Chapter Two: Pray For Me

Sam watched his brother with growing concern. Frodo had enjoyed himself enough, Sam thought, at the wedding almost five months previously, but each day he watched him struggle to keep that light alive in him that he had shone with so effortlessly before.

For the first couple months, Frodo’s sleep was plagued by nightmares more often than not. Each night, Sam tucked him in and then handed him a mug of chamomile tea and they talked about mundane things. When Sam assured himself that Frodo was ready for sleep, he got up and kissed that dear brow with a murmured "Sleep well, my dear. I love you."

He saw his brother smile and heard, "I hope you do, too, my Sam. Thank you. I love you, too." Sam returned the smile and then quietly left with the drained mug and made sure the door was part way open so he would be able to hear if he was needed. As he left, the Ring-bearer curled on his side and Sam heard the beginning of the prayer Frodo said every night. "I come sick to the Healer of life..."

Sam did not understand who Frodo prayed to, but he added his own silent plea each night for his brother. He knew sometimes Frodo had to repeat the prayer over and over until enough peace would come for him to sleep at least for a little while. The gardener and guardian rinsed out the empty tea mug in the kitchen and on his way to his and Rose’s bedroom, poked his head into Frodo’s room to make sure he had fallen asleep, marvel at the light from him and then seek his own bed. He fell asleep each night with a prayer of thanks for his beloved wife and dearest brother. He had learned on the Quest to keep an ear open even as he slept for anything Frodo would need during the night.

If the night terrors came too strongly, Sam held Frodo in his arms, sometimes the entire night, as though Frodo was a child who needed the security of a parent’s embrace. Frodo laid on his stomach, ear pressed to Sam’s chest to be soothed by the beat of his friend’s heart. It was sometimes the only way he could sleep and he longed to be held that way forever, but he knew he couldn’t be.

"You said before you would protect me from my dreams if you could," Frodo said the first night he had woken and felt Sam’s arms around him before he was even aware he had cried out. "I believe you."

Even before Sam and Rosie had moved in with Frodo, the gardener had not let up his watch over him. Frodo didn’t know what he would do if he did. It was a balm to his troubled soul to have Sam remain with him. He also kept Arwen’s gem close around his neck where the Ring used to hang and would often reach to finger it. Sometimes he wondered whether he was reaching for it or the Ring, but it soothed him so he told himself it was for it and not the Ring. He wasn’t sure he always convinced himself though. He still heard the Ring’s voice just as clearly as always and the desire for it had not left him. He wondered if it ever would. He didn’t think he could bear it if it never did. When the longing was the worst, he dreamed of the Sea and would wake comforted.

He spent his mornings alone, after breakfast with Sam and Rosie, writing in Bilbo’s book the story of the Ring as he and Sam had lived it, trying to ease the longing that way. He had always been able to write out his frustrations and agonies before and then let them be, the poison drained out of him into the paper, not to bother him again. He was still waiting for that to happen with this deepest hurt. To hear Sam puttering around the house or in their garden always brought a smile to Frodo’s face, though. For a moment the demons that still stalked him were driven away and the Ring-bearer knew he could bear his burden a little longer as long as Sam was always there.

The younger hobbit was happy to have his brother slave away with the manuscript during the morning and kept him to himself, only coming to the study to bring him second breakfast and elvenses and not leaving until Frodo ate to his satisfaction. He had learned early on that if he just didn’t stay, the tray would not be touched. The gardener made sure that his brother didn’t spend all his time in the study, though he knew Frodo had to get it all out somehow and as far as the young gardener was concerned, the sooner the better, but still he put his foot down to Frodo doing anything past luncheon. Then he took his Frodo out for long walks around the Shire and as often as possible Merry and Pippin came as well and the tween was always able to get his cousin to laugh. It was so wonderful for them all to hear that, Frodo himself included. It gave them all hope.

Sam always made it a point to show how the area was prospering, especially where Galadriel’s seeds were planted. He wished privately that the Lady had had something that could heal Frodo just as easily as it was healing the hurts of the Shire. He sometimes saw sad, wistful looks on his brother’s face as they traveled around and wondered if Frodo was wishing for the same thing. His hand was always clutched around the gem Arwen had given and it seemed to help and Sam was grateful for that, but why was it taking him so long to heal? Why, why, why? He had no answers and seeing the worried looks Merry and Pippin exchanged with him and each other when Frodo wasn’t looking, he knew they wondered the same thing and felt just as helpless to answer them.

Something had been burned away from their cousin and friend, some hole left in his heart and soul and as much as they poured all their love into it, they could never fill it up completely for long. But they tried everything they could and for that moment it would be enough. They talked and teased and remembered earlier, more innocent times. They didn’t take their pipes though. Frodo could not abide the sight or smell of smoke anymore. Rosie packed a picnic for them and they ate quietly in some meadow or another. Frodo ate as well as he could, which was still not "proper like" as Pippin had phrased it once, but it was slowly improving under Sam’s and Rosie’s devoted care and enticingly delicious meals. Sam had done everything in his power to keep his brother well on the Quest. Frodo had no wish to mock those loving efforts by not eating as much as he could. They always returned before dark though. Frodo’s love for nocturnal walks had been another thing burned away by the Ring. Sam hoped nothing else would be.

It was during one of those walks that the biggest smile came when Sam proudly announced that Rosie was pregnant.

"Oh, my Sam, that’s so very wonderful!" Frodo exclaimed and it was as though the sun burst out from him in sudden joy. He hugged his brother tightly. "I can’t wait! I promise to be a good Uncle Frodo to them all."

Sam hugged his brother back. Seeing that smile gave him as much joy as the news itself had. "I know you will be, dear. A wonderful one."

The first few times they had returned from the walks, Frodo had returned to the study, but Sam quickly put a stop to that. The walks had added a bit of color to his brother’s too-pale cheeks and had raised his mood. Sam saw all that destroyed when Frodo started writing again afterwards so he told him in no uncertain terms that there wasn’t going to be any writing after luncheon. He hoped it would also help ease the nightmares.

"It’s too close to bedtime," Sam insisted when he first announced it when Frodo had returned to the story after their walk.

"Bedtime?! But that’s hours away, Sam," Frodo protested.  "It's barely even tea time." 

He turned back to his story. Sam reached over his shoulder to take the quill from his hand and firmly closed up the ink jar. Frodo looked him with a raised eyebrow, but Sam stood his ground. "It’s still too close, me dear. You need to have more pleasant things to think of before retiring."

Frodo sighed, then smiled and Sam returned it. "I bow to your better judgement, Sam."

Sam let out a silent sigh of relief, surprised that his brother had not argued further with him. He was never comfortable fighting with him, but there was some things he was not willing to compromise on when it came to getting his Frodo better. They were both aware that sadness hovered too closely around the elder hobbit, and too often overwhelmed him, but they kept it at bay as best they could with sunlight, exercise, the company of friends and prayers for healing.

One night, Frodo repeated his prayer over and over, a litany of supplication, but it did not provide the comfort it usually did and he so desperately needed. He got up to get something to drink to ease a throat too dry from speaking. He padded quietly through dark halls into the kitchen and reached for a mug.

"Do you need something, dear?" Sam asked quietly behind him.

Frodo started, but hoped Sam hadn’t seen. Yes, my dearest friend, I need much. I need peace and quiet and rest. I need an end to hearing the voice of the Ring. I need to stop desiring it. I need you to hold me and never let go. "My throat was dry, Sam. I was getting something to drink. I didn’t mean to wake you."

Sam watched him drink the entire mug and then fill it again. Then the younger hobbit took the mug from him and placed it on the counter. In the moonlight, Frodo looked up at his beloved guardian. Sam had always heard what he hadn’t said also. He took his brother into his arms and rocked him gently in the dark kitchen. Frodo placed his head against his Sam’s shoulder and held on as he listened as the gardener sang softly,

"Long have you wandered, O traveller dear;

Darkness and pain you well know.

But now you've returned, so let go your fear,

And list while I sing soft and low:

"Day is now over and shadows are deep,

The moon is full bright in the sky;

The mother is rocking her bairnie to sleep

And singing her soft lullaby.

"The fire on the hearth is a-glowing warm red,

The night's falling, darkling and still.

So close now your eyes, dear, and rest your sweet head,

And sleep now, safe under the hill.

"Far have you wandered, O traveller dear,

Terrors and trials you have borne.

But safe in my arms you have nothing to fear,

So rest ye in peace till the morn."

For a long time they stood together as Sam continued his soft crooning until he felt his Frodo relax enough for rest to come. He took the mug with him as they walked back to the latter’s bedroom. Sam then placed the mug on the nightstand, tucked his dearest friend in and kissed his brow.

"Thank you, Sam," the elder hobbit murmured as he curled around himself under the covers.

"Sleep well, dear. I love you."

"I love you, too, Sam."

From the night on, Sam always made sure that Frodo had a mug of water beside him.  He said a silent prayer of thanks when he came each morning to check on his brother and saw that the water hadn’t been used and grieved a little when he saw that it had.  Frodo was normally still sleeping when Sam came, his hand clasped around the gem around his neck. Sometimes, though, he was awake.

"I’m sorry, Sam," he said when he saw his beloved guardian’s sorrowful face that the mug was empty.

"What more can I do for you, dear?" he asked with tears bright in his eyes.

"Pray for me."

A/N: Another lovely song from the queen.