My lord king, I don’t know what else to do. Can you come? I know it’s a tidy way from Gondor to the Shire, but Mr. Frodo is not doing well and I’ve tried everything else. I’ve planted athelas under his bedroom window so he has it to refresh himself when the terrible dreams come and outside the study so when the memories come as he writes, he will have some solace. I crush some of the leaves into his tea every night and I hold him when he can’t stop himself from crying out in his sleep. I know there are nights he tries to stop, and I know there have been nights I have tried, but we know each other too well and he can’t hide anything more from me than I can from him. Just the other night, when Rose had to be away to help her mum tend her da who was ill, I had one of those dreams of the spider’s lair and the tower, but Mr. Frodo did not come back to life. I had my fist in my mouth so I wouldn’t cry out, but he still knew and he still came, took my fist gently in his own hands and kissed it and then looked at me with tears streaming down, so sorry he is that I suffered. He said naught, but took me into his arms then and we slept peacefully, my head against his heart, just as he rests his against mine when he’s the one with the dreams, as most times he is. But he shouldn’t be suffering like this, especially not for me.

I’m the one whose always guarded him. All my life since I was nine, I have been watching over him, but there are things that get past me, just like they did all the way to the Fire, that I can’t stop, that I can’t even see until I see them behind his eyes and what they are doing to him inside where I can’t reach. Maybe you can? I have nowhere else to turn. I’d take him to you myself if I could get away, but I can’t. Rose is expecting and I just can’t leave her. And he wouldn’t go neither because he wouldn’t want a fuss made. But seeing as he doesn’t know that I am writing this, I can make the fuss and leave him free of knowing, until there’s naught he can do. I would love if you could ask our Queen also if she knows or Lord Elrond or the Lady, because surely the elves have some wisdom that we hobbits don’t regarding the terrible shadow that still lingers. Mr. Frodo’s been clenching the gem Lady Arwen gave so tight his knuckles are white at times and he speaks of the Sea and a ship when he doesn’t know I can hear. I can make naught of sense what he means and I think he’s dreaming again.

I know he thinks he is hiding some of this from me, but he should know better than that. I look in on him at night, all softly lit up with his own moon and starlight and I can see the tears that run down his cheeks even in his sleep. It’s enough to start myself crying again and I shouldn’t keep writing about it for I’ll smear this sheet too and I’ve already wasted two others of his fine paper already. He’d be right cross with me if he knew I was writing this, but he’s resting now and I thank any powers there are that he is for he had a terrible night last night. He’s plumb exhausted and I’m glad and grieve that he is because he doesn’t rest right otherwise. I’ve got an ear cocked toward his room so I’ll know as when he’s awaking and I have to get this done and posted before he does, for we can’t keep no secrets from each other and if he sees this before it’s sent, it won’t be sent. He doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone. He don’t know he isn’t. I carried him up the Mountain and I’m going to carry him down too, but I know now I can’t do it alone so that’s why I’m writing this.  I love him, Strider sir, I love him that much and there's got to be something that can be done. 

The times I’ve had to be away on restoring the Shire, Rose has taken care of him and taken him right under her wing like the broken bird he is and feeds him and talks to him and rests with him if I can’t. He doesn’t often cry with either of us, only when he can’t hold it in anymore and it just has to get out, whether he wants it to or not. Rose is the truest blessing for both of us, and I love her all the more because of it, but she shouldn’t have to face this. None of us should have to, but we are in that part of the Story right now and we just have to keep walking through it as we did all the way to the Mountain. There’s naught other place I’d rather be with my master and my Rose and I’m that glad we can still walk this together, no matter how hard, but it should have ended at the Fire and it didn’t. The pain should have gone away and Mr. Frodo should have nothing but joy and peace and reward for all his hard labours, but that’s not the way it always happened in those other tales neither.

I just wish he could get better. He’s the most beautiful flower in all the garden, always has been, and it’s been my joy to watch him grow. But he’s blighted now and I can’t cure it, even with all the watering, pruning, mulching and nurturing that I can think of.

I just don’t know what else to do. I just don’t know. So can you come, my lord? I don’t know what else to do. Mr. Gandalf’s gone off somewhere I don’t know where. I would ask ol’ Tom Bomdadil to come but he wouldn’t leave his land and I couldn’t get Mr. Frodo to go there, without making him suspicious. It’s not like one of those jaunts I can sometimes talk him into taking hereabouts.

Best I get this posted. He’s going to be waking soon I think.

My love to you and our Queen and our Lord Faramir.

Your obedient servant,

Sam

***

Aragorn was surprised when the letter arrived in handwriting that looked only familiar to him when he remembered all the writing lessons Sam had patiently gone through with his master when Frodo was learning to use a writing stick again with only four fingers. It had been mostly the Ring-bearer’s unsteady scribbling that had been seen on the floor in the beginning, thrown away in frustration when the lessons proved harder to master than the elder hobbit had wished them to be. The king had come once when the floor was a veritable sea of papers around the furry feet of his friends. Frodo was crying out "Conflustergation!" and flushed mightily when he realized he had overheard. Aragorn had merely smiled and spoken that the words looked better than his first attempts at writing when his foster father’s and Glorfindel had tried to teach him. Frodo calmed a bit at that and had nearly laughed. That had gladdened all their hearts.

Among those many papers had also been Sam’s handwriting for Frodo to copy until his own elegant script once more began to emerge and his confidence was restored that he could return to being a scribe which made himself feel more like the hobbit he had always known himself to be. To celebrate his victory, Frodo had drawn up a marriage scroll in Shire fashion, with the appropriate ribbons and signatures of all hobbits present, and that of the Steward, who was pleased and honored to have been named by them as a honorary hobbit, which detailed the lineage of both Aragorn and Arwen, going far back into the vanished years. It had been a masterpiece that was proudly displayed in both the royal bedroom and the room that Aragorn had his audiences for the king and queen both wanted everyone to know who had made it and who they owed their lives to. Arwen had also asked for a copy to made for her father so her mother would see it one day.

It was the gardener’s handwriting that graced the letter that the king now opened with a smile, which disappeared into tears though as he read on. He responded very quickly and briefly for he did not wish to delay the reply a moment longer than necessary.

I am coming.

Your obedient servant and his,

Aragorn, son of Arathorn

He signed it and sealed it with his stamp as king and ordered that it sent back to the Shire with all speed. He then hurried to ready himself for the same trip, summoning his lady wife and steward and showing them the letter. Tears flowed down Arwen’s face and she closed her eyes and prayed to the Valar, to Nienna and Este in particular, that hope and solace be given to the Ring-bearer. She noted that the letter had already been smeared and saw the reason in her husband’s eyes.

Faramir, too, murmured his own prayer. "I would that we could all go."

A light grew in Aragorn’s eye at those words.