Sorry for the delay in updating!  I've been traveling, and just returned last night.  In the meantime, this chapter grew and grew, until it became the longest one I've written in the seven years I've been posting fanfic.  I hope you enjoy!  This chapter is dedicated to all the Sam fans who have been so patient, and to Surgicalsteel for invaluable feedback.

HOLDING BACK THE FLOOD

Chapter 12: Feeling No Pain

“But it was the singing that went to my heart, if you know what I mean.” Sam Gamgee, ‘Three is Company’, The Fellowship of the Ring

From tales her brothers had shared, Arwen knew that a Ranger usually awoke instantly at the slightest unusual sound or sense of danger, and could be on the attack before even fully awake.  Thus, she spoke Aragorn’s name softly when still several feet from his bed.  When he didn’t stir, she called more loudly, then finally knelt by him and let her thoughts travel with his.  Her beloved’s dreams were dark and troublesome, not unlike those that had plagued his exhausted sleep during those days, a month before, when the Ring-bearer was first brought to the House.  The insidious weakness and despair that afflicted those who came in contact with the Nazgûl and their fell weapons did not appear, on the surface, to affect this son of kings, but she knew that he did not escape completely unscathed.  He pushed himself until all who depended upon him were safe, only then seeking respite in sleep, deep and healing.  The depth of this slumber told her much about what it had cost him to remove the enspelled shard from Frodo’s leg.

“Estel,” Arwen said again, then stroked his brow, trusting that her touch would soothe, and guide him to wakefulness.

Aragorn murmured her name, then his eyes fluttered open and he smiled at the lovely face just inches from his.  He reached up and caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. 

“What time is it?” he asked.

“The third hour past midnight.”

Aragorn sat up and ran his fingers through his rumpled hair.  The room was dark save for a few candles, and Arwen rose to her feet to light a lamp.  She then picked up a tray she had brought with her, and placed it on his lap.  A delicious aroma made his stomach rumble; the tray was laden with thick slabs of fresh bread and butter, a deep bowl of stew, and slices of fruit.  She poured two goblets of wine, and sat near him.

“Thank you.  What is--”

“Shhh,” she hushed his questions.  “You must eat.”

Aragorn gratefully dug into the stew, and when he had nearly finished the meal, he tried again.

“Arwen, tell me what has happened.”

“Samwise and Legolas were brought safely out of the cavern.” Arwen fished one of the remaining slices of apple from a dish, and took a tiny bite. “They were both injured, but will recover.  Lindir and Eriniel are overseeing their care.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Aragorn said with relief.  “Is Frodo resting comfortably?”

“He was still sleeping, the last time I checked.”

“Good.  And Gimli?”

“You would be amused to see what has been taking place in the dining hall,” she said with a small smile.  “It is full of tired and dirty Elves as well as one tired and very dirty Dwarf, eating and toasting one another.”

“That sounds like quite a sight,” Aragorn chuckled.  He reached out to tuck a lock of her shining hair behind one ear.  “You, too, look tired, my love.  You have not spoken of--”

“Father is ill,” Arwen whispered, and Aragorn could hear the sudden fear that entered her voice.  “Glorfindel and Gandalf wish you to join them in his room.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”

“You were weakened in assisting Frodo, and needed rest.  And food,” she declared.  “There are so many in this house in need of care, and… I could not risk that you, too, might…”

He put the empty tray on the floor, and took her in his arms for a long moment.

“He needs you, Estel.  I... I need you.”

“I will do what I can, my heart,” he promised.  “Always.”

*~*~*~*~*

Something cupped the back of Sam’s neck and head, and the spinning kaleidoscope of nausea and pain slowed, gentled by a warm, almost hypnotic pulse.  He slowly opened his eyes, and was startled to find himself in a bright room, with an Elf gazing down at him.

“Mr. Lindir!  What are you doing here?”

“Lord Elrond cannot attend you at present, so I hope you do not mind if I stand in for him.” Lindir shifted slightly, and Sam realized that it was the Elf’s right hand beneath his neck.  “How do you feel?”

“Not too bad, sir,” Sam said stoutly.

“I am glad to hear it,” Lindir smiled.  From what he had heard of how steadfastly the hobbits had endured all that befell them before coming to Imladris, he suspected that ‘not too bad’ meant that the pain was barely tolerable.  He nodded to a female Elf, who was standing on the other side of the bed.  “This is Eriniel, Sam.  She is one of our master healers.”

“Samwise Gamgee, son of Hamfast, at your service, ma’am,” Sam said automatically, although he was very confused about where he was and what was happening.

“And I am at yours,” Eriniel responded gently.

“Is this a dream?” Sam wondered out loud.

Lindir laughed softly, and shook his head.  There were voices coming from somewhere close, but the two healers were blocking Sam’s view of the room.  He had so many questions, but found himself rather tongue-tied in the presence of lady Elves when there were no other hobbits about… especially since he discovered that he was now not just missing a sleeve, but his entire shirt!

“We needed to make sure you did not have any broken ribs or internal injuries, Samwise,” Eriniel said, sensing his embarrassment.  She pulled a blanket up over him, then held up three fingers.  “How many?”

Sam concentrated as hard as he could.

“Three.”

“Very good.  Do you have any ringing in your ears?  Nausea?”

“I don’t feel near as sick as before,” Sam told her, “but I don’t feel quite myself, and that’s a fact.  I'm awful dizzy, still.”

“That is to be expected.  You were most fortunate not to be more gravely hurt.”

“How’s Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked Lindir anxiously.  “Mr. Legolas said that he might have been hit by one of them evil rocks.”

“The worst is over, Sam,” Lindir said.  “A splinter of rock injured his leg, but it was removed and he is no longer in danger.”

Sam struggled to hold back tears of relief.

“I could hardly bear it, wondering what was happening,” he said.  “Are we rescued?”

“Yes,” Eriniel smiled down at him.  “Everyone is safe.”  She uncovered a bowl in which a rare herb was steeping.  From the hot water she drew out a small square of cloth, and wrung it out thoroughly.  Covering the bowl hastily, lest the mildly sedating fumes escape, she held the cloth gently over Sam’s nose and mouth.  “I need to suture your cut, and readied this in case you awoke.  Breathe deeply.  Again. Again.”

Sam didn’t smell anything on the cloth save a fresh green scent, but he began to feel very light, as if detached from his body.  After a few moments, the lady Elf touched his head, or he thought she did, but he could barely feel it.

“That should be enough,” Eriniel said to Lindir.  Her voice sounded distant to Sam’s ears, as if he was hearing her under water.  She dropped the cloth back into the bowl, and replaced the lid.  She snipped away several of Sam’s curls so she could see the gash above his right ear more clearly, then cleansed it, which started the bleeding again.  “I feel no fracture,” she said, lightly but expertly feeling the bones around the deep cut.  “The Dwarf did well to tend him as he did.”  She shook her head with amusement as she prepared the suturing materials.  “I never thought to speak well of a Dwarf.”

“Word has reached me that many feel that way this night,” Lindir chuckled.

As Eriniel began to stitch the wound, Sam’s breath caught, and she stopped instantly.  “Lindir,” she said quietly.

Lindir began a song, a children’s lullaby, and Sam relaxed again, his eyes dreamy and unfocused.  Eriniel continued, and this time her small patient seemed not to be in any distress.

Sam was floating inside the song, and time was floating with him.  When the singing stopped, he slowly became aware of his surroundings once again.

“Finished,” Eriniel was saying.  “I hoped not to put him into a sleep unless necessary; with head injuries, it is unwise.” 

Lindir's hand was still beneath Sam’s head, and when he moved it slightly and spoke some musical-sounding words Sam couldn’t quite make out, the warmth pulsing through his head began spreading through his neck and shoulders, easing some of his aches.

“Is the pain bearable, Sam?” Lindir asked.

“My head stings, sir, I can't deny it,” Sam said.  “But whatever you’re doing feels wonderful.  Was that you singing?”

“Yes,” Lindir replied.  “I am not the most skilled of our House, but I hoped you would find it soothing.”

“It was.  I was trying to remember where I heard that tune before, and… I think Mr. Legolas was singing it in the cave.  Is he all right?”

“He is being tended,” Lindir replied.  He moved so that Sam could see to his left, where several Elves were grouped around Legolas, who lay on a high, narrow bed covered with white cloth.  Sam realized that he, himself must be on a similar bed.  Legolas’s bare chest, where it was not covered in bandages, was badly bruised, and his right leg below the knee was in the process of being splinted.  Legolas appeared to be asleep.

“The bone in his leg needed to be set; we gave him something for pain, and to help him rest,” Eriniel said.

“He needs some rest,” Sam exclaimed boldly.  He was so relaxed now, he forgot that he was all alone with these fair folk.  “He was hurt awful bad, but he sang and sang, and talked to me for hours.”

“Sam?”  There was a scrape and a scramble, and suddenly Merry’s head appeared to Sam’s right.  “Sam, you’re finally awake!  How are you doing?”

Sam found himself peering into concerned brown eyes; Merry had dragged a chair over and was standing on it.

“You look a sight, Mr. Merry!” Sam blurted out before he could stop himself.

Merry laughed out loud.  “I suppose I do.  I must be as dirty as a youngling who’s been building a hill-fort.”

“Have you seen Mr. Frodo?”

“I’ve just been to his room,” Merry reassured him.  “Pip and Bilbo are with him, and all three looked to be sound asleep.”

“That's good news,” Sam said.  “Do you see my shirt about anywhere?”

Merry looked around, and spied the dirty and sleeveless shirt on the floor, in a heap along with Sam's empty pack and some of Legolas’s garments.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit the worse for wear, Sam,” he said.

“We will do our best to have it mended,” Eriniel promised.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Sam said gratefully.  “It was stitched by my sister Daisy, and I’d hate to see anything happen to it.”

Eriniel bade Sam open his mouth.  She shook a small phial until a tiny drop of liquid fell under his tongue.

“That should help ease you for some hours,” she said.  She checked his pulse, and nodded with satisfaction before beginning to wrap a fresh bandage about his head.

“I’m feeling much better,” Sam said after a few minutes.  “Just… sort of floaty.  I… I really liked what you were singing, Mr. Lindir.”  To everyone’s surprise, he began to hum.

“He is feeling better, isn’t he?” Merry asked, greatly amused.

“It is the potion,” Eriniel told him.  “I gave him only a small dose, but it is quite relaxing.”

“I will take him to his bed,” Lindir said.  Suddenly he cocked his head to one side, listening intently.

“I hear it,” Eriniel frowned.  “Something is thumping in a rather--”

“Sam!” came a voice from the doorway.  “Are you all right?”

“Mr. Frodo?” Sam called out.

“Frodo,” Merry sighed, “what on earth are you doing here?”

Frodo stood in the doorway in his nightshirt, pale and shaking, balancing on one leg.  His left arm hung limply at his side, and he was fiercely clutching the doorframe with his right hand.

“I had to find out what was going on,” Frodo explained.  “What time is it?  How badly are you hurt, Sam?  What of Legolas, and Gimli?”

“Frodo Baggins!”  Pippin suddenly came up behind his cousin, looking quite frantic.  “I’ve been looking everywhere.  Hullo, Sam!  Merry, you look like you've been making mud pies.”  He glared at Frodo.  “You gave me a fright.  How did you get here?”

“How do you think?” Merry asked in exasperation.  “He didn’t exactly hitch a ride on one of Bilbo's eagles.”

“My friends,” Lindir said, “May we continue this in Frodo’s room?  Sam needs to rest.”

“He’s not the only one,” Merry sighed.  “Come on, Frodo, up on my shoulders.”

“I will not,” Frodo declared.  “I’m perfectly capable of hopping back to my room.”

“You look like you’re going to faint at any moment,” Merry said.  “We need to watch him like a hawk from now on, Pip.”

“I was watching him like a hawk,” Pippin insisted.  “I only closed my eyes for a second.”

“What is going on here?” spoke a familiar voice from behind them, and everyone turned to see Aragorn frowning down at Frodo, Arwen at his side.  “You should not be walking about, Frodo.”

“I just wanted to--”

“Permit me,” Aragorn said, his voice brooking no argument.  He stooped to lift Frodo into his arms.  “Arwen, please tell Gandalf that I will be there momentarily.”

Arwen touched his arm gently and nodded, then hastened away.

“I will check on you tomorrow, Samwise,” Eriniel said, then moved to assist the healers attending Legolas.

Lindir very gently lifted Sam, keeping his head supported.  Merry hopped off the chair, and he and Pippin trotted after Lindir and Aragorn as they carried their small burdens out of the room and down the darkened corridors.

“I just wanted to find out if Sam was all right, and what was happening,” Frodo insisted.  “I didn’t put any weight on the leg, Aragorn.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Sam, how badly are you hurt?”

“I can’t quite remember offhand, sir,” Sam replied rather cheerfully.

“What?”

Lindir began to chuckle softly.  “Frodo, Eriniel sutured a gash to his head, and we cleansed the cuts and scrapes on his hands.  He should be much recovered in a few days, as long as he does not exert himself.  I will take him to his room so that--”

“Why don’t you put them in the same room?” Merry asked.  “I’m thinking they’d both rest easier if they could see that the other’s all right.”

“And we could keep a better eye on them,” Pippin muttered.  Merry nodded, grinning.

“Would that please you, Sam?” Lindir asked.

“Yes, sir,” Sam agreed eagerly.  “That is, if it wouldn’t cause any trouble.”

“You hobbits have been nothing but trouble since the moment you arrived!” Lindir chuckled.  “However will we return to our dull lives when you have gone?”  He had learned that the small folk enjoyed light teasing, and was rewarded with smiles from both Merry and Sam. 

“That’s a splendid idea, Merry,” Frodo said.

“Isn’t ‘splendid’ a splendid word?” Sam asked, then started giggling.  “It's just splendid that you're all right, Mr. Frodo.  What was that song again?”  He resumed humming, and all save Lindir stared at him in amazement.

“He sounds drunk,” Pippin declared.

“Do not be alarmed,” Lindir said, following Aragorn into Frodo’s room.  The scattered candles gave the darkened room a warm glow that illuminated Bilbo, peacefully snoring in one of the chairs.  “He's had a bit of medicine, and there can be minor… side effects.”

Aragorn put Frodo down gently on the large bed, and propped him up against several pillows.

“Thank you for everything you did,” Frodo said to him.  He kept his voice low in hopes of not disturbing Bilbo.  “I’m grateful, truly.  I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.”

“You are most welcome.  Is the leg very painful?”

“It… well, yes it is,” Frodo admitted.

Lindir settled Sam next to Frodo, and covered him warmly.

“Frodo, I am sorry that I must leave,” Aragorn said gravely.  “Lindir will return with something to ease you.”  He and Lindir exchanged a few words of Sindarin, then they both left the room.

“You should never have left your bed,” Merry admonished his cousin.

“I know that now,” Frodo sighed.  “I’m so dizzy.”

“I’m dizzier!” Sam announced triumphantly.

“Quiet, Sam!” Pippin whispered.  “You'll wake Bilbo.”

“Don't get your foot hair in a frazzle, Mr. Pippin,” Sam declared, causing Merry to snort with suppressed laughter.

“Are you sure he isn't drunk?” Pippin asked.

“Dear Sam,” Frodo said, examining Sam’s face and bandage as well as he could in the dim light.  “Merry, I need to know what happened at the cave.”

Before Merry could begin, Lindir returned with a cup.  Frodo willingly swallowed the small amount of liquid it contained.

“Thank you, Lindir.”

“My friends, I bid you good night, or what is left of it,” Lindir said.  “We will all have many tales to tell in the coming days.”  With a bow, he took his leave.

“What time is it?” Frodo asked.

“Nearly tomorrow,” Pippin said.  “I’ll bring us a tray.  Merry, whatever you tell him, make sure you remember every bit of it so you can tell me.”

“Thanks, Pip,” Frodo said as his young cousin scurried away.  “I’m starving.”

Scrambling up on the bed, Merry told Frodo everything he could about the events of the past hours.  He was nearly through, when Pippin returned with a tray containing tea, small sandwiches, and cakes.  Frodo took several peach tarts, and devoured them blissfully.

“Sam, are you hungry?”  His question was met by a gentle snore, and the three cousins smiled.

“I'm so glad he's all right,” Pippin grinned with relief.

“I know you are,” Frodo said gently.  “Merry, was there anything else?”

“That's all I saw,” Merry said.  “I’m not sure what happened after we left in the cart, but there was a tremendous noise.  The water must have finally burst through.  If anyone else had been hurt, I'm sure we would have heard about it.”

“Sam might be dead now if you hadn’t been there,” Frodo said.  He reached out to embrace his cousin.

“Quite a day, eh?” Merry chuckled.  “How’s your leg?”

“Whatever Lindir brought was very nice,” Frodo said, yawning.  With Pippin's help, he carefully slid down under the covers, then turned his head to look at Sam one more time.

“He’s been through so much,” Frodo murmured drowsily.  “And he’s done so much for me.  Now it’s my turn to take care of him.”  He closed his eyes, missing the amused look Merry and Pippin exchanged.

“We'll have to take turns watching them,” Pippin whispered, handing Merry the last sandwich.  “But I think they'll both sleep for a good long time, now.”

“I hope so,” Merry sighed.  “I'm exhausted, Pip.  I need to wash, then grab a few hours of sleep myself.”

“Good idea,” Pippin said, making himself comfortable in his chair.  “And don’t you dare forget a thing about what happened; I want to hear it all tomorrow.  Or today.  Well, whenever you wake up.  Oh, and there seems to be some kind of party going on in the dining hall.  If you've ever wondered what Dwarvish singing was like, this is your chance.  It's... well... quite unusual.”

“I'll have to hear it some other time,” Merry yawned, then went off to find some hot water for a bath.

Everything grew quiet again, and Pippin was just enjoying a third cup of tea when Bilbo stirred.

“It surely isn't tea time already, Pip lad?” he mumbled without fully waking.  “Is Frodo all right?”

“He'll be fine,” Pippin said softly.  “We'll see to it.”

** TBC **