Chapter Four: Home

Frodo fought against living even as Aragorn sought to rescue him, even against the voices of Merry and Pippin that begged him to come back. He had many arguments with Sam in the shadowlands, and lost all of them. "Stubborn Gamgee," he was heard to murmur often in his sleep, sounding very annoyed but at times also affectionate.

Gandalf spoke to him as well, inside his mind and heart, and the wizard was heard to murmur more than once, "Stubborn Baggins," with just as much annoyance and affection. Aragorn and Legolas smiled despite their concerns which confused the fretful Merry and Pippin, leaving them wondering whether they were the only sane ones left in the entire Fellowship with everyone else either talking to themselves or people who weren't there or smiling like they had some sort of secret understanding they weren't able to share.

Of those who waited anxiously at his bedside, the wizard was the only one who knew exactly what demons his dear friend was fighting in that induced sleep, what caused the tears to stream down his cheeks. Aragorn wondered as did the rest of the Fellowship, but Gandalf was silent, having no desire to speak of what was tearing apart Frodo’s soul. That would be the Ring-bearer’s decision.

The others didn’t know any of it until Frodo woke from a nightmare, screaming, "I killed him! I killed him!"

Merry and Pippin startled awake at their cousin’s side and tried in vain to calm the racking sobs that shook the too-frail body of the Ring-bearer.

"I killed him!"

The two hobbits held their beloved, murmured what comforts they could, but Frodo did not hear or heed any of them. He squirmed out of their arms. Aragorn and Gandalf rushed in as soon as they heard the screams, but nothing the healer could do helped. The wizard tried to reach Frodo’s mind and heart.

"Let me go! Let me go!" Frodo cried out and neither Merry nor Pippin knew who he was talking to for no one was holding him at that moment.

Gandalf knew. Tears that were rarely seen rolled silently down his weathered cheeks. He sensed Sam very nearby, holding the shards of Frodo’s heart and his own in his hands, trying to meld them back together.

"Please let me go," the Ring-bearer murmured.

Frodo wept until he was hoarse, then collapsed back into sleep from sheer exhaustion. It was only then that the two hobbits and the one who would soon be their king cried. The hobbits couldn’t believe anything could have possibly driven their cousin to murder someone as dear to him as Sam, or murder anyone for that matter.

"What happened to him?" Merry asked.

"The Ring did all this," Gandalf said softly.

"Then how can we undo it?" Pippin asked as he watched the tears continue to fall down his cousin’s cheeks even in sleep.

"The damage is done, Pip," Merry said before anyone could answer. His voice was far older and more haunted that any of their race had ever been. "It can’t be undone. All we can do is just love him as we have always done and hope that will heal him and us."

"Love will be the only remedy for this," Gandalf agreed softly.

The hobbits sank back down beside him, snuggled close and put their arms across his chest and tried to rest again themselves. Frodo remained in his induced sleep for the next three days, barely stirring, but to call to Sam once in a while.

Aragorn distinctly heard him say, "I can’t," the night before he woke. He tossed restlessly, protested some more, then sighed heavily. "All right, all right, you stubborn hobbit. I’ll do it."

The uncrowned healer-king smiled.

The next morning, Frodo led the rest of the Fellowship to Sam’s grave. He hadn’t spoken further of it and Gandalf and Aragorn wondered whether he even remembered that he had screamed and wept out his pain.

Faramir stood with them as well as the Ring-bearer sank to the ground where he had buried his heart. He still didn’t speak to anyone of them, just softly to Sam as he carefully pulled away some weeds and pushed away some dirt that was covering the simple, unadorned grave. His tears fell on it as he listened as Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf all murmured prayers for the dead. It helped Frodo some to hear the prayers offered in several different languages, especially in Sindarin. Merry and Pippin bowed their heads. Faramir spoke in the silence of his heart.

Gandalf knelt down and touched Frodo’s shoulder and Aragorn did the same on the hobbit’s other side. The two other hobbits laid their heads against their cousin’s chest and back and wrapped their arms around him.

"It was not your fault," the wizard said.

"Then whose was it?" came Frodo’s dull voice, devoid of life and light.

"Sauron’s," Aragorn answered.

"Morgoth’s," Legolas said, his hand lightly resting on the hobbit’s curls.

"It was still my hand that did it."

"But you did not will it to happen," Gandalf said. "The Ring did, Sauron did."

Frodo turned silent again. His eyes had not left the gravestone. He hadn’t responded to any of the touches his friends made, the only warm spots on a body and soul gone cold. He heard but didn’t offer any consolation for his cousins’ tears. What could he offer, since he had caused them? What could be offered to him, that he could accept for the inferno of grief that still burned so hot within him? Why hadn’t he just let go?

Because there is goodness still left in you, my dear, and that is worth fighting for.

What goodness? There’s nothing left inside me but a dark, empty shell. My heart is buried in the ground, my soul in the fire.

Frodo could hear Sam sigh, or at least imagined it. You may feel empty now, but it is only because the Shire awaits to fill you again. Live for all that means to you, the fields and streams and woods, Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, sunny days, apple picking, strawberries and cream, mushroom pies...

Yes, Sam. It shall all be there. But you won’t be. How can I go on knowing that? How can I possibly face your Gaffer or Rose or anyone?

I won’t ever leave you, my dear. We’ll face them together. I love you, my Frodo. I love you so much.

Frodo sighed. I love you, too.

"He should be buried in the Shire, in his garden," he said out loud, wishing that could be.

"You could make a garden here, Frodo," Faramir said.

"And I could carve you a worthy headstone," Gimli said.

"I would like that," Frodo said.

So Frodo spent his days and weeks. His maimed hand was still healing and Aragorn had warned him that infection could set in if it wasn’t kept clean and properly bandaged. At first Frodo hadn’t cared whether it was clean or not. Perhaps if infection did set in, he could die and join Sam. He started taking better care of it when he saw a gardening glove held out in mid-air for him to wear over the hand. He took the glove and the hint and slowly a fine garden, full of Sam’s favorite plants and flowers began to take root. Merry, Pippin, Faramir and the others visited often and would always find the hobbit on his hands and knees, planting or watering something, pulling up weeds. He spoke softly as he worked, sometimes directly to Sam, as though a normal two-way conversation was going on, though the only person ever heard was Frodo himself. The other two hobbits had trouble understanding that, but Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas smiled. Merry and Pippin felt more comfortable when their cousin confined his words to the plants because they all knew from Sam that was what you needed to do. Frodo’s tears did most of the watering, and theirs did too, but there was also a sense of accomplishment to be seen in the hobbit’s eyes, a tender love that would sometimes shine out from behind the pain. There were even the very rare smiles that were like the sun coming out from dark storm clouds.

The grave marker was elegantly carved in Westron and the Sindarin that Sam had loved. Legolas had helped Gimli with the right wording for that after Frodo had told him what words he wanted there. The Ring-bearer had smiled it, then cried.

Samwise Gamgee

Gardener

Friend

Hero

Brother

"Those were my mother’s favorites, too," Faramir said one day when Frodo stood from all his planting, all mud-splattered on face, hands and breeches. Grief still ravaged his features, but a tendril of peace was making them more fair again.

"Bag End was full of them."

"That was where you lived?"

"I did. But not anymore."

"Where is your home now?"

Frodo looked down at the grave and touched it briefly. "Where it has been since I moved to Bag End. Wherever Sam is."