Chapter Five: The Hands of a Healer

Sam got up during the night to check on Frodo as he always did, but when he approached his master’s bed, the Ring-bearer was murmuring and tossing his head restlessly. His hand had fallen from clutching the white gem around his neck and Sam placed it back around it.

He brushed at Frodo’s curls. "What’s that you’re saying, me dear? You should be sleeping."

Frodo turned his head a bit into Sam’s hand, but did not wake. He continued to speak softly.

"Sam..." quietly came Aragorn’s voice behind him.

The hobbit turned, a bit surprised. "Do you know what he’s saying, my lord? He talks like that sometimes since we’ve been back, but bless me if I can understand a word of it."

Aragorn’s face was grim. "Consider yourself blessed that you cannot. It’s the Black Speech."

Sam’s eyes widened in horror. "You mean like the dark lord spoke?"

"The very same."

"And he’s speaking to Mr. Frodo now? And Mr. Frodo’s responding?" He stroked one of the Ring-bearer’s delicately pointed ears. "His poor ears. But how could that be? I mean, the dark lord’s gone, isn’t he?" Sam looked up at his king, desperately seeking confirmation.

Aragorn’s features softened a bit as he looked at his distressed friend. "Sauron was defeated, Sam, when the Ring was put in the Fire, but he was not destroyed as it was."

Sam looked back at his beloved master. Frodo’s face was part in shadow, part in the moonlight that shone through the window and he was still murmuring. "You mean he’s still got some kind of hold on my master?"

"I fear it to be so."

"What’s he saying to him?"

Aragorn was silent for a moment, his features turning grim again. He would not repeat to Sam the vile words he was hearing. No ears as gentle as his should be subjected to such, and neither should Frodo’s, but such was happening. "Sauron is still trying to claim him," was all he said.

Sam shook his master. "Don’t let him do that, Mr. Frodo! You’ve got to fight him, just like you did all that way to the Fire. Wake up and tell your Sam what he can to help you. Wake up!"

"He’s resisting, Sam," Aragorn assured. "But I don’t know if he can hear you."

Sam shook Frodo a little harder. "Then, maybe he can. Look here, Mr. Sauron, you let my master go! You have no right to be giving him whatever sauce you are, so leave off and let him be! If you keep at it, you’ve got Sam Gamgee to reckon with and you know already that I gave you the whatfore back in your own land!"

Aragorn smiled. Leave it to Sam, the mildest hobbit one could hope to meet, to tell off the most malignantly evil force in all Middle-earth! He was intrigued as well by the gardener’s last words and was impressed and humbled once more by his strength and courage.

The man sat down by Frodo’s bedside to lend his own power to the fight. He cupped the Ring-bearer’s cheek and spoke in Sindarin to counter the terrible corruption of the Elven language that was Sauron’s: "Lasto beth nin, mellon nin. Tolo dan na ngalad." [Hear my voice, my friend. Come back to the light.]

Frodo leaned into his touch, but did not wake. Aragorn spoke again, more urgently. Sam knelt and continued to stroke his master’s ear and murmured, "Come back, Mr. Frodo, my dear, my dear. Come back to your Sam."

"Do you know enough Sindarin to talk to him in that, Sam?" Aragorn asked. "He may respond to your voice better than mine since he knows and loves it better."

"You just tell me what to say and I’ll say it. And tell me how to say ‘I love you.’"

Aragorn smiled. "Im mil le." He then gave the gardener a quick lesson in what needed to be said.

Sam nodded and absorbed the words quickly, then spoke directly into his master’s ear. "Im mil le, Mr. Frodo. Lasto beth nin, mellon nin. Tolo dan na ngalad."

The king smiled wider to hear Sam repeat those words over and over. Frodo did not wake, but his features settled more peacefully and he turned quiet. There was even a ghost of a smile on his lips. Sam looked up hopefully at the man who nodded for him to continue. The hobbit took his master’s maimed hand and was grateful when he felt Frodo’s fingers curl around his. "That’s the way, Mr. Frodo dear," Sam murmured. "That’s the way. You just keep hold of your Sam and he’s not going let anything hurt you."

"Thank you, my Sam," Frodo murmured. "I love you, too."

Sam brushed his brow with a kiss and stroked his curls gently with his free hand. He continued with his soothing words for a while longer and Aragorn was deeply touched by the tenderness of his care. The hobbit’s first child had yet to be born, but there was no doubt that Sam was already a father, not just of one, but two.

"I’ve been told that I have the hands of a healer, but, you, Sam, have the same gift."

The gardener blushed. "Naught special ’bout my hands, my lord, begging your pardon. Just doing what I’ve always done."

Aragorn smiled and clasped his friend’s shoulder. "May you continue to do it then, and may hobbits and gardens always flourish under your touch!"

Sam blushed deeper. He stood and bowed and then returned to soothingly stroking his master’s hand and singing to him very softly as Frodo settled into deep, untroubled sleep. Aragorn left then, knowing that Frodo could not be in better hands.

He made a couple detours before he returned to the room he shared with his wife. One of them was the study. Faramir had taken Frodo up on his offer to sleep there so the four hobbits had made sure he had enough blankets and made a bed for him on the floor. He woke now as Aragorn came in and watched his king curiously.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

Aragorn responded to him in Sindarin lest anyone overhear and the Steward’s face grew concerned and grieved but he smiled also at what Sam had said and done. He settled back to sleep as the king left for his own bed, knowing indeed that Frodo was in the best possible hands.

In the morning Aragorn knew he would have to more fully disclose to Sam and to the others what he had heard Frodo say so they could all watch more carefully and understand why he had taken the precautions he just had.