gardener had requested, then watched almost painfully as they were cooked. He had refused the spoonful that Sam had held out to him. “Come on, try it. It’s better than anything else you can find.” Smeagol had wrinkled his nose in disgust, said “No, thanks you,” then disappeared again with one of the uncooked rabbits. Sam had only shook his head

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said when he had scraped the last of the second serving. “That was a delicious feast. Almost like home.”

The younger hobbit did not miss the wistfulness in his master’s last words. “It’ll be home soon enough, dear, and there’ll be even more feasts.”

Frodo sagged back against the tree and looked out at the landscape. “I wish we could rest longer.”

“So do I, but there’s nothing for it. It’s not safe here.” He began to clean up from the meal.

“It’s not safe anywhere we’re going.”

“I know,” Sam said softly as he put his pots and pans back on his back.

Frodo looked around further. “Where’s Smeagol?”

“Slunk off again,” Sam muttered.

“That’s all right,” Frodo said in a dream-like voice as though he had slipped back into sleep with his eyes open. “I remember the way.”

“So do I,” San said grimly, then more cheerfully, “Come on then, dear. We will take it easy today, but we’ve got to get moving.” He looked around him. “It’s too quiet here,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I feel like we’re being watched.”

“We are,” Frodo said in that same dream-like voice as he let Sam pull him up. “The Eye sees everything.”

“Then he’ll see his doom coming toward him,” Sam said firmly.

He put his arm tight around Frodo’s shoulders as the Ring-bearer swayed as though he would faint. With tears bright in his eyes, Sam propelled him the first few steps until Frodo began walking on his own, though he leaned heavily on Sam.

“That’s it, dear,” the younger hobbit encouraged. “Just like that. Lean on your Sam. Let him be your strength today."

“Thank you, Sam.  What would I ever do without you?”

"You won't ever know because I'm never going to leave you."

They hadn’t traveled far when they were surrounded by a large group of men, their arrows notched.