Chapter Eight: Cracked but Hope for Mending

Sam was well aware of the murmurings of his fellow hobbits about his brother’s strange, withdrawn behavior. He long knew Frodo was not comfortable being around others with his maimed hand and avoided company as much as possible, preferring only those who he knew would understand. If he encountered anyone during his walks with Sam, he always bowed and greeted the person politely and be the perfect gentlehobbit, but Sam would see the tenseness in his posture and the brittleness under his voice and he guessed that others did so as well. Frodo was always very relieved when he was left alone again. He didn’t go into the market so he didn’t hear all the talking that was going on behind his back, but sometimes in front of Sam. The gardener never said anything, just bowed his head and bit his lip. He didn’t cry out his frustration and anger and grief until he was safe at home in Rose’s arms and only then, if he was sure Frodo wouldn’t hear.

One day, though, he couldn’t stand it anymore and lashed out angrily at the crowd at the market.  “Stop it, just stop it!” he cried. “Yes, Frodo is ‘cracked.’ In fact, he’s broken. You have no idea what he went through for you and you don’t even care to know! He did it all for the love of the Shire, for the love of all of you so you would have a safe place to call home. He gave everything and has received nothing. All the sacrifices he made for all of us have destroyed him and your words are just completing the process!”

Sam’s anger dissolved into tears in front of the stunned crowed that had continued to grow since the mildest of all hobbits had begun to raise his voice. He pushed past them and didn’t say a word further. His head was bowed as he walked home, arms laden with bags of food and other supplies. He was crying so hard he could barely see the road in front of him. Those who hadn’t heard his speech looked at him oddly, but word spread quickly at what had happened.

Sam heard them talking, but didn’t respond. The only regret he had about his outburst was that Frodo was bound to hear of it and be upset that his Sam was upset. The gardener certainly didn’t want to give his brother another thing to worry about on top of all the other pain he already had.

“Well, there’s nothing for it,” he muttered to himself as he neared Bag End. “They needed to know the truth and now they do.”

But the young hobbit also realized it brought into the open all the pain and fears he had been trying to hide from himself. His dearest was broken or appeared to be so and for a moment, Sam groaned under the weight of that despair. But then he straightened his posture. “Stop such nonsense,” he told himself severely. “He’s going to get better. He has to. Just wouldn’t be fair if he didn’t.”

He stopped a moment at the door to home, put down his bags and wiped at his tears. Then he picked the bags up again, took a deep breath to calm himself and expelled it slowly as he entered the smial. Rose came into the kitchen as Sam began to put away his purchases. She took one look at her husband’s face, saw through his brave smile and took him into her arms. Frodo was nowhere to be seen and Sam was glad. His brother didn’t need to see him in tears.

Over the next few weeks, Bag End was visited by many in Hobbiton who came to offer their apologies and support. This had, at first, confused and embarrassed Frodo who hadn’t, of all wonders, heard of what had happened. He remained the gentlehobbit he was and thanked each visitor for their kind words; the baskets of food, ciders, teas and wines; the pouches of Old Toby and Longbottom Leaf. The latter he saved for Merry and Pippin and the former he gave to Sam in the hopes that one day his brother would enjoy the simple pleasure of smoking again without thinking of the fire that had nearly killed them both. He knew that could never enjoy such again himself.

Early on, he asked Sam about all the sudden influx of well-wishers. The gardener truthfully responded that he was just as surprised as Frodo was and then something else under his breath that the elder hobbit didn’t quite catch but sounded like “’bout time they did something.’” So it was that the Ring-bearer suspected that his dearest friend had something to do with it all and there were Sam’s satisfied smiles as he was handed the sundry items to be stored, cooked, drank or smoked. That sealed it, but Frodo let him have his secrets since his Sam seemed to prefer it that way. Rose often found Frodo smiling tenderly at his brother as they sat together to enjoy the windfall of gifts. It was similar to her own smile.

Sam was worried at first that Frodo would still find out what had caused it all, but beyond that first inquiry, his brother hadn’t asked further. So the younger hobbit simply treasured each of Frodo’s smiles as each new gift was brought in.

* * *

Several weeks later, the sound of something breaking caused Sam and Rosie to jump. He turned around and saw Frodo staring down at the broken pieces of his favorite tea mug on the kitchen floor. He seemed to be in shock, trembling, not even aware that his hand was bleeding and probably scalded by the hot water that had moments ago been in the mug.

Sam came over to his brother’s side with a wet cloth, some salve for the reddening skin and a cloth bandage. “Frodo dear?”

“That’s me, Sam,” Frodo said in a strange voice, transfixed by the broken mug. “All shattered.”

Sam looked down at mug. It had broken in four pieces, but cleanly enough. “I can fix it. Don’t you fret about that.”

Frodo looked up at his dearest friend and Sam tried hard not to flinch from the pain in those haunted, but still so beautiful eyes. “Can you fix me, too, Sam?”

“I want to, my dear, more than anything. Now come over and sit down here and let your Sam tend to your hand. We’ll start with that, all right?”

Frodo let himself be led to the closest chair and Sam tended to his wound as gently as he could. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Don’t you fret, dear,” Sam said. “Accidents happen.”

Once it was all bandaged, Sam kissed his brother’s hand and then looked up to see Frodo smiling faintly down at him. “You’ve always taken such good care of me, Sam. Thank you.”

Sam returned the smile. “It always made me feel better when you or my mum would do it when I was hurt.”

Frodo smiled slightly wider. “I remember that.” Then his smile faded. “I wish hurts were so easy to fix now as it was then.”

Sam was silent for a moment as he desperately wished for the same thing. “Why don’t you take your favorite seat next to the fire, dear, and I’ll get you a fresh cup of tea?”

“Thank you, Sam.”

Frodo got up and Sam guided him to the chair in the living room closest to the fire, bundled his shivering frame in a blanket and set a book on a table next to him. “Maybe you’d like to read a few pages while you’re waiting from one of Mr. Bilbo’s adventures,” Sam suggested.

“No, thank you, Sam,” Frodo said as he pulled the blanket around him. “I’ve had enough of adventures, I think.”

Sam bit his lip and flushed. “Of course you have.” “Ninnyhammer, Samunwise,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

He was about to move away when Frodo reached out to grab his hand and smiled at him. A true smile, like he used to smile all the time, full of light and love. Sam’s heart nearly broke with joy to see it. “Don’t call yourself that, Samwise,” Frodo said gently. “I know you are only trying to help and I will never be able to thank you enough, even if I said nothing else but thanks for the rest of my life.”

Sam flushed deeper, but smiled back. “No need to thank me, dear. I’ll be right back with that tea.”

Frodo let go of his hand and clutched Arwen’s gem instead. The smile remained, but it was faltering, dragged down by the constant torment. “I’ll be here.”

Sam cleaned up the broken mug and spilled water. When he returned to his brother’s side, Frodo had his eyes closed so he just carefully put the tea on the table, removed the book and stepped away. “Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said.

“You’re welcome, dear. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Frodo replied wearily. “I’m just a little tired right now.”

Sam reluctantly walked away. He felt so helpless in front of his beloved brother’s pain. He retreated to the kitchen when he helped Rosie finish cleaning up after dinner, keeping both ears open for any noise from the living room.

“He’s resting a little,” he said when his wife looked up.

Rose covered his hand with her own and squeezed for a moment. “Good. Maybe that will help.”

Sam wrapped his hand around hers. “Maybe,” he said. He looked at the broken pieces of the tea cup and set to gluing them back together. When he was finished, only small cracks could be seen. “We’ll let that set overnight.”

He went back out later when he thought he heard something. “Frodo?”

Frodo didn’t respond. Sam came around him and found the tea, cold now and untouched. And his dearest friend’s cheeks stained with tears. Sam just wanted to hold him and not let go until he was better, but the chair was not big enough for both of them. He picked his brother up, blanket and all, and sat in the chair himself, placing Frodo in his lap as he would his children one day. Frodo leaned his head against his beloved guardian’s chest, listening to his heartbeat as Sam gently stroked his curls.

“It hurts, Sam,” Frodo said and Sam knew he wasn’t talking about his scalded hand. “It hurts so much.”

“I know it does, dear. I know. I hate that more than anything.”

“When is it going to stop?”

Sam again felt the terrible helplessness to ease the great pain engulfing his brother. They were just little hobbits. What could they do against such an enormous enemy? Then answer came immediately. The same thing they had done before. Battle against it with their entire heart and will. “I don’t know when, dear, I just know it will. Rest now against your Sam.”

They sat silently together for some time until Frodo spoke again. “I wish I could get better. I wish for so many things, Sam, that will never come true.”

“Doesn’t mean you should stop wishing, dear. While there’s life, there’s hope. Don’t say ‘never.’”

“It hurts to wish anymore and it hurts not to.”

“Then keep wishing, dear. It hurts less to hope then not to.”

Frodo snuggled closer. “Don’t leave me.”

Sam kissed his brother’s head. “I don’t ever mean to.”

He rubbed his dear one’s back gently in slow, soothing circles as he softly sang.

“Sleep now,

and when morning comes,

with untainted futures,

I'll come to you,

to share in your joy

to show you I love you

and will always be with you,

that each new morn will

bright hope be.

“When day wears on,

with life's trials,

I'll stand by you

to share in your life,

to give you comfort

and be your safe haven

so each new burden

you need not carry alone

“When evening comes,

with all its weariness,

I'll be there for you

to conquer your doubts,

to help you meet each new challenge

with love and strength,

to be your guardian

of hope and light.

“When night befalls

and darkness o'ercomes you,

I'll watch over you

and keep you safe through the night

The light will return

and you'll see the dawning

and know that I love you

through morning and night.”

Rose came out of the kitchen and stood behind her husband to listen to the song and all the love that was in her Sam’s voice. She leaned over the chair and kissed the top of his head. “That was beautiful,” she said. “He is so lucky to have you.”

Sam looked up at her smile. “I’m the lucky one. To have you have both.”

Rose smiled.

Sam carried his brother to bed and put him under the blankets still fully clothed. “I’ll be in for a scolding come morning,” he muttered to himself, “but he needs his sleep. I’m not going to wake him just to change his clothes.” He leaned down and kissed his brother’s forehead. “Sleep well, me dear. I love you so much.” he said and wrapped one of his brother’s hands around Arwen’s gem, then sat down in the chair next to him and took the other hand in his own. He closed his own eyes, intending to just nap for a little bit.

Rose came in an hour later. Sam was snoring softly, his hand still clasped to Frodo’s. The elder hobbit had a peaceful look on his face. His one hand had dropped off the gem, but was still cupped as though holding something. His other hand remained firmly around Sam’s. She did not see the light that surrounded them both as she put a blanket over her sleeping husband and stepped silently out of the room.

The next morning, Sam rose, a little sore from sleeping in a chair all night, but glad to have done so. Frodo’s features were peaceful, the morning light shining right on him, making him look like an angel. Sam touched his cheek briefly in appreciation at such a sight, then rose silently and padded to the kitchen where he heard Rose already up and making a delicious smelling breakfast.

She smiled and kissed her husband quickly when he entered. “How is he?”

Sam smiled. “Beautiful,” he said. “The morning light is hitting him just so. But he’s sleeping right through it.”

Rose squeezed his hand. “Good. He needs it.”

Sam picked up the repaired tea cup carefully and poured in a little water to see if it could be used again. It held together and Sam smiled and poured a little more in.

“Good morning, Sam, Rose,” came a voice behind them a short while later.

Frodo stood, dressed in different clothing. Dark circles remained under his eyes from previous nights of interrupted sleep, but he looked otherwise almost well. Though pain still deeply shadowed his eyes, they still seemed a little clearer.

Sam proudly handed Frodo his repaired tea mug. “Careful, though, dear. I think it’s going to hold together, but...”

Frodo smiled and sipped carefully. “Thank you, Sam,” he said. “You continue to be a marvel. I would have hated to have lost the mug. Maybe there’s hope for me too?”

Sam smiled. “Of course there is.”

A/N: The lullaby is, gasp, not Galadriel's, but from another friend of mine, Thalapenhannas.  I added the first line, the rest of the masterpiece is hers.