Chapter Nine: Anniversaries

Sam was shocked the first time he saw grey hair in Frodo’s beautiful curls. He’s getting old, he thought. The gardener had thought growing up that Frodo would remain forever young and alive and full of light. It was that hard to stop himself from wanting to pull those hairs out, but then he thought of what seeing them really meant. The Ring had kept both his masters from aging, but once it was gone, time reasserted itself properly. It had been a right shock to see Mr. Bilbo so ancient, but then it had been seventeen years. This was a much gentler surprise that Sam felt now as he looked at his brother. Was that despicable thing finally losing its grip on him? He had always thought that dark hair was the wrong match for such a luminous being as Frodo had been and still was in many ways. No, silver, then white would suit him better and make him glow all the more. Sam stayed his hand and instead silently celebrated each new strand as it came in.

He came up behind Frodo soon after his first discovery to see his brother standing in front of a mirror, staring intently at his reflection. The silver was more noticeable now and Sam watched as his brother reached up with his maimed hand to touch those greying locks as though to convince himself they were truly there.

"Am I to be free of it at last?" he murmured to himself in wonder. Hope, that had been dying in his heart for months, flared anew to continue the struggle to heal.

Sam walked away quietly with a smile. Frodo showed no sign he was aware that his guardian had even been there as he continued to stare fascinated at his reflection.

* * *

Sam came anxiously into his brother’s bedroom after he had heard Frodo moan, then cry out. It had been months since the elder hobbit had been so tormented and the former Ring-bearer had begun very cautiously to hope that he had finally being able to let the Ring go as his body began to age normally again. Sam’s hope and confidence were even greater, but now realized the date. The thirteenth was determined to have its torture on Frodo’s soul once more. Sam stood a moment at the threshold watching his brother tangle himself in his bedsheets as he thrashed about. A tear trailed down the gardener’s cheek unnoticed as he took Frodo into his arms.

At that, the troubled hobbit’s flailing became even more violent. "Let me go! Let me go!" he cried.

"It’s me, dear," Sam said softly into his ear. "It’s your Sam."

"No!" Frodo called out and struggled all the harder. He arched his back and his head connected with the headboard with a sickening crack.

Frodo suddenly went limp in his guardian’s arms which frightened the younger hobbit badly. "Wake up, dear!" he cried softly. "Oh, please, wake up!"

Frodo’s head lolled to his side and Sam adjusted his grip to feel the back of his brother’s head. There was already a lump forming and Frodo moaned softly as Sam’s fingers gently probed the area. He bit his lip when he felt a slight stickiness. He left for a moment to bring back a lamp and parted the salt and pepper curls to see how much blood there was. He sighed in relief to see only a small trickle, already drying. Gently, Sam lay Frodo on his side and went to get a small basin of water and a clean cloth. He cleaned the wound as carefully as he could and bit his lip against new tears when Frodo whimpered and murmured, "Please stop hurting me."

"I’m sorry, dear," Sam said as he finished. "I just needed to clean you up a bit. Can you wake up for me now? I need to know you aren’t hurt worse."

Frodo did not respond, other than to continue to beg not to be hurt. Sam stroked his curls. "No one’s hurting you anymore, love. You banged your head is all. You’re safe in your own bed. But I need to you wake up. Can you do that for your Sam? Please?"

Frodo tossed his head. "Leave me alone," he murmured. He reached up from under the blankets to cover his head with his arms as though trying to ward off a blow.

Sam caught his hands and held them with his own. Frodo struggled against that and cried all the louder. "Leave me alone!"

He nearly struck his head again, but Sam grabbed him back before he could and pushed him down the bed so he struck only pillows. It was hours before Frodo settled down to sleep again. Sam had not been able to hold him as it agitated him all the more. He could only watch helplessly and in tears as his brother struggled alone with the memories and pain. Oh, me dear, what did they do to you? he wondered and he cursed himself again for ever leaving his dearest one.

Near dawn, Frodo stopped his thrashing and his moans and cries became soft murmurs and then trailed off altogether as fell into true slumber. Sam’s tears wet Frodo’s cheeks as he leaned down to kiss his brother’s head. "Sleep well, dear, I love you," he murmured, then retreated back to his own bed. Rosie was very near her time so could not embrace her husband as she wished, but she held his head as he cried into her shoulder and sang soft comforts to him until he was able to sleep.

The spell passed as it always did, but the circles under Frodo’s eyes were darker and the shadows deeper in his eyes as the hope there faded. Sam didn’t say anything as Frodo came late for breakfast the morning after, just held his brother for a long time and felt his brother’s arms tight around his, his body shaking with the effort to keep his tears unshed. They held each other so long the mushroom omelette Sam was re-heating was burned and he cursed himself for a ninnyhammer for not watching it closer.

Frodo laughed softly into his shoulder then and then let go. Sam’s heart jolted with joy to hear such an unexpected sound, like sunshine suddenly bursting from behind dark storm clouds, then he looked sorrowfully at the ruined omelette. He was about to throw it out, but Frodo reached over his shoulder to take the spatula from him.

"Don’t you dare throw it out, dearest ninnyhammer," he admonished with a true smile that Sam could have stared at forever. "It will be even more delicious because of the manner in which it was burned."

Then the Ring-bearer sat down and ate the entire scorched omelette with a greater appetite than he had shown for weeks. Sam watched with a soft smile.

A week later, the gardener was startled awake by Frodo’s cry. "Why don’t you answer me?!"

He rushed to his brother’s bedroom. He stood for a moment at the threshold as Frodo tossed and turned in his nightmare, then padded softly forward and gently began to untangle the sheets and blankets from around the Ring-bearer’s legs. Frodo lay on his stomach as Sam straightened out the coverings over him. "Why don’t you answer me?" the broken elder hobbit murmured. "Why can’t you hear me?"

Sam stroked his brother’s back gently and felt how badly Frodo was trembling. "Wake up, me dear. You’re having a bad dream. Just a dream. Wake up now. Your Sam is here. There’s nothing to be afraid of."

He continued his slow rubbing of Frodo’s back until the Ring-bearer looked up at him blearily.

"Sam? Is that you? Did you hear me?"

Sam smiled bravely through tear-bright eyes. "Yes, dear, I heard you," he said softly as he continued to stroke.

"Then why couldn’t the others? I called and called, louder and louder, but they all walked past me, like I wasn’t there at all. But I was, Sam, I was!"

Sam never knew what to make of this dream that his brother had had before around this same time the previous year, but he hoped just the sound of his voice would help bring him back. "I know you were, dear," he soothed. "I know, but you aren’t there anymore. You’re back at home now, back in your own bed."

"Home, Sam?"

A tear escaped down the young gardener’s cheek to hear the wistfulness in Frodo’s voice, the hope of something long despaired of. He reached up to stroke his brother’s curls now. "Yes, my treasure, home. Back where you belong, in the Shire, at Bag End, in your own room. Do you want me to get a lamp so you can see?"

The tortured Ring-bearer looked at his dearest friend. "Yes, Sam, please. It’s so dark where I am, so dark. And I’m so cold. I’m so very cold."

Sam placed another blanket around his brother who clutched it tightly. "I’ll be right back, dear, then," he said.

"Thank you, Sam."

The gardener returned with a lamp and held it aloft, slowly circling the room so Frodo could see that he was truly home. "See, dear? It’s your own bedroom. You aren’t in that awful other place anymore."

Frodo sat up and stared at the lamp, then his surroundings and slowly relaxed. "I see, Sam. I see. Thank you."

The relief in the Ring-bearer’s voice was palpable as he sank back down under the covers. He closed his eyes. Sam put down the lamp and brushed at his brother’s curls. "Can you promise your Sam that you’ll remain in your room the rest of the night?" he asked. "I don’t want you traveling to all those strange places without me."

"I promise, Sam," Frodo murmured, then slowly dropped off into true sleep.

Sam watched until he thought his brother would be all right, then leaned down to kiss his brow. "Sleep well, my dear. I love you."

He wiped at a tear as he picked the lamp back up and left the room. He directed a plea to whoever his brother prayed to. When, oh when, is he going to get better? There have been such wonderful moments when I think it’s going to be all right, then the shadows always gather around again and it’s like no progress has been made at all. I’m not going to give up hope. I can’t. Frodo looks to me to have it, even while his continues to die. I think he’d despair totally if I lost mine, so I never will, but please let him get better! Please! He gathered together the tattering threads and wove them back together. Frodo would get well. He had to.

Several days later, Sam was surprised when a cold blast of air greeted him when he opened his brother’s bedroom door quietly and peeked his head in to see if Frodo was sleeping well. Frodo was laying still on the bed, only in his nightshirt, blankets kicked off. Sam moved to close the wide open window, but the Ring-bearer’s voice stopped him.

"No, Sam, please, I’m so hot, so hot."

He sounded so weary that Sam rushed to his side and checked his forehead for fever. Frodo felt warm, but not overly so. The young hobbit noticed that his nightshirt was soaked through.

"What’s wrong, dear? Why are you feeling so hot? You shouldn’t be having the windows open in this weather. You’ll catch a terrible chill."

"No, please leave them open. It’s the flames, the burning river. I’m drowning in it."

Sam suddenly realized the date. It was the 25^th , the anniversary of the Ring’s destruction, the day of the fire. He pulled out a clean nightshirt from a drawer and then got a wet cloth. Frodo didn’t resist when Sam removed the sweat-soaked garment and began to gently wipe him down.

"When will I ever stop burning?" he murmured as Sam dressed him in a dry shirt. "The flames, the flames. They are burning me, always burning. I’m so thirsty. So thirsty. It’s gone. I’ll never have it again. It’s gone."

"Yes, it’s gone, dear," Sam said as he laid his brother back down. "Lost in the fire."

"I miss it. I miss it so much."

Sam looked at Frodo startled, but knew with a heart that had not ceased to grieve, that when Frodo got into one of his states, he was more delirious than anything else. "I’m going to get you a glass of water, dear," he said. "That should make feel better. All right?"

The Ring-bearer tossed his head. "Miss it so much. It’s gone forever. Why couldn’t I have gone with it? Why?!"

The last came out as a cry. Frodo appeared to look directly at Sam, but his eyes were not focused and he soon sank back into his murmurings. Sam bit back tears as he left to fetch the water. When he returned, he sat next to his brother and pulled him up against his chest and raised the cup to Frodo’s lips.

"Drink this down, dear," he said. "You won’t feel so thirsty and maybe then you can cool down some."

Frodo obediently drank the whole cup so greedily that some of it dripped down his chin. Sam took the glass away and wiped at his beloved, broken brother’s mouth.

"Feel any better, dear?" he asked.

Frodo looked at his dearest friend with bleary eyes. "It’s all over, Sam," he said. "All over. There’s no going back and I can’t go forward. There’s no end to this pain. No end."

Sam took his beloved brother into his arms and began to rock him gently. "Of course, there’ll be end, dear, of course there will be. We just have to get through the darkness first."

Frodo leaned his head wearily against his guardian’s shoulder. "I can’t see it, Sam. It’s been so long. I don’t think it will ever end."

"Then let me show you how it’s going to be."

He picked Frodo up, draped several blankets over him, picked up his own coat on its peg at the front door, then stepped outside into the chill air. He put his coat around his shoulders best as he could with one hand and the blankets around his brother. He sat down on the bench in the garden with Frodo in his lap so he wouldn’t have to sit on the cold stone. It was still night, but just barely perceptibly the dawn was coming. He made sure that Frodo could see that.

"See, dear, as the light comes, the darkness flies away, not all at once, but gradually. So it’s going to be with you. The dawn will come and it will be so bright."

They watched the light begin to spread throughout the sky. Frodo’s head was laid against Sam’s chest, the younger hobbit holding onto his brother as Frodo’s arms held him around the waist. "So bright," the Ring-bearer murmured, "so bright. I do see it, Sam. I do, rising in the West."

Sam did not understand until much later what his brother meant by that. At the time, he merely thought it was more of Frodo’s delirium and took it as such, heart breaking a little more. But Frodo seemed more peaceful and calm after he had said that and actually fell back asleep, safe in his guardian’s arms. Sam brought him back in, laid him back down in bed, closed the window most of the way, then with a kiss to his head and a murmured, "Sleep well, dear. I love you," left him.

Frodo slept most of the morning away, then with an apology for missing first breakfast, had a brief, late second one with Sam and Rosie, dressed only in shirt and breeches and not the several layers of clothing he always needed even in the summer at times. Then he excused himself and disappeared into the study and closed the door. Rosie, in the very early stages of labor, was not so distracted that she didn’t noticed that Frodo’s attire was different.

"I’m so glad he’s finally getting over the chills," she said.

"I don’t know if it’s that, my Rose dear," Sam said with an anxious glance out the room. "Tomorrow will tell. Tomorrow will tell."

Rose looked up at her husband. Sam was staring at the room, but she knew somehow he was something else entirely different, something he and Mr. Frodo had shared in the past, another secret horror of their journey they wished to protect her from.

"Let’s..." She stopped suddenly as a pain rippled through her. She grasped Sam’s hand painfully until the contraction passed, then smiled bravely at her worried husband.

"The babe is coming," she said.

Sam’s eyes widened. "Now?! But’s that’s a week early!" He stood up and swept his wife up into his arms. "I’ll hurry to get Mrs. Gorch once I get you back to bed."

Rosie swatted at his arms. "I can walk, my Sam. I’m with child, not some invalid. The midwife can wait a bit. It’s still early."

Sam would brook no argument. His arms tightened around his wife and child. "I carried Frodo and I’m going to carry you."

Rosie looked into her husband’s eyes. They were marked by another painful memory, but love overflowed as always from there. She smiled at it and saw him smile back through his worry. She laid her head against his chest. "It’ll be all right, my Sam," she said. "You’ll see."

Sam laid her down, made sure she was as comfortable as possible, then kissed her brow quickly. Rose smiled at him and clutched his hand and they beamed at each other, then Sam left. When he came into the study to check on Frodo and to tell him he was going to fetch the midwife, he found the windows wide open and the fire he had carefully made to keep his brother warm was completely out.

"What are you doing with the windows open, dear?" he asked "Are you still so hot?"

He moved to close the windows, but Frodo’s voice stopped him. "Yes, Sam. Leave them open. Please. I’m so hot I can barely breathe."

Sam turned and moved to his brother’s side and touched his forehead, fearful again Frodo had caught a fever, but though Frodo was sweating badly, he did not feel all that warm.

"I’m so thirsty, Sam, could you please get me something to drink?"

"Of course."

Sam was back with a large glass of water which Frodo downed as though in one gulp and Sam left to return again with another glass which Frodo drank greedily also. "Thank you, Sam." He looked up at his friend. "When is this all going to end, all these illnesses?"

Sam looked at him sorrowfully, tears burning his eyes. "I don’t know, dear."

Rose called to him then from the other room. "Mrs. Groch!" he exclaimed, having clean forgotten that he was going to get the midwife.

"What about her?" Frodo asked. "Is Rose at her time now already? Oh, Sam, what a ninnyhammer I am to not even notice! I’ll go fetch her, you go to Rose. She needs you now and I need to get outside. Maybe a good walk will help me cool off."

He shrugged into his coat, but left it open, even that was too warm for him and Sam knew he was only wearing it at all so Sam wouldn’t worry. The younger hobbit loved his brother more than ever for his offer to help, but feared to have him go out alone in his state. The look in his eyes broke Sam’s heart, pleading for understanding and permission and relief. Sam couldn’t say no to that, though all his sense was telling him he should.

"You can’t go out half-dressed, dear," he said with a sigh.

Frodo stood still and suffered his friend to bundle him up in hat and mittens. He smiled as Sam was careful to close his cloak up to his neck so the scarf he wrapped around him wouldn’t scratch his skin. Sam looked up and was surprised to see that soft, loving smile.

"Thank you, my Sam. I’ll send Lidia right to you."

"Thank you, dear. I wish I could go with you."

"No, Sam, you’ve got to stay here. Rosie’s more important than me. She’s your future, Sam."

The gardener smiled. "So are you, dear. You’ll be an uncle before the day is out. That’ll be Elanor’s first birthday gift to you. You can remember this day as one of joy, instead of lingering pain."

Frodo smile widened a little. "That would be wonderful, Sam," he said softly.

Sam hugged his brother quickly and kissed his head, then watched him go out into swirling snow, feet leaving marks down the path. He watched until Frodo passed the gate, began down the road and then disappeared from sight. Sam knew, just knew, that his dearest friend would be taking off her hat and gloves and probably coat as soon as Sam couldn’t see he anymore, but at least Sam had done what he could. With a sigh, he turned back to his wife and soon-to-be born daughter.

Mrs. Groch came but a half hour later, but Frodo was gone for three more after that. Sam kept watching out for him when he wasn’t at Rose’s side. Just when the young gardener was beside myself with worry over the long, painful labor and his brother’s protracted absence and he was cursing himself for being the worst ninnyhammer ever born to let Frodo out alone in his condition, the elder hobbit returned. His hair was wet and his clothes were damp. It was as though he had laid down in the snow in just his shirt and breeches, trying to cool the fire that burned in him. Sam could tell from the look in his eyes it hadn’t helped. He didn’t say anything, just brought out dry clothes.

"Thank you, Sam. I’m sorry I was out so long. I just couldn’t cool off and I stayed out hoping I would. Has Rosie birthed yet?"

"No, not yet, but I hope she’s getting close. Mrs. Gorch says so. I can’t stand to see her in this much pain."

Frodo smiled and touched his friend’s shoulder. "The reward will be great though, my Sam. Greater than you can possibly conceive. Think of that. I’m sure she is. And Lidia Gorch is the best midwife there is. Never fear."

Sam smiled bravely. He watched his brother disappear back into the study and then returned to his wife’s side. When an hour later, Sam came to check on Frodo, the elder hobbit sat still in the same damp clothes with the window wide open again. Sam felt his brother’s eyes follow him as he went to close the window, but Frodo didn’t say anything. He didn’t resist when he was taken by the hand and led to his bedroom and changed into a nightshirt as though he were a child unable to do it for himself. Frodo sought his Sam’s arms then and Sam held him. Frodo’s breath came in hitches and Sam know he were trying so hard not to cry, but wanting to so badly, needing to.

The younger hobbit brushed at his brother’s curls. "It’s all right, love," he said softly. "It’s all right to cry."

And at last Frodo did and Sam’s heart broke at how long and hard he did, then he laid him asleep. "Rest, dear."

Frodo tried to get up, but fell back against the covers. "I should be helping you, Sam. I’m so sorry I can’t. I’m ruining your wonderful day."

"Of course you aren’t, dear. It’s still wonderful, because you are here, Rosie and so is Elanor."

Sam kissed his head. "Sleep well now. I love you."

"I love you, too, Sam. Thank you."

When Sam came to Frodo two hours later, to share his joy that Elanor had been born, his brother was sleeping so peacefully and looking so beautiful that Sam’s breath caught. He couldn’t disturb such deserved rest. He didn’t even rouse him for the late dinner they had.

The next day, the only time Frodo didn’t shiver was when he held Elanor and the tears in his eyes then were of love and joy. They matched Sam’s own that were as much for the light shining from Frodo as they were for Elanor.

A/N: The quote about light coming gradually is from the 4^th century saint, Isadore.