Concerning Sam by Kara's Aunty

Disclaimer – Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R. Tolkien, his family, New Line cinema, etc . I have written this short story purely for my own enjoyment.

While I try to remain true to canon, this is the first time I have attempted a LotR story please bear with me.

Credit to www.Tuckborough.net which I found an invaluable source of info. Any canon errors in this piece are my own fault, not theirs. Any other errors are also my own fault as I have no Beta.

Chapter 1

Gondor, Year 14 of the Fourth Age

Aragorn ascended the steep steps, making his way to the tower room where the Palantír was kept safe from those who could not understand its power or who would wield it with malice. The Seeing Stone was closely guarded and none but himself were ever allowed access to it.

As King of Gondor and Arnor he had responsibility for the people and lands of not just one kingdom but two. He was not, however, able to be in two places at once, so while he resided in Minas Anor he would often look into the Stone to survey events in Annúminas, the Shire and elsewhere thus ensuring that he was kept abreast of events both good and bad in all his lands.

But Aragorn also used it to observe loved ones who lived too far away for him to see as often as he would like. He missed the Hobbits greatly and although they wrote to him often, it was never the same as seeing them. The Palantír could never physically take him where he wanted, but Aragorn could still partake to a certain extent of his friends’ joys and sorrows, triumphs and struggles with its use as a visual aid. It made him feel closer to them. It was now mid summer and it had been several months since he had last gazed into the Stone’s depths.

The last time had been this Spring where he had witnessed Pippin officially installed as Thain of the Shire. Although Aragorn regretted the death of Pippin’s father, he was proud of the Fellowship’s youngest member. He knew Pippin would be a good and fair leader, loved by his people and governing (as much as a Hobbit ever would govern) with kindness and honesty. Perhaps also with a splash of the inherent mischievousness of the Tooks, and this Took in particular.

The King smiled at the thought of the elegantly named Ernil I Pheriannath obsessing over the many ways to cook mushrooms - and at the lengths Pippin was prepared to go to procure his favourite vegetable. He wondered if Farmer Maggot would have to worry about protecting his fields from a marauding Thain.

He had also seen Merry through the Stone. The Master of Buckland had been glowing with pride as Pippin was installed as Thain Peregrin I. Bedecked in his Rohan finery and standing beside his wife Estella, the Knight of Rohan had watched as Pippin accepted his new responsibilities with a serious expression and then Merry almost laughed outright when given a cheeky wink by his cousin during this most solemn of occasions. Diamond and 4 year old Faramir were hugging and congratulating Pippin after the ceremony - and like all good Hobbit ceremonies, a grand party followed, with Hobbits from all over the Shire converging in Tuckborough to toast the new Thain.

Aragorn hoped that his view of his friends in the Shire would be as pleasant this time also as he reached the level of the Tower where the Palantír was kept. A guard stood at each side of the door to the chamber, dressed in the black and silver of the Tower guards. They bowed low upon his reaching them. He nodded in greeting, addressing the guards by name and enquiring after their families before entering the room.

The chamber itself was relatively bare. It was round and the white stone walls reflected light from the only window in the room, found to the left of the door. A stone pedestal stood centrally in the room upon which rested the cloth-covered Palantír. There was a wooden desk and chair bearing signs of elvish craft beneath the window, but no other furniture. Aragorn preferred it that way. To make this place more comfortable would be inviting trouble, as none - not even he - should be encouraged to spend too much time with the Palantír. It would be unhealthy to forget to live his own life if he was so engrossed in those of others.

Stepping over to the pedestal, he withdrew the grey cloth covering the black sphere. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he closed his eyes - emptying his mind so that he became more receptive to the Stone and more able to control what he wanted to see. Once he felt ready, he opened his eyes and placed his right hand on it.

“Show me the northern lands of my ancestors, where my Steward rules Annúminas and the fair lands of Eriador.”

The Palantír began to swirl inside, as if a storm was passing in its depths. Grey clouds whirled around the heart of it and then an image slowly appeared.

The round, green door of Bag End came into view. The door opened and out spilled four of the Gamgee brood; Elanor, Merry, Pippin and Daisy. The two lads were laughing and bouncing with excitement and fourteen-year-old Elanor was carrying her toddler sister in her arms.

“Now you two boys be good and mind what your sister tells you,” came a stern, but sweet voice from an open window at the left of the Smial.

Aragorn guessed this was the kitchen and that the voice belonged to their mother.

“Straight to the market for the butter and back again. We‘ll be having our dinner as soon as you get home.”

“Yes Mum!” Pippin shouted.

“But we’re always good,” said Merry, somewhat put out.

“Don’t worry Rose-mum, I’ll take care of them.” Elanor tossed her golden locks over her shoulder as she regarded her youngest sister. “Now then Daisy-lass, do you want to try some little steps? See if we can’t beat the lads to market, eh?”

“She can’t beat us! She’s only two!” scoffed Merry.

“Daisy-lass can hardly walk Elanor. We can beat her hundreds of times and back again.”

“Well, Pip-lad, you can hardly talk, but it doesn’t stop you trying, now does it?” She stood the little Hobbit lass on the ground outside the garden gate where Daisy proceeded to place one fat little toddler leg in front of the other, then stopped, and started to spring up and down on the spot, brown curls flying, eyes sparkling.

“Jumpy, jumpy, jumpy.” she squealed in delight, doing her favourite thing in the world at that moment.

The Palantír grew cloudy and Aragorn regretfully bade the children a silent goodbye as he saw them making their way to the town market before a new image presented itself.

A clearly pregnant Rose Gamgee was making her way towards Frodo’s old study which Sam was now (reluctantly) using to keep all his notes in and also to write the many letters that came as part of his duties as Mayor. She had a tray in hand and swung open the study door with her hip.

“Sam, love, here’s some tea and seed cake to keep you going until the children get back.” She placed it on the desk where her husband sat staring out of the window. A half-finished letter lay in front of him, the ink on the last word long since dried. He seemed not to notice and not to be paying attention to the room’s other occupant.

“Sam, my love. Your tea.” Rosie placed her hand on the side of his face, stroking it gently. Sam’s eyes blinked at the unexpected physical contact and his face came into view in the stone as he swung it towards his wife.

Aragorn watched as Rosie regarded her husband with concern. He saw her gently stroking his hair and felt like an intruder, but he could not turn away when he saw Sam's taut and strained face, the eyes with their almost vacant expression. His skin was waxy and pale, as if he had not seen the sun for some days.

“Sorry, Rosie me dear,” he mumbled. “I was just trying to answer some of these letters before dinner. I could take a cup of tea, though, now that I think on it. Something to perk me up before I write back to Robin Smallburrow. Seems he’s having some problems with the Shirriff-post in Frogmorton and I may have to go over there tomorrow and possibly stay over for a night at the inn” He sighed. “I just don’t like leaving you when you’re so far gone with the little ‘un; and then there’s the others to mind as well.”

“It’s alright love. Don’t you worry about me. I can get our Marigold over to help me with the children and Elanor’s old enough to help with the baking and such.” She kissed his forehead softly. “It might do you good to get away for a day or so; get some fresh air and have an evening with a friend at The Floating Log. You‘ve not been sleeping well Sam Gamgee and don‘t be denying it!” She hushed her husband as he started to bluster his way through said denial.

“I know you‘ve been waking up at night and then sneaking out to try and calm yourself with athelas water, I smell it in the kitchen each morning. Sam, I’m your wife. I know you better than you think and it pains me to see you like this. It’s like Frodo all over again. If you won‘t talk to me love, at least talk to Merry or Pippin. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Sam nodded his head in submission. “Alright, me dear. Pippin has visitors, bur I’ll send a letter to Merry and see if he’d like to meet up for a day or so in Frogmorton. Try not to worry Rosie love. I’m fine, really I am. There’s nothing that a night or two’s poor sleep can really do to hurt your old Sam. I‘m made of sterner stuff than that - and you‘re always there when I awake, the first flower of my day to brighten me up”

The depths of the Stone swirled again and the scene shifted entirely from the Shire to further north, where the city of Annúminas came into view.

City buildings gleamed and towers and spires sparkled in the afternoon sun. People were trading in the broad market square, children were playing in the streets, dodging foot traffic as they chased each other and guards kept silent sentry on the palace battlements and city outskirts, always alert for trouble even in these times of peace. Fathers were teaching their sons to ride in one of the larger stretches of land to the south of the city; groups of women were returning by foot, horse and cart from Lake Evendim where they had obviously spent the day bathing with their daughters and younger sons, perhaps teaching some of them to swim.

Elessar saw that the people - his people - were content, happy and at peace; his heart filled with joy to witness it.

But it was tinged with some worry at the previous vision of Sam. He knew that it was only a few weeks since the anniversary of the War of the Ring and that Sam, having played a central role would inevitably have been dwelling on his experiences from that time. He had no way of knowing how long ago the things he were seeing had come to pass, if indeed at all yet. But he knew that Sam would not wish to talk of events that were now over and brought nothing but pain upon remembrance. His beloved Mr Frodo, his dearest friend, was gone and Sam could not bring him back.

As if sensing his train of thought, a new vision came forth in the Seeing Stone. As the dark mist inside it parted, Aragorn saw:

A room lit faintly by starlight peeping through the window. A fireplace was smouldering with the remainder of what had been a good blaze and a sturdy wooden table and chairs sat not far in front of it with a half-filled flagon of ale and a platter dish bearing the remnants of an earlier repast.

The far side of the room, opposite the window had a large (by Hobbit standards) four-post bed; and on the bed, sheets twisted around him, was the form of Samwise Gamgee apparently striking out at something only he could see and crying out, “Mr Frodo! Frodo. No…!”

Aragorn’s heart ached as he watched Sam fight demons only he could see. He must be at the inn at Frogmorton here, for the room is strange and Mistress Gamgee is absent. He did not like to see the sturdy gardener in such distress. He is alone, no one to aid him or stroke his brow in comfort, to draw him from the terrors of the dreaming world! He couldn’t imagine which one of the many days Sam and Frodo had endured in Mordor had caused this particular nightmare, but he could not bear to watch it.

The Palantír cared not for such trivial matters as the emotions of those who wielded it; it continued to show Sam struggling against his demons, swiping at the air as if fending someone - or something - off, and weeping inconsolably. Finally, he fell into an uneasy rest and slept, muttering only now and again in his sleep and clutching at his nightshirt.

The final vision was once again of Annúminas, sitting by the south-eastern shore of Lake Evendim, looking peaceful and tranquil in soft early morning light. He was happy to see the city so well and prosperous, but was unable to concentrate on it any further at present.

Aragorn withdrew his hand from the Stone and then that vision, too, disappeared, leaving only a black orb sitting innocently on a stone pedestal.

What he had seen had been disturbing. Although Sam had the love and support of his family, he was clearly going through a difficult time. Aragorn had no way of knowing if this really was due to the recent anniversary: if it was his wife and children would usually be present to distract him from it and assist him through it with their love.

However, there may be something deeper at work. Samwise Gamgee was not the most forthcoming of people and would not speak of his troubles openly if he believed it would distress others. Any letters Aragorn received from Sam would make no mention of any ailments or worries pertaining to himself and so the King was always left with the impression that all was well within the Shire, Hobbiton and Bag End in particular.

Stubborn Gamgee!! thought the King as he strode from the room, barely acknowledging the guards on his exit as he left the chamber and made his way briskly down the Tower steps. If he broke his leg he’d only complain of a slight pain in his toe! Worse than a Dwarf!

Eating up the distance to the Royal chambers with the long strides that had given him one of his many aliases, Aragorn decided to consult his Queen and beloved wife regarding what he had seen. He wasn’t sure what he could do for Sam from here, but he would not sit back and let his friend - and a Saviour of Middle Earth - suffer for much longer without assisting him in any way he could!

Chapter 2

Mid Summer, 1435 Shire Reckoning

Sam woke up feeling quite groggy. He looked around, not immediately familiar with his surroundings. Where was he? Then he remembered. Frogmorton.

He had left Hobbiton yesterday in order to meet with Robin Smallburrow later this morning to discuss the Shirriff-post.

“Sam, you old ninnyhammer!” He shook his head at his own forgetfulness. “Best get yourself up and washed, that should clear your head.”

He got out of bed feeling somewhat stiff and sore and moved towards the small dressing table next to it, which held a large jug of water, a bowl and a fresh towel. The water was not exactly warm, but it would suffice for a quick wash.

Sam performed his morning ablutions and after dressing and combing through his burnished gold locks, pulled a pocket watch from his weskit jacket. It was 9 o’ clock. He had overslept and missed first breakfast!

He left the room and made his way towards the main hall of the inn, where tables were arranged for diners and drinkers alike. Sam was annoyed at himself for sleeping so late. Being Mayor and father to eight children usually had him up at dawn; if he’d been at Bag End this would not have happened. He certainly didn’t feel any more refreshed for the late awakening. In fact, he felt like he’d hardly slept at all and had been surprised at the headache and stiffness of his arms and neck when he did rise. He could only surmise that the strange room and absence of his wife had made him restless through the night, causing both the aches and his dosing past the hour of his usual awakening.

On his arrival at the dining area, a stout, brown-haired Hobbit matron with bright blue eyes approached him.

“Good day to you, Mayor Sam. You must have had a tiresome journey from Hobbiton yesterday to have slept so late this morning!” She smiled at him warmly and ushered him to a table near the window. The inn appeared to be empty apart from the two of them.

“Yes, I wasn’t able to set out from Hobbiton until yesterday afternoon so it was quite late when I arrived,” he replied, grateful for a viable excuse at being overdue for his first meal of the day.

“Not to worry. You’re still in time for second breakfast. You just sit here Mr Mayor sir, and I’ll see to it that Farlibar brings you a nice large breakfast to make up for the one you missed.”

Sam didn't know if he could manage a large breakfast but didn't want to contradict the pleasant proprietress, so he watched her leave and then directed his gaze out the window, letting it linger on the Smials across the Great East Road and mulling over his forthcoming mayoral duty.

He had told Robin to expect him before elevenses so they could discuss matters with the Shirriff-post. It was currently being repaired after a fire had broken out three weeks earlier. One of the Shirriffs had fallen asleep at the fireplace in the office after spending an exhausting day rounding up stray sheep from a local farm. Unfortunately, he had left a candle burning near some documents on the desk and a breeze had blown in from the half-opened window, setting them alight.

Thankfully no one had been seriously hurt as a passer-by had spotted the smoke and raised the alarm. The Shirriff had been somewhat overcome by fumes from the burning room but had been evacuated and tended to. However the desk, its documents, the floor around it and the wall behind had been badly scorched and some reconstructive work was necessary to ensure it was once again fit for use.

Robin was as yet indecisive about whether the flooring should be made of wood, as before, or fitted with stone slabs to prevent danger from fires spreading in the future. As such, he had carpenters and masons squabbling with him and each other over which course of action was the most prudent. Sam was of the opinion that he should have been able to make the decision himself, but there was a question of the expense involved and Robin preferred not to make any final decisions on the matter until he had fully explained the situation and gained proper authorisation from the Mayor.

As he’d promised his wife, he’d despatched a letter to Merry by Messenger Post the evening before he left, telling him he’d be in Frogmorton today and inviting him to the Floating Log that evening for a few ales. Pippin was currently entertaining his in-laws and Sam did not want to take him from his guests. He wasn’t even sure if Merry would make it; he may very well be too busy with affairs of Buckland to leave on such short notice.

But Sam would wait in case he was able to come. He hadn’t seen Merry since Pippin became Thain and it would be nice to spend some time with him. He knew that Rosie wanted him to tell Merry that he was sleeping poorly and talk to him about the reasons why, because Merry had been on the Quest with him, but Sam didn’t know if he was able to - or even if he wanted to.

He stifled a yawn, lamenting the fact that he was still tired, despite the fact that half the morning was gone. His eyes felt hot and gritty and he rubbed them with one hand. He didn’t want to dwell on the reasons for his constant lethargy these days. No good would come of that, in his opinion. Best to look forward, not back.

But an ache filled his stomach that no breakfast could fill. At night, his sleeping mind taunted him with images of what had been and what could have been, and his waking mind chided him for his foolishness on dwelling on dreams so many years after Mr Frodo had left.

Now then, Samwise Gamgee. You need to pull yourself together! Where’s that Gamgee strength? What’s Mr Merry going to say if he does come and then sees you’re barely able to keep your eyes open and your head straight? If I know him, he’ll start worrying and give me a talking-to sharp as Rosie’s! And then where’ll I be? Won’t be much of a Mayor if I’m too busy being scolded like a child by the Master of Buckland in front of half of Frogmorton!

His breakfast arrived, brought over by a strapping young Hobbit Sam guessed to be Farlibar.

“There you go Mr Mayor, sir,” he said bouncing on his heels and looking quite anxious. “Made your breakfast myself, I did. Best bacon, eggs and sausage in all the Shire, if I may say! We got some lovely, fat mushrooms delivered from Farmer Maggot and I fried them up nice for you too. Never let it be said we don’t know how to treat dignitaries in Frogmorton!”

“Er, thank you,” replied Sam, staring at the mountain of food he‘d been served in silent dismay and trying to recall when he’d ever heard anyone saying they didn’t know how to treat ‘dignitaries’ in Frogmorton. This lad must be new. He was still hovering near the table, clasping the tray the food had been served on. If this was what he was like with the Mayor, he’d probably faint dead away if the Master of Buckland showed up as well.

“It looks and smells delicious.” Sam smiled at the young Hobbit, nodding his head in a polite dismissal and determined to eat what he could of the meal. But Farlibar remained, rocking on his heels, and staring expectantly at him.

Sam had no idea what the lad wanted, but decided that as a cook, he may be looking for an appraisal of his skills. Wondering if everyone who ate at the inn had to bear the cook hovering over their table, or if it was just his luck as Mayor, he took a forkful of fluffy scrambled eggs and placed it in his mouth. They were delicious.

Satisfied at the look of appreciation on the Mayor’s face, Farlibar departed for the kitchens, leaving Sam in peace to consume his meal.

Although the food was very tasty - and despite his best intentions - Sam only managed to clear half his plate. Good thing Rosie’s not here or I’d be gettin‘ an earful and no mistake! he thought ruefully. As it was he was slightly alarmed at the thought of the cook taking offence when the other half of the breakfast was returned to the kitchen. He did not want to be hounded by a Hobbit armed with a frying pan for the remainder of his stay! Still, he thought he’d take his chances and plead a delicate stomach if Farlibar did accost him. Given the current pallor of his complexion and the loose fit of his clothing, he doubted the younger Hobbit would argue the point.

After breakfast, Sam left the inn at about 10 o’ clock and made his way to the village Shirriff-post, breathing deeply of the clean, fresh morning air. It helped to clear his head somewhat and allowed him to focus on the business to come.

When he arrived at the building - now a proper Hobbit structure and not the ugly, one-storey monstrosity erected during Sharkey’s time of defilement - he stopped outside the main entrance. He heard Robin just inside the hallway arguing with someone about the merits of stone versus wood and sighed, his temporary feeling of clarity gone as quickly as it had arrived.

He really didn’t want to spend the entire morning trying to resolve this issue, he didn’t know if he was up to it - but when an angry Hobbit with a work-belt tied around his waist came storming out the front door muttering about unreasonable public figures who had no idea what a good, honest day’s work was like - he feared he would have little choice.

Squaring his shoulders for battle, he entered the hall.

Chapter 3

Gondor, Year 14 of the Fourth Age

Aragorn entered the Royal Chambers to find Arwen had returned from visiting the Houses of Healing, where a guard’s wife had been recovering from a difficult childbirth. She dismissed the ladies-in-waiting who were attending to her change into formal court wear and approached her husband, smiling softly when he embraced her.

As he pulled out of the embrace she sensed his agitation. “You are troubled, Melamin. Is all not well in Arnor?” she asked.

“All is well, Arnor thrives,” he replied. “It is Samwise who concerns me.”

Arwen’s normally smooth brow furrowed slightly in concern. “What ails Master Gamgee?” she asked, drawing Aragorn to a settee where they sat down beside each other.

“He is burdened with ill dreams.” He explained all that he had seen in the Palantír, describing Sam's troubled sleep, his great distress when dreaming and his gaunt appearance.

“I believe he has been plagued by them for many nights and he is suffering.”

Arwen took her husband’s hands in her own and held them there. “Many of those who fought against the evil of Sauron and lived have ill dreams Estel, yourself included. You cannot protect him from them.”

She regarded him as he sat next to her, saw his forehead still furrowed, and continued. “Samwise has a family who loves him and good friends close by who have shared many of his experiences outside the Shire. What can you do at this moment for him that they cannot?”

Aragorn looked at his wife. “I do not know. But I do know that he is not talking to his wife, or Merry and Pippin about them. He is holding his pain inside to spare them! How can they assist him if he will not unburden himself?”

“Samwise Gamgee knows the value of his loved ones, Aragorn. He will talk to them when he is ready. You must be patient and place your faith in him.”

The King looked at his Queen in surprise.

“I have already faith in him, Arwen! But I do not know if it is prudent to display too much patience given his appearance in the Palantír.” He rose from the settee and began pacing before it, somewhat irritated.

Undomiel stood and placed herself in his path, effectively halting him.

“Estel, it is not my intention to dismiss your concern. But you must admit that, as stubborn as Master Gamgee may be, he would not wish to see his loved ones worry on his behalf.”

She placed a hand on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. “Samwise will talk of that which troubles him before long. I know this.”

Aragorn looked into his wife’s deep grey eyes and saw the wisdom of Ages in them. “You are wise, beloved.” He traced her face gently and then withdrew from her hold, walking to the settee and resuming his seat. But he was unable to find peace of mind despite her assurance. Arwen returned to his side and waited patiently for him to continue.

“When Frodo and Sam were first brought from the black lands by the Eagles,” he said, “ I had to plead with their souls to save their very lives. Frodo’s spirit was deeply wounded from his long exposure to the Ring and I knew that - despite my best efforts - he may not survive to enjoy his victory: that the damage inflicted upon him may never heal here. And if Frodo had succumbed, Sam would have followed him into the very arms of Death.

“But Frodo did survive in Mordor. He chose to remain for the sake of his friend. He recovered on the Field of Cormallen and Sam recovered with him. I allowed myself to believe that all may be well. The Hobbits returned to the Shire and reclaimed it and I continued to hope that Frodo would thrive.”

He sighed in remembrance. “When he grew ill again, I knew that all my hopes were in vain. He only survived long enough to make the journey to Valinor and I know not if he survived long enough to find the peace he sought. I will not see him again in this lifetime, either way.”

Arwen soothed his brow with a kiss. “Valinor is a wondrous place, filled with beauty, light and hope. Evil cannot prevail there. If Frodo travelled there with Ada and Mithrandir, he will have survived and found freedom from his torments.”

Aragorn closed his eyes briefly and bowed his head in gratitude at her words. Then he opened them again and continued: “That eases my heart. But what of Sam? What of his torments? I know that he loves his wife dearly, but he was devastated when Frodo left. Taking care of Frodo was such a large part of his life. It kept him going before and after the Quest. It kept his own traumas at bay. And ever since Frodo left, Sam’s growing family has occupied him instead. But what if he cannot stifle his pain any longer?”

“The Ring is gone, the Dark Lord dead; he should not be tormented by them anymore,” answered Arwen.

“Samwise is also a Ringbearer, Arwen. He may have carried It for a short time only, but the Ring was at the height of Its power. He was tempted by It, as Frodo was. He used It on the very edge of Mordor to evade the orcs and rescue Frodo. Who knows how long he kept It on: Minutes? Hours? With the Ring so near Its Master, who knows what It may have done to him. The effects may not be as acute on him as Frodo, but he has long left them untended and they may be slowly destroying him. I cannot watch him go through what Frodo suffered, regardless of how long that process may be.”

“Samwise gave up the Ring of his own free will, Melamin. Do you know how strong someone must be to do such a thing? Even when the evil of the Ring was resting such a feat would have been almost impossible. What he did shows his great strength of character and proves that he has mastery of his own will.”

She moved closer to him, speaking with conviction. “He may be suffering the effects of his contact with the Ring; It may yet haunt him and taunt him in his dreams. But It can do no more than that, for It is destroyed and he is resilient. He had more to look forward to on his return to the Shire and that anchors him now. His Rose will not see him wilt so long after Its destruction and his friends will not let Sauron have this last victory.”

Here, Arwen paused, smiling fondly. “Do not also forget that our favourite gardener has far too much ‘plain Hobbit sense’ not to know this himself. He is wiser than many. You did, after all, make him a Counsellor of the North Kingdom for this reason, among others.”

Aragorn looked at his wife and suddenly broke into a broad grin, making the connection to his other visions. He pulled her off their seat and hugged her tightly, lifting her off her feet and making her squeal in a very un-elflike manner.

“You are quite right, my Queen. He is wise and he is my Counsellor.” He placed her back on the floor and kissed her soundly.

“I believe it is long past time that we paid a visit to Annúminas and took the counsel of all my Hobbit lords, don’t you? And Eldarion will have to be officially presented before the people of Arnor as their Prince and future King.”

Arwen laughed out loud at his improved humour and curtseyed playfully. “Your wish is my command, Your Majesty.”

Melamin; My love

Chapter 4

Frogmorton, 1435 Shire Reckoning

It was late afternoon and Sam had returned to the inn from his meeting with Robin a mere half hour ago. It had been a trying day. What should have been a relatively smooth discussion over materials and costs had turned into a shouting match between the Shirriff and Helman Fallowborn the mason, who was certain that a wooden floor would be folly considering the recent fire and that the ground of the entire post be should be slabbed for safety‘s sake.

Robin had argued that although practical, slabbing the entire building was unnecessary and the mason was sure to benefit more from that than the Shirriff-post. Fallowborn had taken offence at this apparent slight on his character and accused Robin of calling him greedy. A heated argument commenced and when Bango Brightfields, the carpenter, returned, an all out verbal war ensued when he accused everyone of trying to exclude him from the proceedings.

Sam had had enough shortly thereafter and informed everyone that if they did not sit down and talk like sensible Hobbits, he would see to it personally that workers from Hobbiton be brought in to undertake any and all repairs on the building and none of those present would receive any trade. After that, an uneasy truce was called and a compromise made. Bango would craft a new office desk and chair whilst Fallowborn would lay paving only in the office.

Now Sam was sitting at the same window table at the inn he had used earlier, drinking an ale and thankful that his business here was over. He missed Rose, especially last night when his nightmares started again. Rose was always there to hold him and whisper comforting words which soothed him. But she hadn’t been there last night, and if he’d felt tired this morning when he woke up, he felt absolutely drained now and was not looking forward to another night away from her.

He fingered the note from Merry that Florabella Goodenough, the kindly matron whom he had met that morning, had given him on his return. It read:

Dear Sam,

I’m in Budgeford with Estella, visiting Fatty at the moment. We’re on our way home tomorrow, so I’ll stop by the Floating Log for the night while Estella goes back to Brandy Hall. We can have a few ales and laugh at poor Pippin having to entertain his crusty in-laws!

Merry

Sam wondered how Merry had received his note at Fatty’s home when he had despatched it to Brandy Hall, but smiled at the obvious good humour Merry had been in when he had written his reply. It had been a few months since they had seen each other last and he couldn‘t wait to see him again.

He heard the sound of hooves outside and looked out the window. There was a familiar pony being led to the stables by an unnaturally tall Hobbit in a deep blue coat. He was met by a stable-lad and Sam saw him giving strict instructions on how the pony was to be cared for during its stay. He smiled again as the Hobbit turned round and made his way towards the inn. It was Merry.

A minute later, Merry walked into the Floating Log, resplendent in his velvet coat, rich brown trousers and a golden coloured weskit. He scanned the room and quickly spotted Sam, hurrying over and clapping his Hobbiton friend heartily on the back.

“Sam, what an excellent idea this was! A night of freedom from the wives, with just us lads drinking and catching up on important matters like ‘When will Robin Smallburrow be old enough to make a decision on his own?’” He laughed aloud at his own wit.

“Merry!” admonished Sam, looking around to make sure no one had overheard his boisterous friend poking fun at their local Shirriff.

They both sat down and Sam looked at him. Merry looked very well: pink-cheeked, bright-eyed and brimming with good humour. He was obviously delighted to see Sam and Sam fervently hoped that he didn’t present too poor an appearance in return. He did not want to face a barrage of well-meaning, but uncomfortable, queries regarding his state of health. “How are you, Merry? And Estella?”

“Oh we’re both very well. Expecting some good crops this harvest. We spent a couple of days with old Fatty, what with it being his birthday. One of his neighbour’s sons is with the Messenger Post and apparently he was the one you gave my letter to, so he knew to bring it straight to Budgeford.”

“Well, that answers one question,” said Sam. “I had been wonderin’ how that happened.”

Merry continued. “We left Fatty’s after lunch and Estella returned home leaving me strict instructions to behave myself and not to corrupt you.”

“Think it’s a bit late for that,” Sam remarked, grinning at him.

Merry blinked. “Well, that’s what I said, But she believes you to be a fully respectable Hobbit and won’t hear of me unduly influencing the Mayor into behaving like a drunken Bree-lander.” Merry paused. “Odd, though, she never warns me to behave myself around Pippin, and he’s the Thain.”

“And a lost cause?” suggested Sam.

“That’s a reasonable assumption Mayor Gamgee! And quite true. In fact, it was he who corrupted me!” Merry looked almost like he believed that, and continued to happily chat away about how the downfall of his character only came about after the introduction to his younger cousin.

Florabella stopped at their table and they ordered their evening meal. She sent a couple of ales over to them while they waited on it.

Merry took a sip of his, relishing the bitter taste and looked at Sam over the brim of his mug. He had been a bit surprised to find Sam looking thinner than at their last meeting and noted with concern the dark rings around his eyes. He wanted to know what was wrong, but would give him the opportunity to talk about it himself first - or Merry would drag it out of him if he didn‘t. One did not stay the Master of Buckland for very long without obtaining the ability to manipulate those around them into doing what he wanted.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself saying; “You look tired Sam. Had a bad day?”

“Not bad exactly, just very long.” his friend replied. “But all’s well at the Shirriff-post now, so I can go back to Hobbiton tomorrow and leave Robin and the others to see that all’s taken care of as agreed.”

A loud clatter was heard from the direction of the kitchen and both Hobbits jumped.

“A word of warning,” Sam said in a low voice. “The new cook is a young lad by the name of Farlibar and he’s somewhat….anxious….that his food should please. He may lurk over us until we approve, but after that he should leave.”

“Anxious to please, eh?” Merry eyed the kitchen speculatively and Sam wished he’d not said anything. He recognised that evil gleam.

“As the Master of Buckland and cousin to the Thain himself, I’m used to eating food of a certain standard. Let’s hope he can meet it.”

“Don’t give the poor lad a hard time, I don’t think he can take it. He seemed nervous enough to have served food to the Mayor; if you start going on about Masters and Thains, I’m not sure how he’ll take it.”

Merry pretended offence. “Why Sam, you wound me with your doubt! You know I would never torment someone just because they’re a little nervous.”

Sam rolled his eyes at Merry’s ridiculous claim, and then groaned as he spotted the subject of their conversation making his way towards their table with a truly enormous tray of food. He smelled trouble.

“Evening Mr Mayor, evening Sir,” said the young cook, nodding at them while placing the tray on the table and unloading the platters of food. “I’ve brought you and your guest some of my finest fare for your dinner.” He removed the tray and stood in front of them, clasping it while they loaded their plates with the delicious consumables.

“Let us hope so, for I am used to only the choicest ingredients and the most succulent cuts of meat for my meals,” said Merry, looking (in Sam‘s opinion) uncharacteristically serious.

“I would be most disappointed if this establishment was unable to provide them.” He stared poor Farlibar straight in the eye and repeated, “Most disappointed.”

Sam sighed.

Farlibar gulped.

Merry began to leisurely inspect the food they had been brought. “Soup, mashed potatoes, sliced beef, dumplings, gravy…what, no vegetables? Who eats beef without vegetables?”

Sam removed the lid of a dish that had been placed in front of him and showed Merry the small mountain of peas and carrots there, covered with slowly melting butter.

“Good, good.” Merry, thoroughly enjoying himself, regarded Farlibar who was beginning to hop nervously on the spot. “What’s for dessert, then?”

Farlibar raised his chin proudly and stated that his famous apple crumble would be served, along with cream and buttered fruit scones. He appeared to be oblivious to Merry’s identity and seemed certain that this would impress the well-dressed guest of the Mayor. Everyone loved his apple crumble.

Merry, however, cocked an eyebrow. “Famous apple crumble? I’ve never heard of it. How can it be famous if I’ve never heard of it?”

Sam shook his head in resignation.

The cook was beginning to flush red from the neck up at Merry’s slightly arrogant tone. “It’s very much loved and praised in Frogmorton and hereabouts!” he exclaimed. “Why, I’ve been told that the Thain himself declared it to be the best crumble he’s ever tasted. If it’s good enough for the Thain, it ought to be good enough for other folk!”

He glared at Merry as if daring him to contradict.

No contradiction was forthcoming though, as Sam delivered a swift kick to Merry’s shin under the table and he, understanding the message, helped himself to a mouthful of beef and mash.

The beef was extremely good, it had a rich meaty taste and the potatoes were creamy and smooth. Merry thought the cook had done very well indeed. But he didn’t have to tell him that.

“Not too bad,” he said to the flustered Hobbit, knowing he had been expecting a more effusive answer and deliberately refraining from such.

Farlibar’s eyes widened slightly at his. Not too bad! What did that mean? That it was good? That it was bad, but not overly so? How dare this overdressed buffoon slight his cooking in such a way!

Farlibar was not used to people being so vague about his cooking skills. He was in general a shy hobbit, but he was an excellent cook and he knew it. He took great pride in the preparation of all his dishes and derived great satisfaction from watching people enjoy his meals. Why, only last week the proprietor of The Green Dragon had asked him about coming to work there, but he had refused! Mistress Goodenough had given him his first real job and he was grateful to her for it. He would not repay that generosity by running off at the first sign of pastures new.

Who then, was this pampered, arrogant, stuffed shirt who sat there and cast doubt on his one, true skill? Perhaps he was touched in the head? Well Farlibar would be happy to clear his head with a good whack from the tray. That should do it nicely!

Sam saw the cook’s grasp on the tray tighten and grew slightly alarmed, so he quickly dismissed him with a compliment on the quality of their fare. Farlibar nodded in thanks, but stiffened when Merry snorted. He then turned on his heel and returned to the kitchen, refusing to acknowledge Merry any further.

“Now then, Mr Merry, that was a bit much. The lad doesn’t know you and won’t understand your humour.”

“Oh, come on Sam. It’s just a bit of harmless fun. I’ll make it up to him with a healthy tip. What do you say to that?”

His friend appeared mollified and they continued with their meal for several minutes in silence.

“Why did you call me Mr. Merry?”

Sam looked up in surprise at the question. “Did I? I didn’t realise I had.”

Merry was looking at him in the concerned manner that Sam was beginning to become familiar with these days. He was beginning to hate that look. Really he was fine, just needed a good night’s rest, that’s all.

“You don’t call me that anymore unless your upset or worried. Don‘t think I haven‘t seen that you don‘t look yourself, Samwise Gamgee. You’ve lost weight, you look haggard.”

“Don‘t you go imagining things now Merry. I’m perfectly alright. You know that Rose is expectin' again and I’m run off my feet with so many little 'uns already, plus my duties as Mayor. I’ll be fine once the baby is here and know that Rosie and it are both safe and well.”

Sam took a gulp of his ale, hoping his friend wouldn’t pursue the topic. To his relief Merry did not and they finished the rest of the meal - with Sam making a concerted effort to eat as much as he could - he would not give Merry the opportunity to comment on his weight again - while discussing the general goings on in the Shire, Buckland and Hobbiton in particular.

Merry was vastly amused when their dessert was brought over by the proprietress, Mistress Goodenough. Clearly Farlibar didn’t trust himself to come anywhere near him. Feeling a sense of achievement, he and Sam retired to the fireplace where they took out their pipes and began to puff away on some Old Toby.

A room was being prepared for him opposite Sam’s, so they could sit here and chat or retire up to one of the rooms with supper and talk there instead if they wished.

And Meriadoc Brandybuck, called the Magnificent by his fellow Hobbits, would make sure that Samwise the Stubborn told him exactly what was bothering him before they parted ways tomorrow.

XXX

Several hours later, Merry sat in his room sipping a mug of tea and feeling more frustrated and concerned than ever. Sam had skilfully averted all of his attempts to win his confidence and admit something was wrong.

For something was wrong, Merry could see it. As well as the obvious physical indicators that drew him to this conclusion, Sam had also not been himself. The normally happy and quietly confident Hobbit had appeared snappish and distracted several times throughout the evening and when Merry pointed this out, he had just apologised, claiming that he was tired.

Merry didn’t doubt this for a second but he was unhappy that his friend was not confiding in him. However, what could he do? Even the Master of Buckland couldn’t sway Sam Gamgee when Sam Gamgee was clearly having none of it.

But what was he to do? Sam was clearly holding back. He had no doubt it had something to do with the Quest and knowing Sam, that meant Frodo.

They were all missing Frodo, though. Hardly a day went by when Merry didn’t ache at the thought of not seeing his older cousin again; knew that when he visited Bag End, he would not see the person he missed most in the world, but someone else instead.

That made him feel somewhat guilty. Sam lived in Bag End now. He did not mean he was unhappy to see Sam. On the contrary, he loved Sam and the Gamgee family like his own. They had certainly been through enough together to warrant calling each other brother.

But Sam was not Frodo.

Merry was instantly ashamed at himself for that thought. He did not have to miss Frodo at the expense of Sam.

Of course he’s not Frodo! he berated himself. He’s Samwise Gamgee, and a good thing too or we’d all be under the rule of Sauron right now!

He sipped at his tea again as he stared at the slowly burning fire. It was really too warm for it, but he loved the comfort of one, it made the strange room seem a bit more homely.

All three of them didn’t like to talk too much of their darker moments during the Quest. When Frodo had left Middle Earth forever it was like a further wound had been inflicted - even if they had all secretly known it was inevitable. But they had rallied and become closer because of it and when they had a real need to unburden themselves to someone other than their spouses, they would meet and talk with each other.

So it disturbed him that Sam was holding back and rebuffing him. It felt too much like his experiences with Frodo during his final years in the Shire.

But Frodo had suffered serious wounds to his body and spirit during the Fellowship’s journey. Carrying the Ring for so long had ensured that he would never again be the carefree, innocent hobbit that Merry had adored as a child. He had become reserved, serious, withdrawn and would not speak to his cousins about his troubles, presenting them instead with a façade of normality that they could easily see through but went along with for his sake. Things had only worsened on his return to the Shire where he had been plagued by dreams about the cursed object and his annual illnesses.

Maybe that was it! Merry slapped his mug on the table and cursed his own short-sightedness.

Sam was a Ringbearer too. He had only carried It for a day while trying to get Frodo out of the Tower of Cirith Ungol, but that was on the very borders of Mordor and the Ring would had been extremely active in Its attempts to return to Its Master. And he was exhibiting similar behaviour to Frodo’s after the Quest had ended.

Why had he not considered this before?

In fairness, nobody had. They had all been consumed with worry over Frodo and Sam’s survival outside the Black Gate and were too relieved when they finally awoke. Even Gandalf and Aragorn, as concerned as they had been with the effects of the Ring on Frodo’s long-term recovery, had not been too worried about the effects on Sam. This was not because they did not care, but because Sam had not carried It for long. He was also remarkably resilient and had appeared to bounce back to his old Hobbit self on seeing Frodo well again.

But Frodo was not here anymore and Sam need not concern himself now with ensuring his master’s continued survival, for the Elves in Valinor were taking care of that.

So who was taking care of Sam? He had no jewel from the Queen to soothe him. Rose, Pippin and Merry could support him to an extent, but they could not aid him if memories of the One Ring were affecting him adversely. What if more was needed?

Merry was sure this was the cause of his friend’s problems and he was more determined than ever to speak with Sam before they left Frogmorton tomorrow.

He did not have to wait that long.

Roused from bed a few hours later by muffled screams, he quickly got up and ran to the door. Opening it, he heard the screaming more clearly. It was coming from across the hall.

Sam’s room!

He rushed over to Sam’s door and shoved it open forcefully, shocked at the sight which met his eyes...

XXX

 Chapter 5

Frogmorton, 1435 Shire Reckoning

Sam retired to his room after supper with Merry was over and they had finished yet another pipe.

He was exhausted after the long day at the Shirriff-post and this had been compounded by several hours spent avoiding his friend’s probing questions and trying to convince him that all was well.

Now he just wanted to try and get a decent night’s sleep before the journey home tomorrow.

Yawning, he lay down on the bed and pulled the covers over himself, praying for a restful night and wishing that Rosie was there. His head was beginning to ache again and he was feeling somewhat unsettled.

Perhaps he should use some athelas to aid his sleep? It might make his rest easier.

But he had only brought a couple of leaves with him and had used one after his meeting with Robin to try and refresh himself before Merry came. He had not wanted Merry to suspect he may be unwell and then make a fuss over him.

Fat lot of good that did, he thought ironically thinking of how tenacious Merry had been with his questions all evening.

Sam knew that something was wrong with himself. He had been having nightmares for a few weeks before the anniversary of the One Ring’s destruction but, unlike every other year, they had not stopped after the anniversary passed - on the contrary, they had increased and become more sinister. He did not understand it.

It was now many weeks since they had started and hardly anything seemed to soothe his sleep anymore. No kiss from his Rosie, no sweet smile from his children. As a result he was constantly tired and short-tempered, his head always ached and his eyes always burned. He was finding it ever more difficult to concentrate and participate in his daily tasks and knew that his family life was suffering because of this.

He had tried to keep up the appearance of normality but it was getting harder to deny to his wife that something was wrong as the effects of his lack of restful sleep became more obvious. Even the athelas plant did not aid him as much as it should. This evening it had barely lasted for an hour before he began to feel irritable. And now he only had a single leaf remaining. Why hadn’t he thought to bring more?

Well, there was nothing else for it but to keep the one he had left until morning. If the athelas wasn’t proving as durable as it should, it wouldn’t be much good to him tonight. But maybe using it straight before he had breakfast with Merry would be enough to stop his friend worrying further until they had both left Frogmorton and he could get back home to Hobbiton.

He yawned again, feeling weary through to his very bones. His eyes began to droop and he soon fell into a dream.

But it was not a good one.

XXX 

Sam was holding Frodo’s still form outside Shelob’s lair and weeping bitterly. His master was motionless, no breath left his body, his eyes were blank and unfocussed.

He was dead.

“Don’t go where I can’t follow!” he cried in despair. “Don’t leave me Mr Frodo. Come back.”

Suddenly he heard harsh voices coming from the stairs leading to the Tower of Cirith Ungol. They were coming towards him.

An orc patrol!

Sam was torn. What should he do? He would be discovered for sure and that meant they would find the Ring and all would be lost. He must not let that happen. But what was he to do? He didn’t know if he had the strength to carry on the task by himself.

That did not matter just now. He must hide them both first and he could think about what he should do after the orcs were out of sight.

He looked around wildly, surveying his surroundings as the voices grew nearer. They were almost upon them!

Spying a recess in group of large rocks near the stairs, he lifted Frodo’s inert form and hurried over to it, squeezing them both inside. They barely fit and it did not quite hide them from anyone who may be approaching towards the stairs.

But the orcs were coming down from the stairs and Sam was hoping that they would not have reason to glance backwards once they had descended them.

He held his breath as he finally caught sight of them. There were three, all dressed in the garb of Sauron’s army and they were uncouth, bickering amongst themselves in their foul tongue. They looked around them, but they did not look behind them and Sam breathed a sigh of relief as they disappeared into one of the larger caves.

He knew he had little time. He did not know how far into they caves they would patrol if they believed Shelob may be a danger to them - although Sam knew that the monster was severely wounded, they did not. So he would have to leave soon.

Sam looked at Frodo’s dead body and cried at the unfairness of it all. This should not have happened to such a gentle spirit! How could this be fair? His Master was gone. His last days tormented by the cursed thing he bore!

He was filled with hatred for It. He had felt the Ring calling to him during the journey to Mordor, trying to seduce him, but he had ignored It. He knew It was a deceiver. Getting Frodo to Mordor so he could destroy It and then getting him back to the Shire in one piece was all he cared about. Power meant nothing to a simple gardener like him. It would not make his roses grow!

But Frodo would not be returning to Bag End ever again. Nothing could change that now. He had died trying to destroy the Ring and Sam would not allow his sacrifice to be in vain! He would take It himself and throw It in the fires of Mount Doom where It had first been given life, thus destroying It forever.

Sam was suddenly overcome with a feeling of...wrongness. A feeling that told him this should not be happening. But he shrugged it off as he made up his mind.

Tearing at the vile webbing that encased his Master, he reached beneath Frodo’s shirt and pulled the Ring and the chain over his head, freeing It from his body. His hand felt unclean where it grasped the Ring and this feeling only increased when he slipped the chain over his own head and felt It nestle on his breast.

He felt heavier. Vulnerable. But he was also determined.

Placing a gentle kiss on Frodo’s forehead and promising he would come back for him, Sam left the recess, placing some large boulders in front of it to further conceal him. He had no idea if he would be successful in his attempt to destroy the Ring, let alone how he would get back to collect Frodo’s body for a lengthy return to the Shire. But that did not mean he was not going to try.

He looked towards the cave the orcs had disappeared into and wondered if they were on their way back yet or if further patrols were to be found at the top of the stairs. He knew he would have to slip by the Tower unnoticed but wasn’t sure how to achieve this.

The Ring! It would render him invisible and he would be able to go past the Tower unnoticed by any watchers.

He was reluctant to put It on though. He knew it was dangerous to do so for he had seen daily proof of the effects on Frodo and to wear It this near the border of Mordor could prove perilous to the Quest. But he had little choice. Perhaps he could ambush a single orc near the Tower and take its armour. That would mean he could take the Ring off before he crossed into the realm of the Dark Lord and may help him get across it unchallenged.

It did not seem like much of a plan, but it was all he had. He pulled the Ring from Its chain and slipped It over his finger, disappearing from sight.

The Ring was now whispering to him forcefully. It showed him armies at his command and kings bowing before him, promising all this would be his if he only succumbed to Its will. But Sam did not want such a thing. He was no great leader of Hobbits, Elves or Men and had no wish to be. It changed tactics and showed him vast gardens of indescribable beauty, telling him he could be master of all. But Sam knew it was a false promise and ignored It. He was still too distressed by Frodo’s death to pay attention to anything It offered.

Sam felt the Ring’s anger at him but would not let himself be affected by It. He felt the burning Eye searching for him, as if sensing the presence of its greatest desire, and he swallowed his fear. He had to leave. Now.

He made his way towards the steps and, taking one last look at where he knew Frodo to be, climbed up them towards his fate.

XXX 

It was now ten days later and Sam had been steadily moving towards Mount Doom.

He had indeed found an orc patrol near the entrance to the Tower of Cirith Ungol and had successfully slain one of its number when it had wandered some distance from the main group to relieve itself. Truth be told, he had been surprised - although grateful - that the creatures had such modesty. He had run it through with Sting, donned its filthy armour and helmet, then concealed the body. Taking off the Ring and placing It on the chain around his neck, he had crossed into the Black Lands and begun the final leg of his journey.

Unfortunately, the great number of orcs and uruk-hai in Mordor was proving difficult to evade and he had almost been caught by a large army of them marching towards what he thought was the Black Gate.

But evaded them he had. He was now mere days from his intended destination and could see the fiery summit of the mountain he was headed towards.

Something still did not feel right, though. He could not pinpoint what the problem was, exactly, but he was certain that this should not be happening.

“Of course this shouldn’t be happenin’ Samwise Gamgee!” he chided himself. “You should be home in the Shire with Mr Frodo, bringing him his afternoon tea in the garden at Bag End and discussin’ the tater crop! Instead you're here in this evil place with this evil thing around your neck and a great flamin’ Eye trying to find you!”

He trudged painfully on, his feet sore from the unforgiving terrain and Barad-dúr looming in the distance.

His water had run out two days ago and he was surviving on puddles of tainted water he came across ever since. It tasted awful, but his body screamed for liquid sustenance. He had been rationing his food, but even so had little left of the provisions Faramir had given them at Osgiliath. All the Elven bread was gone.

The Ring had been taunting him ceaselessly. It showed him visions of his family in pain, of the Shire destroyed and told him that he could stop this if he only gave in to It. But thinking of what It did to Frodo had stoked the fire of his hatred for It and he defied It time and again, wishing It destroyed.

But It would not give up. Its attempts to control him had increased the nearer Sam drew to Mount Doom, as if It sensed Its impending demise.

That night, exhausted by the heat from the burning mountain, affected by the filthy water he was drinking, combined with his lack of proper nourishment and the effects of weeks without proper rest, Sam collapsed by a dry river-bed.

He was not going to make it!

He could feel the Eye searching for him and the Ring was trying to wear him down with each step that brought him closer to his goal. He was feverish and malnourished. He did not know if he could go on. Was this what Frodo had felt like while carrying It on their journey these many months? His poor Master! How had he endured this for so long?

Thinking of Frodo gave him some strength. He would do this for his sake; the Ring had killed his greatest friend and Samwise Gamgee would destroy It no matter what he had to go through!

“But I did not kill your master,” It whispered to him. “You did!”

Sam’s whirling mind was stilled by this. He did not want to hear any more of Its lies, but was powerless to stop them.

“Your master was not dead when you left him.”

Sam scowled in disbelief. “You’re lyin‘! I saw him and he was dead, killed by Shelob’s poison!” His breath hitched as he remembered Frodo’s body lying in the recess. The Ring was trying to deceive him again!

“It is no deception, foolish hobbit. He was drugged by her poison, not killed. My Master’s servants easily found his resting place on their return and he was taken to the Tower for questioning.”

Sam swallowed thickly, the earlier feelings of wrongness swelling as he realised what he was hearing. He had thought he had concealed Frodo sufficiently enough from the patrol. Had they found the spider - wounded - and searched more thoroughly for the one that inflicted them?

“No, I won’t believe you! You’re tryin' to trick me again, but I won’t be havin' none of it!” he said desperately. It couldn't be true!

“You abandoned him too hastily, refused to see what was before your very eyes because your desire to possess me was stronger than your need to see the truth. You betrayed him.”

“Stop it!” shouted Sam, fearing the truth behind Its words. What had he done? “I never wanted you! I thought he was dead!“

The Ring seemed to laugh at him. “He is now.”

Sam was sobbing. This was becoming too much for him, his guilt eating away at his insides as It showed him a vision of Frodo, bare-chested and bleeding in the Tower.

“The Uruk-hai made great sport of him before he died. He suffered greatly at their hands.”

“Stop it! Stop it! I would never betray Mr Frodo. Stop it!” he begged.

“He was whipped and tortured for days,” It taunted him. “He pleaded for mercy again and again, and called out for his Sam to help him. But you were not there and neither was I. He died believing you had stolen from him. He died hating you in his madness!”

“Liar! You’re a liar! Mr Frodo doesn’t hate me. This is wrong. This is all wrong!” Sam felt weak at the thought of what he might have done to his Master. Could it be true? Or just another of the Ring’s tricks to stop him from fulfilling his task? “Elbereth Gilthoniel protect me! I can‘t fail him now!”

Sam didn’t know if his plea had been heard or if he was hallucinating, but the Ring’s taunts abated somewhat and he had a vision of his Mr Frodo resting on a cot under a large canopy and next to him he saw himself, also laid out on a cot. They appeared to be sleeping. He saw Strider sitting by Frodo, bathing his face and he knew somehow that his vision was true. But why then, was he here?

He saw himself and Frodo return to the Shire with Merry and Pippin. He saw Rosie Cotton, now Gamgee, placing a tiny Hobbit infant in Frodo’s arms and Frodo smile with pure pleasure as he regarded the babe.

That was reality. Sam would never leave his Mr Frodo. The Ring was trying to turn him mad!

He remembered it all now. They had both survived. The Dark Lord Sauron had fallen and Barad-dûr with him. The people of Middle Earth were freed from his tyranny forever.

And his Mr Frodo had left the Shire for good to seek comfort across the Sea… Sam’s heart ached at this and he wept as he realised he would never see Frodo again.

As if sensing the chink in his temporary relief, the Ring made Its move.

“What does it matter if your Master lived? You will never see him again, because you failed him. You know that. Everyone knows that.”

“You’re not real. This is not real. I’m not even in Mordor anymore, haven’t been for years.” Sam said through his tears. “You’re dead. Gollum fell into the lake of fire and took you with 'im!”

The Ring laughed at him. “I will never be dead as long as you live in Middle Earth. For you bore me yourself and I will live on in you, tormenting you.”

“I only carried you a day! You don’t have the power to torment me like you did my poor Master.”

Sam felt Its anger grow at this and he gasped at Its ire.

“You are as stupid as your name suggests, Samwise,” It seemed to sneer at him. “For many years you have ignored me in this belief, going about your daily life with hardly a care in the world. But I have been growing in strength in your feeble mind while you did so, and you have not even suspected it! I have seen things as you have not. You may think yourself honoured by your false king and your pitiful friends, but I have seen the true measure of their feelings when they gaze at you. They hate you!”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin' about. They love me,” Sam croaked.

“Are you so sure? Frodo was the favoured one. He is the one they all miss. Do you not think they blame you for his departure, for failing him and ultimately them?”

Sam was fast despairing now. It was taking all of his energy to fight this. He looked around him and saw he was still in the dream Mordor. He must get out of here!

“You will never get out of here! This is the land of your greatest failure! For all your sorry attempts, you were unable to save your Master, he still succumbed to me at the end.”

“But you were destroyed, and your Master with you!” cried Sam in denial of Its words.

“And was your Master not also destroyed?” It asked.

He did not want to listen to It, but his memory betrayed him as it pulled  him towards visions of the years Frodo had suffered before he finally left Middle Earth; of all the anniversaries that had weakened his body and spirit, and he knew there was a grain of truth in this.

His body began to tremble with grief.

“Did you not promise Gandalf that you would not leave him?” It continued relentlessly.

Sam remembered hiding in the cave by himself and watching as the orc patrol found his Master’s body. He recalled the horror that had gripped him when he heard them saying that he was alive. It was his fault Frodo had been imprisoned in the Tower! His. No one else's....

His strength to fight against the Ring was crumbling faster and he began to claw at his head as if trying to pull It out before It conquered him.

It delivered Its final blow almost gently. “Did you not promise his cousins - your friends - to take him to Mordor and bring him back again? All of him?”

Sam saw the look in Merry and Pippin’s eyes when Frodo sailed away from the Grey Havens, knowing they had lost him for good; imagined their disappointment when he opened Bag End’s front door and not their beloved cousin.

"No, No, NOOO!!!!!!!!"

He screamed in denial at the truth, tearing wildly at his hair and then he collapsed, moving no longer.

And the Ring cried out Its victory.

XXX

IMPORTANT: Chapter 6 contains reference to forcefully hydrating an unconscious person. This should of course never be attempted in reality. Any ‘medical’ references I have included should not be taken as gospel (although you’re all sensible people and would know that anyway). The scene in question was merely used to underline the sometimes (dangerous) naiveté of Hobbits - particularly older ones stuck in their ways - who would not have access to the knowledge we possess. Anyone suffering an ailment of any kind should consult a certified medical practitioner, not an old Hobbit healer!

Chapter 6

Frogmorton, 1435 Shire Reckoning

Merry burst into Sam’s room and recoiled with shock at what he saw.

Sam was lying on the floor next to his bed tangled in a sheet, body crumpled on its side and he had great clumps of bloody hair grasped in his fists. His scalp was showing in places where he had clearly ripped his hair out with considerable force, the wounds remaining were bleeding profusely. His brow and temples were scratched badly.

He had stopped screaming and was now apparently unconscious.

Merry was horrified. He rushed over to him and fell to his knees, trying to revive him.

“Sam! Sam!” he cried, shaking his shoulders vigorously, but got no response.

He rolled Sam fully onto his back and pulled his limp form halfway up, resting it against himself. A fever was burning in his brow.

What in the name of the Shire could have caused this?

Realising he had to get him off the floor and back into bed where he would be easier to tend, he tried to lift Sam but could not quite manage to do so alone, despite the gardener’s recent loss of weight. He dashed to the door and yelled down the corridor for assistance, hoping that some other guest was within earshot. But he had barely got his cry for help out when Mistress Goodenough came running up the hall from the stairwell, with a dark shawl thrown over her nightly garments and a candle in hand.

“What’s going on Mr Brandybuck, sir? What was that screaming I heard? Is something wrong?” Her blue eyes were large with concern.

“It’s Sam…Mayor Sam. He’s had a fall and is injured. He won’t answer when I call him. You must fetch a healer immediately - and get someone to help me lift him back into bed!”

He had practically barked this at her, but he was far too worried for his friend to mind his manners.

Florabella came into the room to assess the situation, gasped in shock at what she saw and left quickly saying that she would send up Farlibar to assist him and fetch a healer herself.

Merry rushed to the dressing table and grabbed the towels, dousing one with water from the jug. He knelt beside Sam and started to wipe the blood from his brow and temples. He then removed the bloody hair from his fists and wiped them quickly.

Hearing footfalls outside, he turned to see Farlibar enter the room and make his way over to them, paling at the sight of the Mayor.

Foregoing explanations, Merry snapped, “Quick, help me lift him onto the bed.”

“Let me just arrange it quickly sir, for we can‘t put him back into it with those bloody sheets,” said the sturdy Hobbit. Merry cradled Sam’s head against his chest and waited impatiently while Farlibar took fresh ones from the bottom drawer of the dresser and hastily made the up the bed.

Once completed, they freed Sam from the remaining sheet which was soaked through with sweat. Merry ordered Farlibar to grab Sam by the legs while he grasped his upper body under the arms and together they lifted him onto the soft mattress, covering him with a blanket.

“What happened to him sir?” the cook dared to ask as Merry daubed gingerly at the open wounds on Sam’s scalp. Fortunately, they were not deep, but a few layers of skin had been ripped off with the hair and Merry knew that head wounds tended to bleed a lot.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he replied in distraction, applying pressure through the towel to the largest wounds in an effort to stem the flow of blood. “I heard screaming and came in to find him on the floor, unconscious and with lumps of hair in his hands. I think he suffered a night terror.”

He heard Farlibar gulp and knew he was wondering what kind of night terror could cause such an extreme reaction. Not wanting to alarm the cook with further explanation of what Sam’s dream may have been about, he asked him to go fetch more towels and some hot water for the healer when he arrived and Farlibar quickly complied.

The Traveller's gaze returned to Sam and he placed a hand on his forehead, silently willing him to wake up. But Sam was unresponsive. He tried talking to him, hoping the sound of his voice would rouse him, but to no avail. Sam remained silent, patches of crimson appearing through his makeshift bandage.

Merry was very worried. He had never seen the brave gardener in such a state. Even on the fields of Cormallen when he had been recovering from his ordeals in Mordor he had been in a healing sleep, placed there by the hands of the King.

“Oh Strider, I wish that you were here now. Sam needs you,” he said out loud.

But he knew it was a foolish prayer, for Aragorn was in Gondor and thus too far away to be of immediate assistance.

He cursed himself now as he remembered his unsuccessful attempts to get Sam to talk throughout the evening. He should have just come right out and demanded that his friend tell him what was wrong! If he had been more persistent, told Sam that he was being foolish to dismiss his worries so quickly, this may have been avoided!

But he knew it was useless to try and ’roast the tater after it was mashed’, as Sam would say. He was also aware that there was no quicker way to ensure Sam closed himself off than by making such demands of him.

Merry blamed himself for what had happened, however irrational it was to do so. Armed now with his suspicions about the One Ring and Its possible lingering effects, he cursed himself again.

If indeed this was the Ring’s doing, what could he possibly do to help Sam fight such an evil thing? What could anyone do? For there was no one left in all Middle Earth who had experience with It!

No one but Samwise Gamgee, last of the Ringbearers.

The Master of Buckland wanted to scream in frustration at this predicament. Why had Gandalf, with all his wisdom, not thought about leaving provision if such a thing happened? What good was the Elven knowledge of Ages if Galadriel and Elrond were safe in Valinor? It’s all very well for them, he thought bitterly as he clasped Sam’s hand tightly. They may have found their peace across the Sea, but Sam has no such comfort!

He knew he was being unreasonable. After all Sam may wake up in a few hours. Perhaps he was being premature in his assumptions regarding the Ring for he hadn’t seen Sam in a few months and had no knowledge of what may have befallen him in that time. This may have nothing at all to do with their Quest!

But then Sam suddenly started to thrash weakly about the bed and Merry almost jumped out of his skin, caught unawares. The gardener’s hands were moving towards his head again and he tried to pull at the towel, mumbling feverishly.

“Liar…stop it…it’s not true! Forgive your Sam…Mr Frodo…”

“Sam, Sam! It’s not real! It’s a dream. You must wake up!” Merry pulled his hands away from his head and tried to get through to his friend. But it didn’t work and Sam fell silent again, exhausted and perspiring heavily from his small exertions.

Although he had suspected it before, Merry’s heart sank at the realisation of his worst fear. Sam was exhibiting too many similarities to Frodo during his anniversaries: his earlier distraction, lack of concentration, sickly appearance and now the fevered dreams and apparent stupor.

It could not be anything else.

Suddenly he heard the voice of Florabella Goodenough in the hall and glanced anxiously at the door as she entered the room with a healer.

“Mr Brandybuck, this is Healer Tubbit,” she said as a fat, white-haired hobbit in an obviously hastily donned brown suit moved with surprising agility towards the bed.

Moving out of his way, he allowed the healer to examine Sam and heard Mistress Goodenough ask worriedly what was wrong with the Mayor.

“Well apart from the obvious he’s burning up and his heart is racing,” said Tubbit brusquely, having removed the towel from Sam‘s head to inspect the damage. “What happened here?”

After he gave a quick explanation to the healer of how he had found him, Tubbit requested that the area around the bed be cleared as Farlibar returned with the hot water and towels. The healer took some cloths and pot marigold from his bag and began to make a poultice to be applied to Sam’s wounds. Merry was instructed to remove the towel from his head so he could begin cleansing it.

Merry did so and then stood back to allow him to continue with his ministrations.

“Has he regained consciousness since you found him?” he heard the healer ask.

“Only once, before you arrived, but he was delirious and trying to get at his scalp again.” he replied. “Then he just stopped and hasn’t moved since.”

“He has lost a good bit of blood from his head wounds, but not too much as they aren’t all that deep.” stated the healer.

This was little comfort to Merry. Sam was in danger and he knew the reason why. The healer would be able to do nothing more than treat his superficial injuries.

“What worries me is the fever and what may have caused it,” continued Tubbit. “Has he been ill recently?”

Merry replied that he had lost a good bit of weight since he last saw him several weeks ago and that he had been rubbing his head all evening, as if it pained him.

“Have any of his family been struck with similar symptoms?“ queried Tubbit while applying freshly made poultices to Sam’s head.

“Not to my knowledge,” he said.

“Well it sounds like we can rule out the danger of it being contagious then.” The healer began to dress the scratches on Sam’s brow and temples.

“I don’t think we ever had to worry on that account,” muttered Merry and felt rather than saw Tubbit glance at him questioningly, but he didn’t elaborate.

“Nevertheless I would like to speak with his wife. She’d be able to tell me more about what’s been going on with him and for how long.”

“She’s with child at present. I’m not sure that the journey from Hobbiton would be wise,” the Knight of Rohan answered. He did not want to drag her here unnecessarily. Sam may still win this battle. After all, Frodo’s bouts of illness hadn’t lasted more than a few days, although their effects had lingered longer.

But he knew that when Rose was informed of her husband’s illness, she would travel to Frogmorton regardless. It’s what Estella would do and Sam’s wife was no less determined, despite her condition.

The healer wrapped his patient’s head with a bandage then took some paste from one of his pots and scooped a generous amount of it into a bowl. He added hot water, mixed it up and placed the bowl on the dressing table next to the bed as vapours began to rise from it. The room filled with the scent of lavender.

“If she’s less than seven months gone the journey should not be too much of a strain,” said Tubbit.

Merry told him she was about six months into the pregnancy. He saw the healer nod in satisfaction and he was told that if the Mayor had not fully awakened by mid-morning, she should be sent for.

Tubbit gathered his herbs and accoutrements and placed them back in his bag, turning to face him.

"I've put poultices on his scalp wounds and applied some marigold paste to his scratches. They should aid with the healing. Check them every four hours and I’ll replace them when I come over later in the morning to see if he‘s better. I’ll leave a pot of lavender paste next to the bowl on the dressing table. Mix some with hot water every two hours and the steam from that should help with his headaches, if he’s still suffering with them.”

Merry nodded in understanding. “What about his fever?” he asked.

“The plant his poultice is made of should help to bring it down,” informed the healer. “If it does not, we can make some tea with it later for him to sip, which should prove more effective. However that may be difficult if he does not regain consciousness. For the moment, some cold cloths placed on his forehead and neck might help, but change them regularly.”

Merry thanked the healer as he left and nodded his gratitude to Florabella when she told him she would return with fresh water and cloths. Then she too departed.

The door closed behind them and he was left in the room with his inanimate friend.

Pulling a chair from the table over to the bed and sitting on it, Merry took Sam‘s hand in his own and began his vigil.

“Fight this Sam!” he whispered in his friend’s ear. “You’re stronger than anyone I know. You beat the Ring before, you can do it again!”

XXX

It had been a long night and Merry had had little rest.

Sam had been moaning and struggling in his sleep several times since the healer had left and he had been hard pressed to hold him down as his efforts to claw at his bandaged head grew more desperate.

But he had finally calmed and Merry had briefly dosed at one point, head resting on the bed, and his neck was stiff as reward for it. He was still tired though and his eyes smarted, but he could not think of his own comfort while Sam was ill.

Now it was just after mid-morning and Healer Tubbit had arrived to renew the poultices.

The healer had frowned when he noted that Sam’s fever was no better and then made the marigold tea he had spoken of the night before. As Sam was not showing signs of consciousness, they had had to prop him up in the bed to assist him in swallowing it, but although stroking his throat had met with some success, he had soon started to choke and Tubbit had abandoned further attempts for the present.

“Make sure he swallows even a few mouthfuls every hour he remains unconscious Mr Brandybuck. The Mayor must have liquids and this infusion will help his body fight the fever.”

Merry nodded and wiped Sam’s chin of the spilled tea.

“You must write to his wife now. It will take her at least a day to get here in her condition and I’ll need to speak with her as soon as possible,” the Healer continued.

“I've already sent Farlibar to have it posted to her,” he replied, feeling grateful that the young Hobbit had been willing to help after the teasing he took yesterday. “But I must be honest with you Healer Tubbit, I don’t believe that she will be able to enlighten you further.”

Tubbit regarded him steadily, awaiting expansion of this statement and Merry sighed deeply. He had not wanted to share this for he knew the healer may not be able to treat the true cause of Sam’s affliction and explaining it would only compound his helplessness, but that did not mean he should withhold information that Tubbit, as Sam’s healer, should know.

He gave him a brief, but succinct account of the four Hobbits’ journey outside the Shire those many years ago and of the particular trials Frodo and Sam endured in Mordor, explaining the effects they had had on Frodo. He told him the content of Sam’s fevered mutterings throughout the night and related his suspicions about their cause.

Healer Tubbit sat down heavily at the table and Merry took a seat across from him.

“Why did you not tell me this last night?” he asked almost accusingly.

Merry felt the healer’s eyes boring through him. “It would have been of no immediate use. I had hoped Sam may have woken up by now, making further explanation unnecessary, but he hasn't.”

He watched as Tubbit ran his hands through his snowy hair and shook his head in disbelief.

“I knew some things about your time outside the Shire, but I did not know the extent of it.” said the old healer. “And I will not pretend to understand what you all went through, young sir. Nor will I deny that there are great evils in the world - I think most folk in the Shire are aware of that after Sharkey’s time here.”

Now he looked at Merry again. “But if what you say about the Dark Lord’s trinket being destroyed is true, I don’t understand how It could still be affecting the Mayor.”

Merry had known the healer wouldn’t be able to comprehend the power of the Ring so he simply said:

“It was an evil so great that the Elves feared It; Gandalf would not touch It for fear of losing himself to Its power and becoming a threat to us all in his own right; and that - even after Its destruction - It left such memories in my cousin’s mind that they would have killed him had he not left Middle Earth forever and sailed with the Elves across the Sea.”

The healer regarded him gravely. “If this is indeed what afflicts Mayor Sam - if this Ring has such influence over his mind - then there may be very little that I or anyone in the Shire can do to help him. This is a battle he may very well have to fight on his own.”

“I know,” Merry replied, eyes downcast. He raised his head as a chair scraped against the floor and Healer Tubbit rose to leave.

“I’ll come over again this afternoon to change the poultices and see if there’s been any improvement in his condition,” the elder Hobbit announced. “I want you to rub his limbs to keep his circulation moving properly and keep changing the cold towels to help break the fever. We may not be able to help his mind, but we can treat his physical symptoms and maybe give the Mayor a better chance to fight this magic Ring’s hold on him. Try and get a few hours rest yourself sir, he’ll need you to be fit and well if you’re to help him. Until later then, Mr Brandybuck”

With that, the healer was gone.

Merry knew that Tubbit was right. He should get some sleep, but Sam was becoming restless again, battling a demon Merry couldn’t see and was ill-prepared to cope with. He couldn’t leave him alone, nor could he count on much more than basic assistance from the Floating Log’s proprietress; although she would do all in her power, she and Farlibar would be too busy with the business of the inn to relieve him for very long.

Frustrated, he slammed his hands on the table. This would never do! If Sam was going to fight this, he was going to need all the help he could get. He would not let his friend fight it alone.

I need reinforcements and the sooner, the better, he realised. But first he would have to clear his own head and he wished he’d had the sense to carry some athelas with him.

Of course! Sam was a gardener and Merry knew for a fact the organised Hobbit always had a few leaves in his pack when he travelled even short distances.

He stood and quickly retrieved Sam’s pack, opening it and searching for the familiar oilskin cloth he kept his herbs and plants in. Finding it and pulling it out, he saw that there was only one leaf within it. It would not last all day, but hopefully it wouldn‘t have to.

Armed with the athelas, he boiled some water in a pot that had been brought up for the healer’s use, crushed the leaf into a bowl, then poured the hot water over it.

The room slowly filled with its soothing fragrance. It wasn't as strong though as when Strider, or even Sam, prepared it but it helped nonetheless. He breathed deeply of it and soon felt more alert and refreshed.

Turning towards the bed, he saw that Sam was breathing somewhat easier as well and appeared less agitated. He walked over to the dressing table and swapped the steaming bowl with the one containing the now cold lavender water.

Merry berated himself for not having thought to look for athelas sooner, seeing its effect on his friend. However, it was no use worrying about that now. He had other matters to take care of.

He knew that Pippin would want to be there for Sam too, so he wrote a quick letter to him apprising him of the situation and telling him to make his way to the Floating Log with all possible haste, advising him to bring as much of the athelas Sam had planted at the Great Smials as he could. Pippin would get there faster than Rose could in her condition and would not mind leaving his in-laws to their daughter for a while given the circumstances.

He also wrote a quick note to Estella, informing her of his delay and asking her to see to it that all was well at Brandy Hall during his absence.

Merry then pondered whether or not he should send a letter to the Elves in Rivendell, for not all of them had left Middle Earth and they may yet be of assistance. But it could take several weeks before he got a reply from them and he was not sure what Sam’s situation would be in that time - he may have recovered, but he may not.

He decided to send it anyway. If Sam did recover, any advice they could give him would at least be helpful in the future if such a thing happened again.

The letters were shortly despatched by Messenger Post with strict instructions to deliver the one to the Thain with all possible speed.

Merry once again resumed his seat by Sam’s bed, arranging fresh cold cloths to his forehead and neck. He felt better for having taken some control of the situation and hoped it would not be too long before Pippin arrived.

Don’t worry Sam. You’re not alone. We’re going to get you through this, he said to himself, placing his hand on Sam's head. The Ring might think It’s got you, but It doesn’t know the Samwise Gamgee that we do and It doesn’t know your friends either. It won’t have you too, I promise!

He was unaware that he would not have to wait as long as he thought for reinforcements.

The Elven sons of Elrond were already on their way..

Chapter 7

Imladris, Year 14 of the Fourth Age

2 weeks earlier

Elladan and Elrohir, Lords of Imladris, sat on the balcony of their father’s old study one afternoon enjoying the view of the gardens and eagerly anticipating their upcoming trip to Gondor.

It had been two years since they had last seen Aragorn, Arwen and their beloved nephew, who would be five years old in a few short months. The little prince had included his very own note in his father’s last letter to them pleading that they visit soon - and they would not disappoint him.

Glorfindel would remain as guardian of the Elven realm until they returned, as their Daerada would be accompanying them on the trip.

“Eldarion begins to master the art of the written word,” said Elrohir, fondly reminiscing on the note.

His brother smiled in answer and sipped at a glass of fine Elvish wine.

“In fact, I would say that he has a better command of it than Estel did at his age,” Elrohir continued.

“Indeed, muindor nin,” agreed Elladan regarding his brother in amusement. “Poor Estel did not accomplish that feat until he was..."

"...in his twenties at least.” Elrohir’s grey eyes gleamed with mischief.

Elladan nodded his agreement. “Of course,” he theorised, joining in further with the harmless teasing of their absent foster brother while studying the dark red liquid in his glass, “it could be that the blood of the Numenoreans has grown so thin these past few centuries as to render basic writing skills among the Dúnedain almost obsolete. His most recent missive, for example, was clearly in too fine a hand to be of his own doing.”

Elrohir smiled wickedly. “Then it is a good thing he took our sister to wife, else the future kings of Gondor may have lost the ability altogether!”

“Perhaps we should suggest to Estel that he have our nephew teach him the necessity of good script - what say you, brother?” ventured Elladan.

“I say that he may allow his position as King to go to his head and see to it that we lose ours!”

“I think not, foolish Elf. He has not long won a war against a Dark Lord. It would not do to start a new one with a furious Queen. I deem that we would be quite safe!”

They laughed in unison at the thought of their sister‘s ire, having both experienced it on many occasions. It would be even more satisfying to be able to tease Aragorn in person very shortly with her at their disposal.

A knock on the door disturbed their moment of fun and before they could give the intruder permission to enter it swung open, revealing a tall Elf clad in blue.

“My lords, Radagast the Brown has arrived and urgently asks to speak with you.”

The brothers eyed him in surprise.

“Radagast the Brown?” asked Elrohir in a more sober tone.

“Yes my Lord,” confirmed the messenger. “Shall I show him in?”

“At once, thank you.”

The door closed as the twins returned with their flask of wine to sit at the great desk in the study proper where they discussed what could have brought the normally reclusive Wizard to their threshold, for he rarely - if ever - visited.

But they were not given much time to speculate as the door opened once more and the object of their ruminations was ushered in by the same Elven courier who had given them news of his arrival.

As suggested by his title, the Istar wore a long cloak of brown colour and held a long wooden staff in his right hand. His grey hair spilled wildly over his shoulders and hazel eyes assessed them both upon his entry.

“Aiwendil, it has been many a year since last we met. You do us a great honour with you presence here in Imladris,” greeted Elladan as the brothers rose in welcome.

Radagast answered them with equal cordiality and took the seat proffered by Elrohir in front of the bookshelves surrounding their desk which contained literature and maps from all over Middle Earth.

“No doubt you ask yourselves what brings me to your home, my Lords” he began in a deep voice, coming straight to the reason for his impromptu visit.

“The question had passed through our minds Radagast, although we are pleased that you are here, regardless,” Elrohir said with an elegant bow of his dark head and making use of the Wizard‘s more commonly known name now that conversation had been established.

Elladan handed their guest a glass of wine for his refreshment before resuming his seat by his brother.

“As you know, I do not normally concern myself with the affairs of the wider world, being content to do what good I may with Nature and the many birds and other creatures she sustains.”

The brothers nodded as one. “This is known to all Elves and we are ever thankful that the plants and creatures of Middle Earth have such a wise and powerful attendant, for they are of importance to us all.” said Elladan.

“Quite, quite,” Radagast blustered rather hurriedly. Elladan almost smiled at his obvious discomfort with praise but the Wizard continued:

“What you may not know is that I am privy to various information from far and wide thanks to even the smallest of these creatures. Gandalf was aware of this, as he should be, and he paid me a visit before he left Middle Earth for this very reason.”

The brothers waited patiently as he paused for a sip of wine.

“He asked me to be especially alert for news my feathered friends carried from the Shire; specifically details of any ailments afflicting the Hobbit Samwise Gamgee that may be of a sinister nature.”

“Master Gamgee?” asked Elladan in puzzlement. “I do not understand. What sinister ailments could befall him?”

“I refer to potential illness brought on by the influence of the One Ring.”

The twin Lords of Imladris straightened immediately upon hearing this, taken by surprise for the second time in as many minutes.

Elrohir said in a sombre voice: “He carried the One Ring but for a short time and It is now destroyed. Other than the yearly reminders he must have to contend with at the time of Its destruction - and I say that with the utmost respect to what he must certainly endure at such times - It can surely harm him no longer.”

“That is correct, for the most part,” countered Yavanna’s chosen one. “Frodo Baggins was the Ringbearer for many years and It had plenty of time to seduce and tempt him. It ruined any opportunity he may have had for a normal Hobbit life after Its destruction, making his departure to Valinor a necessity rather than a luxury. Frodo’s loyal friend, however, had the chance to live his life in Middle Earth to a fuller extent, to raise a family in the world he helped save and enjoy the fruits of both their labours, the damage inflicted on him being minor in comparison. It would have been folly to offer him a place on the boat before his time.

“But Samwise Gamgee is a Ringbearer nonetheless: he bore It and made use of It when even the Wise would not dare and thus rendered himself forever susceptible to Its evil sway. He has never truly taken time to confront the danger It presents to him, for his life is filled with family and duty. Because of this he has been left vulnerable for an attack on his very spirit which I fear may be imminent, if not underway as we speak.”

The brothers absorbed this information as Radagast took another draught from his glass.

“What reason have you for these fears?” queried Elrohir in some concern.

“The yearly reminders you spoke of just now did indeed disturb him this past March. But the birds I have asked to keep watch on him have been reporting back to me that they have not desisted, they grow worse with each passing week. It has come to the point now that Master Gamgee fears the very night’s rest that should refresh him. He is now many months gone without proper sleep and his health is ailing as a result.”

Radagast placed his glass on the study desk and regarded them gravely.

“The owls tell me that when he is in the grip of his nightmares he is in torment and wakes up trembling. He has started to leave the marriage bed in the small hours of the morning in an attempt to keep the severity of them from his wife and stays in the kitchen for many hours inhaling athelas fragrance. But he cannot keep this from her much longer, his health suffers and she already suspects.”

Elladan addressed the guardian of Nature: “Then what you say is cause for alarm on his behalf. We were unaware that he may yet suffer to such an extent because of his deeds.”

“My brother Istar had hoped that Master Gamgee would never have to know the torment of Frodo so intimately; that having the support of his family and friends and living the life he had always desired would be ample comfort to ensure he had many long, happy years in the Shire.”

“So such an illness has always been a possibility, however unlikely,” surmised Elladan. “This will be beyond the knowledge of his fellow Hobbits to deal with.”

“And Sam is the only one other than Elves and the King who is fully able to harness the power of athelas. As a gardener with experience of its healing properties in such times of struggle, he was the one best able to render aid to Frodo in his hours of darkness in their homeland. He was truly gifted with its use. But now he is the one facing the darkness and it will not be as effective in the hands of his friends should the worst happen,” finished his twin.

Elladan and Elrohir sat in silent contemplation of Sam’s dilemma.

“It grieves us indeed to hear that his trials with the curse of Sauron continue,” said Elrohir. “He and Frodo shared a bond as deep as my own brother and I - that he misses his Master is pain enough for him. He should not be subjected to a battle with the very thing that made their parting inevitable.”

He spared a look at his brother whose brow was furrowed in distress and knew he was thinking of the pain they had suffered when, despite all their efforts to save their mother, she had left them, unable to find joy any more in the land she had always called home.

They had spent years hunting down the orcs responsible for her torture but - despite the dozens slain by their swords and the now peaceful era enjoyed by the few of their kind that had remained in Middle Earth since the fall of Mordor - they knew that they could never be complete until they saw her whole and carefree again.

But that would not happen unless they left Imladris and abandoned Arwen and her family forever. It was an impossible choice.

So they would remain here until their foster brother accepted the Gift of Men, and his wife after him - another bitter reality. Eldarion would be the successor to the throne of the Reunited Kingdoms and they could finally sail to comfort their parents, harbingers of their own sister’s doom.

Elrohir’s respect for Sam, although great already, grew further as he realised what he had in common with them.

He felt the Wizard‘s eyes upon them.

“Gandalf would not leave Middle Earth until he was sure that aid would come to Master Gamgee swiftly in the event of such an occurrence. And I felt it necessary to travel here myself rather than sending word in any other manner, for I am greatly concerned by the potential effects this danger presents to one who has already sacrificed much for the safety of others.”

“In that case, we will make sure that aid does indeed arrive swiftly,” declared Elladan with fervour. “We shall leave no later than sunrise tomorrow. Our Daerada may keep counsel in Imladris while we are gone.”

Elrohir nodded his agreement. “And I shall send word to Gondor immediately. Aragorn would wish to be informed of this and to know that the Ringbearer was receiving appropriate care.”

He asked Radagast if he would be joining them in their journey to Eriador.

“Alas, I cannot. I have left my duties in Rhosgobel untended long enough - and I feel that our noble Hobbit friend could be in no better hands in all Middle Earth, unless they were the hands of the King of Gondor and Arnor himself.”

The Brown Wizard rose from his seat and added, “But if I may impose upon you for a night’s accommodation, you would have this old man’s unending gratitude. My own journey here was long and I am unused to prolonged travel. I will have to rest before I attempt the return.”

The sons of Elrond informed him that he would always be welcome in Imladris and thanked him graciously for his timely appearance. Before he left their company to be shown to his room, Radagast voiced his confidence in Sam’s recovery at their hands and asked them to tell the Hobbit he should always be assured of the Brown Wizard’s aid if it were needed.

“For I would be a poor tender of Nature if I allowed her to be deprived of such a guardian,” he finished.

With that, he was gone and the brothers began to plan their trip to the Shire.

XXX

Muindor nin      My Brother

Chapter 8

Frogmorton, 1435 Shire Reckoning

Sam lay on the bed of his room at the Floating Log, seemingly oblivious to Merry’s frantic efforts to rouse him.

But although he was insensate to the outside world, there was a fierce battle underway inside his head. His soul was quailing under the assault it faced from within. His mind was being forced to wander the desolate wastelands of Mordor and he was desperately seeking a way out of this vicious entrapment, finding only temporary reprieves in the recesses of his mind before It found him again.

For the One Ring was tormenting him constantly, trying to convince him that he alone was the cause of Frodo’s suffering because he did not stop his Master’s fall. Its ceaseless insinuations that his failure was the reason Frodo had finally left Middle Earth, causing great pain to all their friends, was eating away at his heart and he could not entirely deny them. It was using his own guilt against him!

If he did not win this struggle against It he would be lost forever to those he loved. Like Frodo was lost to him.

And whose fault is that?

“Leave me alone!” cried Sam. It had found him once more. “I won’t listen to you!”

What choice do you have, worthless one?

No matter how hard he tried to fight It, how defiant he was, It continued to wear him down. He could not escape.

You do not know how, feeble creature!

It was right, he did not know how.

He had no idea how long he had been here. It felt like an eternity and he wasn’t sure if he would ever be liberated from this dream Mordor. That thing would not let him leave it unless to taunt him with false visions of his friends and all the places he loved. It would not let go of Its prey so easily.

Still he fought It with all his strength as he sought a safe exit, he would not give up! It would not take him like It had his poor Frodo.

Why do you struggle so? You have not the power to resist me! I was crafted by a being greater than you could ever hope to comprehend. Your defeat is only a matter of time. Succumb to me now and I will reward you!

“I’ve seen what reward you offer and I don’t want it. And the only thing great about your Master was the fall he took from that ugly big tower of his!” shouted Sam.

He felt a sudden wave of fury buffet him, the Ring seemed to be pulsating with the force of Its own anger.

And you will pay for your part in that! Were it not for YOU my Master would control all these lands as we speak. YOU are the reason He fell and I will destroy you for your actions!

Sam was caught off guard at this. It seemed to be holding him personally responsible for Sauron’s demise but Frodo was the real Saviour; he had only helped him along until he’d completed the task. Strider had raised the dead army to crush the onslaught of Minas Tirith and had amassed a small army to stand defiant at the Black Gates. And Gandalf had risen from death itself to ensure the final victory over the Dark Lord! If Samwise Gamgee had had any part in the downfall of Its Master then he had not acted alone.

Perhaps not, It said harshly. But you were the one who dragged your insipid friend across half of Middle Earth, through Ithilien and up the stairs of Cirith Ungol. You wounded my Master’s servant there. The Baggins whelp would not have survived his time in the Tower if you had not been so bold as to rescue him - and you DARED to use me to accomplish this!

It was seething with hatred at him.

When I was trying to control his little mind there was always you pulling him away from me with your abhorrent tales of his repulsive homeland and giving him strength to resist me. He would have been mine long before he ever crossed the plains of Mordor, but for you! His resistance would have crumbled and I would be with my Master, ruling over all at His side but for YOU.

Sam shook at this tirade. He had never experienced so much loathing directed solely at himself before and it was breathtaking in its force.

And even at the end when I finally had my prize and my Master’s victory was in sight - after all those long years I endured with that worthless half-creature, trying to get back to my Master‘s side - you thwarted all with your moment of pity towards Gollum at the Sammath Naur. Because of this act of weakness, he was able to steal me back and my physical form perished alongside him in the place of my birth. And my Master was robbed of His victory!

“Then why are you doin’ this?” Sam yelled. “If your Dark Lord is gone forever then you can’t hope to accomplish anythin’ by tormentin’ me! It won‘t bring him back.”

Insolent creature! My Master will never be truly gone as long as I exist - and I will never be truly gone as long as you exist! I will see to it that you never know another moment’s peace. You will never again enjoy that which you do not deserve!

“Your Master is gone. He can’t ever come back! You’re no more than a memory and I won’t let you hurt me like you hurt Frodo!”

I did not hurt your beloved Frodo. You did. Despite all your efforts he still claimed me. You were too late and too useless in the end. Your incompetence as a servant and so called friend sealed his doom the moment he left your petty lands.

“No!” Sam screamed, trying to stop the hateful words. “It was you. But he’s safe from you now. You can’t ever hurt him again. You’ll never touch him in Valinor!”

His head ached from his exertions, Sam could feel the sweat pouring out of himself. He was burning all over but still he struggled against It.

“The Elves will heal him, Mr Gandalf will see to that. Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel will take care of him and when I see him again you’ll be nothin’ more than a memory!”

You...see him again? It mocked. What makes you think that will ever happen?

“Mr Frodo said as much at the Grey Havens!”

Simpleton! He only said that your time may come, not that it would. Have you been clinging to that small hope these many years?

“It’s not a hope, it’s a fact,” retorted Sam. “My Master wouldn’t’ve say it if he didn’t mean it.”

Your Master does not have the power to grant you such! Only the Valar can do that. Tell me, have they spoken to you lately? Or did the Elvish ‘friends’ that you so admire confirm what you believe he promised?

To Sam’s despair, he was forced to admit to himself that no such confirmation had ever been made.

You see? If it were as you say then surely they would have made some mention of it. No, they do not deem you worthy of such a dubious honour - for you are the reason he sought healing in the first place and it would be foolish of them to ever allow you near him again!

He sobbed, distraught at the thought this might be true. It couldn’t be true! But he racked his brain trying to remember anyone telling him with any certainty that he would have passage to the Elven home. There was nothing.

“But I have the Sea longin‘!” he yelled. “I wouldn’t have that for no reason!”

What more fitting punishment could there be for a traitor? It will wound you forever without anyone having lifted a finger to draw your blood. An elegant torture. And very…Elvish, sneered the Ring.

“I’m not a traitor! I did everythin’ I could to help Mr Frodo. I wouldn’t hurt him for the world, I’d rather die first!”

Then why did your Master make you a false promise? It is because he despises you for not saving him and wants to know you suffer in return! The Elves would rightly grant him this vengeance.

“Liar…stop it…it’s not true!” he cried, distraught at the thought of Frodo hating him and the Elves condoning such a punishment. They wouldn‘t. They couldn‘t! “Forgive your Sam. I did what I could. Mr Frodo…”

He was unable to continue because of his great distress. Sam knew this was not real, but he could not make himself wake up from this nightmare - and so it had become his reality. The Ring was hunting him, stalking him relentlessly through every corner of his mind and trying to break him with what it found there.

And it was winning.

He did not know how to fight against this. He tried to recall the good memories of his Master after Its destruction to confirm that he had not failed as the Ring claimed and that his greatest friend did not despise him: the look of wonder on Frodo’s face when he realised It had perished in the Sammath Naur, his joy at seeing Gandalf again upon his recovery, his happiness for his heart’s brother when Rose Cotton became Mistress Gamgee.

There! If he truly had failed, as It claimed, then Frodo could not have known these moments of peace or rejoiced at his good fortune!

But It countered by showing him the leer of greed on Frodo’s face when he claimed It, forced him to witness anew the many times Frodo had suffered during anniversaries and then It would chant in the Black Speech, louder and louder until Sam thought he would go mad at the sound of It.

“Stop it! Stop it! I won’t listen to any more of your lies!”

Then perhaps you would prefer to see some truth?

“No, don’t. Stop!” he begged.

His efforts to stop the Ring showing him any more of Its visions was futile and he found himself in the Shire watching Merry and Pippin apparently stifle a look of disappointment when he answered the door to Bag End.

They would rather it was their cousin who greeted them. To them you are a poor substitute, who used their beloved kin and then usurped his home! Shame on you!

“They’re my friends! They would never think that! We all miss Frodo and I would gladly swap places with him if it meant they could see him again.”

Indeed? And what of your wife and the spawn you produce so frequently? Would you so easily abandon them?

“Don’t you dare talk about my Rosie or my children,” screamed Sam in fury.

Why not, short one? Have you not been wishing your life away as quickly as possible - and therefore theirs - in the vain hope that you could see your fallen friend again?

“No! Never! My family means the world to me, I would never want to hurt them!” He was outraged at the Ring’s accusation.

But you have, It said maliciously. They are no more than a distraction to whittle away the long years until such time as your wife dies and your brats are grown, leaving you free to pass over the Sea. Do you not think they are aware of this? Perhaps you would not like to wait until your Rose is old and shrivelled? Would it not be better for her life to end now, that you may leave all the sooner?

“Leave my family alone!” he shouted, incandescent with rage at what he was hearing. “Don’t you dare talk about them like that!”

It laughed at him, delighting in his pain for that made It stronger and him weaker.

I speak only of what I see. Shall I prove my point if you doubt my honesty?

It gave him no time to reply and suddenly he was seeing Bag End. Sam watched his vision self sitting on a bench in the garden, pipe in hand, gazing wistfully West. Rosie and Frodo-lad were walking towards him with the apparent intention of joining him on his seat, but his other self had caught the scent of the Sea on the air and could not concentrate on their presence. Sam saw them withdraw from the garden, leaving his vision self to thoughts of Frodo and Valinor - but he did not miss the expression of hurt in her eyes as she left or his son‘s confusion at being ignored.

Sam knew he often looked West. Was this really how he treated his family when the longing came over him? Did he silently rebuff them, making them feel they weren’t good enough? Tears of shame leaked from his eyes.

Do you see? They knows that they are nothing more to you than a consolation; that your real heart’s desire lies elsewhere.

“I love my Rosie, I love all my family and friends,” he wept.

Love? The Ring scoffed at this. What has your love ever done for anyone? Did it save your Master? Spare his cousins’ pain upon his departure. Does it comfort your kin when your mind is with Frodo? Your love is a curse of slow agony! A poison which infects all who bear it! Better that you were dead so that they may be spared such an affliction!

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” argued Sam weakly.

Oh really?

Sam now found himself looking at a vision of Minas Anor, the city of the King. He saw Aragorn and Faramir standing before a marble statue of Frodo in the palace courtyard that he knew had been commissioned, but had never seen. Aragorn was tracing the marble Frodo’s features and telling Faramir how much he missed his friend. Sam saw Strider’s face clench with pain when he spoke of the Ringbearer’s departure, both of its necessity and his own agony at being denied a final farewell.

“It was a cruel fate that Frodo could not stay to enjoy the wonders of the world he saved, Faramir. Perhaps if I had stayed with him on his journey I may have lent him my strength and he could have survived to be with us all.”

Sam’s despair increased at witnessing Aragorn’s lament and he heard Faramir reply:

“My King, you could not have gone with him to Mordor. You were needed here. But Sam was with the Ringbearer. He remained with him throughout and saved his life so that he could see what he did for us all and we would have the opportunity to honour him for it.”

Aragorn eyed his Steward sadly and asked what use such honour was when they would never see him again.

You see the worth of your love, half-wit? The pain it causes? Your King does not even acknowledge your part in the deeds that gave him his crown, ungrateful Man! He believes he could have done a better job of saving your Master himself!

The distraught Mayor of Michel Delving was unable to muster a retort, wracked with guilt and feelings of worthlessness, crying like a hobbit babe.

And perhaps he is right. For who are you to think you can contend with the will of Sauron? A gardener! A fool! Servant of a lesser race!

Body heaving with great sobs of agony, Sam was again incapable of response.

Your friends blame you. They despise you. They have deserted you! You now have your true reward for your blind faith in them, for they will not assist you like you thought you had assisted your Master! They do not rush to your aid. You will remain here with me, witness to your failure forever and they will be glad to be rid of you!

“No! They love me!” whispered Sam dazedly. “They love me.”

If that is true where are your Hobbit friends? You deprived them of their Frodo, they will not so easily forgive and forget. And your King? Does he try to help you? Would he mourn your absence as he does your Master’s? No! He is leagues away, safe in his Kingdom and enjoying the power you helped steal for him. And your so-called Elven friends? They care not one whit for you. They laugh at your childish worship and stab you in the back with their absence.

Sam could not bear any more of this. He sought once more for temporary haven in the dark corners of his mind. If he did not get some reprieve, he would be lost forever.

Was It right? Did Merry and Pippin really consider him unworthy of their friendship? Did Aragorn secretly blame him? Did the Elves think him no more than a nuisance? Was he really so unworthy of love and respect?

Did his family believe he did not care for them, his precious Rosie doubt his affections?

Yes! Or they would be assisting you at this very moment. Do you see any of them here?

He could see no one. All that he saw were the vast bleak plains of Mordor that he had been returned to once more and the summit of Mount Doom, burning in the distance as his own body burned in turn. He was being consumed alive by the fires of hatred and despair.

And this is where you will stay! Abandoned by them and claimed by me. You will suffer now as my Master suffers because of you; enjoy the same exile that he endures because of you; and it will be of the same eternal duration. This is the power of your love. Enjoy it!

Sam could not fight It much longer as It crowed with pleasure at his pain. He retreated further into his mind - Harthad Uluithiad was beginning to lose his hope.

XXX

Author’s Note: Please bear in mind that Sam is ill, upset and has a pathological piece of jewellery out to get him. The visions the Ring shows Sam are not necessarily true representations of the people contained therein, but he is too unwell to realise that…

Chapter 9

Frogmorton, 1435 Shire Reckoning

Merry was very worried for Sam and also very aware of the exhaustion gnawing on his own eyelids. There had been no word yet from Pippin and he’d had only an hour’s brief respite from his vigil at Sam’s bedside when Tubbit had come round at midday to check on his patient. The healer had stayed for an hour while Merry went to his own room to wash and change his clothes.

Now it was late afternoon and other than taking a small bite of lunch brought up by Farlibar after the healer left, Merry had spent the day sitting by Sam, trying to rouse him with no success. The only times he became animate were when caught in another of his disturbing dreams. He would thrash about the bed, clawing at his head and yell about traitors and liars or sob desperately, calling for Frodo and begging forgiveness for some unknown deed.

The Master of Buckland could not bear to see his friend like this. It was difficult to watch him struggle and be powerless to help him. He had tried cajoling him back to awareness with talk of his Rose. “Think how angry she’ll be with me if I can’t take care of you for even one day!” he joked desperately. “And remember how Estella told me not to corrupt you? Well, she’s sure to blame this on me too! Come on Sam, you can‘t do this to an old friend. Two Hobbit wives out for my head, I‘ll be lucky to see the end of the week!”

But no matter what he said, there was no response. Sam lay still, trapped in some nightmare where he couldn’t reach him. Merry was becoming more desperate as the day wore on. He was tired and very upset. After another attempt to get through to the silent Hobbit on the bed met with failure, he became increasingly irrational in his concern.

“Come on, Sam. This isn’t funny anymore. Wake up!” he demanded in frustration. Yet again, no response. He grabbed him by the shoulders and started to shake the gardener.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!!”

“Merry! Stop it!”

Merry let go of Sam and whirled around at the sound of the voice. “Pippin!” he cried, seeing the look of shock on his cousin’s face as he stood in the doorway and he knew he must have looked like a monster, shaking the invalid.

Dropping his travelling pack, Pippin closed the room door, strode over to the bed and, rather than start berating him, enveloped his cousin in a warm embrace.

“It’s all right, Mer, I’m here now. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Sam will be fine. He’ll wake up soon. He can’t ignore us forever if we don’t give him peace to do so! We’ll just annoy him back into the waking world. ”

Pippin released him, took off his Lothlórien cloak and threw it over a chair. He then turned to face the bed.

“How is he?” he asked while he rearranged the rumpled sheets then took one of his silent friend’s hands.

Merry walked to the table and sat down at it. He related the events starting from dinner time the day before, telling of Sam’s distraction and short-temper during and after their meal, of his own unsuccessful attempts to gain his confidence, of how he’d found Sam lying on the floor that night after being awoken by his screams and of the hallucinations he seemed to be having.

“Hallucinations?” he heard Pippin say.

“Yes. He keeps yelling and trying to gouge lumps out of his head. That’s why it’s bandaged, Pip. He’s ripping his hair out. His head’s in an awful state.”

Pippin was troubled at hearing this and regarded the dishevelled bandages over Sam‘s head. “It must be his fever Merry. He’s burning up right now,” he said as he laid a hand on Sam's head.

“I know. We can change his cold cloths and I’m supposed to try to get some marigold tea into him, but I’ve stopped doing that.” He shrugged helplessly at the younger Hobbit when Pippin frowned at him. “I don’t like forcing liquids down his throat when he’s like this - he chokes. Did you bring the athelas, like I asked?”

“Yes, hold on a minute. It’s in my pack. I brought a fair bit so it should last us for a while.” He let go of Sam’s hand and brought the bag he’d dropped at his feet upon entering the room over to the table where Merry sat. He opened it and pulled out a large wrapped packet, placing it before him.

Merry quickly heated some water and asked Pippin to crush a leaf into a bowl, then he poured the hot water over it and placed the bowl on the dressing table near Sam’s head. “We should have enough leaves here to last through the night.” he said. “But I’m going to speak with Healer Tubbit when he comes back and see if we can’t find some other way to get that tea into his stomach!”

He turned to the younger Hobbit. “I’m glad you’re here Pip. I’ve been really worried about him and there’s not much the healer can do except treat his fever. But I don‘t think it‘s just the fever that‘s bothering him”

They sat down at the table again where Pippin asked him to elaborate.

“It’s what he’s saying when he’s shouting through the fever,” explained Merry “He’s yelling about not being a traitor, that he tried to save Frodo and screaming for someone to stop lying. I think it’s the Ring working on him.”

The Thain was aghast to hear this. “Merry, do you really think that’s what the problem is? Because if you’re right then what can we do to help him? We need Strider for this!”

“I think it is, Pip. I don’t see how it can be anything else. But Strider’s too far away to do much. I’ve written to Rivendell for advice, but it’ll be weeks before we hear anything from there. I don‘t know how long Sam can last like this if he doesn‘t get proper help soon. He might pull out of it by himself any time now, but what if he doesn’t? Frodo was affected for several days at a time near the end and was always weaker after each…each…”

He faltered, trying to arrange his tumbling thoughts and felt his hand being gently squeezed. Looking up, he saw his cousin regarding him with knowing eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. "I just didn't expect this to happen to Sam...and I don't know if I can go through this again," he confessed fearfully.

Pippin threw a glance at the bed and thought of Frodo's struggles with the demon Ring. “What do you think It’s doing to him, Merry?” he asked in a subdued voice.

“I wish I knew,” his cousin answered. “But if it is the Ring, we can be certain that it’s not pleasant - not if It‘s making him think he‘s some sort of traitor.”

“Why on earth would he think that? This isn’t fair! He didn't carry It very long. Why can’t It leave him alone? Why is It bothering him now?” demanded the younger Hobbit angrily.

“I don’t know. But when I saw him yesterday, he didn’t look like he’d been keeping too well. He’s thinner and paler than I’ve seen him since the end of the War. We have no idea what’s been happening to him since we saw him last. Come to think of it, he did look a bit drawn when you were made Thain. This might have been slowly getting worse since then for all we know.”

“But that was in April!” exclaimed Pippin in horror.

“It’s only a guess, Pip, I don’t know for sure. We know he usually has bad nights round about the time Sauron fell and that anniversary was not long before your ceremony. Maybe it was just the after-effects of that. But if it wasn’t and this has been slowly worsening since then, Sam would’ve been more open to an assault from the Ring without knowing it.” Merry rubbed his face tiredly.

Pippin was frowning at this possibility. He was upset that Sam could be experiencing anything akin to what Frodo had endured when they returned to the Shire. Was this to be his payment for saving Middle Earth? If he survived this, would they have to worry about other such attacks for the rest of Sam’s life?

“What about Tom Bombadil?” he suggested suddenly. “There must be something he could do to help - after all he seemed to know about the Ring. He must have some knowledge on how to counter Its effects on Sam. He could be here in under a week.”

Merry hadn’t thought of this before and saw his cousin was excited by the idea, but after thinking it over he had to reject it.

“Pippin, he’s not a healer or a Wizard of any sort, not that we know of. All we do know is that he didn’t seem to be personally affected by the Ring. I don’t see how that could help us here even in the unlikely event that Tom would be willing to leave the Old Forest.”

Pippin’s hopeful expression dimmed and he said; “Regardless of what else we do, Mer, if Sam’s no better by morning I think we should take him home to Bag End. He needs to be around his family and in familiar surroundings.”

“But I’ve already sent a note asking Rose to come here at Healer Tubbit’s request. She should be here before we can even think about taking him anywhere,” Merry informed him.

“Still,” said Pippin insistently, “I think more good can be done for him at home than in a strange room at the Floating Log and I think Rosie will agree with me. She can speak to the healer when she gets here and tell him anything he might want to know. He can give us a letter for the local Hobbiton healer on Sam’s treatment - including how to make him drink properly - and I’ll arrange a coach to take us all back there after first breakfast tomorrow.”

This seemed to make some sense to Merry and he nodded his agreement. He marvelled at how much Pippin had matured in these last years, particularly since that April.

“You’re right Pip,” he said. “This is no place for him to be. I should have thought of that sooner.”

Pippin smiled at him sympathetically. “Well, you did rather have your hands full, Mer.”

The Thain stood. “I’ll ask Mistress Goodenough to let me speak with the healer to make sure it‘ll be alright to move him, then have a coach made ready to take us all back to Bag End in the morning. Until then we can take shifts watching over him ‘til Rose comes. I‘ll get some food sent up too because we‘ll need to keep up our energy if Sam‘s going to be flailing about as much as you say.”

With that, he left the room and Merry had to grin at how the foremost Hobbit of Tuckborough still managed to think of his stomach at a time like this. Sam would have rolled his eyes and declared that some things never changed, if he‘d heard him.

The Mayor was becoming restless again, calling out and trying to push the covers off, so Merry got up and moved over to him. He laid a hand on his friend’s forehead. The fever had not got any worse, but it was still burning away relentlessly. He removed one of the sheets and pulled the other halfway down Sam’s torso, frowning at the loose skin where a healthy Hobbit stomach should be.

Merry wet a cloth and began to wipe the sweat from his head and upper body, trying to cool it down. Once finished he covered him with a single sheet and debated opening the window a bit wider to let more fresh air circulate and help cool Sam down. But he didn’t want to lose the benefit of the athelas infusion, which was still gently steaming away, so he left the window as it was, ajar only enough to let some air in. He heard some raised voices drifting through the small opening and was glad of his decision, unwilling to have Sam’s condition further affected by rowdy patrons from the entry hall.

He was relieved Pippin had brought plenty of athelas. The one he used that morning hadn’t lasted as long as when Aragorn had used the plant on him in Minas Tirith when he had been affected by the Black Breath and they’d probably have to go through more to make up for that.

Merry poured himself a glass of water and went back to sit at the table, hoping Pippin wouldn’t be away too long. He wondered if Rose had nearly made it to Frogmorton yet and regretted that she had to make such a journey in the first place. It would be unpleasant enough in her condition, but the worry of her husband’s illness must surely have her frantic by now.

All at once, he heard his cousin’s voice in the hallway, sounding quite excited. Wondering what had brought him back so quickly, he stood up in anticipation of perhaps seeing Rose Gamgee walk through the door.

But Pippin did not enter with Rose. Instead he brought in two very tall, very elegant and very concerned looking Elf Lords.

Merry was taken aback to see the twin sons of Elrond execute a quick bow at him and make their way swiftly towards the bed in which Sam lay.

“Look who I found downstairs, Mer!” exclaimed Pippin in relieved excitement. “I was just about to go out in search of the healer when they walked in.”

One of the dark headed Elves left the bedside and came to Merry.

“Mae Govannen Master Meriadoc,” he said. “Forgive our unexpected arrival but we have had word that Master Gamgee may be ill and have travelled for almost two weeks in our haste to see him.”

Merry looked at the graceful being in wonder. “Well met Lord Ella..., er, Lord Elroh...er, well met my Lord.”

The Elven Lord smiled gently as his confusion. “I would be honoured if you would once again address me as Elladan, my friend.”

Still somewhat perplexed at their sudden, but welcome appearance, the Master of Buckland nodded in relief, grateful that they were there and wondering what twist of good fortune had brought them.

Correctly guessing the reason for Merry’s continued puzzlement, Elladan took a seat and quickly told him of Radagast’s visit two weeks ago while Pippin and Elrohir tended to Sam. He was amazed that they had been informed by the reclusive being and felt somewhat guilty for his earlier ill-feeling towards the White Wizard. Of course good old Gandalf wouldn’t have left them without making preparations for such an event. He was too fond of them all to treat them in such a careless manner!

Elladan explained that they had ridden first to Hobbiton and were told on arrival by Rose that she had received a letter from him informing her of Sam’s ill health. She had been readying herself for the trip to Frogmorton when they appeared and they had listened with vexation as they realised they had passed it already.

“We have asked the Lady Rose to ready his chamber. We must return him home as soon as possible. It will be better for him if he is there and surrounded by family.”

“See, I told you!” piped the Thain from the bedside.

Merry rolled his eyes. “We were going to leave it until tomorrow morning though, to see if he was any better by then,” he added.

Elladan looked over at his brother, who shook his head.

“Nay, Merry, we must leave at once. Every minute delayed is a minute more the evil of Sauron has to work on our brave friend,” he answered.

The Master of Buckland swallowed hard at this. “Is it really so bad?” he asked in great concern.

Elrohir, who had had his hand on Sam’s forehead and his eyes closed in concentration, turned at this question and regarded him gravely. He said: “The Ringbearer is in a battle for his very soul. We must not delay his return to his family any further. And I must ask that you both accompany us, for your assistance will be vital if he is to survive this vicious assault. It is worse than we had feared, my brother.”

These last words he directed at Elladan who nodded in understanding.

“Come Merry, we must make preparations for immediate departure. If we are fortunate, we may arrive in Hobbiton before this night is begun.”

As they began to gather all of Sam and Merry’s belongings together, the Master of Buckland voiced his concern over Sam’s inability to swallow.

“I can’t get him to drink anything Elladan. He’s burning up, but every time I try to make him sip some tea to bring the fever down, he chokes. But he needs liquids - he’s not had anything proper to drink since last night!”

Elladan rested a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “Do not distress yourself, Merry. My brother and I shall take care of this. There are other methods of hydration that Hobbits may not be aware of - if it becomes necessary, we shall make use of them. Now, let us finish packing so that we may leave this place.”

Pippin declared he would seek out Healer Tubbit to explain what was happening. “Should I ask for a letter for the healers in Hobbiton?” he enquired of Elrohir whose hand was once more placed on Sam’s forehead.

“That will not be necessary, Peregrin” came the somewhat distant answer. “We have ways of helping Samwise that are beyond those of your kind.”

Elrohir spared Pippin a glance to take the bite from his words. “Please inform him that we are most grateful for his efforts so far and say that he has the gratitude of the Elves of Imladris. Without his intervention in preventing the escalation of the fever the Ringbearer may have already succumbed to the evil that preys upon him.”

Pippin and Merry both blanched at this and the Gondorian Knight took instruction from Elrohir to have their horses readied for departure before leaving the room without further comment.

Merry realised his cousin had forgot to ask about arranging a coach and asked Elladan himself as he was about to join his brother at Sam’s side.

“It will be faster if we take him upon one of our steeds, for they are of Elvish stock and very swift.” He faced Merry, observing the exhausted Hobbit speculatively. “And you will ride with me for you appear fatigued yourself and would not last very long on your trusty pony. Your cousin may follow on his, although we cannot stop if he should fall behind for our errand is of the utmost urgency.”

Sam suddenly began to thrash wildly on the bed, striking out at Elrohir whose hand was still on his forehead.

“Muindor nin! Tolo hí!” he cried.

Merry watched in alarm as Elladan raced to the bedside and the two Elven Lords tried to restrain Sam without hurting him, his frantic efforts to push them away fruitless. “Let me go! Liars! Liars…I did not. I know you hate me! Stop it! Let me go!” he screamed.

“Quick, brother. Athelas!” Elrohir demanded of Elladan, but Merry was too quick for both of them and grabbed the already adjacent bundle from the table which he had yet to pack. He hurried over with it and handed them a fistful, hand trembling in shock at seeing his friend so out of character. Sam obviously had no idea what was happening, because he would never have raised his hands or voice to anyone, let alone two of the Elven race he so admired.

Elrohir grabbed some and Merry saw him crunch them in his slender fist. Both brothers whispered an incantation in Sindarin which he didn’t fully hear and breathed on the leaves. Elrohir then placed the broken mass directly under the bucking Mayor’s nose. He had no choice but to inhale the sweet fragrance and his movements faltered, slowly easing off as the twin Lords continued to chant over his form.

Finally he stilled and Merry collapsed on a chair, shaking in shock. “What happened?” he asked tremulously, breath hitching raggedly from the fright he’d just had.

They did not answer for a full five minutes and Merry was left to wonder at all the terrible things that were going on in his friend’s mind. But when they had finished and Sam was resting in some peace, Elrohir turned to him.

“Be not alarmed Meriadoc. He rests for the moment, but we must leave soon before another such attack comes upon him. The Ring is deceiving him and the Ringbearer does not know friend from foe. He may have recognised the scent of the athelas plant, but does know if the hand that offered it is true. Curse Sauron in his Exile! May he never know a moment’s peace!”

Merry had never seen the normally impervious Elven Lord in such a passion of anger and he knew a sudden moment of fear. What if Sam didn’t recognise any of them as friends? Pippin or himself? Rose or his own children? Was the memory of It truly so powerful as to trick the most faithful Hobbit he knew into thinking his loved ones would abandon him?

But his thoughts were interrupted as Pippin returned to say the horses were ready and they could now leave. He was willing to follow on his mount and would bring Merry’s pony Stybba with him. He’d left word with Florabella Goodenough to have messages sent to each of their wives informing them of their new destination.

With that, Merry saw Elrohir wrap Sam in a blanket and gather him in his arms. They quickly left the room, then the inn and mounted their respective horses; Elrohir cradling Sam, Elladan holding Merry steady in front of him and Pippin perched on his little black pony. Turning towards the Great East Road, they left Frogmorton and headed towards Hobbiton with all possible speed.

Mae Govannen -  Well Met.

Muindor Nin! Tolo hi! - My brother! Come here!

Chapter 10

Gondor, Year 14 of the Fourth Age

Aragorn sat deep in thought on the edge of a mahogany writing table. He was in one of the small rooms near the Tower Hall he used as a retreat after conclusion of the day’s official Court audiences and petitions.

And he was not happy, having received disturbing news from Imladris that morning regarding Sam. Frustration at his momentary inability to help him was becoming almost intolerable. The news that his condition was potentially serious enough to merit the Elven Lords journey to Eriador had concerned him all day - despite Arwen’s reassurances the evening before - and it had been difficult to concentrate on the business of trade agreements with Harad earlier.

The meeting with Haradrim merchants had been successful though, for Aragorn was determined to forge a more secure relationship with their neighbours to help ease lingering bitterness and continue the process of building bridges between their two peoples. Commerce with their former enemy was a way to achieve it.

I may be of some use this day, at least, he thought irritably.

It was tradition each month that his Steward accompany him here to discuss any news of note from Ithilien - though in these times of peace their meetings were more informal and both men used them mainly as an opportunity to spend a rare hour or two in each other’s company enjoying relaxed conversation.

Faramir had joined him ten minutes ago and was relating another tale of his wife’s escapades in the kitchen and his son’s refusal to eat her fare, which Aragorn normally derived great amusement from. But today he remained silent, staring out of the window, drumming his fingers on his knee, not wholly attentive to the narrative.

There was a slight cough and he became suddenly aware that the one-sided conversation had stopped. He looked around guiltily to find his companion studying him and tried to look as if he had in fact been listening, but the Steward was not so easily fooled.

“The ongoing saga of Eowyn’s culinary efforts usually has you gripped, my Lord.” Faramir’s mouth quirked in humour. “But today you are preoccupied. What draws your attention so?”

“Faramir, you cannot talk to me about something as amusing as Eowyn’s attempts at cooking and then address me so formally all in the same sentence,” he said wryly.

The Steward grinned openly at this. “ I consider myself duly chastised. Allow me to rephrase: Aragorn, what occupies your thoughts thus?”

The former ranger knew that Faramir would wish to hear any news of the Hobbits regardless of its gravity, so he delved into his shirt pocket to withdraw the letter and passed it over, allowing him to read it through.

“I see,” was the Prince’s comment. “This is more than reason enough to distract you.”

Receiving the letter back and returning it to its place of rest, he resumed the drumming rhythm on his knee, aware of being further assessed by his second in command.

“You feel vexation at your absence from the Shire when Samwise may be in need of your assistance?” came his friend’s query.

“Certainly,” replied Aragorn. His Steward was too perceptive for comfort at times, although he supposed his concern may have been rather obvious.

“This message was despatched by your Elven kin two weeks ago my friend. They will have arrived in Hobbiton by now and Master Gamgee will be receiving the finest care in Middle Earth as we speak,” assured the Lord of Emyn Arnen.

“I realise this.” He stood up and walked over to the window he had found so fascinating moments before.

Gazing out of it towards the Great Hall of Feasts, Aragorn related in a somewhat distant voice: “Before this letter arrived, I had already some knowledge of his illness, having witnessed it in the Palantír. I saw our stalwart friend in much distress. He did not look well, Faramir. His appearance was not that of the Hobbit who left here several years ago and I speak not of the lines time may have added to his face.”

Faramir joined him where he stood and Aragorn turned to face him. “I spoke of it later with Arwen and she allayed the worst of my concerns. But this missive has reawakened them.”

“You are worried for our friend. It is only natural. But there is little we can do from here at present other than hold him in our hearts. The Lords Elladan and Elrohir are our best hope for now, they will see to his recovery in your stead.” said the Steward, who then smiled gently and continued:

“Samwise may have the stature of a Hobbit, but he has a will as strong as a Mûmak is tall. The evil of the Ring cannot hope to defeat him.”

Aragorn appreciated his comforting words and hoped they would prove true. “You speak wisely Faramir. But still, I must see him well again.”

He crossed over to the writing table and sat down on the chair behind it, knowing that Faramir would be curious as to his intentions after such a firm declaration. He regarded Denethor’s shrewd heir closely for his reaction to the upcoming news, for he had not yet informed him of the decision he had made the day before to leave for the Northern Kingdom.

“It is necessary to make the reunification of Gondor and Arnor official,” he said in a more formal tone. The Ithilien prince remained silent, waiting for him to finish and Aragorn had the uncanny feeling that he knew what would come next.

“To this end,” he continued, “I have decided to leave for Annúminas before winter begins. My people in Arnor should know their King and Gondor may be without him for some time.”

Faramir received that statement well and Aragorn began to doubt if he would ever be able to shake the Man‘s steady composure. Perhaps the next bit of information would be sufficient.

But before he could impart it the Steward returned to his seat opposite him.

“I understand, my Lord,” he said, resuming use of the honorific title. “Gondor has waited for your return once before and her patience was rewarded in the end. I am confident that you will not stay away quite so long this time. I shall make arrangements for Elphir to come to Ithilien whilst I keep counsel for you in Minas Anor until such time as we may again celebrate your arrival in the White City.”

Elessar admired Faramir’s continuing ability to adapt to almost any situation and produce an appropriate response, it was one of the reasons he had made him Steward in the first place. Still, he lived in hope that one day he may surprise him into silence. If only for a few seconds.

“I wish for you and Eowyn to accompany me on the journey.”

Faramir’s dark brows raised in surprise. Finally.

“During our absence I intend to have your uncle take temporary Stewardship of Gondor. It shall be safe with him and he is loved by its people. The duration of Imrahil's absence from Belfalas will also give Elphir invaluable experience in understanding the true scope of his responsibilities as future Lord of Dol Amroth.”

The King leaned back in his seat and, despite his concern for Sam, enjoyed the feeling of having thrown his friend off balance for once.

“Of course my Lord,” replied Faramir, quickly regaining his normal inscrutable countenance. “And Ithilien?”

“Erchirion may enjoy the challenge of presiding over your fair land for a year or so, do you not agree?”

The Steward nodded, happy for his cousin’s good fortune. “I believe he would.”

There was silence for a few moments as both Men mulled over the upcoming changes but inevitably Aragorn felt Faramir’s steady gaze upon him once more. He knew what he was thinking.

“Yes, Faramir. We shall also pay a visit to the Shire, or as near it as I will allow.”

The dark-haired Steward’s mouth quirked again as his assumption proved correct. It really was an annoying habit. Probably the result of Legolas’ influence, given that their lands are so close, Aragorn speculated.

“I cannot travel so far without seeing the Hobbits,” he added in justification, though it was not required by his companion. “There may be little I can do at present to help, but with my foster brothers’ aid Sam should have recovered by the time we arrive and it will ease my heart to see him whole once more.”

“As it will also ease mine,” said Faramir seriously. “Our loyal gardener should not have to suffer such trials so long after the Dark Lord’s defeat. I only hope this one may be of short duration and that he will not be plagued by them again, although that may be a false hope.”

“Perhaps it is false, perhaps not.” Aragorn’s reply was non-committal. “We may better assess the potential of such hope upon our arrival in his homeland and can ensure that all action be taken to ease any future intervention by the Ring - at least until such time as he too will have no other choice but to depart Middle Earth forever.”

Faramir looked at him with sad eyes. “Then he knows that he may accept the gift of a place in Valinor when his hurts are too great?”

Elessar nodded. “I believe Frodo informed him of it at the Grey Havens.”

“It will be a loss to us all when that day arrives, but it may yet be many years ahead of him,” said the younger Man. “With the support of all those who love him, he could stay with us long enough to watch his children grow and have families of their own.”

“Indeed,” declared the King. “And we must see to it that this comes to pass. Sam must accept our support if he is to enjoy his beloved Shire as long as possible. Only then may we enjoy the pleasure of his company for equal time.”

He rose again - this time with resolve - and donned his robe of office. Their sojourn was over and it was time for preparations to be made.

“If I have to enforce it by royal decree, I will make certain that the curse that threatened our lands for two Ages of Men will not force him from us so quickly. Sam shall know that he will not have to face It alone! We owe him no less, both as our friend and as our deliverer.”

Nodding agreement, the Prince of Ithilien stood also and together they left the study to meet with the High Council and make arrangements for their pre-winter departure.

XXX

Bag End, 1435 Shire Reckoning

Contrary to what Elladan predicted, the small company did not arrive in Hobbiton before night fell. It had been necessary to stop after a couple of hours travel when Sam began struggling in his brother’s arms near Bywater and they were delayed for almost another hour while tending to their fevered charge.

It was shortly before midnight when they finally dismounted outside Bag End and saw the Smial ablaze with light. The door opened before they could announce themselves and Rose Gamgee came rushing out with her eldest daughter in tow. Together they gasped at the sweating form of their loved one.

“Sam!“ cried his wife in shock as Elanor clutched at her arm. “What happened?”

Although the Elven brothers informed her of the danger he may be in when they had seen her earlier that day, they saw that she was not prepared to find him returned to her in so grave a fashion.

“Let us see him settled first my Lady and then we shall tell you all,” Elrohir told her as they entered the Smial. “I trust you have seen to our request that the younger children be despatched elsewhere for the moment?”

“Yes, I’ve had all the little ’uns taken to stay with relatives, only Elanor remains,” explained the Hobbitess, her voice fraught with worry. “She’s the oldest and better able to understand and be of some help, although I don’t much like her seeing her Sam-dad like this.”

“But I want to help, Mum,” insisted the lass, fearful that she may yet be sent away.

“I know me dear.“ Her mother grasped Sam’s hand and tipped her head upwards towards Elrohir. “If he needs us like you said he might, it’s best at least one of the children is here.”

“You are indeed correct my Lady,” he said. Elrohir did not want the younger Hobbit children to fear their father if he should start calling out in his fever again. He did not want Elanor to witness it either, in all honesty, but Rose had been visibly shaken by their earlier revelations and could not have been left alone while awaiting their return.

Elanor relaxed slightly at this and Elladan asked her to prepare a bed for Merry who was busy seeing to the horses’ accommodation with Pippin.

Rose watched her husband‘s flushed face in concern. “Come right this way my Lords,” she said turning abruptly and leading them down the round wooden hallway to the bedroom at the far left of the Smial.

They had to bend slightly in order to follow in her wake.

They entered a spacious chamber which overlooked the fragrant garden. A window seat gave a fine view of Sam’s handiwork outside, highly polished wardrobes stood at the wall facing the large bed and a sweetly carved dressing table adorned a wall opposite the window. The room was covered with tokens from the children to their parents; carved wooden animals, drawings of flowers, sticky bits of string and other gifts that such little ones manage.

“We must try to bring his fever down,” said Elrohir, depositing Sam gently on the bed and both twins set their travelling cloaks aside that they may move more freely.

Rose moved towards her husband and tenderly held his hand. “Oh Sam, what’s happening to you my love?”

Elladan addressed her as Elrohir began opening the window to the garden, letting the scent of Sam’s beloved flowers and plants enter the room with the rush of fresh air.

“Mistress Rose, your husband is ill with fever and caught in battle with the memory of the One Ring.” He placed a hand on her arm as her hands flew to her face in horror.

“Do not be alarmed, my Lady. My brother and I shall do all we can for him. Your husband is strong and he will win this fight. But he will need the support of us all to do so.”

She nodded her head, wiping tears from her cheeks. “I’ll see about getting some water boiled then, in that case. No doubt my Sam will be needing some for that athelas he’s so fond of. And if you or your brother need anything else you must let me know, sir.”

Elladan looked at his brother who was busy stripping Sam of his sweat soaked garments, then returned his gaze to her. “We shall need plenty of water - both hot and cold. Merry and Pippin shall be here once they have settled the steeds, so have them carry any heavy pots through to us. Also, a fresh garment is required once we have cooled him down.”

Rose nodded in compliance and sought a clean nightshirt for her husband, handing it to Elladan before she left for the kitchen. A moment later, the brothers heard Merry and Pippin arrive inside and the sound of her voice requesting their assistance.

Elladan moved to the bed where Elrohir was watching over the stricken Hobbit. Sam had not stirred since the episode in Bywater, but neither did his slumber seem peaceful. His breaths were fast and shallow and his bandage was also askew after the long ride so they set about removing it, exclaiming at the angry wounds on his scalp and forehead before re-dressing them with their own supplies.

Merry came into the room with a basin of cold water and Elrohir began to quickly bathe the gardener, pulling the fresh nightshirt over his head when done. Pippin entered shortly after with hot water, followed by Rose who went directly to her husband’s side and held his hand, murmuring soft words in his ears.

“How is he?” asked Pippin of Elladan, having beckoned him over.

“He remains too warm for our comfort. If we cannot revive him soon the Ring will tighten Its grasp upon him in this weakened state and make our efforts that much more difficult,” replied the Elf in a quiet voice, trying to avoid alarming Rose any further.

“Well that’s not good,” said Merry frowning. “We brought him all the way here so that his own home and family could help to bring him back to us!”

“And indeed they shall, my dear Hobbit.” Elladan admonished him quickly and Merry had the grace to blush. “But with each passing hour Sam is under greater assault from It. Had we remained in Frogmorton all this time he may have been lost to us before dawn. We have won ourselves valuable time with this journey and we have armed ourselves with the weapons for his rescue.”

He indicated Rose who was seated at the top of the bed resting her head on her husband‘s shoulder and young Elanor who had just came in from preparing the guest room due to the unexpected visit of her father‘s Hobbit friends.

Merry apologised for his hasty remark and Pippin patted his back in sympathy. “It’s alright, Mer. It’s been a long day for you and you’re tired. Why don’t you lie down for a bit? Elanor’s made up a bed for you and you need to rest soon or you‘ll drop.”

“No, I want to be here for Sam,” Merry answered stubbornly.

Elladan’s countenance softened at his loyalty. “Master Brandybuck, you have not slept for many hours. I must insist that you take some rest, if only for a while. Your services will be required here later and you must be refreshed for the task ahead.”

“I’ll make sure that he rests Mr Elladan, sir,” came the sweet voice of the Hobbit lass. Grabbing his hand in her little one, she led Merry out and his shoulders slumped in defeat. Elladan prepared the athelas water and Pippin moved to the window seat.

Rose continued to speak to her silent husband.

“Good, my Lady. He needs to hear your voice, to know that you are near him,” Elrohir told her as he observed her efforts. “He may listen to you, if not to us.”

She looked at him with questioning eyes and the graceful Elf explained that Sam had not responded well to them earlier.

“Then I’ll talk for all the Shire if there’s a chance it’ll help him,” she declared, regarding him with determination. He saw her eyes soften slightly. “You and your brother have both come all this way to help my Sam when I myself had no idea it was so bad. I’ve known for a while now that he has been sleeping poorly, slipping out at night to use the athelas water.”

Her cheeks glistened again with tears as she berated herself. “Why didn’t I make him talk to me? I should have forced him to see sense and let me know what was troubling him so! But that Gamgee pride wouldn‘t let him open up to me!”

Elrohir could not bear to see her so upset. “Nay my Lady! You could not have known of the true reason for his condition. He did not know it himself. You must not blame yourself now, but be strong for him. He will need the strength of us all before this night is out, if we are to wrestle him from the Ring’s grasp.”

He was relieved when she composed herself enough to make an effort at controlling her tears. “Still,” she told him, “You’ve both come so far and are doing so much. That makes you as good as family in my eyes, and my family calls me Rose. Just Rose.”

Elrohir smiled gently at her. One moment she had been in need of his reassurance and the next she was making both brothers members of her extended family and using her motherly way to chastise them for calling her Lady.

“You honour us both with your words gracious Mistress. Just Rose then it shall be.”

Elladan joined his twin on the other side of the bed and together they watched for a few moments as the Ringbearer was comforted by his wife.

Elrohir turned to him. “I believe this would be a prudent moment to try and reach into his mind again, for he is now home and soothed by his beloved one.”

Elladan frowned. “So soon? We have just arrived. Do not forget that we have spent several hours with him and he does not recognise us as friends yet. It may take some time before he feels the effects of even her presence.”

The Elf had just finished this sentence when Elanor came into the room to see her father, having successfully dealt with her Buckland uncle. Concern was etched on her lovely face as she stood across from them looking at his flushed features. She glanced at Elrohir for reassurance that he would be well again.

“Fear not, little maid. We will see to it that your father recovers,” he said in response to her unasked question.

“Hannon le, good sirs. I know you’ll help him because he tells us such lovely tales of your folk.” Her golden head bent over her father as she dropped a kiss on his cheek. “You have to wake up soon Sam-dad. We need you and Uncle Pippin’s Sindarin isn’t nearly as good as yours. How can I speak to our fine guests if you don’t help me?”

Elladan’s doubts were allayed when he saw this obvious affection. This was how they would bring Samwise back to them. These acts of love spoke louder than any evil could. He looked at his brother and nodded in agreement., moving away to prepare the athelas water while Elrohir spoke once more with Rose.

“I am going to try to reach Samwise. You must not be alarmed if he becomes agitated for he may fight me in his fever. The Ring tries to deceive him as to our true intentions towards him, but we must try to find a way through Its veil of lies as soon as possible.” He threw a pointed look at her daughter, a silent request to remove her in case this attempt should scare the young lass.

She bobbed her head in understanding and sent a protesting Elanor from the room with the task of taking Merry a light supper. Bending over slightly, Elrohir placed his hands on Sam’s forehead and closed his eyes in concentration.

At first, he thought he had met with more success than his initial attempt in the Floating Log. The soothing words of his wife seemed to have made the gardener slightly more receptive.

But he soon started to moan and fidget, pulling his arm from his wife’s grip and using both to try and push Elrohir away. Pippin stood up anxiously, ready to grab Rose out the way if his struggles should increase.

Elladan moved quickly over to the bed at the sound of Sam’s movements, carrying the bowl of fragrant water with him and placing it on the bedside table - though it had little effect while Elrohir continued with his efforts.

Indeed, he became so agitated at this prolonged invasion that he began to buck and thrash wildly and Pippin did have to pull Rose away. The gardener’s arms and legs swung in all directions in his effort to throw the interloper off him and Elladan had to restrain his frantic movements.

Sam began to call out. “Liars, Liars! I know you hate me! Let me go.”

“No, mellon nin, we are your friends!” cried Elladan, although Sam was oblivious to him.

“I know you hate me...I‘m not a traitor!' he screamed, struggling furiously as Elrohir’s eyes clenched further shut and his face paled.

Rose was crying in the background, refrained by Pippin from her efforts to comfort her husband in his desperate fight for freedom.

But Elrohir was just as desperate to help him and did not desist in his efforts to reach Sam who continued to yell out, frantic for peace from his apparent tormentor.

“You tricked me...you’re punishing me! I don’t know what you want...I did what I could!” The little gardener began to sob with frustration.

Finally, Elrohir opened his eyes and called for pure athelas leaves to be brought over. Rose broke free from Pippin when he moved to comply and rushed to the bedside, anxious to soothe Sam with her touch but Elladan made her wait until he had been calmed. She stood by helplessly while Elrohir snatched the leaves Pippin offered and crushed them in his hand, breathing on them. The twin Lords of Imladris began to speak Elvish words and Elrohir shoved the broken leaves to Sam’s flaring nostrils.

The heady scent was taken directly to his lungs and very slowly, his struggles weakened until he finally collapsed on the bed in a soaking mass of sweat. His erratic breathing steadied, but his face remained flushed from both his efforts and his fever.

All motion in the room stilled as those around the bed recovered their equilibrium and Rose was allowed to be at her husband’s side once more. Pippin joined the Elven Lords as they withdrew from the bed to discuss what had happened.

“What did you see, muindor nin?” Elladan asked in grave concern.

Elrohir pulled his hair from his face, it having fallen there during his battle to save Sam. “I saw a dark place. I felt the heat of a mountain.” He looked at his brother in disbelief. “I heard the voice of the Ring.”

Elladan and Pippin both looked very alarmed to hear this.

“But when I called to the Ringbearer he turned from me. He resists. He does not trust his own judgement and flees when help is offered. He would not listen to me!”

“Ai! This is ill news indeed” declared Elladan.

Elrohir composed his rattled nerves with a few deep breaths and addressed his companions in a more reasonable voice. “Do not lose faith, gwanunig nin. Samwise may not wish to hear me yet, but he also has no desire to listen to It. And as long as we hold fast to that, then we may hold fast to our hopes of saving him. The Ring is desperate to win Its prize and angry at his continued struggle with It. It cannot get complete hold of him for Sam is proving a more difficult adversary than It had first believed.“

“And so It tries to shake his faith in us, to hamper our efforts to assist him and give It more time to claim victory.” finished Elladan, face tightening with anger.

“Indeed.”

Pippin was very disturbed at this unwelcome information. “Let It try then,” he declared defiantly. “There’s not a Hobbit in the Shire more stubborn than Samwise Gamgee and none as loyal either, except maybe Merry who's probably sparing Sam the worry of knowing his daughter saw him in such a way.”

Elrohir finally managed a smile at this. Looking at the Thain he told him that for the moment they must allow Sam to rest and conserve his energy before they attempted to reach him again.

“This will give Merry time to rest as well, for he surely has not been able to do so during such commotion. But when all are fit to be here, we will need everyone to be ready for what will come. Sauron’s instrument will not release Its claim so easily and we will need all of our strength to fight It!”

XXX 

Hannon le - Thank you

Mellon nin - My friend

Muindor nin - My brother

Ai! - Eek! (No joke…)

Gwanunig nin - My twin

Chapter 11

Bag End, 1435 Shire Reckoning

Two hours passed, giving Sam time to recover and allowing Merry some much needed rest before joining them. The sons of Elrond were able to reflect on what had occurred earlier and complete their strategy to free the Ringbearer based on their musings. But the time was now upon them to cease planning and begin their final assault on the memory Ring.

The brothers took their positions, one at each side of the bed. Rose and Elanor stood nearest the window, looking deceptively small and delicate. But they nodded firmly at Elladan when he looked their way. They were clearly determined to act when instructed for they wanted their husband and father returned to them. Merry and Pippin, standing in front of the bed, were no less nervous. But they had each faced true evil before and would not be cowed by a mere imprint when one who was dear to them was under such threat.

Elrohir addressed the four Hobbits. “Elladan and I shall now begin our descent into Samwise’ mind. He may become distressed by this, as he did earlier, but you must not take any action to intervene on his behalf at this time regardless of how disturbing you find his struggles. Meriadoc, I would have you and your cousin restrain him should it become necessary, but do no more than that.”

Both Hobbit Knights confirmed their readiness to carry out his request and Rose gripped her daughter's hand in comfort, for Elanor had yet to see her father's wild struggles - although the lass was prepared to stand by him no matter what happened.

“We should have more success with this attempt as there will be two of us participating. When we have reached Samwise we shall have to use all of our resources to make him listen to us. This may take some time, so you must all be patient, for the Ring will do all in Its power to hold him fast. If we can convince him that we mean him no harm - that It is attempting to deceive him as to our true intent - it may give him hope.”

Four Hobbit heads nodded at this and Elladan spoke next.

“As soon as he shows any indication of taking this first step towards liberation, the Ring may become more desperate in Its attempts to belay him. This is when your services will be of great import. I will ask you all to begin talking to him in turn of joyful things; memories of warmth, shared experiences, his children - anything which may help him on his path to us. He will not hear your words, he will not see you - but he will feel your love and this will draw him away from Its grasp and back to us all.”

“Are you sure this will work?” asked Rose anxiously.

Elrohir answered her. “Do not fear Mistress Rose. The Ring may be powerful, but It is one and we are many. It cannot sustain Its assault indefinitely against such a united front.” The Hobbitess was reassured by these words and all in the room fell silent as the brothers turned to Sam and placed their hands on his head.

The fellowship began their quest and the fight for Sam commenced.

XXX

Sam was hiding from the One Ring again, but he could feel It searching for him. Why would It not leave him alone! He was fatigued by their many confrontations and wounded by Its words of hate. He needed time to recover but finding a place to retreat to was becoming more difficult with every encounter.

And more recently he was being further tormented by a new threat. An Elf had been here earlier, making demands of him, trying to confuse him with kindness and fervent entreaties to join him. What was going on? Sam knew he was already being punished by the Firstborn for his failure to save Frodo: they had inflicted him with a Sea longing he could never hope to fulfil. So why torture him further? It could serve no purpose!

Was his mind not his own anymore? Should he expect anyone with the ability to enter it to pop up at will? Did he not even deserve the right to his own thoughts?

Leave me alone, he thought. I won’t bother you none if you don’t bother me.

And now the Elf was coming again, Sam could feel the Light from his presence. But wait, there were two of them this time! Could he fend them both off? One had been bad enough while trying to keep the Ring at bay at the same time. This was becoming more and more impossible!

“Go away!” he yelled at them, angry at the intrusion. “I’ll not listen to your lies, so you might as well just turn around and leave me alone!”

He tried to block their advance, shouting at them to leave, accusing them of trespassing where they weren’t wanted, attempting to push them away through sheer force of will, but to no avail. Their combined Light was too strong, it invaded his refuge and left him open to their attentions. They were here and he could do nothing about it except try to ignore them. They might leave if he didn’t respond to their words, though his previous experiences made him doubt it. Their strong presence would undoubtedly attract It and then he would face an assault on two fronts! Sam wanted to scream in anger at the unfairness of it. Was this the reward for his failures? He didn’t think he could stand it!

Sure enough, the Ring followed swiftly in the wake of the Elves and Sam cowered further in his once dark place in a futile attempt to evade It.

Who are you? How dare you enter this place! Remove yourselves at once, favoured spawn of the Valar!

The little gardener almost wished It luck - if It could get rid of them, he’d only have to concern himself with trying to get rid of It.

“Begone, foul Instrument!” Sam heard one of them reply. The voice was vaguely familiar, but he could not remember to whom it belonged and he didn't care enough to try and establish the identity of its owner. It was the voice of an Elf and Elves scorned him, he realised this now. That was all he needed to know.

But hide as he may, he could not prevent himself from hearing the heated argument between the two Elves and It.

What business have your kind here? he heard the Ring demand.

“Our business is none of yours. Leave this place and this gentle Hobbit.”

Gentle Hobbit? It laughed in disbelief. You are surely not referring to the halfwit who has the impudence to defy me? He will be mine and you cannot prevent this!

Sam’s jaw clenched in anger. He may have failed once before, but he had never belonged to It and never would! He’d die first!

“Do not speak such words, vile trinket! Your lies are not welcomed by us,” said one of the Elves.

Lies? I do not lie...is that not so Master Halfwit? It was addressing him directly now. No use in hiding anymore.

You know the truth of my words even if they do not.

“Leave me alone!” cried Sam. He did not want witnesses to his shame.

“Samwise, it is I, Elrohir of Imladris. You must not listen to It for It will deceive you.”

Elrohir of Imladris? That was the Lady Arwen’s brother! The other must be his twin, deduced Sam. He did not know why they had come. He’d hardly ever spoken with them during his time in Rivendell and he’d been stuck in the real Mordor with Frodo when they were fighting at Strider’s side.

He could feel the Ring’s pleasure at this revelation and wished It couldn’t read his thoughts.

Indeed, Master Halfwit. Why are they here and not your upstart King? It is because Isildur’s heir does not wish to be - but neither can he ignore your distress. What would his people do if they knew he had left one of their precious Saviours to wallow in misery? They would turn on him! He must make it look like he cares in order to prevent an uprising! So he sends his Elven slaves to do what he himself finds distasteful!

“Untruths and deceptions! It lies to you Ringbearer, do not pay heed to Its words!” declared the other Elf.

I speak only the truth Halfling. If you had been the Baggins whelp, Gondor’s Usurper would have arrived long ago. But you have deprived him of the opportunity to ever see his beloved Frodo again! You are the lesser half of the remaining whole, all who knew your Master know that!

Sam covered his ears at Its diatribe. He didn’t want to believe what It said even if he could see some reason in Its argument. Of course Mr Strider would have come for Frodo. That was as it should be! Frodo was the Master, he was the servant. Frodo was special, he drew people to him and commanded loyalty without ever asking for it. It wouldn’t be right to expect a great king of Men to come all the way to the Shire just to hold a gardener‘s hand when he was feeling a bit under the weather. He would not listen to It!

But he remembered some of the visions It had presented him with and knew It had been at least partially right before. He rubbed his aching head.

“Samwise, Aragorn would never desert you,” insisted Elrohir.

Then I ask again: Where is he?

Mayor Sam did not want to hear any of them. They were all trying to confuse him! He was so hot, his head hurt and they were too loud. “Just leave me alone, all of you!” he yelled.

“No Master Gamgee! We will not leave you to this fate. You are loved in your own right. Your family needs you to return to them. Your friends are diminished without you. You must have faith in our words Mellon nin.”

Friend, you call him! He knows he is not your friend and that you are not his, gloated the Ring.

“What mean you by this?”

But It refused to answer.

“Samwise? What falsehoods has It told you? You must know we are all your friends - how can you doubt this?” asked one of the Elves.

Sam wished they wouldn‘t speak to him, but they persisted until he was left with no choice but to respond. “It told me things I didn’t realise before. It told me I failed Mr Frodo ‘cos I didn’t stop him from falling to It, that it’s my fault he’s gone. It told me that my friends think I betrayed them by not bringin’ him back whole!”

Tears tripped down his cheeks at the loss of Frodo, the pain he had caused everyone because of it, and at having to admit his faults to people he‘d once thought he could trust - who might now mock him. “It says lots of things and I don’t want to admit the truth of any of them, but It makes a sort of sense.”

Of course I do, sneered the Ring.

The Elves were horrified at these revelations and the smug crowing of the Ring that they produced.

“It makes no sense Samwise! It seeks only to cloud your mind and turn you from us,” the Elven visitor - Elrohir perhaps? - said. “You did more for Frodo than anyone would have believed possible. He survived the Quest and its aftermath and now has solace from his tribulations. Frodo is dearly missed, but all know that he lives and now has comfort because of you!”

Elrohir was drawing closer, much to the anger of It. He knelt before him and Sam finally saw his face. Clear grey eyes regarded him in earnest and the gentle voice of the graceful being fell on his ears. “It seeks to bewilder you Mellon nin. It desires this one victory because you helped to thwart Its Master and now It has no realm to rule but the kingdom of your mind. No one carries the Ring without consequence, you know this. You saw yourself how It affected Frodo. Do not let It have Its vengeance on you.”

Sam looked on the fair face of the Elf, heard the plea in his voice and struggled with his own confusion. He had seen what It did to Frodo, but that had been partly his fault because he didn’t stop It, hadn’t it?

The Ring was enraged at seeing this. They entreat you to follow them, use pretty words and name you ‘friend’ , but do they really mean them? No! They scrape at your feet because they have been ordered to by their betters. But they hate it!

Elrohir did not let his gaze waver from Sam’s brown eyes and now Elladan joined them both, kneeling so that the Ringbearer could see the honesty on his countenance as well.

But It would not give up. It focussed Its attention on the two interlopers who were attempting to steal Its prize.

Coddlers of trees! You are too forgiving of such a pathetic creature, for his actions have ensured that your fickle sister deserts you forever. This should anger you! And his victory at my Master’s expense has also made it imperative for the Elves to leave Middle Earth, for you cannot remain here now with the Elven Rings gone as well, surely? You were too reliant on their powers and are now helpless without them. When you leave, the lands your kind fought and died for over many Ages will dwindle and decay; your hard labours all for nothing!

Elrohir’s eyes hardened at these words his fists clenched. Sam tried to step back, horrified that he may have anything to do with the Lady Arwen‘s fate and therefore misinterpreting the gesture, but Elladan put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and said, “Peace Gwanunig nin.”

Addressing the alarmed Hobbit, he continued. “Samwise, the Elves would have left Middle Earth regardless of the outcome of the War. Yes, many of us leave now because our power dwindles and many more will leave in the years to come. But this would have been true also if Sauron had been victorious. The only difference in that event would be that we would not have lingered as long to bid those we love farewell.”

That is because Elves are cowards! You speak of loved ones, yet you would abandon them to their fate in their hour of need? I scorn your false sentiments

Sam yelped in fright as Elrohir rose swiftly, fury in his face, and turned on It. “Desist with your poison, foul thing! You know not of what you speak!”

But It gurgled with laughter at his cries and Elladan stood to refrain his brother from further outburst. “My brother your anger fuels Its strength, you must be calm if we are to succeed in our quest.”

They came back to Sam’s level once more and he eyed Elrohir warily as Elladan spoke to him again.

“Do not be swayed by Its words, Samwise. Our kindred would not have abandoned Middle Earth so dishonourably. If Sauron had been victorious Elvenkind would have been hunted for wicked purposes that are best spoken of no further other than to say that our capture may have brought unspeakable torments to all other peoples. We would not have left you for anything less.”

“My brother speaks truly, mellon nin,” added Elrohir who, Sam was relieved to see, had regained his composure. “As for our sister: Arwen made her Choice long before you were born. It is difficult for us knowing that she will one day accept the Gift of Men, but long has she awaited the fulfilment of her heart’s desire - accepting her place at Aragorn’s side as his wife and Queen. Your part in Sauron’s downfall made this possible and we rejoice that her happiness is complete, for she would have faded - even in Valinor - if she were parted from him otherwise and we could not have borne that.”

Sam saw that he spoke with feeling. The fair brothers looked on him without scorn or hate and his mind grappled at the new clarity it was being afforded. They keep calling me mellon nin. They wouldn’t do that if I were such a bother to them, surely? And if they’re telling the truth, then maybe I was wrong about everything else. His heart began to hope and a golden light began to flicker into existence around him.

The Ring was incensed.

You are a fool if you believe them, stunted one! They lie to your very face and you place your faith in them? Where are your so-called loved ones? The family you treat with so much disdain in your wistful preoccupations of your absent friend? Where are his kin to bless you with their undeserved forgiveness? What of your petty ruler and the rest of your ragtag Fellowship? They are the ones whose presence should matter to you - not these remnant children of a disappearing race!

At the mention of Sam’s family, the memory of the hurt he had seen on his Rosie’s face when his other self had ignored her approach in the garden of Bag End to gaze West came to him and his newborn hope flickered. What right did he have to redemption when he treated his kin in such a fashion? He didn’t deserve their love or forgiveness. Sam hung his aching head in despair.

His despair increased when Elladan quickly stood and departed without a word and the Ring began to mock the remaining twin, flushed with Its seeming success.

You see? Already these feeble ones abandon you, for they know the truth when it falls on their pointed ears!

Elrohir gently grasped his chin and forced his head up. “Do not lose hope, Harthad Uluithiad. All is not as it seems.”

It seems, mocked the Ring, that the Elves hold true to their nature and flee in the face of defeat!

But Elrohir would not make the mistake of letting It goad him into foolish actions again and ignored It, concentrating on Sam’s troubled face. The Hobbit was rubbing his patchy scalp as if it pained him.

Or has your second self gone in search of Isildur’s heir? We may wait a long time for his return in that case!

Elrohir turned his attention temporarily from Sam. “You seem to take a particular interest in the absence of Elessar - why is that?”

It was momentarily thrown by the question and did not immediately respond. But then:

I merely wish to impress upon this worthless one the futility of waiting for his King’s assistance! Who are you to question me thus, faint-hearted lover of trees?

“His King is my brother and therefore I will question you if I wish, it is my right as his kin. Why do you keep referring to Aragorn?”

I have already told you why, vermin of Rivendell! Do not test my patience any further or I will make you rue your impertinence.

“I do not believe that is your true reason. I believe you are angered that Aragorn is not here because you wish him to watch your victory over his beloved friend. You wish to see him suffer too!”

Sam was stilled by this. Could it be? It made sense because Strider laboured to save both Frodo and himself on their return from the Sammath Naur. He wrote to Sam often and even made him a Counsellor of the North Kingdom last year. He wouldn’t have done that if he secretly hated him. And the Ring had kept calling old Strider some nasty names, so It must be angry at him too. Angry that he rules what It thinks rightfully belongs to Its Master.

Lies! I do not deny that I despise the one you claim as brother, but his refusal to rush to his so-called ‘friend’s’ aid speaks volumes, witless one.

“Don’t you speak to him like that,” came the quiet but firm voice of the Mayor of Michel Delving. “I won’t be having it no more!”

Elrohir turned in surprise at this intercession on his behalf and saw Sam wearing a look of silent determination. This was more like it!

The Ring too faltered with surprise.

What did you say to me, Master Halfwit? I grow tired of your continued disrespect.

“My Gaffer always said respect had to be earned, it’s not to be handed out freely like a cup of tea. You haven’t earned my respect, so if my lack of it upsets you then that gladdens my heart!”

The Elven Lord of Rivendell wanted to sing with joy at this. Sam’s Hobbit sense had taken a stance in their battle with the Ring and the cheeky gardener had just given one of the most feared items in creation a sound telling-off! It could not be long now before the battle was won.

This hope was enforced with the return of his brother and the Ring was further thrown by his reappearance. “It is done, muindor nin.” Elladan whispered.

What is the meaning of this, Elf spawn? How dare you show your face here again!

Sam had missed the other Elf’s words as the Ring raged at them and had to put his hands over his ears while It shouted Its affront at Elladan‘s reappearance. But the brothers paid It no heed and he admired their fortitude. Wish I could shut It off so easily, he thought, wincing in pain as Its volume increased.

He felt cool hands on his forehead and a soothing sensation invaded him, easing the hurts of his head.

“Open your mind, Samwise,” Elladan told him with a gentle smile. “Feel the presence of those who love you.”

He didn’t know what Elladan meant. Open his mind? It seemed his mind was already open to anyone who wanted to drop in for a visit, how could he open it anymore? And he didn’t see anyone else here except those already present. But suddenly he was aware of something. He couldn’t see it or hear it, but he felt…something. It approached him like a great wave and enveloped him completely, making him gasp at its intensity.

And he finally felt the presence of those who loved him. He saw the love on his Rosie’s face when they married, heard Merry and Pippin’s laughter at his refusal to dress like a ‘dandy-Hobbit’ at an official Mayoral appearance last year, felt his Elanor’s little head resting on his strong shoulder when she lost a milk tooth after falling head first on the garden path and he had promised to save it for a blessing by the Elves. So much friendship, so much love washed over him that he thought he must burst from the joy of it!

His golden glow exploded further from him, entwining with the silver one of the Elves - his friends. He was not hated or despised. He was loved! His family had come for him, Merry and Pippin were here, he could feel them.

His hope was replenished and the Ring could hurt him no more!

Elladan and Elrohir rose, each reaching for one of his hands which he gave gladly. “Let us leave this barren place, Samwise the Stout-hearted. It is not for the likes of you. Your family awaits us and we must not disappoint them!” Sam’s face glowed with relief and joy. He had found his escape, he was finally going home!

The Ring was undone by this onslaught of happiness and Its futile screams at the trio slowly died as It began to fade and they to return to the bedroom of Bag End.

But not before Sam and the Elven Lords heard Its parting shot.

You may have won this battle, Master Halfwit, but the War between us is not over. I will always be here. Do not forget…

XXX

Sam slowly opened his eyes and thought his blurry vision was deceiving him, for he found himself lying on his own bed in Bag End. What happened? Hadn’t he just went to sleep in Frogmorton? How did he get here? He tried to move his head but found it held in place by some large hands. Very large hands.

He was confused. What in all the Shire was going on?

Those weren’t his Rosie hands and no mistake! He blinked a few times trying to focus his vision so he could at least look up properly and see who his gaolers were, when a distinctly Elvish voice said: “Mae Govannen, Samwise Gamgee. Welcome back.”

His head was released and he saw two identical dark heads bending over him. The light of the stars was in their eyes and the warmth of the sun was on their smiling lips. He felt an inexplicable kinship with them that he couldn’t quite understand.

Wait a minute, wasn’t I just dreaming about Elves? he asked himself. Mr Frodo would laugh and tell him that were nothing new - if he were here!

Suddenly, the Elves moved back as a pack of Hobbits rushed to the bed and descended on him.

“Sam, me dear!” came the anxious voice of his wife, and he saw her pretty face before him, shining with relief.

“Sam-dad! You’re back,” was the yell from his golden-haired eldest child, looking as lovely as the flower she’d been named after.

“Samwise Gamgee!” came the stern voice of...Merry? “Don’t you ever do that to me again! You had me worried half to death! I must have written to half of ...”

But Sam never found out who he’d written to because a green-eyed Thain came bouncing into view, shoving his cousin out of the way. “Oh don’t mind him Sam. He just hates it when someone else is the centre of attention!” was Pippin’s cheeky remark. It earned him a glare from the Master of Buckland.

The Mayor was weak and groggy and not up to much of a conversation with so many people. “Water,” he croaked and Elanor complied with delight, handing the glass to her mother who helped him as he sipped it greedily.

“Not too much at once, Master Gamgee.” He turned his head slightly to the left and saw the smiling Elves. “We do not want to undo all our hard work by having you choke on your first sustenance.”

Sam looked at him rather dubiously. “This isn’t sustenance,” he managed to say. “Now, a nice bowl of mushroom soup and some of Rosie’s fresh baked bread - that’s sustenance.”

“See, Merry, he’s thinking of his stomach less than a minute after waking up! He‘s back to his old Hobbit self already!” cried Pippin, laughing with glee.

The others all joined in with his merriment and Sam leaned back, letting them have their moment. He wasn’t sure what was going on, or why he was so drained, but he was relieved to see his kin and his friends. He had the feeling it had been some time since he had seen them last and as his eyes closed in peaceful slumber, he knew he had some questions to ask when he was fit for the challenge of doing so.

XXX

Mellon nin - My friend

Muindor nin - My Brother

Gwanunig nin - My twin

Harthad Uluithiad - Hope Unquenchable

Mae govannen - Well Met

Chapter 12

Bag End, 1435 Shire Reckoning

Sam awoke late the following morning. The sun was already high in the sky and from the open window he could hear the noise of Bagshot Row’s other inhabitants as they went about their daily lives. He stretched a little - wincing as his muscles protested - and was unable to remember the last time he’d had such a peaceful slumber - though he was very grateful for it. This is how it should be, he thought. Nothing like a good night’s rest, except waking up next to Rosie.

Come to think of it, where was his Rosie?

He looked around the room, searching for his wife, but instead found a tall, dark-haired, grey-eyed Elf sitting in a snug Hobbit chair and gazing at him with a soft smile on his face.

“Good morning, Master Gamgee,” said the graceful Elf in greeting.

Sam was somewhat thrown by the unexpected visitor until he vaguely recalled he had been there earlier, watching over him when he awoke the first time.

He sat up hurriedly, making his head spin slightly with the effort and drawing the concerned Elf to the bed to give his assistance. “Well I never!” the bemused gardener declared as he finally leaned his bandaged head upright against what felt like half a dozen fluffy pillows. “A Rivendell Lord in me own bedroom.”

The slight tinkling of laughter could be heard as the Elf sat back in his chair.

The gardener blushed at his own words. “Forgive me, my Lord. I’m just not used to waking up in such grand company, except that of my Rose of course.” He blushed again, aware the indelicate remark may have caused his guest some discomfort.

But his elegant companion did not seem to be offended. “That your beloved Rose is the first face you see each day is as it should be my Lord Hobbit.”

The ‘Lord Hobbit’ shook his head at the formality of the Elf saying, “Seeing as you are here, in my bedroom and me all dressed up in my nightclothes and such, you might as well call me Sam. None o’ this ‘Lord’ or ‘Master Gamgee’ business. Plain old ‘Sam’s’ good enough for me.”

“Sam is certainly good enough for us all, perhaps too good. But I am honoured that you grace me with such an intimate informality. Allow me to return the gesture and insist that you address me as Elladan.”

The curly-haired gardener mulled this over. “Well, I can try,” he finally announced. “But you’ll have to forgive me if I slip up now and then and call you Mr Elladan or something as I’m not used to being so friendly-like with such grand folk.” He paused, thinking there was something odd about this statement. Elladan’s raised eyebrow confirmed it and so Sam hastily came to the wrong conclusion.

“Oh no! I didn’t mean I wouldn’t want to be friendly with a great Lord like yourself, I meant that I’m not used to my betters taking such an interest in what I myself call ’em.” He sighed. “It seems I’m running out of feet to stick in my mouth, we hobbits only have two you know,” he said shrugging in apology.

“Do not allow my brother to vex you so Mellon nin, he knows exactly what you mean,” came the voice of Elrohir as he walked into the room and stood at the edge of the bed wearing an expression of stifled merriment.

“He takes delight in teasing the unsuspecting and is therefore not your ‘better‘ - a fact your good friend Aragorn would attest to, Master Gamgee.”

“Sam,” chorused the other two together and all three laughed in unison.

“And Aragorn is hardly unsuspecting, Muindor nin.”

“Very well, Sam.” Elrohir bowed at him slightly in acknowledgement and ignored his twin‘s attempt to correct him regarding their foster brother. “How are you feeling on this happy morning?”

“Not too bad all things considering, Mr Elrohir sir. A bit weak and wobbly perhaps, but I’m sort of sitting down just now so that’s not much of a worry.”

The other Elf nodded in understanding. “It may take a few days for you to recover your strength, but I believe that you will mend in time, given the appropriate care. You will need to eat plenty of that good Hobbit food my brother and I have partaken of this day and drink plenty of fluids.” Elrohir poured a glass of deliciously cool water and passed it to Sam as he said this, watching to be certain his orders were heeded.

“Thank you kindly, sir. That did some good! “ Sam said with relief as the soothing liquid ran down his raw throat. “You haven’t seen my Rosie by any chance, have you?”

Elladan answered for his twin. “Mistress Rose has been at your side all night and most of the morning. But your fever is now broken and you were resting comfortably, so we deemed it fitting for her to lay down awhile. My brother was only able to coax her away ten minutes ago to ensure she took uninterrupted rest of her own for we do not wish her to overexert herself in her condition and remaining here may have distracted her from it.”

“That was the right thing to do then, thank you. I hate to be such a bother to folk and to her - especially when she’s carrying the little ’un.”

Elrohir sat down on the bed and took hold of his hand. “You are not a bother to Rose or anyone else Sam, do not think such things. It was our pleasure to care for you when you needed it most and we should do so again, if it were necessary.”

“Indeed,” confirmed Elladan. “What are family and friends for but to render aid when it is needed by their loved ones. It would not have been possible for you to recover from this illness alone and all who are here needed to be in order to allay their own fears and see you returned to health. You would do the same, would you not?”

The Mayor of Michel Delving saw the sense in this. “I wouldn‘t have been able to stay away I suppose. If one of mine had to go through that...”

Shivering slightly, he regarded them with his now clear brown eyes. “Did it really happen? I mean...“ Sam paused to collect his thoughts cautiously and continued. “I remember going to bed at the Floating Log in Frogmorton and then all I know is that I was stuck in Mordor and It was after me - the Ring. It was saying such awful things, showing me awful things. I thought I was going mad!”

“Alas, mellon nin, but it did happen.” Elrohir watched him with regret in his eyes. “We would not have wished you to experience such a thing, but I am afraid it was beyond the power of all to prevent. Had we realised there was such a danger to you we would have ensured that aid came to you long before now in order to limit its severity.”

“Now don’t you be blamin’ yourselves! I don’t see’s how anyone could have realised there was a chance of It trying to hurt me so. I didn’t and I should know better than most - what with havin’ had care of Mr Frodo after the Quest and all!”

“Perhaps. But watching a friend struggle through such trials and recognising the symptoms in oneself are not as easy as you may think.” Elrohir kept hold of his hand as he asked: “What do you remember of your time in that destitute place?”

Sam didn’t want to remember anything but he couldn’t stop the memories from flooding back to him in all their dark glory at this query. He pressed his eyes tightly closed and swallowed thickly, his throat protesting at the action. There was a gentle squeeze of compassion on his hand.

He opened his eyes again. “I was outside the lair of the great spider at Cirith Ungol holding Frodo’s dead body. Then I heard some orcs and hid us both, but I had to take the Ring and leave him in case they found us. I put It on and slipped passed the Tower, crossed into the Black Lands and spent nearly two weeks walking over them, all the while mourning my poor dead Master. But it wasn’t two weeks, was it?” The Elven brothers shook their heads. “Funny how dreams work. It felt like two weeks. I remember what the Ring was saying all those days. I remember every hard rock on my foot, every filthy puddle I had to drink from, the heat off the mountain and the pain of loss…”

Elladan leaned forward in his chair, anxious to ease his distress. “Do not dwell on that now Sam. It is but a memory that never occurred.”

“You’re right, shouldn’t dwell on what never was. Anyway, I was just a few days from the mountain itself and the Ring had been trying like mad to make me put It on, so‘s It could find Its way back to Its Master and all. I wouldn’t do it. But I was so tired and sore and thirsty. One day I just fell and couldn’t get back up and It, It...”

Elladan now joined him on the other side of the bed. “If this is too much for you Mellon nin, we may talk of it later.”

Sam composed himself and gave the Elf a small nod. “No, it’s best I get this over with and lighten my mind. The sun’ll never shine through storm clouds, me old Gaffer used to say and he knew a thing or two or my name‘s not Sam Gamgee!” His friends smiled aat this and encouraged him to continue, so, taking a deep breath, he did just that.

“Well, there I was trying to get the energy to pick myself up and make myself go on, when It pops up again. But this time things’re different. Its not trying to make me put It on anymore - but trying to tell me that I as good as killed Frodo because I left him and he was found by the orcs who tortured him to death. It showed me a vision of him whipped and bleeding and said that Mr Frodo died hating me for leaving him and stealing the Ring.“ He swiped at the tears running down his cheeks.

“At the time I didn’t realise I was dreaming and I believed what It said. It kept going on about how I betrayed him. I was so upset! I called out in Elvish for protection from my sorrows and suddenly I saw things how they really happened - how Mr Frodo’d survived and came back to the Shire with me. But then I remembered that he’d had to leave the Shire or else he’d’ve died and I was upset again, thinking I’d failed him after all. Oh, I know now it's not true an' all, but after that the Ring just kept attacking me, saying as that everyone hated me and that I was no good; that Merry and Pippin thought I was trying to take Mr Frodo’s place and that everyone’d rather have him instead o’ me. An’ I wouldn’t blame them if they did! I’d rather he was here too!”

He was crying in earnest now and didn‘t see his Hobbit friends rush into the room. “Sam! Don’t say that!” exclaimed Merry in a wounded voice. “You never hurt us. Why would you think such an awful thing? We’ve never thought it! You might not be Frodo, but he’s not you either. We'd be lost without you! We’re your friends aren’t we? We wouldn’t lie to you about that!”

Elladan turned to the agitated Master of Buckland. “Peace Merry! He does not speak of what he believes, only of the deceptions of the Ring.”

But Merry was not to be comforted and ploughed on while Pippin tried to soothe him. “But you don’t really think that, Sam, do you? You must know we love you as much as if you were our own dear cousin?” Big eyes beseeched the gardener imploringly.

Sam composed himself for the sake of his friends. He didn‘t want them to suffer any more than they already had, what with the fright he‘d given them recently. “I’m sorry Merry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Of course I know you care - and if it’s half as much as I care about the two of you then I’ll count myself blessed! Anyway, I couldn't ever leave my Rosie or the children.” This seemed to have a positive effect on the elder cousin and Sam was relieved he’d managed to calm him somewhat.

He looked again at the Elves who were eyeing him in sympathy. “I was alone with It for so long; I felt trapped and couldn’t find any way out back to my family. I thought I would surely be there forever trying to escape while It laughed at me.”

Pippin was now clutching Merry and this time he had to be soothed by the Knight of Rohan, but Sam continued.

“And then I wasn’t alone no more. You were there trying to talk to me, but I fought you.” He addressed Elrohir with this. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know any better, thought you were another cruel trick for I’d seen so many already - false visions and such.”

Elrohir told him to think on it no more. “The Ring was doing all in Its power to deceive you Mellon nin, because you would not succumb to It. You enraged It with your continued defiance and refusal to bow to Its will.”

“Hah! I‘ve told you before that you were stubborn Sam! But you never believe me,” contributed Pippin with a ring of pride in his voice and slapping Merry’s back with conviction. Elrohir’s words had obviously pulled him from his earlier horror.

Merry silenced his younger cousin. “Yes, Pip. You’re very clever. Now shut up and let them finish!”

“So,” resumed Elrohir, “It showed you false things in order to convince you that you had been abandoned by your friends. We knew this to be the case before we made the final attempt to retrieve you and also that you may resist us because of it.”

“Yes, well, all I can say is that I’ve never been so happy to see Elves in my life! At first it might not have seemed so,” he said sheepishly, "but you wouldn’t give up. You two are more stubborn than any Gamgee I’ve ever met!”

He heard Pippin snort in disbelief and then yelp as Merry elbowed his stomach, but ignored him. “You didn‘t give me much choice but to believe you, and then when you came back Mr Elladan and brought that wonderful feeling with you... I can‘t ever thank you both enough for what you‘ve done. All of you.” He included the two Hobbits at the end of the bed in this and they stood up straight, puffing out their chest.

“It was our honour and our pleasure, Ringbearer.” The brothers bowed slightly and Sam blushed yet again.

Not to be outdone, Merry said; “Well, it was nothing really, was it Pip? Got you away from the old in-laws!”

“Yes, thanks for that, Sam! But maybe next time you could just invite me out for an ale instead of collapsing all over the place. I could’ve came up with a convincing excuse to leave the Great Smials instead of ripping up half the garden and leaving Diamond in such a panic! I am the Thain you know, I‘ve an image to preserve!”

Sam grimaced at this and the Elven brothers laughed aloud at the thought of Pippin tearing at his plants in a mad frenzy.

“Bet that’s the first time you’ve seen the garden this year,” said Merry knowingly.

“It is not! I’ll have you know I take strolls in it regularly to avoid...I mean to take a breath of fresh air.”

“To avoid whom? The in-laws? Have they really been that bad?” asked Merry sniggering at the rapidly flushing face of the Thain.

“I believe Sam was expressing his thanks for our timely rescue,” said Pippin regally and turned away from his cousin in affront. “It’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re trying to express their gratitude.”

The Mayor decided it was probably best if he saved Pippin any further grief at the moment, so he addressed the sons of Elrond. “Talking of gardens, I was in mine a lot picking athelas to help me sleep better, but it didn’t seem to be working too well in the last few weeks. In fact, it barely lasted me an hour or two in the end. Do you know why that was, sirs?”

Elladan was not surprised to hear this. “Tell me, Samwise Gamgee,” he said in a voice reminiscent of the father who’d chastised him as a naughty elfling. “How long exactly did you require such help?”

The gardener fidgeted uneasily with his bed sheets.

“Well, a few weeks perhaps.”

Elladan raised an eyebrow and Sam suddenly had a vision of Elrond berating Frodo for trying to get up out of bed too soon after his recovery in Rivendell. Elrohir had a similar expression on his face and Merry and Pippin were watching him solemnly.

“Oh, alright then, a few months!”

“A few months! Samwise Gamgee, you foolish Hobbit! What on earth were you thinking to try to keep this from us all this time? Did you think we wouldn’t notice when you dropped at our feet in exhaustion? Do you think Rose and the children don’t deserve to know that their husband and father is poorly? You’re worse than a Baggins!” Merry was building up a fine head of steam and - Sam noted with some resentment - the others seemed to be happy to let him do so, for the irate Master of Buckland was voicing everything they wanted to say.

“All these misplaced notions of sparing others feelings! Don’t you realise you make it worse for us when we find you in the state we did two days ago? Do you know what poor Rosie and Elanor-lass went through when we brought you in here last night, all fevered and kicking and screaming like some mad thing? To say nothing of the shock I got when I found you lying on the floor back at the inn? You didn‘t spare our feelings much then, let me tell you!”

Sam was flooded with shame as he realised just what effect his reluctance to talk had had on his family and friends. “I’m sorry Merry, Pippin. Forgive me, Mr Elladan, Mr Elrohir, sirs, I didn’t mean to cause you all such worry. It was difficult to talk about my dreams back then. I had no idea it would all turn out this way. I’m truly sorry!”

Elladan and Elrohir soothed him with a gentle smile and Pippin had managed to calm his cousin down once more. Merry was looking somewhat contrite himself after his outburst. He came to the bedside and Elladan moved away to allow him to sit, Pippin hovering just behind him. “Alright then, you stubborn old Gamgee. Just don’t do such a silly thing again. I know it’s hard to talk about things sometimes, we both do - don’t we, Pip?”

Pippin’s head bobbed in agreement. “What Merry’s trying to say is that we’re always here for you. It doesn’t matter if you think we‘ll worry, that‘s our right as your friends. We wouldn’t not want to hear your troubles. It’s never a bother to listen to a friend in need. Or do you wish us away when we talk about our bad times?”

“Of course not!” screeched Sam, mortified at the idea of treating his friends in such a way.

“Well then, that’s no different to how we feel. So what makes you think you have the right to spare our feelings when we know you’d want to hear our problems?”

Merry seemed impressed by this argument. “Very eloquent, Pip.”

“Thank you, Mer. I have my moments.”

Sam looked at them with a mixture of fondness and embarrassment at his treatment of them. “Alright. I promise that from now on I’ll talk to you - and Rosie - about what’s bothering me before I ever let it get this far again.”

“With regard to your query about the athelas,” said Elrohir, sensing this to be a good moment to answer his earlier question, “I believe that the duration and strength of your nightmares coupled with the lingering effects of the Ring may have been hindering you from using it to full effect, therefore speeding you towards the unfortunate confrontation with the Ring.”

He regarded the Mayor seriously. “I cannot impress upon you enough that you let your loved ones know in good time if this should ever happen again. The chances of a second such encounter with the Ring ending so fortuitously cannot be guaranteed if you do not. Were it not for the fortunate visit of Radagast the Brown, we may have been too late to save you this time.”

“Radagast the Brown?” exclaimed Sam in disbelief.

“Indeed, mellon nin,” Elladan grinned at his look of delighted shock. “It seems you have the ability to charm even the reclusive from their hiding places.” He explained the circumstances of the Wizard’s visit as Sam listened in wonder.

“By all the stars! Radagast the Brown and his birds...and old Mr Gandalf going out of his way like that to talk to him, just to keep a watch over me.” He blessed his good fortune and promised the Elven Lords he would not be so lax in alerting his family and friends if he ever fell ill again, especially now that he knew of the danger he faced.

“Sam-dad! You’re awake again!” The room was disturbed as the little form of his daughter came flying into the room and landed on the bed, hugging her delighted father.

“Ellie, me lass! Oh I’ve missed you, my little golden flower!”

The others slowly withdrew, happy at the reunion of father and daughter.

Merry and Pippin departed to the kitchen to make Sam a good Hobbit meal and Elladan and Elrohir watched the pair on the bed talking and laughing as if there had never been any danger. It warmed their hearts to see such love.

Then they too left the room, to search for a missing tooth and help Sam keep his promise to the Hobbit lass who’d lost it several years ago.

XXX

Chapter 13

Late Spring, 1436 Shire Reckoning

It was a beautiful Shire morning. Barely a cloud hung in the bright sky and those that did were bowing out gracefully, as if in honour of the procession beneath.

For the Royal Family of Gondor and Arnor had travelled many leagues to see this day. They had taken the Great East Road past Bree the day before to commence the penultimate leg of their journey from the White City. The Old Forest now lay to their left and it was filling the air with the heady scent of woodland trees and rain dampened earth. Elessar breathed deeply of it as he recalled travelling through the forest on occasion in his earlier role as a ranger of the North. But this return brought him in his true role as a Ruler of Men and it would be mere hours before the company arrived at their intended destination: the Brandywine Bridge which led to the Shire proper.

He, Arwen and the young Eldarion had been journeying for several months with a contingent of Royal Guards, Gondorian soldiers and several of the nobility of the Court including Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and his wife Eowyn, scourge of the Witchking. The journey had taken longer than it would had he been alone, but he could not regret this, given the company he kept. All of them were greatly anticipating the reunion with their Hobbit friends and the adults had been hard pressed to stifle the growing restlessness of Eldarion and Elboron, son of the Steward.

“Are we nearly there yet?” asked the Prince of Gondor, eyes shining with excitement at the delightful meeting to come. He rode beside his mother, with Eowyn to his right. Faramir rode to the King’s left, carrying Elboron before him on his high mount.

Undomiel smiled at him. “Almost, my darling.”

“You said that ages ago, Nana! Elboron and I have had one sleep since then and we‘re still not there,” the child exclaimed in obvious frustration. Elboron nodded his dark head in solemn agreement with his friend. He liked the lady Queen very much, but Eldarion did have a point!

“Will we get there before the next sleep?” Faramir’s son asked hopefully.

“Yes, little Princes. Long before then,” came her slightly exasperated reply. Aragorn hid a smile.

Eldarion eyed his mother doubtfully, wondering if she was just trying to make them be quiet again. “How long before?” he asked in determination. “Before second breakfast?”

Aragorn laughed aloud at his son’s Hobbity remark. “Second breakfast is over, little one. We may miss elevenses, but we should be there in time for lunch. Now, does that satisfy you both, impertinent ones? You are as troublesome a pair as certain Knights of my acquaintance!”

He laughed again when Eldarion and Elboron realised who he was talking about and started giggling with delight at his words.

“Really? Like Merry and Pippin?” Elboron had started bouncing in his seat and Faramir had to contain him in case his motions confused the horse.

All at once, the King was overcome with a rather Hobbity feeling of his own. He looked to his left as Elboron’s father finally managed to calm him and said:

“Indeed. As the youngest you would therefore be Pippin and Eldarion would then be Merry.” His eyes twinkled as the boy began to bounce in his seat again and Faramir looked at him reproachfully. His own son was currently extolling to all that his would make him Prince of Gondor, Arnor and a Knight of Rohan while his mother tried to hush him in case his cries of glee alarmed the creatures of the Forest.

Aragorn faced forward again, feeling satisfied. He was quite happy to let the others attempt to handle the youngsters. He’d been left to do it alone last night when they refused to go to sleep without hearing the tale of how he’d first met the Hobbits at Bree - again. Arwen, Faramir and Eowyn had enjoyed an hour of blissful peace at the fire while he had been scrabbling on all fours pretending to be Bill the pony with two decidedly alert lads taking turns on his back and the normally severe Royal Guards stifling laughter at the sight.

His thoughts turned to the upcoming meeting with the Hobbit representatives of the Fellowship. It would be good to see them again! It had been far too long since they had enjoyed each others’ company and so much had happened. Pippin: brave, inquisitive, mischievous and ever hungry - now married and a father himself. He couldn’t wait to see this! Merry: steadfast, humorous, fearless and as equally ravenous as his cousin - also married and now Master of Buckland. Both of them respectable, responsible members of society! He grinned as he remembered their first encounter. The two Hobbits had been ready to tear him limb from limb because they thought he meant harm to Frodo and now he was journeying to their homeland to see his would-be assassins.

And then there was Sam….

Aragorn’s smile faded slightly as the memory of Elladan and Elrohir’s visit to Minas Anor came to mind. It had been a joyous time for all to see the brothers, but they had brought news to him of the gardener which left him with mixed feelings of relief and trepidation. He recalled Elladan’s words:

“His dream encounter with the One Ring lasted only a day - just as it did in reality - but although the attack appeared acute in nature and of short duration, the very fact it happened at all must alert us to the likelihood it could happen again.”

“Our brother is right Estel. The determination of Sauron’s Instrument to destroy the Ringbearer will not fade with this defeat. Indeed, it will strengthen Its resolve, for the magnitude of Its hatred towards Sam is boundless. It will wait as patiently as It has before for another opportunity - another such moment when his defences are vulnerable - and It will attack him again, with more fervour. If that happens, it may prove more difficult to revive him. The One Ring’s loathing is as intense as Sam‘s will is strong and the insult to Its pride shall not be easily forgotten.”

Elessar frowned in remembrance. He was aware that Frodo’s own illness had grown in severity with each incidence and that the accumulated effect of several had almost killed the gentle Hobbit. He had believed Sam to be safe from such harm. How foolish he had been! The Ring had only been biding Its time, waiting for the right moment to lash out at the unsuspecting gardener. He heard Elladan’s voice in his mind again.

“Its method of destruction differed from that It employed against the Ringbearer Frodo. It did not seem so keen to seduce him. Nay, It sought out that which matters to him most and tried to turn him from them, for It knew that without the love of his family or friends Sam would see no reason to hope. And without hope - the very thing that destroyed It - he would have been lost to us all and the Ring would have had Its ultimate vengeance!”

And then he had been further shocked by what came next:

“The Ring referred to you often, Aragorn. Both during our time in the place It created in Sam’s mind and - from what he later told us - in Its fight to keep him trapped in the Sammath Naur of his dreams. It may hate Sam and blame him for Its Masters fall, but It despises you only a little less for taking what It believes does not belong to you. It yearned for your presence to watch while It destroyed the last Ringbearer for It knows you care deeply for him. Its vengeance would have been twice as potent, had that come to pass!”

Aragorn could feel Arwen’s eyes on him as he contemplated these words. He cleared his head, and smiled at her in reassurance. “All is well, Herves vuin. I was merely lost in thought.”

“Ill thought, by all appearance. But rest your worries Estel. We are almost with our friends and shall have time soon enough to banish our troubles once our hearts have been eased by their presence.”

She smiled warmly at him and he was instantly reassured. His beloved was as wise as she was beautiful. He would think no more on what had happened until after the formal meeting and presentation of the Star of the Dúnedain. Then he would have more opportunity to talk privately with Sam and give him a more personal gift: a gift which may award him some protection from his sleeping foe.

XXX

3 hours later

Samwise Gamgee sat at the King’s table in a large airy pavilion sipping an ale. It had been set up especially for the King and his guests in the clearing to the left of the Brandywine Bridge opposite the Old Forest. But the King and his Steward were temporarily absent, having left to see that the rest of the tents for the large party had been successfully erected and to greet some of the many excited Hobbits who’d come to see them, so the Mayor of Michel Delving was enjoying some time alone at his end of the table to collect his thoughts and mull over the events of the day so far.

It had been a happy morning for the Shire when the Royal Family of Gondor had arrived and greetings on the Bridge had been at first official, then joyous as all the friends embraced and exclaimed at finally seeing each other after the long separation.

His own head was still spinning from the shock of receiving the Star of the Dúnedain, swiftly followed by the embarrassment of having the grand company bowing at his feet! It wasn’t right and no mistake. He didn’t care what old Strider said!

He’d seen the multitude of Hobbits who’d accompanied Merry, Pippin and himself to the Bridge staring at him in awe after that. Life was going to be a bit awkward for a while when he got back home. Good thing he wasn’t due in Frogmorton for several weeks - Farlibar, the nervous cook from the Floating Log who had assisted with preparation and delivery of the roasted meats and other food for the welcoming feast - almost collapsed when Sam approached him afterwards to direct him to the cooks’ tent with the heavy trays.

Still, at least Elanor was happy. He looked towards his eldest who was sitting next to Arwen at the further end of the table with all the Hobbit wives clustered around them. She was gazing at the beautiful Elf in adoration. His daughter, a maid of honour! Rosie had beamed with pride when the lass curtseyed to the Elven Queen and presented her with a posy of fresh spring flowers from the garden of Bag End back on the Bridge. Arwen was enchanted by the lass with her sweet manners, golden hair and ethereal beauty and had promptly claimed her as a companion of the Queen.

He scanned the area further, wondering what Merry and Pippin were up to. They had left in quite a hurry after the meal ended, which was unusual for them, and Sam thought he’d seen them heading for the tent where the empty platters were being ferried to for cleaning. He was instantly suspicious. Farlibar was there...

“Why the frown, Master Gamgee?”

Sam looked up to see the Prince of Ithilien approaching him and smiled when he took the empty seat next to his.

“Oh, hello Mr Faramir sir. I was just wondering what trouble the Thain and the Master of Buckland were getting themselves into now. It’s not like them to rush away from any table so fast when there’s even a scrap of food left.” He indicated the remaining apple tarts to his left.

The Man smiled at this. “You are quite correct, my friend. I saw them a short while ago entering the cooks’ tent. Perhaps they are looking for more of those delicious baked mushrooms we had earlier?”

The gardener groaned as his suspicions were confirmed. They had gone to tease the nervous cook from Frogmorton! His companion raised an eyebrow in question. “I doubt it sir. Them mushrooms would’ve been eaten long ago, what with this many Hobbits present. I think they’re more likely to’ve gone in search of a victim...”

He ran a hand through his curly hair, which was still a bit short but more even now after the trimming Rosie had given it for the occasion. At least he had his healthy Hobbit stomach back, he could wait for the hair a bit longer.

“Ah, I see. Any victim in particular?” asked Faramir.

“No one you’ve met yet, sir. And if those two are allowed to annoy him much more, you may never get the chance to.” Then an image of the cook, flushed and clutching a tray back at the Floating Log came to mind. He’d been sure Farlibar had been ready to take a swing at Merry with it last summer after the riling he’d been given. He looked at his companion. “Or maybe we’ll never see them again.”

Faramir chuckled. “Fear not, my brave Hobbit. I have come to accompany you to Aragorn’s tent. Perhaps we may rescue this mysterious fellow from his tormentors on the way?”

“That seems reasonable enough. Will the Queen be joining us, sir?”

“No. I believe she has expressed a wish to introduce the Hobbit ladies to the nobles who accompanied us. No doubt the ladies of the court will also be delighted to see a real Hobbit infant, for your daughter Primrose is captivating.” He nodded towards the end of the long table where Arwen was currently holding the babe and cooing at her while Primrose tangled tiny fists in her long dark hair.

Sam grinned and they both rose and headed outside, leaving the ladies behind to their own entertainment.

They had barely exited the pavilion when a loud crash was heard to their right and, alarmed, both looked across to see Merry and Pippin rushing from the cooks’ tent liberally dusted in white powder. Sam shook his head. Trust a Brandybuck and a Took!

“It appears we were too late, Master Gamgee,” quipped the Steward in some amusement as their friends spied their approach and attempted to appear nonchalant and guiltless.

“What’ve you two been up to?” demanded Sam when they caught up to them.

“Oh, hello, Sam, Faramir.” Pippin nodded at them while brushing off his fine green jacket.

“We just offered to lend a hand with the washing up,” his cousin added, trying to be dignified despite his snowy appearance.

“Since when have you ever offered to lend a hand in a kitchen?” asked the Mayor in disbelief.

Merry looked affronted.

“Technically, it’s not a kitchen. It’s a big tent with buckets of hot water and a lot of dirty plates,” the Thain offered sagely. “Granted, there’s an area for the preparation of food - but the food we ate was already cooked when it got here, so you can’t count that really...” He faltered at Sam’s glare. “What? Why are you looking at us like that?”

“Did you to go in there to tease Farlibar again?” Sam was not letting them off that easy.

“Who’s Farlibar?” Merry queried innocently.

The gardener rolled his eyes at the obvious attempt at ignorance. “Oh you remember him good an’ well Meriadoc Brandybuck. If I hadn’t shut you up he’d’ve clobbered you last summer when we were at the Floating Log.”

“Oh, that Farlibar. You mean he was in that tent? I didn’t recognise him. Did you Pip?” The Thain shook his head. “No, sorry Sam. One cook looks much like the next. Anyway, we were only trying to help. It’s nice to be nice.”

“Is it the custom in the Shire for help to be rewarded in such a fashion?” Faramir asked with a hand over his lips. Sam frowned at him. Was he smirking? Those two would never learn to grow up if they got such encouragement.

“Not normally, no,” answered Pippin. “We tripped over a sack of flour on the way out, that’s all.”

“Flour? I thought there was no food being prepared in there? You said everything was already cooked when it arrived.” The little gardener had his hands on his hips now as he faced them in accusation.

“I know!” Merry exclaimed triumphantly. “So imagine our surprise when we fell over it! But apparently they‘ll be making spiced fruit bread tonight and are just waiting for other supplies to arrive.” He glanced at Pippin knowingly. “Of course, now they might need more flour too.”

Sam regarded them dubiously, but they straightened themselves after clearing most of the powder from their clothing and stared back in wide-eyed innocence. “I’ve a good mind to go in there and make sure everything’s like you say it is,” he threatened, but Faramir interceded on their behalf.

“I am sure all is well, my friend. Aragorn will be expecting you any moment now and we must not keep the King waiting.”

His ploy worked, for the dutiful Hobbit would not want to test the patience of a monarch while he investigated a mishap in the cooks’ tent. The foursome made their way hastily to the Royal abode, Merry and Pippin casting grateful looks at the Steward as they walked.

As they reached the grand white structure - which flew the standards of both Gondor and Arnor - Faramir stopped the younger Hobbits and bade them follow him to procure a change of clothing.

“Oh, Aragorn won’t mind. He’s seen us worse than this. Remember Midgewater Marshes Merry?”

The Knight of Rohan shivered in disgust. “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you Pip. Anyway Faramir has a point. If Estella and Diamond find out we presented ourselves before the King looking like this, our lives won‘t be worth much, regardless of the fact that he’s also our friend!” He grabbed the reluctant Pippin’s arm and they followed Faramir while Sam passed the Royal Guard without challenge and entered the King’s tent.

Its sole inhabitant rose from his seat and greeted him warmly. “Sam, my friend. I am glad you are here.” Sam took the chair opposite, admiring the beautiful furnishings and marvelling at how the sleeping and bathing areas were cleverly sectioned to afford more privacy for the occupants. He was surprised when Aragorn poured them both a very Hobbity cup of tea and handed one to him.

“I didn’t know you drank tea Mr Strider sir!” he declared in astonishment.

Aragorn smiled at him. “I partake now and again of it, usually during supper times. It reminds me of my friends in the Shire and makes me feel close to you all. Of course, I have found it is slightly more palatable with a dash of milk and honey.”

Sam’s face scrunched in revulsion at the thought of ruining a perfectly good cup of tea with these additions, but at least his friend was making an effort to appreciate the favoured beverage of Hobbits, so he smoothed his expression and tried to answer diplomatically. “Oh, right, well...er…that’s right nice of you to…eh…think of us like that.”

The former ranger laughed at the response and Sam thought perhaps it was good he was a gardener and not a grand official of some sort. His face was an open book.

He took a sip of his own (black) tea and relished the bitter taste. Not as good as his Rosie’s, but not bad. Perhaps there was hope for the Man after all. “It’s good to see you again though, sir. I haven’t half missed you all these years.”

“And I have missed you too Sam. Where is your lovely wife and the children?”

“Oh, they’ve all gone off to meet the ladies of the court and show off the baby with your lovely wife and child.”

Aragorn grinned. “’Course, I expect they’ll put the other little ’uns down for a short rest first and no doubt try and talk the little princes into joining them, but if I know young lads, they’ll not be happy about it; not with so much to see and all.”

“I have no doubt you are right, as usual, Master Gamgee,” Aragorn said.

The Mayor squirmed in the big chair that was built for Men, not Hobbits. “Well, I don’t know if I‘m always right.” He took another sip of his tea to avoid the speculative gaze of his friend.

“I believe your Rose is expecting again?”

“Yes sir. With five lasses and four lads already, Bag End’s getting a bit cramped and no mistake! Still, they‘re good children and listen to their Sam-dad and Rose-mum for the most part. I wouldn‘t be without them for anythin‘.”

He recalled the events of the previous summer as he said this, dwelling particularly on the vision where he’d looked West and ignored his wife and his real self had seen the hurt in her eyes. He found it difficult to live with that knowledge. The Sea longing had been part of him for years now and to know that his momentary lapses might wound his family was like a hot iron to his heart.

“Sam?” He looked up and saw Aragorn regarding him with concern.

“Oh, I’m sorry, just lost in thought for a moment there.”

Strider smiled in understanding. “I know the feeling. I had such a moment this morning.”

“You did? I expect we all get them now and again.”

“Indeed. For my part, I had been thinking about the visit from my brothers late last summer.”

Sam brightened at the mention of the noble Elven Lords.

“They told me they’d be coming to see you before they left the Shire. Did they stay long?”

“They remained until our departure North and accompanied us as far as Rivendell,” Aragorn replied.

“That must’ve been nice. No doubt the Lady Arwen was happy to see her kin again. And no wonder, for they’re two of the best people I’ve ever met - even for Elves!”

He blushed at the enthusiasm in his voice as Aragorn laughed heartily.

“I am sure they would be honoured to hear that you hold them in such high esteem.”

“It’d be hard not to, seeing as they went to so much trouble on my behalf when I was so...poorly.” He brought the cup to his lips again, trying to replace the memory of his illness with the taste of the warm liquid within. He was not inclined to talk about what he’d went through that summer, but after the letters he’d received from Aragorn upon his recovery and then discovering he’d be coming to the Shire, he realised that such a discussion was inevitable. It was probably why he was here - alone - with him.

“Elladan and Elrohir described to me in some detail what occurred during this illness you suffered.”

Maybe I am right all the time, Sam reflected ironically, looking at Aragorn as the Man leaned forward in his seat, elbows on his lap and hands clasped before him.

“I feel I owe you an apology Sam. I had known that you may suffer some remnant unpleasantness due to your time as Ringbearer, but I had no idea you would be subject to such trials because of it.”

The Mayor was disturbed to hear his fellow adventurer might blame himself for something beyond his control. “Oh no Mr Strider sir. Don’t be saying that! You’ve nothin’ to apologise for. How could you have known when I didn’t even know it myself?”

“No Sam! This is different.” Aragorn's voice rose slightly as he said this and he stood, pacing the length of the tent before pulling his chair next to Sam and retaking his seat.

“All my life I have known what my destiny was and for many years I delayed acceptance of it - not because I feared it - but because I was unwilling to believe that such events would occur during my lifetime. But even though I did not follow my intended path in youth, I still retained knowledge of our enemy and his ways and had been fully informed by my Ada of the evil of Sauron’s Ring. I knew It was intimately connected with the fate of my own ancestors; of the lure connected with It that drew Isildur to his doom and could thus force me one day to face the enemy whether I believed such a thing possible in my time or not. Eventually, I came to see that facing the inevitable with conviction would be more beneficial than trying to deny its likelihood.”

Sam was spellbound with this narrative and did not interrupt.

“For years I roamed with the rangers of the North, trying to find word of Its whereabouts and one day we captured Gollum. He was a mad creature! Hissing and cursing and screaming for his Precious. I knew then what he was referring to. He had found the Ring and then lost It, which meant someone else could have It. But who? We took him to Mirkwood to detain and question him, but he refused to give us further knowledge of Its possible whereabouts and he eventually escaped the Woodland Elves’ custody. When Gandalf later asked me to meet him at the Prancing Pony I knew he must have word of It - but instead of him, I met four Hobbits, and the One Ring was finally found!

“I was anxious to bring you all to Rivendell as soon as possible, especially as Gandalf appeared to be missing. During our journey there, I saw what It did to Frodo. That gentle soul was being tormented by the very thing that was threatening all our lives and it was distressing to watch. As the months passed and we became closer to each other, the pain grew more intense as Frodo fought Its influence with each beat of his heart. I saw how affected you were by his agony: your despair and helplessness at being unable to intercede on your friend’s behalf - your patience and loyalty to him. I know that you fought as hard a battle as he did, trying to keep him with us and remind him of why he carried on despite his pain. But even though success was finally ours, we lost the battle to keep him with us and you lost your heart‘s brother. That was the power of the Ring.”

Sam didn’t want Aragorn to dwell on his dark memories and tried to lighten his mood. “We were all fighting to save him Mr Strider. And we all did in the end. Just because he’s not here, doesn’t mean we lost. He’s healed and happy now. That’s what we fought for too, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my friend, of course it is. But I am trying to explain that I knew more than most the power of the Ring and what It could do to anyone that had contact with It - regardless of the duration. I should have known that you would always live with the threat of Its malice. Instead I laboured all these years under the false illusion that you would remain well.”

“Please don’t blame yourself Strider! I doesn’t matter what you think you knew, even the wisest doesn’t know everythin‘. Look at Mr Gandalf, for instance. Did he know old Sharkey was really plotting against us all? No. So for years he shared information with him, believing he was on our side and that nearly ruined everythin‘! But you can’t blame Gandalf for that, ‘cos even he can’t be everywhere at once!” He held Aragorn’s eyes, trying to convince him of the truth of his words and was rewarded with a soft smile.

“Thank you for that Panthael. You are more forgiving of me than I am of myself and there is much wisdom in your words. I will try to curb my self-chastisement, for your sake.”

“I’d rather you did it for your own sake, if it’s all the same to you sir. You have nothin’ to apologise for. And I’m well, for the most part. I have my Rosie and the children and a wonderful home. I have the best friends in all Middle Earth and no mistake! How could I not be well?” Aragorn was staring at him intently again.

“Alright then, so I wasn’t very well last summer, but that’s the first time that’s ever happened.”

“I am happy to hear that you remain well - for the most part - but what concerns me is why the Ring was able to take such a firm grasp of your mind at all. Is it true that you suffer annual reminders of your time with it Sam?”

The gardener nodded reluctantly. “But that’s only nightmares and they’re usually gone in a week or two, so don’t be worryin’ about that!”

“Still, these would have been ideal times for It to strike at you - the fact that it took so long for the Ring to manifest Itself only shows that It is patient and willing to attack you when you believe yourself secure in your environment. This unfortunately means that It will always pose a threat to you, so you must always be on your guard. You must not hide your pain from your wife or friends again. This will make you vulnerable and allow It to work Its evil spell upon you once more.”

Sam nodded. “I know that now, Strider. I won’t keep my troubles inside again. I couldn’t even if I wanted to for Rosie and the children are always keeping an eye on me and Merry had us all over at Brandy Hall in March so he could keep an eye on me too. Pippin brought Diamond and little Faramir-lad over as well so the place was fit to burstin’ and I couldn’t get a moments peace!”

A wide grin spread over Aragorn’s face at this. “I must thank my friends then, for taking such good care of you. And I am delighted that Mistress Rose will not have the worry alone of ensuring your well-being. But I have something else that should ease your heart further.” He put his hand in his shirt pocket and pulled out a silk pouch, handing it to Sam.

Sam eyed it in confusion. “What’s this then?”

“Open it and find out.”

He obediently loosened the strings at the mouth of the pouch and turned it upside down, allowing the contents to drop onto his hand. It was a small crystal hanging from a mithril chain. The crystal bore the colours of the Shire combined - grass green and summer sky blue - and it exuded a soothing feeling as he held it.

“It is called the Astaldomir,” said Aragorn and took it from his hand to place the chain over his head. “It is a mixed crystal with healing properties that will aid you should you ever need it. It has been further blessed with the protection of both my brothers and Arwen, and I also spoke some words of comfort over it.”

Now that the crystal lay directly over his heart, Sam could feel its effect more keenly. He felt warm, light and clear-headed. “I don’t know what to say sir, this is too much. You shouldn’t have went to so much trouble - you’ve already given me that lovely Star of the Dúnedain and I still feel funny about accepting a thing that should rightly belong to the rangers. And now this.”

“The Star of the Dúnedain is with its rightful owner and my fellow rangers agree. But that was an official gift of thanks from your King for your deeds and our deliverance. The Astaldomir is a gift from your friends to aid you when your own need is great and we are not within easy distance to assist. Its name means ‘Valiant Jewel’ - a fitting title given its stalwart owner. It was crafted especially for you and will ease your discomfort until such time that you must leave us for good - and I hope that day is long years from us yet.”

The Mayor was quite overcome at Aragorn’s thoughtfulness, but then frowned in confusion as the final few words sank in. “What do you mean ‘leave us for good’? You don’t mean…”

“I speak of when you join Frodo in Valinor - I thought you were aware of this. I was led to understand he informed you of such at his own departure.”

Sam’s mind was in turmoil. Would he really have the chance to see Frodo again after all? He knew that most of what the Ring told him during his entrapment was false; that the visions he’d seen were manipulations. But he couldn’t deny his momentary lapses when the Sea longing came over him. Was it right to long for his friend if it was at the expense of his family? He had been torn about this since his recovery and finally came to the decision that as he’d never had confirmation regarding his possible journey to Valinor from anyone else - and he didn’t like to ask because it would seem like a betrayal of Rosie - then he would accept his life here and try to dwell on it no more. It hurt that he wouldn’t see his greatest and dearest friend again, but he had to be realistic and his distractions with the Sea were unfair on those who loved him here, so he‘d tried to stifle them.

Anyway, Merry and Pippin had never had the hope of Valinor to cling to and although they missed their beloved cousin keenly, they managed well enough otherwise. If they could do it, so could he.

But now, hearing Aragorn’s words, he was confused again and didn’t know what to say, so he hung his head despondently.

“Sam? I thought you knew of this. What is wrong, my friend?”

Sam raised his head and to his shame found his eyes were hot with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Mr Strider! I don’t mean to be ungrateful. I did know. But when I was ill the Ring told me it wasn’t true ‘cos only the Valar could grant it, not Mr Frodo. And then when I got better I thought it might be true because the Ring had lied so much before and now I don’t know if I can accept such an honour at all because it might hurt my family if I choose Frodo over them!” Tears slowly rolled down his cheeks and he wiped them away furiously as Aragorn laid a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

“You are not choosing one over the other Sam; you shall have the pleasure of both. The years with your loved ones stretch out before you and you have every right to enjoy them. Your Rose will be with you for the rest of her life, your children will grow in a time of peace and security because of your efforts and you will know the joys of seeing your grandchildren.”

“But I don’t want to wound Rosie any more when I look West. I don’t want her to feel like I’m just whiling away the time here ’til I leave, it‘s not fair on her!”

“Sam, look at me.”

The gardener complied, embarrassed at breaking down but unable to stop himself.

“I met the Lady Rose at the Bridge and from what I saw, she is not the kind of person who would begrudge you a moment of contemplation. You must know this. She is fully aware of what you carried and saw Its effects on Frodo. She helped nurse him when he was ill. He was her friend too and that he could not remain in Middle Earth because of his sufferings is doubtless painful for her as well. The thought of you one day being alone and vulnerable to It without her to anchor you would be most distressing to her. But she is spared that, for you will not be alone should she pass before you. She has the comfort of knowing that you may sail across the Sea to be with the only other person she would trust with your care: Frodo.”

Sam let this sink in as Aragorn reclined once more in his seat. He’d never thought about it like that before. Rosie had loved Frodo, had cooled his brow and mothered him through his anniversaries - fighting alongside Sam to keep him there, but it wasn’t meant to be and she had been upset that her friend couldn’t live with them in Bag End any longer. Of course she wouldn’t like to think he might suffer in anything like the same way.

He gave a tentative smile. “I feel a bit foolish now, sir. What you say makes sense. It’s just I was all muddled up by the Ring and It was so convincing sometimes…”

“I am sorry you were not spared the ordeal of Its lies Sam. The Ring’s one purpose was to destroy your hope and It would have used any means at Its disposal to do so. But whatever It may have tried to tell you, It cannot change the fact that you may sail when your time comes and there is nothing more to hold you here.”

“So it really is all right then? I mean...I really will see Frodo again?” Sam’s voice trembled with hope.

“Of course. I know this, Arwen knows it - and as an Elf she should know better than I - and we discussed the eventuality with Elladan and Elrohir, for they do not know how long their Daerada, the Lord Celeborn, will stay with them in Rivendell. So it may very well be that you have some very auspicious company when you do journey to the Undying Lands. Besides, you can hardly give the Star of the Dunedain to Frodo if you stay here, can you? And no doubt our friend will be as bashful as ever and hasten to stick it in some travelling pack out of sight as you did before the Lady Rose caught you!”

Aragorn grinned at him and Sam flushed.

“Sorry ‘bout that sir, it’s just...well, you know...”

“That you are self-effacing to the point of frustration and blush at the mere thought of gratitude? Yes, I know.”

The gardener was beetroot now, but at least he had stopped crying.

“So, my friend, now that we have allayed your fears and soothed your worries, tell me: When are we to expect a visit from you and your family in Annúminas?”

“I don’t rightly know Mr Strider. About the same time that you stop tellin’ me off for bowing at you and then turn around and bow to me, I expect.”

The King threw back his head and laughed at the cheeky Hobbit. Sam grinned, feeling much better after their talk.

“Well then, my impertinent Counsellor,” he said, rising to his feet, “I fear that I may have to enlist the help of both my Queen and my Steward to persuade you, for I cannot promise such a thing anymore than you can stop calling me ‘sir,’ it seems.”

Sam rose too and followed Aragorn out of the Royal Tent. “That’s fair enough then Mr Strider. The Lady Arwen may still be busy with the noblewomen of the Court, so it’s best if we look for Mr Faramir first and I’ll be happy to listen to his argument. But I'm not making any promises just yet." His brown eyes were clear again and twinkling with mischief; the Astaldomir rested gently against his chest, infusing him with peace as they walked.

His trials were over for the moment. He had not lost his hope and his family would always be there for him - as he would for them. He had learned that he needn’t pine for Frodo at the expense of them and he was determined not to do so again. They would have the pleasure of each others’ company until he was very old.

And then he would sail.

Sam set his jaw in determination as they approached the Steward of Gondor’s tent. And if that Ring ever tries to make me doubt my loved ones again, It’ll have to try a lot harder ‘cos I know the value of my love now - and the value of theirs. I’ll not let It have Its vengeance no matter what, or my name’s not Sam Gamgee!

THE END

Nana - Mum/Mummy (or Mom/Mommy)

Herves vuin - My wife

Ada - Father

Daerada - Grandfather

Astaldomir - Valiant Jewel (Made from an azurite-malachite)

Author's Note: This was originally planned as a one-shot as I didn’t trust my knowledge of Middle Earth and canon to go any further. Sam’s story had other ideas though, so everything after the first chapter was new territory for me (only having ever written one-shots before this fic). I have tried to be as faithful to the Great Master as I am able to so bear with me if you spot any errors.

I wanted to show the memory Ring's 'hatred' of Sam with this story. As It has no physical presence and has been confined to the mind of a major nemesis for 15 years, wallowing at Its corporeal destruction, I wondered how It may have tormented/punished him. It couldn't realistically taunt him with visions of lost power (which Sam would shun anyway) or pose an actual bodily or psychological threat to his family or friends. so that left me with only one option - having It attempt to usurp his confidence in the status his loved ones held him. I hope the story hasn't come across as being only about issues of guilt due to this (although there is some of that there) - that was not my intent :)

Credit to www.grey-company.org, www.realelvish.net and www.elvish.org which I used to aid me with the Elvish. I probably still got it wrong though, so don‘t blame them. German, I can. Elvish is beyond me.

The Astaldomir is a complete work of fiction, but I used some artistic (ahem) licence because I thought my Sam could use a little extra help. The name is completely contrived from the (very) little Elvish I know, so if it doesn’t mean what I wanted it to mean, that’s no ones fault but mine!

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank all wonderful people who read and especially to those ones who reviewed: Agape4Gondor, Antane, Celeritas, cookiefleck (again), Dreamflower, Larner (also again!), Linda Hoyland, SurgicalSteel.

Those names in bold type sent a review for every chapter and your loyalty humbles me. Some even read this first on ff.net but dropped another review to welcome me here - thank you for that! All of you have made me feel welcome on SoA and your reviews, both compliments and gentle critique, have been much appreciated.

If you want to know what happened in the cooks’ tent, you’ll have to wait for the oneshot…

Adieu

(c) Kara’s Aunty