Winter turned to spring but even this failed to break through the haze of misery that enveloped Sam. He was thin and pale and hardly recognisable as the sturdy gardener of previous years.   He shuffled about Bag End, conscious that his unhappiness was affecting those around him but unable to fight his way back to normality.  He felt detached and isolated; his capacity for love and laughter sucked away by the black cloud of depression.

At night he would cling to Rosie in desperation; seeking comfort in her embrace but unable to offer her comfort in return.  He would wake from nameless terrors that left him shaking and struggling for breath; but he was unable and unwilling to share his fears with her. He would get up in the night and stagger outside to the garden to hide his weakness and mask his terror until the tranquillity of the night and the silence of the stars brought him a degree of calm.  He wanted to protect Rosie from the horror of his nightmares but he succeeded only in pushing her further and further away. Even Elanor seemed to sense the change him. Normally a happy, noisy child she sensed that Sam needed stillness and calm.  She would climb up onto his lap and stroke his face with her podgy, starfish hands or bury her fingers in his curls until they both fell asleep in the comfort of each others embrace.  Rosie tried hard not to resent the bond between them but she began to despair of getting back ‘her’ Sam.

Merry and Pippin made a point of visiting regularly. They soon realised the depth of Sam’s distress.  Sam would sit quietly while they reminisced about the past, he would sit and smoke his pipe seemingly lost in memory but he never joined in their discussions or laughed at their attempts to humour him.  Rosie came to depend on them for support and reassurance. She watched as they played and tumbled with Elanor; they would listen to her worries and while they offered no solutions except patience and time, she knew that they cared and understood.

***

It was clear to both Rosie and Sam that a crisis was brewing, but locked in their unhappiness neither seemed able or willing to head it off.

Elanor was growing rapidly and Rosie decided that as she was outgrowing her crib it was time to move her into her own room. She recognised that she would have to raise the matter with Sam and with some trepidation she cleared away the supper dishes and sat down next to him.

“Sam, I need to talk to you!” he raised his eyes to her but didn’t answer. Rosie took this as acknowledgement and continued.

“Ellie needs her own room; she’s getting too big for the crib. Will you make her a special bed, one with a rail so she won’t fall out?.... All the spare beds are too big for her right now” she said as she squeezed his hand encouragingly.

“If you like,” Sam replied

This was hardly an enthusiastic response and she hesitated before continuing.

“I’d like to do out the room next to ours for her,” she said quietly.

“No!”

“But Sam…”

“I said no… you’re not to touch anything!” he said vehemently, shaking off her hand.

“Sam, it’s the nicest room with the prettiest view, surely you want the best for Ellie,” she pleaded.

“That’s His room… you just leave it be!”

“But Sam, love, he’s gone and he’s not coming back!” she said gently.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” he shouted getting to his feet.  “I said no…and that’s an end to it,” he picked up his pipe and stormed out pulling on his cloak as he went.

Rosie sat with her head in her hands, she felt tired and sick and lonely.  She had handled it all wrong she realised, but then maybe there wasn’t ever a right way. She heard the baby crying; as she rose to go to her she swayed as a spasm of dizziness swept over her. She gripped the edge of the table and took a deep breath to steady herself, the fight with Sam had left her upset and hurt. She went through to the bedroom to settle the Elanor.

“Shush, sweetheart, go to sleep” she crooned “It will be alright… Dadda loves us...I know he loves us, ” she choked and a rain of hot tears fell down her cheek.

***

Sam stumbled into the Green Dragon and ordered a mug of Ale.  He looked around; the bar was full and noisy.  He found a quiet nook near the fire and nursed his drink. He spied Farmer Cotton and one of his sons across the room, he acknowledge their greeting but kept to his quiet corner, wanting only peace and quiet .He was ashamed of his out burst and at having raised his voice to Rosie. He knew it wasn’t her fault and that he wasn’t being rational but the thought of even going into Frodo’s room was more than he could bear. His quiet contemplations were rudely interrupted by a jolt on his arm.

“Why if it isn’t Sam Gamgee? We don’t see you in here much these days. I guess you’re above slummin’ it with us peasants now that you’re a man of property” Sam looked up to see Matty Harbottle leering drunkenly over him.

“I’ve just come for a quiet drink, Matt” said Sam, hoping he would soon loose interest and go away.

“Well you’re a sly one I must say, but then I guess you Gamgee’s always did know what side you bread’s buttered?” The fat, middle-aged Hobbit was too far gone with ale to notice the spark of fire in Sam’s eyes.

“And just what’s that supposed to mean?” said Sam, his temper rising.

“Well, always smarming and creeping round those Baggins’, making yourselves indispensable; first Bilbo with his mad adventures and silly tales and then young Frodo- sounds like he was as batty as his uncle!”

Sam had him pinned against the wall before he could blink.

“Don’t you ever, ever talk about Mr Frodo like that again, do you hear!” his voice was low and full of menace.  “He has more courage in his little finger than you’ll ever see in you poor, sorry lifetime. You have no idea of what he did…what he went through.  If it wasn’t for him you would all be servants of that Sharkey or worse still slaves of Mordor” Sam spat the words out as if they were poisoning him. “While you sat on your fat, complaisant backsides he went to hell and back… and what thanks did he get…heh!”

Sam kept the pressure on Matt’s’ throat, barely conscious of anything around him; adrenalin pumping through his veins.  He startled and looked around when he felt a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. “All right Lad, let him be, he’s not worth the trouble” Farmer Cotton urged.  Sam dropped his arms; Mat took the opportunity to push Sam away and managed to land a blow on the side of his face.  At this the bar erupted into chaos as the private confrontation became a general brawl. Sam staggered to the door and slipped out into the night.

Once outside Sam’s knees buckled and he lurched into the shadows, coming to rest with his back against a low wall. He was shaking so badly he couldn’t even pull his cloak around him.  He could feel cold, icy sweat dripping down his back; he gasped, trying to catch his breath, his vision went black and bright lights flashed behind his eyelids. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, he clenched his fists and tried to block out the screaming in his head.  It flashed through his head that maybe he was dying, and at that moment he didn’t care!

He lost track of time until finally became aware of his surroundings. His breathing became easier and his heartbeat settled; he slowly and painfully unclenched his fingers.  He listened for signs of activity but the bar was now silent. He pushed himself up and made his way home on unsteady feet.

Rosie was still up when he got home.  She took one look at him and moved to get a cloth and some salve for the bruise on his face.  Sam slumped down in the chair and pushed her hand away as she attempted to bathe the swelling on his cheek.

“Leave it be, Lass, I don’t need fuss!” he said tiredly.

“And what do you need, Sam?” the words burst forth before she could stop them. “It’s plain that you don’t want or need me! I can’t go on like this any longer, Sam…. I love you but you’ve shut me out and I don’t know how to help you…I won’t go on trying to compete with a memory and I won’t live in some museum to the past. This is supposed to be our home but now I feel like a stranger…..” her voice tailed off.

Sam didn’t respond.  He saw the truth of her words but didn’t know how to break out of the cycle of despondency.  The knot in his chest tightened.  The silence echoed.

“Sam?”

When she received no response she turned away.  Sam heard the rustle of her skirts as she walked out of the kitchen and caught the echo of sounds as she moved around the bedroom.  A few minutes later she was standing before him with Elanor asleep in her arms. She placed the child in his lap.

“You may not need me, but this one needs you; she needs her Father to love her, teach her, comfort her and care for her. It’s time you faced reality and stopped feeling sorry for yourself… I can’t do this on my own any longer…. I’m tired and lonely and I’ve had enough!” She turned and walked away, shutting the round, green door and walking into the night.