Chapter 50: A Heroic Argument

Frodo tucked his maimed hand in his pocket and steeled himself to wade through the crowds. He wished he could merely be mistaken for one of the children who had begun to run about again now that the dinner was over, but everywhere he heard murmured whispers of “Periain” as they passed by and most of those whispers were spoken in awe. Sam took his arm and guided him through the crowds as best he could, but they were constantly approached by men and women offering their thanks. Frodo responded as well as he could and everyone went away feeling they had been personally touched by such a gentlehobbit. When a soldier who had been blinded in one eye and had to be helped to walk came up to thank him, Frodo’s control almost slipped but did not. When the young man turned away, the former Ring-bearer looked at Sam, tears in his eyes. “They keep calling me a hero, Sam. But that one and all like him are the heroes, not me.”

“They are many types of heroes, dear,” Sam replied.

As they finally won free of the crowds, Frodo nearly sagged in relief. Arwen approached them then and smiled radiantly. The hobbits bowed deeply. The queen knelt down to Frodo, raised his chin with slim fingers and looked directly into his eyes. Frodo saw light, love, compassion and sorrow for his suffering there, so much light and love he wanted to drown there, to forget his failure for a bit. Arwen’s smile deepened. “I wanted to thank you for saving my son,” she said.

Frodo looked at her in surprise. “My queen, I didn’t...”

Arwen took his maimed hand and held it gently. Frodo felt her love and warmth spread to that torn area, mirror of the tear in his soul. “You did, Frodo,” she said. “You saved him and all free people. You have them hope and love and peace that they would not have had if you hadn’t taken up your burden again. We can never repay you for all you suffered for us and it grieves me greatly that you still suffer, but it is my greatest wish that you can learn to give yourself the same things you have given all of us. Do you still have that gem I gave you?”

“Yes, my queen. It is at home.”

Arwen smiled. “Use it and remember us.”

Frodo blinked away tears. “Thank you, my queen. I will.”

Arwen smiled wider, then kissed his brow. “You will always be greatly loved by many.” She squeezed his hand gently, then hugged and thanked Sam as well. The gardener was so overwhelmed, he barely knew how to respond. The queen got up, smiled and left. Frodo stared after her.

“It was that nice of her to say all that, wasn’t it?” Sam asked in wonder.

Frodo turned to his friend with anguished eyes. “They all think I did a wonderful, noble thing, Sam.” He hung his head. “They don’t know what really happened.”

Sam grasped his arm. “You did do a wonderful, noble thing, me dear,” he said quietly.

Frodo looked up sharply, his mouth agape.

“You gave of yourself,” Sam said. “There’s nothing more wonderful or nobler than that. You endured things the rest of us will never know and you bore that for months so none of us would have to. Listen to the songs that are being sung of you. They are telling the truth that I saw as I watched you struggle for months and loved you so much for it.”

Frodo was at first to moved to speak. “But it’s all a lie, Sam. They are singing about something that never happened. Or at least they are singing about the wrong person.” He looked at his dearest friend and tears of pain and shame were in his eyes. “Samwise the Brave is the hero, not me. If I hear one more time how brave and noble Frodo of the Nine Fingers is, I am going to scream that they stop and then I’m going to tell them the truth.”

Sam’s features quivered between a smile and a frown. He knew his brother was quite capable of doing just that so he was glad they had finally come to where they could leave the room. “You’ll do no such thing,” he said firmly. “The truth is what they have already - that the Ring was destroyed, that you suffered much to get it to where it could be and you deserve all the praise you are getting.” He paused then added, “I wish they’d stop singing about me though.”

Frodo’s features unexpectedly twitched into a smile. “Then you understand, Sam dear, what I am facing here. Maybe we can work out some sort of bargain with them. You can tell them that you don’t want to hear about yourself and I can walk right behind you, tell them to ignore everything you just said and to keep singing as long as it’s about you and not about me.”

Sam laughed softly at the gentle teasing, pleased beyond words that his brother was up to it. “If I thought they’d pay attention to either of us, dear, I’d give it a try, but I think we are just going to have to put up with it.”

Frodo wanted to dig his feet in, to resist Sam’s gentle leading him away. If the minstrels wouldn’t listen to them, he wanted to go up to each and every person, his friend in tow, point to Sam and say, “This is the hero. Honor him with song and feast. Leave me alone. I am not who you believe me to be.”

“Leave it be,” Sam murmured and Frodo looked at him.

Sam smiled. “I know the way your mind works.”

Frodo returned the smile faintly. “And I know the way your heart works, dearest. Never fear, I will not reveal you as the hero.” Sam relaxed as he guided his brother down a long, empty hallway toward their room, then frowned again when he realized Frodo wasn’t finished speaking. “But I will figure out another way to let everyone know who the true hero is. I’ll go mad if I don’t let the truth out somehow. Maybe something can be said after we are all gone and you don’t have to be worried about it.”

“The truth is already out. The Ring is gone. You got it there. You are a hero.”

Frodo sighed. “But I’m not, Sam. You know better than anyone I’m not.”

“I know better than anyone that you are,” the younger hobbit replied evenly.

Frodo stopped in his tracks. “I’m not, Sam, I’m not! Now don’t go trying to outstubborn me on this. It’s not going to work!”

He started walking away, his faithful Sam following. Frodo was silent for some moments, then he let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry, Sam. You’re the last person I should be angry with. I’m just mad at myself...and the rest of Middle-earth.” He tried to laugh, but it came out as a brittle, mirthless sound.

Sam took his hand. “You’re just overtired, me dear,” he said. “A good night’s sleep will do you wonders.”

Frodo took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he tried to relax. He squeezed his beloved friend’s hand and smiled at him. “No, my Sam, the wonder is that you can still call me ‘me dear’ after I’ve been behaving like an orc. Thank you.”

Sam returned the smile. “See, you’re feeling better, all ready, aren’t you?”

Frodo laughed out loud, a much fuller, genuine laugh. “Yes, dearheart, I am.” Then he sobered. “At least until I hear the next song about the nonsense that I am the savior of all Middle-earth.”

“You are.”

Frodo looked at his friend sharply. His eyes flashed dangerously, but he bit back a retort with visible effort and sighed as they entered their room. When he spoke, his words were more measured and calm than they might have been. “Please, Sam, can we fight about this tomorrow? I am much too tired tonight. There was nothing heroic in what I did. There is everything heroic in what you did. Can’t we just both accept that?”

“As soon as you accept the opposite.”

Frodo looked up at his friend. Sam was standing, arms crossed, feet firmly planted slightly apart. The elder hobbit was quite familiar with that stance. “I have always considered you a brother, Sam. Are you trying to prove you really are with all this stubbornness? Let’s face it. The Ring was more stubborn than either of us. It wore me down and it won.”

“It was destroyed. You weren’t.”

Yes, I was, Frodo thought. He sank down onto the bed. “I’ve changed my mind, Sam. I will go the minstrels tomorrow and anyone else I can get to listen to me and tell them that you are the hero. They think so highly of me, they will believe every word. I’ll even get Aragorn to issue an official proclamation. In fact, I know just what it will say: ‘Samwise Gamgee was Frodo’s strength, hope and succor during the entire Quest. Frodo would have nothing, be nothing, without him. When Frodo couldn’t fight for himself, Sam continued to fight for him. When he couldn’t walk anymore, Sam carried him, though he was nearly as weakened. When Frodo betrayed him and himself and all that he knew to be good and true and claimed the Ring, Sam still do not leave him. When all he wanted to do was die, Sam gave him a reason to live. Sam gave him nothing but unceasing, unfailing, unwavering love in spite of all Frodo did to him.’ What do you think of that?”

Frodo began to lay down as Sam’s features quirked into a lopsided smile. “Now, Mr. Frodo...”

Frodo froze, halfway down. He knew he was in trouble when Sam used that tone of voice. It was the same gently remonstrative one Sam always used when Frodo did something the younger hobbit didn’t agree with - gentle but with a backbone of steel normally well hidden under the surface of this mildest of hobbits. The ‘don’t argue with me, you know I’m right’ tone that, depending on Frodo’s own mood, either made him amusedly submissive or caused him to dig in his heels all the more. The same stubborn refusal to give up that served them so well on the Quest, when Frodo would have long before if Sam had allowed him. It was equally bad that Sam was calling him ‘Mr. Frodo’. That was really what had tipped off the elder hobbit that he was in trouble. They had grown too close for that formal way of address to be as common as breathing as it once had been. Frodo had noticed with relief since they had completed the Quest the first time that Sam had stopped calling him that. He wasn’t sure Sam was even aware he had done so and he didn’t want to call attention to it, lest his brother think he wasn’t minding his manners and upbringing by not calling his ‘betters’ the ‘right’ term. But Frodo did pay attention when Sam used the address now and sat back up.

“Let me tell you how much more of a hero you are,” the younger hobbit started. “You took on a burden, even though you knew how much it had already hurt you and you knew that you would be hurt more, but you said ‘yes’ so no one else would be if you could help it. You were terrified, but you knew what you had to do and you did it. You were tired, cold and hungry, but you went on out of love. You were twisted inside out, but you fought against it and when you failed, you got up and fought again.”

Frodo opened his mouth to try to get a word of protest in edgewise, but could not even get a “But, Sam...” in as the gardener continued, "When you no longer had the strength to walk, you got down on your belly and crawled. I had never loved you more than that moment and I love you even more now. You were intent on saving everyone else even as you came to understand more and more that it would come at the cost of yourself. Still you went on. You were spent bit by bit on that journey, poured out. Your body seemed too small for all you had to endure, but not so your heart. You gave and gave and gave. You sacrificed everything so we wouldn’t have to sacrifice anything. The Ring did not spare your heart any more than it did your body, ripping it to shreds as it weakened your frame. Still you went on. When it possessed you fully at last, still I loved you. You gave everything, dearest treasure, so we could have everything. Now, I don’t want to hear any more silliness about who is more heroic, hear me?”

Frodo looked at his friend stunned and moved to tears when Sam finally stopped for breath. They looked at each other for a long time and then Frodo took his friend into his arms and held him tightly. “I hear you, Sam,” he said softly.

“I know,” Sam continued as he held his beloved brother just as tight, “the Ring did terrible things to you and I know you feel horrible about certain things that happened that you don’t like...”

"Don’t like!” Frodo exclaimed, looking up at his friend. “Sam! I attacked you three times, this time alone. I could have killed you! I did kill Smeagol. I don’t know how you can say it so mildly, like the worst thing I did was tear up one of your flower beds or something.”

Sam smiled then gently placed his dearest friend’s head back against his shoulder. “Now that would indeed be something I would find hard to forgive, my dear, not like the other stuff.”

Frodo laughed, a true laugh, and Sam’s heart soared. “My dear Sam. My dear, sweet, wonderful Sam. What a treasure you are. You are so good to me, so good for me. I love you so."

Sam kissed his brother's head. "I love you, too, my treasure."

They were quiet for a few minutes more, content just to hold each other. Then Frodo spoke again, "How's this? I will let you win, Sam, if you will let me go to sleep. I’ll argue with you more tomorrow when I have more energy.”

“Let me take a look at your hand first, dear. You know what Mr. Strider said about keeping an eye out for infection and such.”

Frodo let go of his brother and obediently held out his maimed hand. He watched as his guardian carefully unwrapped the bandage and gently probed the healing area.

“No sign of infection,” Sam said with satisfaction.

“Not there at least,” Frodo said as he watched his friend go to retrieve the box Aragorn had given them for the treatment of the wound.

“Why did Smeagol have to bit it off again?” he asked as Sam returned and spread a thin layer of salve over the wound to help it heal quicker. It stung a little, but Frodo tried not to show it. “Why couldn’t I just throw the Ring away?”

The younger hobbit began to bind the elder’s hand in a fresh bandage. “I don’t know, dear,” he said. “I know you wanted to.”

“Do you? I don’t.”

Sam looked directly into the tormented eyes of his brother. “Then maybe that’s why you couldn’t.”