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Elegy, Part Two
Sam’s eyes flicked open with a start. Something, or someone, had touched his
cheek. There, directly before his gaze, early morning light was washing over
pale skin, dark lashes were shadowing still drowsy eyes, and Frodo was watching
him with a slight smile on his face. With a gasped cry that was probably Frodo’s
name, if there had been time to finish it, Sam instantly wrapped his arms
eagerly and avidly about a willing Frodo, and hungrily met his mouth. Closing
his eyes, he forgot all else in the embrace of his beloved, not even aware that
tears were beginning to roll down his face until he started to taste the salt.
Frodo returned his kiss with a matching greedy passion at first, but then Sam
could feel his one-armed embrace weakening, and he had to fall away with a gasp.
“Oh, Frodo,” Sam propped himself up slightly on his elbow, choking back the
tears, and impatiently swiping his face with a quick hand. “I didna think, me
dearest, I should have taken more care.”
Frodo continued to smile though, and shook his head slightly as he gazed up at
Sam. “That was what I woke you up for, Sam-love. Don’t you worry, my dear, I’ll
be all right.” His smile faded, though, as he continued to study Sam. “You look
dreadful, though, Sam,” he murmured, softly, concern beginning to shade his
expression. “It must have been rather awful for you.”
“It was, no mistake,” Sam replied frankly, in a quiet voice. But there was no
point in dwelling on that, he chided himself immediately, and then thought to
pick up, with the greatest of care, Frodo’s left hand, as it lay upon the
coverlet. Then the tears came again, and there was no choking them back this
time, for Frodo’s hand was warm, warm and alive, and curled tenderly around his,
as he held it up and kissed it again and again.
“Oh, Sam, Sam, my dear Sam,” whispered Frodo then, gently pulling Sam down to
him with his other hand. Sam collapsed against him, his head on Frodo’s chest
and that once icy hand in both his own, and let the tears come, seeing there was
no way he could have stopped them anyhow. Frodo stroked his curls, and kissed
his forehead tenderly, and held him tight.
“Sam, dear,” he whispered, resting his cheek softly against Sam’s sun-streaked
hair, “I could hear you, you know. Not what you said, I couldn’t hear the words.
But it was your voice, and I kept trying to find you. I don’t really remember
much else, and I don’t think I want to, but I do remember that.”
Sam lifted his tear stained face at Frodo’s words, and looked directly into his
eyes. “I was so scared,” he got out the words with difficulty, his voice still
shaky and tear-choked. “I don’t ever want to be that scared again, Frodo.”
Frodo smiled and slowly lifted a hand, wiping the tears from Sam’s cheek, but
the look in his eyes was melancholy. “I can’t promise you that you won’t be,
love. No more than I can be sure that nothing will ever happen to you that will
break my heart. Our life together has been so happy, Sam, I can’t imagine
anything better. Sometimes, though, it seems like a dream to me…” He blinked
then, recollecting himself, and added, in a brisker tone, “Ah, but pay me no
heed, Sam, that’s just a trace of the shadows speaking.” With difficulty, he
tried to push himself up into a more upright position, and Sam instantly sprang
into action.
“Oh, Frodo-love, you be careful now,” he quickly sat up next to Frodo in the
great bed, and shoved pillows behind Frodo’s back to help prop him up. “Here you
are, dear, easy now, me love.” And with Sam’s gentle help, Frodo was soon up in
a sitting position, indeed, just in time, as there was a quiet knock on the
door.
It was Halilhil again, and his sympathetic face, as he quietly entered, lit up
at the sight of Frodo sitting up in bed with Sam at his side. Walking quickly
over to the side of the bed, he nonchalantly picked up Sam’s sleeping robe from
the floor, where it had once again descended, and handed it to a grateful, and
this time only slightly flustered, Sam. “Master Frodo,” he exclaimed, politely
but genuinely. “I am delighted, if somewhat surprised, to see you up. The
sleeping potion was meant to last another day, but it seems as though you are
indeed resilient.”
“Apparently I am,” Frodo nodded courteously, with a smile. “Are you the healer,
then? I can’t possibly thank you enough.”
“Oh, no, I am not he,” the young elf laughed lightly, “but you shall meet him in
a few moments. Say nothing to him, but this should be amusing. I believe hobbits
are quite a puzzle to him, although he would never admit to that.”
Sam had tugged his own robe on as Halilhil cheerfully leaned Frodo slightly
forward, and now could see that the robe that had been placed on Frodo the day
before fastened in the back, and was easily whisked off without disturbing the
bandaged shoulder. Frodo looked rather startled at being suddenly bared in such
an efficient manner, and Sam was privately glad that, at least this time, Frodo
was still covered from the chest down with the bedclothes. He rather doubted
that Frodo would have been pleased to learn quite how much of him the initial
visitors to his room had been able to view.
Halilhil had been correct in his surmise, for when the healer and his assistants
entered the room a moment later, there was a sudden startled look on the
healer’s impassive face, no matter how quickly he was able to conceal it. “Very
good, very good indeed,” he acknowledged, giving Frodo a sharp glance, as well
as Sam.
Frodo nodded once again in response. “I cannot thank you enough, Master Healer,”
he murmured in the same tongue in which the healer had spoken. “I am much in
your debt.”
The healer could not help the wry smile that stole across his face at Frodo’s
courteous words. “So I see that Master Bilbo is not the only scholar among
hobbits,” he nodded politely in response. “You are a remarkable young hobbit in
many ways, then.” Quickly turning serious again, he grasped the handle of the
sharp blade that his assistant had been offering him, and carefully inserted it
under the bandage on Frodo’s shoulder, cutting it open with a deft movement of
his wrist, and then cautiously prying it off of the wound. “Ah,” he mentioned,
with satisfaction.
Sam dared, then, to look. The wound was still long, snaking across Frodo’s upper
shoulder and slightly down the side of his chest. It was no longer bleeding, but
was crusted with dried blood, and the sides themselves were still whitened and
raised. But the surrounding skin was not reddened, and inflamed, as it once had
been, and there were no more signs of those dark red streaks that had terrified
Sam so only a day past.
The healer made another murmur of approval, and motioned to the assistants. They
immediately sprang into motion, carefully washing the wound and coating it with
a pungent salve. In no time at all, it was bandaged up anew, and the healer was
speaking carefully to Frodo. Sam patiently waited, and in a matter of moments,
the hobbits were once again left with only Halilhil in the room with them.
“The healer says he is to eat,” the elf mentioned politely to Sam, who had been
unable to follow the conversation. “I will return in a few moments with food and
drink,” and laying a clean robe at the foot of the bed, was gone.
“Help me up, quickly, Sam, before he returns,” Frodo immediately muttered,
trying to move to the edge of the bed with a determined look. He gave the robe a
look of distaste as Sam hurried to his side. “I’d rather have something on that
stays put somewhat better than that. Do you know where they’ve put my things,
Sam?” And then a stricken look came to his face. “The Ring, Sam! Where is It? Do
they have It?”
Sam, one arm under Frodo’s uninjured shoulder, and carefully helping him to his
feet, stared blankly at him for a moment. Nothing could have been more remote
from his thoughts the last few days, and he realized that he didn‘t actually
know the answer to Frodo‘s question. Recovering quickly though, he handed Frodo
the robe that had been left. “Let’s get you set up first, Frodo,” he retorted,
somewhat gruffly. “I’d not be thinkin’ there’d be much left of what you were
wearin’ when you got here, but your pack is in the room they gave us, and I can
go fetch your spare things in a moment. There’ll be folks comin’ in any time
now, soon as they get the word, so you best be wearin’ this ‘til then. I’ll
check on that blasted piece of mischief likewise.”
Frodo reluctantly then donned the robe, and Halilhil chose that moment to return
with a tray of food, his face immediately showing dismay on seeing that Frodo
was out of bed. “Master Frodo,” he gasped, “you are not to be out of bed yet!
Your wound has still not healed; it will re-open!”
“It will heal faster if I’m not just sitting in that bed thinking about it,”
Frodo replied, somewhat crossly. “What’s wrong with me at the moment is the lack
of quite a few meals, I suspect.”
“I’ll be gettin’ your things, then, Frodo,” Sam murmured, taking the opportunity
to cross to the other side of the room, as a disgruntled Frodo sat back down on
the side of the bed before the nonplussed elf. He gave a quick glance to where
he had dropped It on the table the first night, and with mixed emotions, caught
the glint of gold on the floor. Apparently, It had slipped to the floor, and no
one had touched It.
There was no more time to consider that, however, as there was another soft
knock on the door, and Bilbo cautiously peered inside.
“Bilbo!” Frodo’s face lit up with joy, and he started to rise, but the old
hobbit shook his head, and hurried to his side.
“No, lad, don’t you be thinking about getting up, now. Oh, Frodo my dear, it is
glad indeed I am to see you again,” he added, with a suspicious catch in his
voice, as he was caught up in Frodo’s one-armed hug. Sam left the room
gratefully. It would be awhile, he was sure, before Frodo would think of the
Ring again.
&&&&&
Both Merry and Pippin, looked up, startled, from their breakfast tray, as Sam
entered their airy room. “What is it, Sam?” Merry leaped to his feet, nearly
upsetting the teapot that Pippin had been in the act of setting back down. “Is
he all right? They told us it would be another day until he woke up.”
Sam smiled proudly then, and chuckled, “They’d not be knowin’ much about
hobbits, I’d warrant. He’s tryin’ t’get up on his feet, and fussin’ about that
bit o’cloth they want him to wear. Seems as I must fetch him some proper
clothes. Mr. Bilbo’s with him right now.”
At this glorious news, both Pippin and Merry were instantly about him, laughing
and hugging both each other and Sam, who was grinning delightedly at their
reaction. “Oh, Sam, can we see him then?” Pippin beamed. “I must scold him for
making us all so dreadfully worried. After I’ve kissed him several times first,
of course, to take the sting out of it.”
“Aye, I believe he’d enjoy that,” Sam replied, amused at the thought. “But I
need to find his pack first, where did you put it?” He spotted it then, in the
corner of the room in a pile with the rest of their packs, but as he drew away
from the other two, and started to walk towards it, he felt the room suddenly
dim, and the most curious feeling start up in his knees. “Oh!” he managed to get
out, but it was enough to make the other two turn towards him and they rushed
over to catch him as he started to fall.
“Sam,” declared Merry, somewhat sternly, after he and Pippin had supported and
guided a dizzy Sam over to the settle, and had stretched him out, Pippin quickly
stuffing a pillow under his head. “How long has it been since you had something
to eat?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Sam faltered, closing his eyes to keep the room from
spinning around so.
“Exactly,” Merry responded firmly. “I thought as much.” He quickly dragged the
small table with the breakfast tray to the side of the settle, while Pippin
returned with a blanket, laying it softly over Sam. “You’ll not be going
anywhere, my lad, until you’ve had something to eat, and a bit of a rest. We’ll
take Frodo’s things to him, don’t you fret. You’ll be doing him no good falling
over him like that.”
“Try the apples; they’re especially good,” Pippin supplied helpfully, pushing a
promising specimen toward him. “And it looks like Bilbo has taught them to make
a decent pot of tea. Must ask for more honey the next time, I think.”
“Don’t be sayin’ naught to Frodo about this, ‘twill only make him anxious,“ Sam
pleaded, as he surrendered to the inevitable.
“As long as you stay here until we get back,“ Merry’s answer was resolute. “We
don’t need to be worrying over the both of you.“
For once, Sam was glad to submit to Merry’s logic, and before he knew it, he had
drifted to sleep in the fragrant morning breeze.
&&&&&
Sam was unable to keep his promise to Merry, though, for when he reopened his
eyes, he was still alone in the splendid room, but the brightness of the light
that poured in through the tall open windows told him that it was nearly midday.
He sat up cautiously, but the spinning seemed to be gone, and he prudently
decided that it might not be a bad idea, after all, to have a bite to eat.
Pippin was right, the apple was delicious, as were the grapes, and the bread was
not only quite tasty, but a lovely light texture. He gave a brief thought as to
inquiring with the bakers here as to what the trick of it was, for Marigold
would be happy to find it out, he was sure. The tea was cold, but that did not
signify in the least to him.
However, it was more than past time for him to be back with Frodo again. Knowing
those cousins of his, they could wear a body out soon enough when one was
healthy, and they’d be taking no heed if they were tiring Frodo, he was sure.
Reaching Frodo’s room again, he quietly knocked and re-entered it to find, as he
had feared, both Merry and Pippin sprawled out on the end of the bed (where
indeed there was room for at least half a dozen hobbits to make themselves
comfortable), and engaged in telling their cousin some preposterous tale. Bilbo
sat comfortably in an armchair at Frodo’s side, and calmly smoking his pipe, was
interjecting a wry comment every now and again.
Frodo, in the center of the bed, as well as the circle of hobbits, was laughing
at his cousins’ stories, but Sam was struck immediately, as he entered nearly
unnoticed, by the dark circles in the pale skin under his eyes, and the unusual
thinness of his face. But all other thoughts immediately vanished, for Frodo
turned to him, catching Sam’s gaze with his own, and oh, if that private, loving
smile didn’t twist Sam’s heart so that it nearly hurt, well, nothing ever did.
So before Sam knew what he was about, he was bustling through the room, calmly
shooing gentlehobbits out left and right, and hardly believing it when he and
Frodo were at last alone in the room again.
And if Frodo didn’t hold out his arms then, with the fondest welcoming smile
ever. Sam instantly found refuge there, happily sighing Frodo’s name, and
allowing every care and worry that he had to be forgotten for now, secure in
Frodo’s embrace, his ear against Frodo’s chest the better to hear that steady
heartbeat. Resolutely, he blocked all other thoughts from his mind, for was it
not his Frodo, his adored Frodo, safe within his arms? What more was there to be
desired? That was when he heard Frodo’s voice softly ask him, “The Ring, Sam.
Did you ever find out what became of It?”
He could not help the black hatred that instantly flooded his heart at the
thought of It, but he managed to keep his tone light and his voice steady when
he raised his head up, and casually muttered, “It’s over there on the floor, me
dear. They’d put It on a chain and strung It about your neck, but I took It
right off. Can’t see as that blasted thing’d be helpin’ you, no ways. But It’s
safe enough there. Not a soul’s touched It. The next time I’ll be seein’
Gandalf, I’ll be askin’ him when someone will fetch It.”
Frodo’s eyes, though, were suddenly troubled, and he gave Sam a slight frown.
“But Sam, I really am responsible for It until someone can take It off of our
hands. Since I can’t be keeping It in my pockets, perhaps the chain isn’t a bad
idea. After all, it should be safe enough if the elves thought of it.”
The fear that griped Sam was not a matter that he could explain, but it was
fierce, and he could not keep it from showing in his eyes, as he caught Frodo’s
hand up in his own, and pleaded, “Oh, leave It there where It lies, Frodo-love,
please, dear! Don’t let It touch you again; It will try to harm you, I can’t say
as how, but I know it to be so. Please, me dearest, please trust your Sam on
this!”
Frodo looked at him steadily, at first somewhat surprised by the vehemence in
Sam’s voice. Then he smiled slightly, carefully removing his hand from Sam’s and
cupping the side of his face. “You really are taking this a little too hard, I
think, Sam,” he replied lightly, “for I’m sure we are quite safe here, but if it
truly matters that much to you, I’ll leave It be for now.”
Sam had no words, but kissed his hand gratefully, and Frodo chuckled slightly.
“You do keep an eye out for me, don’t you, Sam love,” he murmured, embracing him
again warmly.
“Aye, and that’s what I’d best be doin’ now,” Sam straightened himself again,
with a mostly successful attempt at returning to a more normal matter-of-fact
tone. “For between the lot of us, we can’t be doin’ naught but tirin’ you out
again. And look here,” he added, turning to the tray of food that was still next
to the bed, “if you ain’t had but a bite to eat. Try this bread now, for ‘tis
tasty indeed, and the grapes are that fine, likewise.”
“All right, Sam,” Frodo laughed, pushing himself up slightly, “but only if you
eat too. You are still looking decidedly ragged, you know, and we really can’t
have that.”
It was only a few bites that Frodo took, however, before he yawned, and blinked,
and was suddenly quite soundly asleep. Sam sighed, and took the tray out to the
hall, and returned to straighten out the pillows and make Frodo more
comfortable. He settled himself down on the bed, sitting next to Frodo with
Frodo’s hand clasped gently in his, and stared thoughtfully out of the tall
windows, as the light afternoon breeze rustled the pale draperies about.
&&&&&
Bilbo had a smile on his face as he left Frodo’s room, quite efficiently and
firmly escorted out by Sam. Turning to the two younger hobbits who were
accompanying him, he chuckled, “Turned out rather like his gaffer, didn’t he?
Now there was a hobbit you could never budge when he thought he had the right of
it.”
“And Sam usually is right,” Pippin smiled in reply, “which of course is most
annoying of him. Oh, do you know,” he stopped in the corridor suddenly, “that he
has not mentioned Bill once?”
Merry nodded thoughtfully. “Quite unlike him. He’s surprisingly fond of that
pony.”
“Well, that’s the Samwise I remember,” Bilbo shook his head with a grin. “Had
private conversations with every animal in the garden, he did. The gaffer used
to shake his head about that lad, but I always thought it showed the sign of a
proper imagination. But if you’d like to investigate this Bill’s well being, the
stables are not far, just down the main road to the river and to the left. A
little far for me though, but you lads go on. Some fresh air wouldn’t hurt the
pair of you.”
This did sound like a splendid idea to both of them, and it didn’t take that
long for them to find their way out of the maze of Rivendell, and begin walking
down the dusty road under the fragrant pines.
“So what do you suppose will happen now that Frodo’s on the mend again?” Pippin
asked Merry abruptly, his eyes intent on the pine needles he was scuffing
underfoot.
“Well, he’ll hand that nasty piece of business off to someone like Gandalf, or
that elf we saw the first day, I should think, and then we’ll be back to the
Shire,” Merry answered thoughtfully. “Bilbo seems quite happy here, I’d expect
he would stay. Might be a little awkward having him around Bag End again, I’d
imagine.”
Pippin couldn’t help but laugh at that thought. “It would definitely be
discomfiting, there’s no denying that, although he’s amazingly accepting about
all of this.”
They continued to walk in silence for a little while longer, until Pippin gave
Merry a sideways glance, and said softly, “I don’t suppose our families are
going to be accepting in the least when we get back.”
Merry sighed, and shook his head. “There’ll be no end of it,” he predicted
gloomily. “My mother has always thought Frodo the worst of influences, but by
the time we get back, she’ll probably have convinced all the rest of them as
well.”
Pippin moved in closer and grasped Merry’s hand. “I’m afraid of what they can
do,” he murmured somberly.
Merry firmly clasped Pippin’s hand in return, and stopping in the middle of the
road, never giving the occasional elf passer-by a glance, but looked steadily
into Pippin’s eyes. “I’m not giving you up, Pip. They can threaten what they
like; it really won’t matter. I’d rather wander the wild roads with you for the
rest of my life, than to live in the Shire without you.”
Pippin was in his arms then in a heartbeat, wrapping his own arms tightly around
Merry and hiding his face against Merry’s neck. “Then it’s all right,” his words
were muffled and more than a little uneven. “As long as you don’t give me up,
Merry, love.”
“Ah, you dearest goose,” breathed Merry, kissing Pippin’s cheek, and fighting to
keep his voice steady as well. “As if I ever could.”
&&&&&
Sam watched the light on the bed from the windows turn from golden to rose, and
then start to fade away altogether, and still Frodo slept. This grand place was
certainly a puzzle, he thought dreamily. It was so very airy, with the windows
open to the air and scarcely a door to be found, save on, thankfully enough,
this room. Courtyards, open to the sky above, were interspersed everywhere, and
even the corridors were generally open on one side, merely covered walkways. It
was as if the whole place was, in Sam’s mind, somewhat like a grand luxurious
tent, more than half open to the elements. Yet the rooms were comfortable, and
fires blazed throughout as needed, with every other imaginable comfort. It
seemed the height of impossibility, somehow, that a chill gale would find its
way to this valley, to bedevil the inhabitants of these glorious halls. Yet Sam
could see Bilbo’s point entirely. As magnificent as it all was, there needed to
be the snug feeling of a properly dug tunnel, to truly feel at home.
Idly, his mind wandered back to their own smial, at Bag End. The harvest would
be over by now, surely. He hoped it hadn’t had been that much of a bother for
the gaffer and the Cottons, to be taking care of it as well as their own. With
any luck at all though, they’d be home before the snows began to fall in
earnest, and there’d be time to plan and prepare the garden for the following
spring. Mayhap some of the seedlings of Bag End’s apple trees would be a proper
gift to the Cottons, and perhaps he might even be able to obtain a few apple
seeds from the elves, for certainly the apples he had tasted here were something
rare indeed.
It was as his mind was far from here, back in the Shire, that he suddenly
noticed that Frodo, although still asleep, seemed to growing restless. With
concern, he laid his hand, the one that did not hold Frodo’s own, on Frodo’s
brow, and found, to his dismay, that it was too warm. It wasn’t a high fever,
certainly, but a bit of fever nonetheless, and Sam felt uneasiness grip his
heart once again.
Fortunately, it was not long after that, with his customary gentle rap, that
Halilhil entered the room, and with a friendly bow to Sam, began lighting the
lamps that were near the bed. “The healer will be here soon, for one last check,
and then dinner will be brought in for him. Will you be returning to your
comrades again this evening, then?” he asked in a low voice, so as not to
disturb the sleeper.
“No, that I won’t,” Sam answered shortly. “As a matter of fact, I’ll be bringing
both of our things in here tomorrow. If he’s t’be stayin’ here, I’d be with him,
not with the others.”
“Certainly, Master Samwise, as you wish,” the elf replied smoothly. “I’ll have
your dinner brought in as well.”
“I’d be that grateful to you,” Sam murmured thankfully, but then, without
further ceremony, the master healer swept into the room, and stopped short,
managing to direct a disapproving look toward Frodo without the benefit of a
frown. Turning to Halilhil, he said something briefly, and then turned to Sam
with a sharp glance.
“The healer wishes to know why Master Frodo has so many articles of clothing
on.” Halilhil’s eyes were decorously directed to the ground, but Sam could see
the dry smile creep across his face, as he continued, “The healer has noticed,
as well, that his patient appears to have gotten out of bed today, in express
conflict with his wishes.”
Frodo was beginning to stir though, and lazily blink his eyes open, so with a
quick warning squeeze of Frodo’s hand in his, Sam politely informed the healer
that he might best be asking the patient himself. The healer bent over Frodo,
then, giving Sam clearly a dubious glance before he did so, and examined him, as
Frodo came awake with a start, tearing his hand from Sam’s in his confusion, and
awkwardly rising to a sitting position. Sam, as he found himself watching the
conversation between Frodo and the healer, realized that there was a certain
amount of exasperation on both sides, until the healer turned to Halilhil, and
in a calmly commanding way, obviously gave him an order. Halilhil bowed, and
abruptly left, causing Frodo to square his jaw, and give the healer a determined
look. Desperately wishing that he’d given his study of the elvish language a
little more emphasis on the spoken word rather than the poems he so loved, Sam
tried his best to follow the exchange, but had to admit to himself that he was
at a loss.
The healer gave his patient a last uncompromising look, and abruptly left, and
Sam gave a sigh of relief. “And what was that last bit all about, m’dear?” he
asked calmly, as he sat up a little straighter next to Frodo.
“I don’t think he thinks I’m an ideal patient,” Frodo answered, with a wry smile
toward Sam, taking his hand back up again reassuringly. “As a matter of fact, if
I were not apparently expected to make an appearance at some sort of meeting
tomorrow, he would find a way to ensure that I slept for the next week, I’m
positive.”
“A meeting?” Sam frowned. “But you’re hardly up, who’d be askin’ that o’you?”
Conveniently enough, Halilhil had just returned with the dinner tray, and the
question was immediately put to him by Frodo, as Sam assisted him in removing
the disapproved clothing, concerned at the way Frodo could not help but wince as
he moved the bandaged shoulder.
“Why, it is a most high council lead by my Lord Elrond,” the elf answered
instantly, “since there have been folk arriving here from all corners of Middle
Earth. An emissary from Gondor appeared just this morning, and I have even,” and
here he gave a quick glance toward them with fastidious distaste, “heard tell
that there are dwarves to arrive today.”
“Dwarves?” Frodo gave a quick smile of delight. “Oh, Bilbo will be ever so
pleased to hear that.”
Halilhil rather glumly held out the robe for Frodo as Sam neatly folded his
clothes, carefully placing them on the nearby table for tomorrow. “He may be,”
he replied, with a slight emphasis that subtly indicated his disagreement with
this sentiment, “but to have men, hobbits, and even dwarves here is most unheard
of, I assure you.” Neither hobbit, of course, needed as to wonder the reason for
this unusual gathering, and Sam cast a surreptitious glance toward on the object
still on the floor. He should probably ask tomorrow for the box Frodo had been
carrying It in, he supposed. All these grand folk should be figuring out soon
enough who’d be taking It off of their hands.
Halilhil seemed not inclined, however, to further discuss the next day’s events,
but left them with their dinner, and a warning that the master healer would be
returning one last time to change the bandages, as soon as they ate. Sam
immediately returned to Frodo’s side, as the elf left, with a purposeful air,
and Frodo couldn’t help but smile at the determination on Sam’s face as he
meaningfully felt Frodo’s forehead.
“Still too warm, am I not, Sam,” he had to admit.
“Doin’ too much,” Sam grunted, with a frown.
“Very well, then,” Frodo conceded, allowing Sam to help him back into bed. “You
know I’ve never been the best of patients, dear.”
“Aye, you know well enough there’d be no need t’be telling’ me that,” Sam held
out the bowl of soup that had been provided for Frodo, giving a mock sigh of
disapproval.
Frodo chuckled, and taking the bowl, began to eat with relish. He did stop for a
moment and give Sam an accusatory glance. “You’re to be eating as well,
Samwise,” he mentioned sternly, nodding toward the rest of the food. “I believe
they brought in dinner for two. I’m not the only one who’s a poor patient, you
know.”
Sam had to agree with that point, and with a smile and shake of his head, began
buttering some bread for both himself and Frodo. Dinner continued, mostly in a
companionable silence, as they both realized that they really were quite
ravenous. Indeed, they had just divided the last bunch of grapes as the healer
and his assistants firmly knocked on the door and entered the room.
“Ah,” he viewed the empty tray with satisfaction. Once again, with a deft move,
Frodo’s robe was whisked from him and the bandage deftly cut off. He examined
the wound silently, and then began to speak to Frodo. Sam sat patiently at the
end of the bed, and tried to read the elf’s expression, but that was a fruitless
cause. The wound was washed and salved again, and efficiently bandaged, and Sam
was pleased to note that although it still appeared as ghastly as ever, it
seemed to finally have stopped bleeding. The assistants to the healer rapidly
packed their supplies up and melted from the room, but not before one of the
them, as he removed the dinner tray, handed the master a glass half-filled with
a clear liquid.
The master healer offered it to Frodo, who took it warily. Once again, there was
a rapid conversation, and Sam could see that Frodo was reluctant to drink the
mixture. The healer, however, at last prevailed, and took the empty glass back
from Frodo with a look, to Sam’s mind, of triumph. He thereupon followed his
colleagues from the room, and they were alone.
“Another sleeping draught,” Frodo sighed with obvious disappointment, waving
away the robe that Sam silently offered. “That’s really not what I need. It
isn’t sleep that will mend me, it’s you, Sam.”
“Oh, Frodo,” Sam touched his face tenderly, moved by the sudden direct appeal in
Frodo’s eyes. “Then ‘tis me you’ll be having in no time, me dear.” Indeed, it
was the work of but a moment to extinguish the lamps and disrobe, and then he
was in bed and there was Frodo in his arms.
Once again Sam was swept with passion for this dear love of his, holding him
closely to himself, skin to skin, and meeting his mouth with a fervent kiss. Try
as Frodo would to fight it though, the potion was fast acting, and he had to
admit yawning defeat after only a few moments. “There now, Frodo-love, we have
all the time in the world now, me dear,” Sam murmured soothingly as Frodo
drifted off to sleep. “You just be taking care of yourself, and I’ll be here, no
worries, whenever you like.” Gently he stoked Frodo’s head as Frodo sleepily
arranged himself against Sam, taking care to touch the bandaged shoulder as
little as possible. “Sleep now me darling, for you are with me again, and ‘tis
all that matters to me.”
&&&&&
He lay in the grass, and gazed up at the cherry tree, rising tall and beautiful
in the bright blue Shire sky. It was covered with soft pink bloom, and the light
breeze that was blowing high above him would occasionally rustle a branch, and
shake loose the delicate petals. Down they swirled, lightly landing on his
upturned face, delicately touching and caressing, as he threw back his head, and
laughed happily, and opened his eyes to see Frodo, pale in the bright moonlight,
propped up on his good elbow and smiling down at him.
“Frodo,” he breathed, at the end of a quiet laugh, and Frodo’s smile deepened.
Leaning forward, he lightly kissed Sam’s cheek, his forehead, his eyelids, as
Sam closed his eyes in pure joy. Reaching up, cupping his face tenderly, gently
he guided Frodo toward his mouth and met him there in a lingering kiss. “You’re
awake,” he murmured as they broke apart, returning his hand to the side of
Frodo’s face.
Frodo’s smile became decidedly impish at Sam’s observation. “I don’t think
they’ve quite worked out the dosage for hobbits yet,” he observed lightly. “I
believe, as I mentioned before I became suddenly quite unconscious, that I don’t
think it’s sleep I need.”
“And what do you need, Frodo-love?” he lovingly tucked a dark curl behind the
delicate ear point, his voice becoming husky.
“I need what I haven’t had nearly enough of, what with one thing and another,
ever since we left Bag End,” Frodo answered lightly, accented with another quick
kiss to his nose. “I need to be in a bed, in a room with you, quite alone. I
need to not worry about anyone else disturbing us,” he added, running a gentle
finger down the side of Sam‘s face. “And I need to look at you in the moonlight,
and think once again how very beautiful you are, and how the way you say my name
makes me fall quite hopelessly apart, and always has, ever since that first
night we kissed each other, and I knew that I would always love you.”
“Ah, Frodo,” whispered Sam, grasping his hand tightly and kissing it fervently.
“You make me so happy, I can’t be beginnin’ t’tell you, me love.” He reached up
with both arms, and with a joyous gasp, Frodo fell into them, held tight as Sam
ardently kissed his throat.
“Oh, dear Sam,” he moaned, holding tightly and arching his head back, “oh,
please, dear one.” Then, with a sudden movement, Sam had turned them around, and
he bent over Frodo, flinging aside the bedclothes, and lovingly running a slow
but eager hand down Frodo’s side, and then up the middle, bending over Frodo,
and nibbling those dark nipples, tasting them and teasing them with his tongue.
“Ah!” Frodo cried out with passion, his eyes closing and his torso stretching
out and up at the combined sensation of Sam’s mouth and hand. Whatever trials
his body had known mattered now not in the least as he writhed under Sam’s
touch, any lingering pains banished from all thought. “Oh, Sam, oh!” he groaned,
his hand reaching down to twine itself in Sam’s curls, as Sam’s mouth moved
lower to join his hand, uniting to cover and grasp Frodo all at once. The warm
feel of it was ecstasy itself, the pull and swirl of the tongue, the delicious
slick wet sensation, the slide and skillful nip of the teeth, but Frodo moved
under Sam’s caresses for only a few moments before he suddenly gasped, and
reached down to Sam’s shoulder, tugging and urging him up.
“Sam,” he gasped as Sam lifted his head in surprise, catching sight of those
darkened eyes in the moonlight. “I need to feel all of you, Sam. Please,
dearest, cover me, love, hold me tight.”
Sam understood. He raised himself higher, and brought himself down upon Frodo’s
thinner frame, feeling the jut of the hipbones, the one arm that still hung
awkwardly to the side, but also Frodo’s desperate one-armed embrace, and his
heat and need. So his one hand grasped them both together, as Frodo cried aloud
again, nearly frantic with desire and want and the need to feel alive once more,
and flung himself up against Sam with all his strength. Down Sam ground against
him, moaning his name, over and over, as Frodo clung tightly to him and pushed
himself recklessly upward, until at last he felt Frodo stiffen, cry out one last
time, and spill hotly into his hand. He followed without thought, and lay
panting momentarily over Frodo, until jolted alert at the abrupt memory of
Frodo’s condition, immediately rolling to one side.
“I’d best be cleaning us off, dear, what with all this crowd that’s always
a’comin’ in here,” he muttered reluctantly, starting to rise from the bed, but
Frodo wouldn’t hear of it.
“Nothing of the sort, Sam, don’t you dream of going anywhere,” he breathed,
gazing into Sam’s eyes with a heavy-lidded, but satisfied smile. “Let them
wonder about us once more, I could really care less. Don’t you leave this bed,
my very dearest Samwise. Just you keep holding me like this, and nothing else
could ever matter.”
Sam sighed happily and gave up all responsible thoughts. “As you wish, me
darling,” he whispered, stoking the side of Frodo’s face once again, as he felt
Frodo settle down against him. “Just you stay with me, love.” Frodo’s breathing
gradually slowed, and once again he was asleep in Sam’s embrace.
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