Chapter 51: Writing Lesson

As Sam passed the room the four hobbits had been given, he heard the very welcome sound of a quill scratching on parchment and he began to smile. He hadn’t realized until then how much he had missed it - a sound so associated with his brother, it could have been the meaning of the surname, and one from before the time all this nasty business with the Ring began too, Sam thought, even if that’s what he’s writing about. It was good to hear that Frodo was trying to begin to recover. But the sound stopped before the younger hobbit had even passed the door and so he too stopped and heard the crumple of paper and a sob. His smile became a frown and he knocked politely before sticking his head in. "Frodo?"

Frodo was sitting on a bench with his back to the door, surrounded by a sea of crumpled paper, so many of them Sam couldn’t even see his brother’s feet among them. "I can’t do it, Sam," the elder hobbit said, holding up his maimed, ink stained hand, but not turning around. "I’ve tried the way you showed me last time, but it’s not working."

Sam silently picked up several of the discarded pieces. They looked like the scrawls of an Elvish child just learning the basics of runes. Other sheets showed attempts at the Common Speech that were no more legible. Sam looked up at his brother who sat slumped and defeated.

"I want to learn to write again, Sam," Frodo said. "I need to get all this out of me and people need to know what really happened."

"Then I’ll show you again," Sam said.

He smoothed out some of the crumpled papers, turned them over and they spent the next few hours together. Sam held his hand over his brother’s and gently, patiently guided him as Frodo had once guided him when he was a child just learning his letters. They did the entire alphabet twice, then began to form words. At first it seemed to be nothing but scrawls and Frodo wanted to give up in frustration. Sam kept his hand over his and kept encouraging him, but the elder hobbit put down his quill at last.

"I can’t do it, Sam!" he cried and Sam could see and hear the tears that nearly brimmed over. "I just can’t. The Ring has taken even this from me!"

Sam ached to hear the all-too-familiar torment in his beloved brother’s voice, the agony in the gaze Frodo raised to him. The younger hobbit sat down on the bench beside him, put both his arms around him, pulled him close, kissed the side of his head and then rocked him gently while he murmured comforts as Frodo cried.

Frodo closed his eyes and just let his friend’s presence and voice soothe him as it always did. It seemed only in his beloved guardian’s arms could he find any peace anymore. "It hated you, Sam," he said after they had sat there a while. "It was afraid of you. That’s why it tried - I tried - to kill you."

Sam held him a little tighter. "Shhhh, no more of that now," he murmured, to cover his surprise that such a powerful evil would fear such a small, harmless hobbit such as himself. Well, he supposed with a grim smile, he had given it reason to. "Let it go. You didn’t try to kill me. I know it was Ring."

They sat silently for a while longer, Sam continuing to rock his brother slowly, Frodo’s head against his chest, listening to that beloved heartbeat, relaxing under such loving care. He wished it could go on forever, that he never had to leave his friend’s arms.

"I can still hear its voice, Sam. I’m so afraid that is all that’s left inside of me."

"No, dear, there’s so much more. Once we get home and you’re in your own home and your own bed, surrounded by your books and the fields and the trees you love, then you’ll remember who you are. Did you hear us when we talked to you while you were asleep after the eagles got us out?"

"Yes. That’s why I decided to come back, to live. I didn’t want to leave any of you, but I fear I have already, a long time ago. I want to go back to the way I was, but it’s like a dream. I can see it, I can remember it, I can reach for it, but I can’t touch it. I carried the Ring too long, Sam. I fear I shall always be carrying it."

Sam stroked his beloved brother’s curls. "No, dear, no. The Ring-bearer you do not need to be any longer. Let that bit of your life close. You are so much more than that. The Ring can’t compete with everything the Shire means to you. Let yourself just be a hobbit again."

"I wish I could. I can’t see past the Ring right now, though."

"It’s early yet and you’ve had a terrible time. You’ll heal in time, dear. I know you will. I remember when my mother died and it was that hard to keep from always crying. I didn’t think things were ever going to be right again, but then I was told by someone very wise, that though it would be very hard for a while to even breathe, the pain would begin to ease and I would see something other than her grave every time I thought of her. Do you remember who told me that? One Frodo Baggins who had already lost his parents and knew what it felt like and knew also that healing would come. It will come again, my dear. Maybe you won’t even notice at first, but the pain will become less and less, until one day you will be happy again, just like before."

"I see my own grave, Sam. I’m looking into it right now."

Sam pulled back and looked into his beloved friend’s face. "But it’s empty, isn’t it?"