Chapter Text
The first time Frodo was able to fully grasp the fact that his suffering had not ended with the destruction of the Ring was during his stay in Minas Tirith.
Despite the gruesome loss of his finger, when he’d woken in Ithilien, Frodo had clung to the hope that everything might resolve itself neatly after all. That the euphoria of the newly lifted burden would, in fact, last forever. For a few days, he was the happiest he had been in months, in more than a year. But that had only been the elation of surviving when he’d long ago come to terms with the idea that he would certainly die.
Now, during the days that followed the coronation of Aragorn (or rather, of King Elessar), in the palatial white city, the sense of relief and freedom Frodo had initially felt after he’d been rescued from Mordor was fading and uneasiness was growing within him once again. Uneasiness and something disturbingly similar to grief.
As he slowly healed from his journey and regained some semblance of physical strength, he became more and more aware of how dependent he’d become upon others and how dependent he was still.
Others . No, it was Sam, really, upon whom it had all depended in the end. Not that the balance of everything hadn’t been in the hands of Aragorn as well. In the hands of Legolas and Gimli. Of Gandalf. Of Merry and Pippin. Boromir and Faramir. Of countless others. They had all done their part, of course. But it had been Sam who rescued Frodo from the torturous depths of Cirith Ungol. Sam alone who had protected Frodo all the way through Mordor. Sam who had carried Frodo to the top of Mount Doom when Frodo couldn’t even stand on his own two feet. Sam, his gardener. Though, in truth, Frodo doubted he would ever be able to see Sam as his gardener again. He was defined by so many other words now. Samwise the Stouthearted. Samwise the Noble. Samwise Gamgee, whose hope never failed.
Frodo knew he would have perished without Sam. On more than one occasion. And without Sam, the quest would undoubtedly have failed, the Ring would have been recovered by its true Master, and countless lives, including Frodo’s own, would have been lost. It was terrifying how close Frodo had come to leaving Sam behind. If he hadn’t almost drowned himself in his insistence that he follow Frodo to the end, Frodo would have abandoned him. For Sam’s own safety and wellbeing of course, but Frodo would have abandoned him nonetheless. And everything would have been lost.
He didn’t like to think about how often he’d taken Sam for granted. Yet, he had no choice but to ruminate on that exact topic as he tried to fall asleep in a bed that was far too big for him, in a city that was far too foreign.
In some twisted way, Frodo almost felt less safe now than he had on far more uncertain and perilous nights. At the beginning, there had been nine members of their sundry company, and though it had taken time for the trust between them to grow, Frodo had always felt a moderate sense of security amongst them. There was always someone to keep watch. Always someone to talk to, to exchange stories with, to sing with. And then, all at once, it had just been Frodo and Sam. And although perhaps Aragorn would have been more equipped to be Frodo’s sole companion, Legolas more knowledgeable, Gimli more skilled in combat, Frodo was infinitely thankful that it had been Sam by his side. He was sure of this now, and in a way, he had always been.
It had been Sam’s unfailing optimism that kept Frodo going. That, along with the fact that it was perhaps due to Sam alone that Frodo had ever managed to eat or sleep. Even as the days got darker and the future more grim, Sam had always stayed with Frodo. And that hadn’t been safety , exactly, but whenever Sam had held Frodo close in his arms as the two of them tried to fall asleep in some newly awful place, Frodo felt a little less horrified.
But now he was alone with only his thoughts and his uncertainty. Things were better, of course. No one could deny that. The Ring was gone. They’d done what they’d set out to do, and more of them had survived than anyone could have hoped. That was success, that was a victory worthy of joyous celebration and unending revelry.
Frodo was still unnerved and on-edge. His mind was muddled from what the Ring had done to him. There were moments he couldn’t remember. Entire days, weeks even, seemed not to exist anymore. His head was filled with dark, delusive thoughts and gory visions that he knew to be untrue, yet they haunted him all the same, and the unfamiliar stone walls of Minas Tirith brought him little comfort.
He suddenly found himself looking for Sam.
He didn’t know when he’d gotten out of bed or how he’d ended up outside of his room. It was as if he was in a dream, unconsciously trying to obtain something that was perpetually out of reach.
After some trial and error, Frodo eventually located the room he was searching for. In the many days they’d resided in the city, he’d never visited Sam’s room. The first place he tried ended up being Merry’s quarters, but fortunately, Merry himself was sound asleep and he did not hear Frodo open and immediately shut his door.
Sam, on the other hand, did hear his own door creak open.
Frodo saw him abruptly sit up in bed. He seemed dazed, but tense, alert and perhaps, if Frodo were to venture a guess, a bit scared. However, when his eyes met Frodo’s own, he relaxed slightly.
‘Mr. Frodo?’ Sam asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
‘Sam…’ Frodo began hesitantly. He lingered in the doorway, quickly realising he didn’t know what he planned on saying. ‘Ah. I… I apologise for waking you. Forgive me, I didn’t entirely intend to interrupt your rest, especially at such late an hour.’ Saying this, Frodo wondered what he had intended, and if he’d even intended anything at all.
‘’S no trouble,’ said Sam. ‘Though you did give me a bit of a fright at first.’ He yawned and pushed a few blond curls out of his face. His hair was endearingly unkempt, though it was also far cleaner and softer-looking than Frodo had seen it in a long while. ‘D’you need somethin’, Mr. Frodo?’
Frodo supposed he needed a great many things, but he was having difficulty figuring out how to voice them. The words he was looking for eluded him. Did he need sympathy? Perhaps. Help? That was too vague. Companionship? Almost certainly, but he was embarrassed to admit it. Sam had provided him with so much companionship on so many occasions, and it felt selfish to request more than had already been freely given.
‘Well, I don’t quite know how to explain myself, Sam, to be completely honest.’ Frodo found himself nervously reaching for the place where the chain on his neck used to hang. When he realised the implications of this habitual act, he dropped his hands immediately. Sam noticed this, but thankfully did not address it.
‘’S alright, sir. You don’t need to do no explainin’ of yourself t’ me.’
This small statement brought Frodo an immeasurable amount of relief. Ever since the Ring had been destroyed, he’d received nothing but questions from all those around him. What had it been like? How had he managed it? Why was he missing a finger? In the midst of all of these necessary, yet overwhelming explanations, it sometimes slipped Frodo’s mind that Sam had been there too. Sam understood. Maybe not completely, but more than anyone else ever would. How could he ever express how grateful he was for that?
‘Mr. Frodo?’
‘Sam?’
‘If you’d like…. that is, if it might make you feel better...’ Sam looked down as he said this, fidgeting with the blankets on his lap. ‘You could lay here with me a while. I know I’d be glad of your company. Forgive me if I’m being too… too…’ Sam appeared to be struggling to find an end to his sentence. ‘...I mean to say… I’m sorry if the idea offends you in any way, sir,’ he concluded.
‘Not at all,’ Frodo assured him, greatly relieved by the invitation. ‘That’s very kind of you, Sam.’
Frodo carefully climbed into the bed next to Sam. As soon as he lay down, Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo’s shoulders, pulling him closer until Frodo’s face was pressed against Sam’s nightshirt. Frodo closed his eyes and gratefully allowed himself to be embraced.
It felt so natural, so normal, to exist this way with Sam. However, Frodo could not shake the feeling that this was, in many ways, not allowed. They were not in danger. They were not camping in some unknown land. They each had their own rooms, their own beds. This shouldn’t be necessary anymore.
But after everything, Frodo was glad he still had this. Still, at least for a short while longer, had Sam.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but wonder how much of Sam’s affection came from some perceived obligation. The idea that Sam might somehow still think of Frodo as an employer was unpleasant. Surely, in light of it all, Sam couldn’t possibly feel beholden to him in that way, could he? No, he must have realised by now that the two of them were equals. In several ways, Sam could even be called Frodo’s superior. Frodo certainly considered Sam to be greater than himself in terms of character and deed. Frodo was thinking about how he could convey this aloud when Sam spoke.
‘You’re shakin’, sir,' he said softly. Frodo felt Sam’s arms tighten around him. ‘Are you quite cold?’
Frodo shook his head. He hadn’t realised he’d been shaking, nor did he feel especially cold. Although, thinking about it, Sam did seem to be unreasonably warm. So maybe Frodo was cold and he just couldn’t tell. Maybe he had some sort of fever, or maybe something in him had gone permanently cold. He did feel as though a part of him was missing. As though he was altogether unwhole.
He desperately wanted to tell Sam that this was how he felt, but there was no fathomable manner in which he could imagine broaching such a bleak subject without causing Sam to worry more than he already did. Sam deserved to live without worry for the rest of his life. Frodo should have just admitted to being cold. He should not have sought comfort from Sam in the first place. It was something he undeniably needed, but also something that would never be uncomplicated.
‘I know you’re in a lot of pain,’ Sam said quietly, startling Frodo out of his thoughts. ‘I know it’s been mighty hard for you. Harder than I could ever begin t’ guess.’
Sam began to comb his fingers through Frodo’s hair, gently and methodically. The action calmed Frodo, even if he did feel a bit foolish for enjoying it.
‘But I’ll do whatever I can for you,’ Sam continued. ‘I said I wouldn’t leave you, an’ I don’t mean to go breakin’ that promise now. Your Sam will look out for you, Mr. Frodo. My dear Mr. Frodo.’
In that moment, Frodo experienced a wave of some enigmatic emotion. It was deeply familiar, yet jarringly new, a feeling far too abstruse and intangible for him to articulate, but one that was unquestionably pleasant.
He greatly wished he could communicate this mysterious sentiment, but it seemed as though he would remain at a loss for words. There was so much time now to express everything he wanted to say, everything he’d been afraid he might never get the chance to say, but lately Frodo had been finding it more and more difficult to recall the things he’d promised himself he’d do if he survived. Even when he could remember, he could never seem to convert his thoughts into words. In recent days, everything had been somewhat hazy and he’d felt… well, not entirely present, like either his body or his mind was in a different place, a different time. Was this part of the damage the Ring had done to him? He thought it must be.
This potentially permanent mental devastation was the source of many of Frodo’s worries, but right now the only thing he could think about was how he may never be able to tell Sam how much he meant to him. And that was terrifying. Because Sam meant an awful lot. Frodo didn’t think it would be easy to describe the vastness of his appreciation, even if he eventually returned to a state of sound mind. But of course, he had to try. So he said the only thing he could think of.
‘Thank you. Thank you, Sam. For everything. I mean it.’ At the very least, that was part of what Frodo wanted to say. It was all he could manage. It would have to be enough for now.
Frodo felt Sam lightly press a kiss to his forehead and he felt himself smile. He realised, through the ache of the muscles in his face, that he hadn’t smiled this way in a very long time.
One day. One day he’d find the words for this.