Chapter Twelve: A Terrible Secret

Frodo sat in his study, writing or trying to write. The room was dimly lit, his posture hunched over the table where he had for been trying for so long to exorcize his demons by committing them to paper. But the worst of them still tormented him. He couldn’t write of that. He had to keep it inside where it continued to lacerate his soul. He shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He was always so cold these days. It never left him. He would pile on the blankets each night and still tremble with the cold that filled him, even on the warmest night. Strange that the Ring was destroyed in a place that burned, that it had burned his neck as he carried it, but now it left him with nothing but this terrible cold. And the need. The horrible need. How could he write of that? He couldn’t.

He clutched at the gem that Arwen had given him in a white-knuckled grip as if the tighter he held it, the more it could help him and heal him. Or was it the Ring he still reached for? He couldn’t tell anymore. He increasingly feared that healing through Arwen’s gift was a false hope as much as the one he harbored that he would one day be whole again, not always staring into a gaping darkness where his heart and soul had been, darkness that clawed at him continually, dragging him down. He fought it so hard, and so had Sam as far as Frodo had allowed his brother to help shoulder his burden and they had succeeded for a while. But now...

Frodo wept softly in his pain, glad he had closed the door so Sam and Rosie wouldn’t hear. He wanted to scream, but he clenched his jaw against making a sound beyond the tears he could no longer hold back. He was afraid of the force of it each time he gave it full release. He had learned to cry with his Sam, but he hadn’t yet screamed and he was so needing to do that and so afraid to when Sam and Rose and Elanor could hear. He stopped writing. He was crying too hard to see what he was doing. His control slipped and he was too weary to get it back. He looked up when he heard the happy cries of children playing in the snow, the sun coming in and he so wanted just to lose himself there in that light, but then the sun went behind a cloud and the children moved away. He shivered, lowered his head and cried harder.

He reached out for the Light and instead of screaming to drown out the incessant whispers of the Ring, he began to softly pray. “I come sick to the Healer of life, unclean to the Fountain of mercy, blind to the radiance of eternal Light, poor and needy to the Lord of heaven and earth. I beg Thee to heal my sickness, wash away my defilement, enlighten my blindness, enrich my poverty, and clothe my nakedness. Purify me from evil ways and put an end to my evil passions. Bring me charity and patience, humility and obedience, and growth in the power to do good. Be my strong defense against all my enemies, visible and invisible, and the perfect calming of all my evil impulses, bodily and spiritual. Unite me more closely to You and lead me safely through death to everlasting happiness with You.” He repeated it over and over again. “Please help me,” he begged. He had been so hopeful that day of the rain storm three months previously when he had felt the embrace of the One and he had felt those arms around him many a time since. He felt them now. He never slept alone, either or both of his guardians were always there, but he felt more exhausted than ever by the struggle he had waged for so long.

There was a knock on the door then and Frodo abruptly stopped speaking. He raised his head and hurriedly wiped at his tears and tried to stifle more from coming. The door opened a crack and Sam stuck his head in. “Do you need anything, dear?”

“I’m all...” Frodo stopped. He couldn’t lie to Sam.

Sam stepped into the room, closed the door behind him and walked to his brother’s side. Frodo raised a tear-streaked face to him, eyes begging for solace, for relief. Sam raised him to his feet and took him into his arms and held him tightly, murmuring what comforts he could as Frodo’s tears came in great heaving sobs. Silent tears of his own ran down Sam’s cheeks as he rocked his brother. With one arm, Frodo clutched Sam, his other hand hard around Arwen’s gem. His tears came in great heaving sobs.

“It’s not working!” he cried. “Why isn’t it working?!” His wails were muffled by being buried in Sam’s chest, but they tore at Sam’s heart. At first he was afraid Frodo was referring to him, but then, “She told me I could use it if I needed it to help me with the memories, but it’s not working anymore. Why not, Sam, why not?!”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Sam said, his own voice choked with helpless tears of pain and frustration that he couldn’t help his friend more. “I don’t know.”

“I’m broken, Sam,” Frodo murmured. “I can’t be fixed.”

Sam’s heart broke to hear that torment and despair. It broke even more when he realized he had not immediately said, ‘Of course you can be fixed.’ When had he given up hope? No, he couldn’t. He thought he had more than once on the Quest, but things always turned out better. They still would. He had to believe that. He had to be his brother’s hope as he had been before.

“It’s going to be all right,” he murmured.

“No, it’s not,” Frodo said miserably. “Saruman told me I would not have health or happiness and he was right.”

“Hush about that, dear. You can’t believe everything you hear, especially from people who don’t understand or who hate you.”

“But it’s true, Sam. It’s all true.”

Sam let his beloved friend go and held his face in both his hands. Then he waited until Frodo looked up at him. “If you are going to believe what people say, then believe this. I love you, Frodo. I love you so much I think sometimes my heart is going to burst from it. There has not been one moment that I haven’t loved you. Not one moment, hear me? Now we are going to get through this. And we are going to get through it together.”

Profoundly moved, Frodo stared into that bottomless ocean of love that was Sam’s eyes. He saw the reflection of the Light there shining forth and he so wanted just to drown there, to believe that somehow they really were going to get through, but he couldn’t tell Sam that he still wanted and needed the Ring and that he was never going to heal until he could rid himself of that and he had no idea if that could even be done. Smeagol had coveted it until his death and Bilbo still did as far as Frodo knew. How could he tell Sam, who was goodness and light itself, that he still desired such a loathsome, evil thing? He was horribly ashamed and so very afraid that the ocean he now stared into would dry up and he couldn’t bear to lose that. It would be worse than losing the Ring and that loss of that was already unbearable. He couldn’t stand to lose both. Gandalf had given him some hope that he could free if he left, but how could he live without Sam? But he would have to. Or confess his shame and hope for some reprieve that way. Either way seemed impossibly hard.

“Oh, Sam!” Frodo cried. He threw himself back into his beloved guardian’s arms while he still could and burst into fresh tears. “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, “so sorry.”

Sam held his brother tightly and began to rock him gently. “Hush, love,” he murmured. “Whatever do you have to be sorry for?”

“Everything. I’ve tried so hard to get well, but I can’t. I can’t....I know this isn’t how you would have wanted to spend your life.”

Sam looked into his friend’s eyes with deep compassion. He touched one cheek gently. “You’re wrong, my dear. I am spending my life as I always wanted to. I have my Rose and I have you. It hurts that much that you haven’t healed yet and I know you feel like it’s never going to end, but it will, it will. Listen to your Sam.”

Frodo wanted to so badly to believe that, but...I have to leave. He looked into his friend’s eyes.Oh, my Sam, how am I ever going to be able to do that? But I have to. I don’t have any hope left here.

“I’m so tired, Sam,” he said.

“Then let’s get you to bed. A good rest can do wonders.”

An almost-smile flitted around Frodo’s lips. He was again so glad he had kept the Ring away from Sam. Such purity and simple belief needed to remain unchanged forever. It was one of the things he went on the Quest for. To keep the things and people he had always known and loved safe. “Sleep won’t help,” the Ring-bearer said miserably. “It’s still in me, Sam. There’s no escape.”

But he let himself be led out of the room anyway. Rose stood there in the hallway, but Frodo didn’t seem to notice. Sam looked up at her silently, at the tears that streamed unheeded down her cheeks at seeing her husband’s and friend’s pain, then passed by to Frodo’s bedroom.

He closed the door behind them and got out his brother’s nightshirt from the drawer. “Now you just get into this, my dear, and take a nap. Things always look better when you’ve had a little rest. Do you need any help?”

Frodo took the offered shirt and tried to smile. “No, Sam, thank you. I’ll try to rest, but I don’t know what good it will do.”

The younger hobbit ached to hear such weariness and defeat in his beloved brother’s voice. He bit his lip to keep back the tears he knew were coming, but he didn’t want to cry in front of Frodo. His brother needed him to be strong.

“You need all the rest you can get,” he said in his best ‘I’m not taking no for an answer’ voice. The one Frodo knew better than try to resist, the one that made him love his friend all the more, the one that always made him smile, even when he knew he had no strength to. “I know it’s been hard,” Sam continued, “but you aren’t going to get any better, if you don’t take care of yourself or let me do it for you. Now you just ready and I’ll be right back, all right?”

“All right, Sam,” Frodo said, trying to sound brave, confident and trusting, but managing only to sound exhausted and in despair.

“All right,” Sam repeated and left the room. He met Rose outside the door and held her and they both cried together for all the pain in their friend’s heart and their own. Sam didn’t let go until he felt strengthened enough by his wife’s support to return to his brother. He made some chamomile tea, knocked once and then went back in.

Frodo was obediently in bed, piled under many blankets up to his chin. The Light was softly shining from him and he smiled bravely at his Sam. The gardener smiled back and wondered if his brother was even aware of how brightly he shone even now. The elder hobbit sat up as his guardian offered him his tea.

“What did you mean, dear, that it was still in you?” Sam asked as he watched Frodo slowly sip the drink.

Frodo did not speak for a long time. He stared down into the tea. What had ever prompted him to say those words to his beloved brother? Then he knew. “Perhaps it was an answer to prayer,” he said softly, still not looking up and suddenly a peace covered him like he had only known at many of the darkest times of his life. He took a deep breath, drawing in that peace, instead of the shame and fear that ever gnawed at him. When he expelled the breath, the peace remained with the strength and courage it brought. He felt a little like he had at the Council of Elrond when he had followed the prompting of a Voice inside him and said he would take the Ring. He followed the same prompting to speak now, again despite his fears.

“Gandalf has told me that all Ring-bearers have desired the Ring and it’s not a desire that leaves them while they live,” he began slowly. He dared not look into Sam’s eyes. He could feel his beloved friend’s shock even without doing so and he became very afraid again, certain he had gone too far, that all his fears were justified, but the Light prompted him again and still slowly, he did so. “I have been given one hope or two actually. That perhaps if I confessed that to you or to my cousins, it could be made more bearable. Or if that was something I could not do, I could leave to go over the Sea with the Elves and hope to find some peace that way. Either way seemed impossible as I was horribly ashamed of my longing and terribly afraid of losing you and Merry and Pippin. I thought I would either way and...”

“...that is what has been tearing you apart all this time,” Sam said softly, not even aware that he was interrupting.  “Oh, my Frodo. I’m so sorry, I’m so very sorry.”

Frodo lifted his eyes to Sam and saw tears streaming down those dear cheeks and so much love and sorrow and compassion in those beloved eyes, he began to cry too. “But you don’t have to hold on to it anymore,” the gardener said. “You can’t if you are already holding onto something else.” He held out his hands to his brother. “You have a choice, you can hold it or you could hold my hands. Which would you like?”

Frodo let down his tea mug on the night table and clasped both of Sam’s hands tightly. The gardener held onto them firmly and smiled and Frodo returned it.. Peace filled the Ring-bearer anew. Would it be possible? Would it truly be possible? He began to cry even harder. There had been no judgement in his Sam’s voice or eyes, only overwhelming love and sorrow for his pain. He realized that his fear was just another trick and manipulation of the Ring and he felt violated anew by such misuse of his heart.

Sam let go for a moment. The Ring taunted Frodo that his guardian’s love could not be still genuine and the tortured hobbit began to believe that, but then the gardener spoke again. “Lay you down, dear, and sleep and I’ll still be here, holding onto you. I’ll hold on as long as you need.”

Frodo smiled and did as he was told. The need was still there, but he felt so much lightened, as though perhaps the burden could be bearable, if he always had his Sam helping him carry it. “Thank you, Sam, for everything. I was so afraid...”

Sam brought the covers up to his chin, kissed his head, then sat down and took both of his brother’s hands again. Frodo closed his eyes, trustful as a child that nothing could harm him as long as his hand was held, as Sam began to sing.

“My treasure, my dear one,

I’ll love you forever,

Naught you could say, naught you could do

Could break the love binding

Our hearts together;

For I will forever love you.”

Frodo cried softly, being so moved that Sam’s love had never faltered. He felt his beloved guardian’s hand gently wipe away his tears as the song continued.

“O slumber in peace now,

Forget all your sorrow,

Lay down all your burdens till dawning of day

Though night surrounds us,

Soon comes a fair morrow,

To drive fear and shadows away.

“My treasure, my dear one,

I’ll love you forever,

Naught you could say, naught you could do

Could break the love binding

Our hearts together;

For I will forever love you.”

Just as he fell asleep, he thought of another one who had always loved him. He remembered one night in particular after a especially harrowing dream, undoubtedly induced by his begging to hear one more of his uncle’s adventures before going to sleep, that he had cried out in terror and Bilbo had come running into his room, holding an oil lamp aloft. Frodo had not even been a tween then and had been accorded the very special privilege of staying a few nights with his uncle while his parents had been away visiting a sick cousin. After staying up far too late, he had had the vague memory of being carried into one of the spare bedrooms and kissed softly on the forehead goodnight. It was not long after that the nightmare had begun and when an anxious Bilbo arrived, Frodo gave him a fearful report.

“Goblins, Uncle,” he squeaked out, clutching the covers tight against his small body. “With giant red eyes. I saw them! Could you scare them away? Please? They aren’t paying any attention to me.”

“Hmmm,” Bilbo said. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

He handed his trembling nephew his lamp to hold up high while he conducted his search. The child sat in the very center of the bed, legs tucked up under him to present the goblins the smallest and hardest target to reach. The light bobbed and wove unsteadily in his shaking hands, throwing wild shadows on the wall that would have been just as frightening if he hadn’t been watching his uncle make a most through search under the bed, behind the door, inside the closet, under the window and anywhere else he could think of to search.

“Nothing there,” Bilbo reported each time in what he hoped was a soothing voice.

When he was done, he sat down on the edge of the bed and took his nephew’s hand. “I don’t see anything, Frodo, my lad. Maybe your shout scared them away.”

Frodo clutched his uncle’s hand tightly, almost enough to hurt, but Bilbo let him hold it seeing the fear still so strong in those beautiful eyes. “You forgot the hallway.”

“Oh, of course, how silly of me.”

He began to get up. Frodo let go of his hand only reluctantly. “Don’t forget the light, Uncle,” he said, holding out the lamp to Bilbo.

Bilbo stood at the threshold and swept the hall with the light. “I don’t see anything here either, my boy. I think you really did frighten them all away.”

Frodo nearly collapsed with relief, not truly believing it until his uncle had sat down again next to him and took up his hand and held it until he feel asleep again. Then he knew he was safe.

Just as he knew he was with his Sam and his other Guardian that stood over him, sheltering him. This time he heard the “Sleep well, dear. I love you,” deep within his heart, said without words, as well as its spoken echoes, both from Sam and Bilbo’s treasured, sorely missed voice, and took all three down into sleep with him, a smile on his lips.

Sam watched that smile for a long time, storing it in his memory. He thought of a time himself when as a child he had stayed overnight at Bag End and had woken frightened from a nightmare and Frodo had come and conducted much the same search Bilbo had when Frodo had been Sam’s age. Frodo had held the lamp up above him as he reported the same negative results Bilbo had and then when the nine-year-old needed more reassuring that all was well, Frodo had sat on the edge of the bed, taken Sam into his arms and told him all the jokes he had ever heard until the child was laughing so hard he forgot to be afraid. Neither were aware of Bilbo standing in the hallway, smiling. When Sam was relaxed enough to go back to sleep, Frodo had hugged him and kissed his head and wished him a good night before leaving again. Now their positions were reversed and Sam was glad that love had once again been enough to push away fears.

A/N: Frodo’s prayer is adapted from two from St. Thomas Aquinas. It first appeared in “One Heart...” As did that lovely lullaby of Queen Galadriel’s.