Summary: During a dark night in the Emyn Muil, Sam remembers.

Disclaimer: All names, places and characters contained herein are property of Tolkien Enterprises, with which I am in no way affiliated. This story was written purely for entertainment purposes, and no money is being made from its writing.

Many thanks, hugs, and Hobbits to shirebound for being such a wonderful beta. If it weren’t for her, then ending to this would be very different from what it is now.

Written for Challenge One at the Tales of the Red Book LiveJournal Community.

Note: Italics indicate a flashback.

~*~*~*~*~

It’s getting late, the sky getting darker and darker, but I don’t even so much as think about going to sleep. It’s during this time of the day that I’m needed most now, especially when the moon is black and the stars are hidden. The demons appear only at night, so I push myself to stay awake, even when it’s not my watch.

Even though Lord Elrond tried, he couldn’t fully heal Mister Frodo or rid him of his demons, the ones that have haunted him since Weathertop. In the light of day, he’s as fine as can be, burdened with the Ring and all. But at night, when he sleeps, I’m reminded of those horrible days between Weathertop and Rivendell, watching him slowly fade away. He’s no longer fading, but the nightmares are sill there.

Just days after leaving Rivendell, he woke up screaming like one of those accursed Riders, waking the rest of the Fellowship in the process, coming near to scaring us witless. Before we even knew what was going on, we were all on our feet, searching for places to hide, including Mister Frodo. He didn’t seem to realize, along with the rest of us, that he had been the one to let out that horrendous screech. It was only after a few tense moments of searching our surroundings that we figured out where the screech had come from.

“There is no Nazgul about,” Aragorn reported after a quick scouting of the area. “The only tracks beside our own are those of small game, and even they are quite old.”

“If a Nazgul did not call out, then what did?” Boromir asked, glancing warily at our surroundings, clearly confused.

“The sound came from within our camp,” Legolas said with certainty, as he had been on watch, “not from without.”

At this statement, all of us who had traveled with Mister Frodo between Weathertop and Rivendell turned to look at him. We had heard him make sounds like the Riders before, though not as loud, when he was fading and becoming one of them.

Mister Frodo was as pale as a clean piece of parchment. “I do not recall making such a noise as the Riders made. I only remember waking to it,” he said

Gandalf leaned on his staff for a moment before dropping heavily to sit on a fallen tree. “What were you dreaming of before you woke, Frodo?” he asked, sounding almost like he was dreading the answer.

“Evil dreams,” Mister Frodo answered, starting to shiver. With the help of Misters Merry and Pippin, the bedrolls were soon arranged behind Mister Frodo. With a gentle shove, my master was sitting in the middle of them, with a blanket placed around his shoulders, me sitting on his left with Misters Merry and Pippin on his right.

“I was dreaming of the days after I received my wound,” Mister Frodo continued, taking no notice of his change in position. “I was dreaming the same dark dreams that I dreamt then.” As if he had just been dropped in the middle of a blizzard while dressed for a hot summer day, he began to shake violently.

“Please, Mister Gandalf, sir, no more questions now,” I pleaded as Mister Merry pushed his elder cousin down gently and covered him with more blankets before burrowing down himself. “He needs rest, sir, not those terrible memories brought up.”

Gandalf nodded wearily before moving to lay himself down on his own bedroll. I crawled under the pile of blankets beside Mister Frodo while Mister Pippin plopped down on the far side of our sleeping arrangement. I was reassured by Mister Frodo’s even breathing and was soon lulled to sleep by it.

The night is getting deeper, but still I keep watch. What I watch for is a mystery to me because there’s nothing alive in these rocky hills but my master and me. But I still cannot let myself fall asleep. I promised myself when we left the Shire that I would protect and look after Mister Frodo, and so I keep watch, my only company being my memories.

“Sam, lad, I would very much like to speak with you at your earliest convenience,” Mister Bilbo said as he passed through the gardens on his way back from the market.

“Well, I’m in between tasks now, sir, so you can speak to me now, if that’s all right with you.”

“Of course it’s all right, Sam,” he said with a smile. Instead of heading into Bag End like I thought he would, Mister Bilbo sat on a small bench beside the rose bushes. Patting the bench beside him, he said, “Come now, sit down, Sam.”

Obediently, I sat next to him, wondering what it was he was up to. For a few minutes, Mister Bilbo just looked at the gardens, like he was appraising them. After a few more minutes, he turned to me.

“The gardens do look beautiful this year, Sam,” he said sincerely. “You’re doing a wonderful job.”

“Thank you, sir, but it’s really my Gaffer you should be complimenting. I learned everything I know about gardening from him.”

“Yes,” he murmured, his gaze drifting over my shoulder in the direction of Number Three. After a second, his eyes snapped back to mine. “That’s why I wanted to speak with you, Sam.”

I kept silent, knowing that Mister Bilbo would get to his point in his own time. There was no point in trying to rush him; it would do no good.

“It seems as if age and a life of hard work are catching up with your father,” Mister Bilbo continued. “I’ve not seen him in the gardens much this year, and when I have, I can see that the labor involved in the upkeep of the property is hard on him. He seems to be in a great deal of pain.”

“Aye, sir, that he is,” I said after a long pause from Mister Bilbo. “He’s worked in these gardens since he was naught but a child, sir, but he can’t do it no longer by himself.”

“I’ve a proposal for you, Samwise,” Mister Bilbo said suddenly. “I’ve already spoken to Master Hamfast about it and he agrees, so I’ll tell you about it. I’ve decided to let your father go from my services.”

I wouldn’t have been surprised if the Gaffer at home could hear my jaw hitting the ground. How was he supposed to support the family if he no longer worked for Mister Bilbo? It was unthinkable that Mister Bilbo would let him go.

With a laugh, Mister Bilbo said, “Sam, lad, please close your mouth. I haven’t quite finished yet. Though you’ve not yet come of age, both Master Hamfast and I agree that you are responsible enough to take on the job of head gardener for Bag End.”

I hadn’t thought my jaw could fall any farther, but I was obviously wrong. My mouth must’ve been open so wide that a wheelbarrow could fit inside. When I regained my wits, I managed to stutter out, “Thank you, sir.”

Mister Bilbo smiled and stood. “Now, my boy, you’d best get back to work before I decide to change my mind,” he said playfully before walking away, laughing all the way into Bag End.

Mister Frodo shifts in his sleep, letting out a pained moan as he rolls onto his left side. It looks like his shoulder is still bothering him, months after Lord Elrond proclaimed him healed. But it seems like the wise old Elf had been wrong. Mister Frodo’s shoulder will probably never heal, leaving him in almost constant pain.

Gently, I reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. My touch seems to calm him as he sighs contentedly and settles down, a small smile upon his face. There was once a time, though, not too long ago, when nothing could settle Mister Frodo, not even my touch.

“Hold him!” Lord Elrond commanded as Mister Frodo began to thrash about. Two Elves immediately obeyed the order, one holding Mister Frodo’s legs while the other was on Mister Frodo’s right, trying to hold my master’s upper body as still as possible.

Lord Elrond was on Mister Frodo’s left side, prodding the stab would in his shoulder. The Elf Lord was intent upon my master, his brow furrowed in concentration.

As Lord Elrond examined the wound, Mister Frodo let out an ear-piercing scream of pure agony. I ran from my spot against the wall and, with the help of a chair, climbed onto the bed by my master’s head. Placing a hand on either side of his head, I tried to hold him as still as possible without hurting him.

Mister Frodo was deathly pale, his skin almost translucent. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were wide open but clouded over, almost the color of storm clouds, not their normal vibrant blue.

I almost let go of him in my shock. Distantly, I heard Lord Elrond thanking me for holding him. But instead of calming him down, my touch only seemed to disturb Mister Frodo, and he fought all the more fiercely against us. Or maybe it was Lord Elrond’s examination of his wound. Or maybe he had faded farther than any of us had thought and could do nothing but fight.

Lord Elrond said something in Elvish and one of the Elves near the door scurried out. He returned only a moment later with Strider, who was supporting a frightened-looking Mister Bilbo.

“Try to calm your nephew, Bilbo, before he causes himself more harm,” Lord Elrond said, never stopping whatever it was he was doing.

Mister Bilbo didn’t move, but kept his eyes locked on Mister Frodo. After a moment, he said, almost inaudibly, “If Sam is unable to calm him, then there’s nothing that I can do that would help.”

With a muttered word, Lord Elrond stopped his ministrations and moved away from Mister Frodo’s bed, but that didn’t stop my master’s thrashing. He continued to try to kick his way free of our restraining hands. His left arm, though, remained motionless.

Leaning my forehead against his so that my tears fell into his curls, I murmured, “please, Mister Frodo, please stop. Please. Lord Elrond is just trying to help you, sir. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He just wants to get that shard out of you so that you can get better. Please, sir, please…”

No matter what I said or how long I spoke, no words seemed to comfort Mister Frodo. He only stopped struggling after Lord Elrond forced some wile concoction down his throat, putting him to sleep almost immediately.

A chill wind kicks up. The small outcropping of rock we’re resting under provides no protection against the wind and soon both Mister Frodo and I are shivering from the cold. I had almost forgotten that it wasn’t fully spring yet, but I guess I had thought it would be warmer than this, being so far south and all.

I move to Mister Frodo’s other side and try to block him from the wind as much as I can. We can’t afford for him to catch ill here. We don’t have enough food and water to be able to stay here while he recovers. He needs to be kept well.

“Sam, it’s only a cold!” Mister Frodo exclaimed as I herded him down the hall towards his room. “I don’t need to be nursed back to health.”

“Aye, you probably don’t, but if you don’t take care of yourself now, you’ll just get sicker later,” I told him. “And if you won’t take care of yourself, then I’ll be forced to do it for you, sir.”

“But Sam, I’ve got things to do,” he protested, digging his feet as best he could into the rug. “I can’t just lie around in bed all day.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but the only thing you need to do is get some bed rest,” I told him, stubbornly pushing him along ahead of me. “And besides, you’ve never got anything to do that’s more urgent than reading a book or writing to relations.”

“But I must get Bag End ready for Merry and Pippin’s visit,” he said, almost pleading now. “They’ll be arriving tomorrow. I must ready their rooms for them and then head to the market to pick up a few things.”

“I can do that as well as you, sir,” I said, forcibly moving Mister Frodo into his room. “Now, sir, you’d best get into your nightclothes while I turn down the bed, or else I’ll be forced to do it for you.” I moved to the bed and got the pillows and quilts just how I knew Mister Frodo liked them. “Anyway, I need to run to the market myself and pick up a few things for the Gaffer and Marigold, so I can just as well pick up what you need, sir. And I can get Mister Merry and Master Pippin’s rooms ready quite easily.”

With a chuckle, Mister Frodo, now in his nightclothes, crossed the room and climbed into his bed. “If nothing else, Samwise Gamgee, you definitely do not lack determination or stubbornness,” he said once he was settled.

“Thank you, sir,” I said. “Now, I’ll be back in a few minutes with some books and a pot tea, and you best not have moved while I’m gone.”

“Yes, Master Gamgee,” he said seriously, though there was a smile on his face and in his eyes.

Mister Frodo is no longer shivering, which seems like a good sign, though he’s still a little cold to the touch. He’s curled up into a little ball, so I tuck his cloak about him a bit tighter, trying to keep him as warm as possible. He looks like no more than a lad right now, almost like he did when we first met.

Being a wee lad of eight, the most exciting thing that could happen to me was being allowed to help my Gaffer in the gardens of Bag End. For as long as I could remember, I had loved plants and soil and it was always a special treat to be able to help tend the best gardens in all of Hobbiton.

I especially loved going up to Bag End because Mister Bilbo would always invite me in for tea, when he would teach me my letters and maybe tell me a tale about Elves. I had a special liking of Elves and Mister Bilbo always did his best to satisfy my never-ending want of stories about those magical people.

All morning, my Gaffer and I worked hard in the gardens. The Gaffer went through and trimmed the rose bushes and weeded the flowerbeds, showing me each type of weed and telling me why it was a weed. He even let me weed a small patch of daisies all by myself. Then we weeded the vegetables and made sure they were getting enough water.

“Come look at this, Sam,” my dad said, gesturing me forward. He stood me in front of him, then pointed to a large green caterpillar on a tomato vine. “That there is a tomato worm. It eats through the tomatoes, ruining them, which isn’t to Mister Bilbo’s liking at all.”

I watched the tomato worm slowly move across the vine towards the nearest tomato. “How do we keep them from eating all Mister Bilbo’s tomatoes, dad?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at him.

“We have to find them all and treat them like this,” he said, picking up the worm off the vine. He then squeezed it slowly between two fingers until green stuff oozed out of it.

“Eew, dad, that’s disgusting,” I said, scrunching up my face in disgust as he dropped the remains of the worm on the ground.

“Now, Sam, I want you to find all the tomato worms and do what I just did to them,” the Gaffer told me sternly. “And no complaining. I won’t always be there to squash your bugs for you.”

“Aye, dad,” I said before moving off among the tomato plants, looking for those worms. I was hoping that my dad had found the only one of the buggers, but I wasn’t that lucky. I found at least a dozen more and cringed each time I had to kill one.

Thankfully, I was done quickly with my messy task and was soon heading back over to the Gaffer, who was checking the tater plants. Just as I reached him, Mister Bilbo appeared from around a bend in the path, whistling merrily.

“Good day to you, Master Hamfast!” he exclaimed cheerily. “And to you, too, young Master Samwise!” The old Hobbit was in one of the best moods I had ever seen him in. “If you wouldn’t mind terribly, Master Hamfast, I would very much like to borrow your son for a while, but not for too awfully long. I’ll make sure Samwise gets his luncheon, and he’ll be back out here to help this afternoon.”

“Of course, Mister Bilbo,” my dad answered, “but he’ll first need to wash up.”

I looked down at myself and realized that I was absolutely filthy. I had dirt up to my elbows, and probably all over my face, and my hands were still sticky with bug ooze. “I’ll wash up right quick, Mister Bilbo,” I said, looking up into his smiling face.

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together once. “Meet me in the dining room when you’re done, Samwise, and don’t bother knocking. Just come right in.” With that, he turned and fairly bounced up the path to Bag End.

I followed after him, but stopped at the door by a washbasin full of water. I quickly washed my hands, arms, and face before heading into the enormous hole. Despite its size, I knew my way around Bag End fairly well and soon I was outside the dining room.

From the hallway, I could hear Mister Bilbo speaking. It was different from when he spoke to himself, so I figured that I wasn’t the only guest for luncheon. I thought hopefully that it might be a Dwarf or a Wizard or even an Elf, but the voice that answered was that of a Hobbit lad.

Instead of knocking to announce my presence, I just walked in like Mister Bilbo had told me to do. The Hobbit that Mister Bilbo was speaking with looked up quickly when he heard me enter. He was probably in his tweens, but he looked barely bigger than me. He was so pale and thin that his large blue eyes shone in comparison to the rest of his face. His dark hair made him seem all the fairer. I thought I must have been mistaken about the voice; he looked so much like I had pictured an Elf to look.

I was frozen to the spot, staring at this Elvish-looking Hobbit. I knew it was rude to stare, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I was totally spellbound.

“Ah, Samwise, don’t just stand there in the doorway, lad,” Mister Bilbo said cheerfully. “Come have a seat.” Tearing my eyes from the other Hobbit, I walked to the table and sat down next to Mister Bilbo. “Sam, I’d like you to meet my nephew, Frodo Baggins.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” I said, rising from my seat and bowing like my Gaffer had taught me.

“Frodo, this is Samwise Gamgee, the gardener’s youngest son,” Mister Bilbo continued after I had sat back down. “I mentioned him on the ride here, I believe.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Samwise,” Mister Frodo said formally, bowing his head slightly.

“Please, sir, call me Sam. Everyone else does.”

“Of course, Sam,” he replied, smiling slightly.

I can feel myself getting drowsy despite all my intentions to stay awake. It seems that no matter how much my mind wants to stay awake, my body want to sleep more. I would get up and move around a bit, but then Mister Frodo would be exposed to the wind again.

It seems like I have two choices: stay awake and watch over Mister Frodo or block Mister Frodo from the wind and end up falling asleep. I wish I could do both, but that’s not possible. After a moment of thought, I lay myself down next to Mister Frodo and pull my cloak tight about my body.

After a bit of maneuvering, I finally find a comfortable position on the rocky ground. Just as I am about to fall asleep, I see Rosie Cotton’s smile and hear her beautiful voice as she speaks to Marigold. Listening to their voices, I fall into a deep, untroubled sleep, a slight smile upon my face.


The End