Chapter Twenty: Joy Like Swords

A/N: Parts of my very favorite scene from the Red Book will be quoted or paraphrased here. Sam’s song is from Sauron Defeated, History of Middle-earth Vol. 9.

Nienna sensed Sam’s approach at the threshold of one day and the next, so began to withdraw, knowing that the one she succored would be in the best of hands. Quietly the door opened. The younger hobbit saw his master curled around himself in the dark, shivering badly. There was not even moonlight to see by, leastways not from the outside, but besides Frodo’s own softly shimmering light, Sam detected another on the edge of his senses and drew in a breath. He was naught entirely sure what to do, but since Mr. Gandalf had bowed to it, it seemed right and proper that he do so also. Nienna blessed his reverence by giving him the lightest brush of a caress to his brow, so light he almost thought he imagined it, if it were not for what he else he felt. He had a gardener’s heart and thought as one as so he could only think of the flowers that he saw blossom under his care that anyone else would have given up on, but he never did, and so could feel their appreciation for all his loving. That is how he felt now, as though he were that flower being appreciated, and that was how he often saw his master, as the brightest flower in all the garden and the one upon he lavished the tenderest care. It felt a little queer to feel that care now brush against him, but it strengthened him to wade into his master’s dark dream as Nienna withdrew.

Frodo sensed the loss of her and the desolation of his loneliness and pain rushed to overwhelm him once more, no longer held back by the barrier of the Vala’s presence. However, it was checked once more by a soft voice raised in song.

"I sit upon the stones alone;

the fire is burning red,

the tower is tall, the mountains dark;

all living things are dead.

In western lands the sun may shine,

there flower and tree in spring

is opening, is blossoming:

and there the finches sing.

"But here I sit alone and think

of days when grass was green

and earth was brown, and I was young:

they might have never been.

For they are past, for ever lost,

and buried here I lie

and deep beneath the shadows sink

where hope and daylight die.

"But still I sit and think of you;

I see you far away

Walking down the homely roads

on a bright and windy day.

It was merry then when I could run

to answer to your call,

could hear your voice or take your hand;

but now the night must fall.

"And now beyond the world I sit,

and know not where you lie!

O master dear will you not hear

my voice before we die?"

Frodo faintly answered Sam’s plea as the younger hobbit gathered his master into his arms.

The Ring-bearer opened his eyes and blurrily focused on his beloved guardian. "Sam?" he croaked in a whisper. "Am I still dreaming?"

Sam’s eyes pricked with tears to see his brother still so wounded, but he smiled bravely for him. "You are back home, me dear. You are naught in that terrible Tower no more. I’m here with you and you’re in your own bed."

"Then I wasn’t dreaming when I heard you singing down below?"

The younger hobbit brushed at his master’s sweaty curls and he knew Frodo was not truly aware of what Sam was telling him. "You are dreaming now, dear, but...."

"....but you’ve come into it. Am I ever going to wake? And what will I wake to? And will you be there if I do?"

Sam brushed at his curls. "You are going to wake, me dear, and I will be here. It’s all right."

"No, no it’s not." Frodo began to fret restlessly in Sam’s arms and looked feverishly into his guardian’s eyes. "They’ve taken everything, Sam. Everything I had. Do you understand? Everything! The quest has failed. Even if we get out of here...."

Sam kissed his brow and rocked him gently. "No, my dear, it didn’t fail. It succeeded. You are back home now. The war is over."

Frodo continued to squirm and his hand reached toward his neck. "It’s gone, Sam, gone for ever."

"Yes, me dear, it is gone."

The Ring-bearer’s hand continued to search for the phantom Ring. "I can still feel it."

Sam caught his beloved’s hand and kissed it. "It’s naught there."

He placed Frodo’s hand instead around Arwen’s gem which calmed the troubled hobbit a bit, but he continued to murmur over and over, though the words were different and Sam did not know why. "Not only Elves can escape, away, away out of Middle-earth, far away over the Sea. Only that can keep the Shadow out. Over the Sea, over the Sea."

There was a sound outside the bedroom door and Frodo started. "We shouldn’t be talking. They’ll hear and they’ll come back. They always did if I moved."

Sam held him tighter. "You are safe here, me dear."

"Yes," Frodo breathed, "with you, Sam, dear Sam. I know you won’t let them hurt me." He looked piercingly into his guardian’s eyes again. "Will you come with me, when they let you?"

Sam did not understand what his master meant, but he said, "Yes, my love, I will come with you. I won’t ever leave you."

Frodo sighed. "Then it will be all right."

Sam smiled. "Yes, dear, it will be all right."

Frodo lay back in Sam’s gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven away by some loved voice or hand. Sam’s heart was moved by a great wellspring of pity and love. He held his master-brother-child in his embrace as he had in the Tower and happiness overwhelmed his grief, since he knew he could hold him much longer now than he had been able to then. When it came time for breakfast, Aragorn found them still peacefully sleeping together.

They woke shortly afterward. Frodo had memories of wandering long in dark dreams but he woke safely in Sam’s arms, in his own bed, and the memories faded back into the black well from which they had come. He still felt slightly nauseous for some reason and was unsteady when he rose. Sam stopped him from falling back and held him until his head stopped swimming.

"I’m sorry, Sam, I don’t know what’s come over me. I must have..." He brushed his head over his eyes. "I’m so tired."

"Do you want me to bring your breakfast here instead, dear?"

Frodo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The cobwebs continued to disappear from his head, as he became more and more aware of the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. That convinced him more than anything that he was no longer dreaming.

"No, just give me half a minute." He paced slowly about his bedroom, holding his hand to his back of his neck when he had been stung, then suddenly he stopped, as though he realized something. He looked up at Sam.

"Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry," he said. "Now I know why I feel so queer. I would have kept it from you. You shouldn’t have to bother about me now, especially when Rose is so near."

The younger hobbit took his master’s maimed hand from around his neck and kissed it and the place he had been stung and then smiled at him. Frodo looked up at the eyes of his guardian, shining so with love and compassion. For a long time, he stood transfixed by such an outpouring of strength and devotion, then laid his head down on Sam’s shoulder and felt himself gently rocked and the soft stroking of his curls. How in all the Shire could he possibly be thinking of leaving his Sam? Yet, he knew he had to, for it frightened him like no other terror he had felt on the Quest, that even though his loyal guardian was the surest shelter in the storm that buffeted him, it was not enough.

* * *

An additional shelter was built eleven days later when Sam’s and Rose’s first child was born. Frodo’s heart was pierced by joy as sharp as the pain he felt. The labor had begun late in the afternoon and Rose was almost too uncomfortable to become overawed by the fact that her king was going to be in attendance instead of the midwife that had seen many a hobbit lad and lass take their breath and cry at the cold and bright of the outside world. After hours in which it was hard to tell at first whether the father or mother was more fretful at the prolonged labor (and it was decided not long after that it was father), Aragorn was humbled to receive into his arms the little one who cried most lustily at birth and set everyone else crying as well. The man had never seen a newborn so small, but obviously healthy. He cut the cord, wiped the child clean and wrapped her in a warm blanket. He handed her then to her mother and everyone gathered around to have a closer look.

Sam was aburst with joy at such a marvelous creation and when at last tore his eyes away, he looked up at his master who was smiling joyfully and lovingly at his niece. There was something else there too, a wistfulness that Sam couldn’t quite identify, but he did not fret about for his dear one was looking that beautiful. Their eyes met and when it came time for Sam to hold his daughter, he did not for long, but handed her right into Frodo’s arms. The hobbit’s light flared brighter as he looked into the child’s eyes, held her and began to sing to her in Sindarin. Everyone there was deeply moved by the love and joy that was poured into that small lass, and none missed the longing either, though none of the hobbits could truly identify it. Sam was shining nearly as brightly, just watching both his beloved master and his wife, and thinking he was the luckiest hobbit who ever lived.

When Frodo gave his niece back to his brother, the Ring-bearer was thinking he was the one who was the luckiest. He and Sam looked long at each other. The elder hobbit gave his dearest guardian a smile that reached his eyes and lit his whole being brighter than it had in months. Sam saw clearly a peace to his soul that had not been there since they had woken so long before in Ithilien. The pain still lingered and it had grown for some reason Sam did not understand with this birth, but it could not compare with the joy that radiated out from Frodo. Sam took his daughter into his arms and Frodo’s light flared once more to such a perfect picture.

The ecstacy the Ring-bearer felt pierced him anew with the pain that this was the only child he would ever physically hold. And there was so many others to come. So many. He beheld them with the eyes of his heart, as many as he could, knowing that the shadows in which the future was veiled could be hiding others that were beyond his sight. Seeing them made all the sacrifices and torments he had endured on the way to the Fire worth it. It also made his present agony worse that he would have just this small taste of the joy that awaited his brother. He embraced it all as he was immolated by the twin fires of joy and pain.