Sophinisba Solis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sophinisba) wrote2007-08-25 12:04 pm
sophinisba) wrote2007-08-25 12:04 pm
Entry tags:
Post-quest AU ch. 6, Caught
"All the Rest Behind" has been suggested as a title for the series. What do you think? Any other ideas?
Previous parts.
Rating: PG for this chapter, R later on.
Main characters: Frodo and Rosie.
Genre: Angst, post-quest Shire AU. Multiple pairings of male and female hobbits.
Summary: Frodo and Rosie each try to go on with their lives after losing Sam.
Warnings: Severe angst, character death. More detailed summary/warnings/pairings/spoilers here.
There was very little warning. A darkening of his vision, a twinge that made him reach to the back of his neck, try to rub the pain away. But within minutes he was caught and could not even do that.
He couldn't move, couldn't see or feel or conceive of anything outside himself. Pain in his blood like ice frozen solid and eternal, beyond the reach of warmth or words, remedies or time. He couldn't understand the reasons for this deep feeling of failure and shame. He could not even hope for death, could not imagine anything other than this.
For hours he didn't move, and for moments his breath and even his heart stopped. Rosie stayed close and held his cold, limp hand through all of that. It was only when his eyes opened, wide and unseeing and full of terror, that Rosie too panicked. Frodo tried to shrink from them but didn't have the strength. And Rosie dropped his hand and ran away, ignoring her mother's order that she stay.
What could possibly have happened to Frodo and Sam, to make him this afraid of her now? And how could she possibly help him if she didn't know?
Consciousness and coherence did not return to him all at once. The first time he'd been poisoned, the first time he'd been paralyzed, Frodo had felt, as if through a thick cloth which nevertheless did not warm him, the pressure of Sam's embrace. He had heard, as if through a wall of rock or ice, how Sam begged him not to leave him alone. He could not give Sam any sign that he heard or longed to obey. He could not breathe or even struggle to breathe, and he slipped away from the pain into numbness and oblivion.
The first time, he'd awoken naked, aching and abandoned. He'd cursed his solitude and his weakness until he'd found out it could be still worse. Till he felt the lashes and the blows from the orcs, till he'd had their medicine poured down his throat. And if before he had felt his blood freezing, the orc draught might have been burning lead; it brought every nerve in him back to agonizing life. At first Frodo had wished to slip away again, to sink under the ice and the cold water, even if that meant death. It wasn't given to Frodo to decide, of course. Consciousness returned, the threats and the violence continued, and the pain increased.
But Frodo had not despaired completely then, not even when he realized he had lost the Ring. Because when he had last seen Sam, Sam had been alive. And that was enough; that was the hand that reached for him through the broken ice and brought him up to keep on fighting, even when reason told him he had lost everything. That was the sliver of hope: Sam would come for him, and after that, somehow, things would come out right.
Consciousness and coherence did not return at once, and it was difficult at times to distinguish the torment of his memory from the torment of his present, or to know which one was worse. The place was different, but the ache was the same, radiating from the wound in his neck but reaching every part of him. Frodo was insensible with pain, and when he felt a cup held to his mouth and liquid on his lips he fought. He still did not have much strength, but his thrashing managed to tip the cup out of the hand that offered it. Frodo felt the warm liquid seep through the cloth on his chest and braced himself for the blows of punishment. But instead of being beaten he was held with tenderness, and a voice like his mother's repeated his name and quiet assurances that all danger was passed.
A trick. Dark magic. Or a hallucination brought on by the poison. Frodo would not believe it. His mother was dead, and no one in the world had any reason to comfort him anymore.
Sam would not come.
The fact of Sam's death returned to him before the rest of reality. Before he could recognize Mrs. Cotton or Daisy Gamgee, who'd traveled across town in the middle of the night to see him. Before the two of them could convince him that this medicine really would make him feel better. Before he could recognize the familiar bed in the Cottons' safe, warm home, or understand that the sun was shining in the Shire, Frodo knew this: the Ring was gone forever, and so was Sam.
So the despair came first, and only later was it confused with some measure of comfort, and with shame. Frodo didn't recall everything he'd said and done in his sickness, but he knew he'd behaved badly, and caused even more worries for the family that had taken him in. He thought he might have struck Mrs. Cotton, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her or to apologize. And had Nick and Nibs seen him like that? And had Rosie?
Perhaps it was time, after all, to take Merry up on his offer, give up on this part of the Shire and move back to Buckland. He'd resisted before, saying Brandy Hall to him meant childhood. And much as he treasured the time spent there with young Merry, childhood to Frodo meant helplessness and grief. He had been happier at Bag End, as a tween with Bilbo and then as master of the smial himself. And Sam had lived just down the hill and worked for him. Frodo had seen him every day.
Foolishness to think he could come back to such a place and be happy. Aunt Esme had taken care of the little orphan so many years ago. Better for her to tend to the wreck, the invalid he'd become since he went away. It was absurd to lay such a burden on the Cottons, and them, Rosie, already having lost so much.
Frodo wished he might never have to face them again, and Rosie least of all. But he was powerless, too weak even to leave this bed, let alone pack off to Brandy Hall or leave the Shire altogether, as he felt he really must do.
And if Rosie came into the room now, and brought him tea, and wanted to talk to him, Frodo had no escape.
"Hello, Rose," he said shakily. "I'm sorry for what happened. I hope I didn't frighten you too badly."
"Ah, well, we Cottons don't scare so easily," Rosie said, and this was not really an honest answer to his question, but it was true in and of itself. Rosie had stood strong in the face of Lotho and Lobelia and even Ted Sandyman and the big men he thought were on his side. It took something truly terrible, like the fear in Frodo's eyes during his slow recovery in these last days, to have any real effect on her.
"No," said Frodo. "You are hobbits, after all."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Oh, nothing, just something Gandalf used to say."
He was always doing that kind of thing. He'd get that far-off look and say something that made no sense (because what did being hobbits have to do with anything?), and when she asked him to explain he said she wouldn't understand.
But she hadn't come here to argue.
"Are you feeling better today?" she asked, though the answer was rather obvious. He'd barely been able to speak yesterday.
"Much better, thank you."
"You know, I've felt scared from time to time in the last few days, but mostly I've just felt useless. Is there anything at all you'd like from us? Anything you think might help?"
"I do believe it's passed now, at least...for now. Perhaps next time we can be better prepared, but then again I expect I'll be off on my own at Bag End by then."
"Well then, perhaps I'll have to come and take care of you then – to make up for not having been helpful this time, you understand."
She smiled, and he smiled back at her and then sipped his tea. Rosie sat down in the chair by the table that had become his writing desk.
"I put all your papers away," she said. "In this stack here."
"I must have left a mess, and you must have needed to set out medicines."
"No, I... Well, yes, they did need the space. But I only meant to say that I didn't look at them. No one did."
As much as she'd been tempted to read before, in those months she wanted Frodo's past as far away from her as possible. She'd stacked everything together quickly and put in a corner with a plain-covered book on the top so there'd be nothing to see.
"Thank you."
Frodo handed her the empty teacup and Rosie held it, unsure of what to do next. She had no more excuse to stay here, so she really ought to ask what she'd wanted, or else just leave.
"I wouldn't read it without your permission," she said, "but I was wondering if you planned on showing it to anyone, eventually. After it's done."
Frodo shifted in the bed, and Rosie how if she were in his position she'd be wishing desperately for the other person to leave. She stayed still.
"I'm not sure," he said. "I'd thought, perhaps, I'd show it to my cousins first, and they could help me decide what else to do with it."
Rosie nodded. "Well. If you ever wanted someone else, someone who wasn't there to look at it. or if...if you ever wanted to talk about what happened, I would listen."
"Thank you," he said again, and she knew he wouldn't give the idea any more thought unless she gave him a reason to.
"I know you think I wouldn't understand, and I wish you wouldn't just decide that." The last words came out sounding bitter and Rosie bit her tongue. Perhaps this wasn't the best way of showing what a kind and compassionate listener she could be. "You don't know me very well, still, but I understand more than you think."
Frodo looked confused. "Have I said something...?"
"Yes," she said quickly. "There's something my father told me, something you said while you were sick." She steadied her voice and held his gaze. "You said, 'It is gone forever, and now all is dark and empty'".
Frodo looked away for a moment but then met her eyes again. He made no move to speak, so Rosie continued, "Do you feel that way? Do you...? Because I feel that way, all the time, I… I can't see any reason to go on sometimes, now that he's gone." There, she had said it, and she breathed easier now, and waited patiently for Frodo to speak.
"I didn't remember saying that," he finally answered. "But I do. It's not… It's not quite all the time. There are minutes, whole hours sometimes when I forget, what I lost. I'm sorry, Rose, but I really don't think I can talk about this."
"But you can. You're always telling me that, that it's difficult to explain, that I wouldn't understand. But you know that I loved him, just as you loved him. I feel, I have a heart and a brain just as you do, so speak, try to explain at least, or I'll have nothing."
"I try." He sounded pained, and Rosie knew she was more cruel than kind to insist that he talk right now, but she couldn't let this go.
"You don't! You say 'something happened'. You say 'it was difficult'. Tell me what happened, I need to know, don't you see? Here I am, here we all are trying to take care of you, and trying to help you get better and here I am trying not to hate you because you stole my Sam away –"
She hadn't meant to say that, had never meant to say it out loud, but even as her voice broke and she fell silent she was glad she had. If she was demanding the most painful memories Frodo had, it was only right for her to lay her feelings bare as well. She caught her breath and continued, "and I can't understand, I can't help you if you won't tell me what happened, and why you couldn't move on Tuesday, and why you took so long to come back and why you didn't bring Sam back with you. Come Frodo, I need this."
She was surprised to see him smile then, a small, sad smile, the only kind she really saw from him now, and even these were rare. "It's not so simple," he said. "I could tell you I was attacked by a giant spider, and you'd picture something the size of your hand. I could say we were tired and hungry and you'd remember a long day you spent at the harvest with only one breakfast to keep you going. I could tell you Bilbo had a magic ring, and I had to take it away, but there's no way it can make sense to you that this task was important enough that I expected it to kill me and I went anyway." He paused, and looked less certain. "Or that even if I'd known then that it would kill Sam, I'd do it again."
Rosie had never expected him to say anything like this. His every action and expression since he'd returned seemed to convey pain and regret, so how could he say he would do it again, if given the choice and the knowledge of the outcome?
She was angry, she couldn't help being angry, but she was also grateful to him for saying so much, even if it was framed in the assertion that she would never understand. She reached for his hand then, and stroked it for a little while, letting her anger subside and deciding what to say next. "How big was the spider?" she asked.
He laughed then, or maybe it was more of a sob, and he drew his hand out of hers and crossed his arms over his chest, but he smiled slightly again. "Bigger than your hand," he said first, but she knew he was taking a moment to try to put it into words that would make sense to her. "You know your father's shed, not the cowshed, the smaller one behind it where he keeps the plough and the scythe and the hoes and those things?"
"Yes," said Rosie, trying hard to keep the incredulity off her face and out of her tone.
"I think she was slightly bigger than that," Frodo offered.
Rosie considered this, then asked, "Just the body? Or with the legs too?" as if one were more or less imaginable than the other.
"Well, bigger than that with the legs stretched out, smaller, I suppose, if she hadn't had any legs. It's diff… I mean to say, it was dark in this tunnel, and I was frightened. I don't remember everything very well."
Rosie nodded, and thought she would like to take his hand again, but both his hands were gripping his opposite arms now. He looked tense and she knew she would feel the touch as an intrusion, he was already so vulnerable when speaking about this.
"Do you believe me?" he asked in a small voice.
Rosie shook her head slightly. "I know you wouldn't lie to me, but you admit it was dark, and you were frightened…." She saw his distrust increasing, and she tried to say it another way, "I just don't see how you could have survived being attacked by a thing such as that."
Frodo nodded, and looked somewhat reassured, at least in terms of Rosie's attitude, but she saw that he was also disturbed, and struggling again to voice his answer. "It – she didn't mean to kill me right away, as I understand it. Gandalf and I talked about it later. Apparently her way was to paralyze the prey, then take it back to her den and…and suck the blood out slowly." He shivered slightly at this, and Rosie made to move the blanket up over his arms, but he shrunk back from her unconsciously, and she decided to leave him be. "For all that, the first sting nearly killed me," he continued, "but Sam fought it off, and killed it, it seems." He fell silent again for a time then. "We never really spoke of it, later. I can't imagine how he managed it. But then I can't understand how he did a lot of things, and we never had time –" Suddenly he looked at her keenly. "I shouldn't have lived through it, Rose. There were so many things that went wrong. I don't know how he kept us going through all of it."
You shouldn't have lived through it, Rosie thought, and Sam should have. She had thought it many times, but realized now for the first time that she no longer felt it. She couldn't blame Frodo when she knew Sam had followed him, had done everything he had done willingly. It would have been enough to have them both back, healthy and whole and happy with each other. She didn't need to have Sam for her own, if Frodo was the one he wanted. And someday she would tell Frodo all of this, but not now.
Instead she asked, "Was that when you kissed him? In the tunnel?"
Frodo stared at first, then nodded. "Just before the tunnel, actually. We'd had to climb a great set of stairs…and again, please don't think I'm belittling you but I have no way of making you comprehend, how huge, how difficult…"
"A great many stairs then," said Rosie. "Don't worry, you can try to explain it to me another time. So you were very tired then."
"Yes, and at the top of the stairs there was this tunnel that seemed to breathe danger and evil, and we neither one of us wanted to go in, but it seemed there was no other way to go on. But we stopped to rest, and Sam said he'd watch over me, and protect me. Somehow the exhaustion was stronger than the fear then, and I actually lay down and slept, right at the entrance to that horrible place. And when I woke up, that was…" he broke off, took a moment to breathe before going on. "That was when it happened. It didn't last long, and we knew, we knew we had to go in and I think we both realized that was where things would really begin to go wrong, as they did." He touched a finger lightly to the wound at the back of his neck, then brought both hands back to grab his arms again. "And I was more frightened than I'd ever been and at the same time so thrilled I couldn't believe it. I wished time could stop then, or the world disappear, and just leave the two of us there together, to enjoy each other."
"Of course you did," Rosie said softly, and she didn't begrudge it to him. She remembered her own first kiss with Sam, after the Lithe dance of her nineteenth year. Slow and quiet and not really thrilling at all, just comfortable and natural and right. She had never before felt so safe. "I'm sorry," she added, "sorry that was all you had."
Frodo shrugged and looked distant, and Rosie relented, she would stop interrogating him. "Would you like me to leave, Frodo?"
He hesitated but surprised her by saying "No, I don't mind." He let go of his arms and finally took her hand. "I know I resist your questions, but it does feel right to say it out loud. I know I said you wouldn't understand, but I want to thank you for listening and for trying."
Rosie squeezed his hand. "Of course," she said. And waited for some more moments, finally growing comfortable with these silences. "And after that things changed."
"I don't remember all of it well. I woke up some time later, and I was stiff and sore, as I was these last days." He shifted uncomfortably, then smiled at her. "But instead of being cared for by kind hobbits like you and your family, I was being held prisoner by…by orcs, in a tower."
Rosie shivered a little, despite having only the vaguest notion of what was meant by that word. One more strange name out of old Bilbo's tales. If Sam had lived with a picture of them in his mind all the years of listening and believing the master of Bag End, to Rosie the word meant only fear and filth, and she'd never let her mind dwell on those nasty details of the old hobbit's adventure. "Goblins?" she said, as if the question would help.
"Yes. Rosie, I think you've taken care of me in my illness, you probably saw the scar on my side and the ones on my back."
Rosie's mother had done more of the tending, removing the clothes soaked through with sweat, bathing Frodo with a wet cloth when he was paralyzed and unaware. But Rosie too had glimpsed those scars and others. She tried not to think to much on them but couldn't help wondering, speculating on what kind of trauma had put them there. "Was it a whip?" she asked.
"Yes. So you've seen the marks that are still there, a year later. That was the physical part, that and the thirst, and the sickness and the cold, but all that was nothing."
"Compared to the fear."
"Compared to the fear, yes. So I was wrong, you do understand some of what it was like."
"Because he wasn't with you anymore, and you didn't know if you'd see him again."
"Because I'd lost him. And I wanted to believe he would come back, but I couldn't be sure of anything then. I know you felt that way too, Rosie, when you were waiting for us to come back. And I know you mourn for him because you loved him, as I did. It was because of what we did you've lost him too, and I can't tell you how sorry I am for that –"
She shook her head. "No, we're not talking about me and my hurts now, I'm trying to find out what happened to you, to the two of you."
"But that's just the thing, Rosie. I'm trying to say that… that I know you understand, what it felt like to think I'd lost Sam, but there's more, much more that I don't think you possibly could, more that I can't think how to try to explain."
Rosie was no longer frustrated with Frodo or his reticence. He took his time in speaking, but she didn't mind now, as she needed time herself to think over everything he said. She smiled and observed him. He was still struggling for words but he was no longer tense, his arms were relaxed, and she was grateful to know that he trusted her, at least more than he had ever seemed to before. After a while she said, "I think you explain things very well, Frodo. And you are helping me by telling me this, I hope you can see that." He only nodded. She continued, cautiously, "You didn't say 'He is gone.'"
"What?"
"My father heard you say, 'It is gone forever, and now all is dark and empty.' Not him, but It."
"Yes."
"The Ring?"
"Yes." His voice was tiny, and his body had tensed again, but rather than retreat this time Rosie moved closer and sat next to him on the bed. She put an arm around his shoulders and kept hold of both his hands in her other hand. She felt a slight tremor in his body and held tight and soothed, and waited for it to subside.
When he was still she spoke again. "I don't understand it now, Frodo, but I will try."
"Thank you," he breathed with another shudder.
"And I think that he understood, don't you?"
Frodo was silent.
"When you say you'd do it over again, I think he would have felt the same way. If you could go back, back to your days at Bag End, and know all that would happen, if you told him then that the quest would claim his life…he'd still go with you, I think, if it meant he could take care of you and bring you through it safe."
She was sorry she could no longer see his face, but she was glad to be holding him now. Even as he wept, she felt a new closeness between them and was glad she had not hesitated to speak of Sam's love for him. It no longer made her angry, because Sam's devotion to Frodo was so much a part of him, it couldn't make her stop caring about either one of them. She kissed his temple softly and felt him shake harder, then went back to rocking him. Rosie felt tears in her own eyes but let them flow silently and calmly as she held him through his sobbing. It was a long time, but she did not become uncomfortable or wish to leave.
When her own emotions calmed she continued to ride out his own, thinking to herself about what Sam had loved so much in his master. There was his kindness, yes, and it had taken Rosie a long time to appreciate that, since for a long time his politeness has seemed to her like putting on airs, adding more distance between him and everyone else, when there was far too much of that already. But he was kind, that wasn't just a show.
But more than anything he could do for her himself, Rosie liked the feeling of helping him. She liked knowing that he could trust her. It must have made Sam prouder than her could ever say, to know that he was the one who help Frodo, hold him, make him feel safe. It must have taken Sam a long time to understand that was his place.
And with that thought Rosie realized that the place wasn't hers, and she let him go, scooted back and sat up with her back against the wall. Frodo kept still, faced away from her.
"There was something else I wondered about, mis—Frodo, I'm sorry." Such a strange thing to apologize for after all the pain she'd put him through in the last hour. But she couldn't see why the mister had come to her lips after so many months of calling him by his name alone. Why should this question make her more nervous than the others? "I could ask you another time, when you're feeling better."
"You might as well ask now," he said, turning to face her with a small smile, sounding resigned but not unkind. "After all this I feel quite drained, but that's probably a good thing, nothing you can ask is likely to upset me now. If you wait a few days and bring up something painful you'll send me into another fit of hysterics."
It wasn't hysterics, she thought about saying, but she let it go. "I did see the welts on your back, Frodo, just briefly, and the scar on your shoulder, and this…" she reached out and fingered the bite mark below his neck. "And this…" and her fingers moved to the rough line around his neck, visible from time to time when his collar was open, so that she'd seen it fade some in the months since his return. He shifted but didn't move away. "And the smaller scratches, other scars on your face and your hands and feet that have faded, that I can barely see anymore. I won't ask you where they all came from, not now, though you can tell me whenever you'd like to and I'll listen. But I want to ask you if Sam had these. You said he was strong to the end and he helped you, and then he…he fell." She took a breath. "But I want to know, if he'd come back, would he be wounded the way you are? Do you think he'd be sick the way you have been? I don't know why it's so important for me to know this, but I just have to ask you, sir."
And where had the sir come from, and her with her hand still at his neck? She bit her tongue, but resisted apologizing again.
"At the very end of it," Frodo said slowly, "we'd both been hurt and we were both very...tired. But Sam was...still Sam."
"You were still yourself as well though."
"No, Rose. I was... Well, this creature I've been the last few days can start to give you an idea of what I'd become. That never happened to Sam. I think he'd have had grief over what happened, and he'd have had some scars. But it never took hold of him the way it did me. So it... There's no way of knowing, of course. But I don't believe it would have come back for him they way it has for me."
Rosie nodded.
"Is that what you wanted to know?"
He was asking her to leave again, in his polite way, and she was ready to hear him now. "I think so," she said. "Thank you, Frodo. I'll let you rest now."
Once Frodo was able to get out of bed he wished at once to get back to work on making Bag End livable. But his strength wouldn't return all at once, and everyone, even those who hadn't seen him ill, told him to slow down.
"Why don't you write some more of your book," said Jolly. "Leave the deep digging and the heavy lifting to us."
Later Rosie said, "That's what they used to tell me too, only I was supposed to see to my needlework. Tom and Mari and I are going to Hobbiton today. Come walk with us."
Rosie and Frodo talked more after that, not only about Sam and not only when one of them was bedridden and miserable. But when anyone else was around they both went very quiet and kept each other company that way. It was good to walk with Tom and Marigold because they'd hold up the cheerful conversation all by themselves.
So there were four of them on familiar road again: Rosie, Mari, Tom...and the thought of Frodo walking in Sam's place made Rosie laugh out loud, but she wouldn't say why, for fear speaking it out loud would make her cry.
Previous parts.
Rating: PG for this chapter, R later on.
Main characters: Frodo and Rosie.
Genre: Angst, post-quest Shire AU. Multiple pairings of male and female hobbits.
Summary: Frodo and Rosie each try to go on with their lives after losing Sam.
Warnings: Severe angst, character death. More detailed summary/warnings/pairings/spoilers here.
There was very little warning. A darkening of his vision, a twinge that made him reach to the back of his neck, try to rub the pain away. But within minutes he was caught and could not even do that.
He couldn't move, couldn't see or feel or conceive of anything outside himself. Pain in his blood like ice frozen solid and eternal, beyond the reach of warmth or words, remedies or time. He couldn't understand the reasons for this deep feeling of failure and shame. He could not even hope for death, could not imagine anything other than this.
For hours he didn't move, and for moments his breath and even his heart stopped. Rosie stayed close and held his cold, limp hand through all of that. It was only when his eyes opened, wide and unseeing and full of terror, that Rosie too panicked. Frodo tried to shrink from them but didn't have the strength. And Rosie dropped his hand and ran away, ignoring her mother's order that she stay.
What could possibly have happened to Frodo and Sam, to make him this afraid of her now? And how could she possibly help him if she didn't know?
Consciousness and coherence did not return to him all at once. The first time he'd been poisoned, the first time he'd been paralyzed, Frodo had felt, as if through a thick cloth which nevertheless did not warm him, the pressure of Sam's embrace. He had heard, as if through a wall of rock or ice, how Sam begged him not to leave him alone. He could not give Sam any sign that he heard or longed to obey. He could not breathe or even struggle to breathe, and he slipped away from the pain into numbness and oblivion.
The first time, he'd awoken naked, aching and abandoned. He'd cursed his solitude and his weakness until he'd found out it could be still worse. Till he felt the lashes and the blows from the orcs, till he'd had their medicine poured down his throat. And if before he had felt his blood freezing, the orc draught might have been burning lead; it brought every nerve in him back to agonizing life. At first Frodo had wished to slip away again, to sink under the ice and the cold water, even if that meant death. It wasn't given to Frodo to decide, of course. Consciousness returned, the threats and the violence continued, and the pain increased.
But Frodo had not despaired completely then, not even when he realized he had lost the Ring. Because when he had last seen Sam, Sam had been alive. And that was enough; that was the hand that reached for him through the broken ice and brought him up to keep on fighting, even when reason told him he had lost everything. That was the sliver of hope: Sam would come for him, and after that, somehow, things would come out right.
Consciousness and coherence did not return at once, and it was difficult at times to distinguish the torment of his memory from the torment of his present, or to know which one was worse. The place was different, but the ache was the same, radiating from the wound in his neck but reaching every part of him. Frodo was insensible with pain, and when he felt a cup held to his mouth and liquid on his lips he fought. He still did not have much strength, but his thrashing managed to tip the cup out of the hand that offered it. Frodo felt the warm liquid seep through the cloth on his chest and braced himself for the blows of punishment. But instead of being beaten he was held with tenderness, and a voice like his mother's repeated his name and quiet assurances that all danger was passed.
A trick. Dark magic. Or a hallucination brought on by the poison. Frodo would not believe it. His mother was dead, and no one in the world had any reason to comfort him anymore.
Sam would not come.
The fact of Sam's death returned to him before the rest of reality. Before he could recognize Mrs. Cotton or Daisy Gamgee, who'd traveled across town in the middle of the night to see him. Before the two of them could convince him that this medicine really would make him feel better. Before he could recognize the familiar bed in the Cottons' safe, warm home, or understand that the sun was shining in the Shire, Frodo knew this: the Ring was gone forever, and so was Sam.
So the despair came first, and only later was it confused with some measure of comfort, and with shame. Frodo didn't recall everything he'd said and done in his sickness, but he knew he'd behaved badly, and caused even more worries for the family that had taken him in. He thought he might have struck Mrs. Cotton, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her or to apologize. And had Nick and Nibs seen him like that? And had Rosie?
Perhaps it was time, after all, to take Merry up on his offer, give up on this part of the Shire and move back to Buckland. He'd resisted before, saying Brandy Hall to him meant childhood. And much as he treasured the time spent there with young Merry, childhood to Frodo meant helplessness and grief. He had been happier at Bag End, as a tween with Bilbo and then as master of the smial himself. And Sam had lived just down the hill and worked for him. Frodo had seen him every day.
Foolishness to think he could come back to such a place and be happy. Aunt Esme had taken care of the little orphan so many years ago. Better for her to tend to the wreck, the invalid he'd become since he went away. It was absurd to lay such a burden on the Cottons, and them, Rosie, already having lost so much.
Frodo wished he might never have to face them again, and Rosie least of all. But he was powerless, too weak even to leave this bed, let alone pack off to Brandy Hall or leave the Shire altogether, as he felt he really must do.
And if Rosie came into the room now, and brought him tea, and wanted to talk to him, Frodo had no escape.
"Hello, Rose," he said shakily. "I'm sorry for what happened. I hope I didn't frighten you too badly."
"Ah, well, we Cottons don't scare so easily," Rosie said, and this was not really an honest answer to his question, but it was true in and of itself. Rosie had stood strong in the face of Lotho and Lobelia and even Ted Sandyman and the big men he thought were on his side. It took something truly terrible, like the fear in Frodo's eyes during his slow recovery in these last days, to have any real effect on her.
"No," said Frodo. "You are hobbits, after all."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Oh, nothing, just something Gandalf used to say."
He was always doing that kind of thing. He'd get that far-off look and say something that made no sense (because what did being hobbits have to do with anything?), and when she asked him to explain he said she wouldn't understand.
But she hadn't come here to argue.
"Are you feeling better today?" she asked, though the answer was rather obvious. He'd barely been able to speak yesterday.
"Much better, thank you."
"You know, I've felt scared from time to time in the last few days, but mostly I've just felt useless. Is there anything at all you'd like from us? Anything you think might help?"
"I do believe it's passed now, at least...for now. Perhaps next time we can be better prepared, but then again I expect I'll be off on my own at Bag End by then."
"Well then, perhaps I'll have to come and take care of you then – to make up for not having been helpful this time, you understand."
She smiled, and he smiled back at her and then sipped his tea. Rosie sat down in the chair by the table that had become his writing desk.
"I put all your papers away," she said. "In this stack here."
"I must have left a mess, and you must have needed to set out medicines."
"No, I... Well, yes, they did need the space. But I only meant to say that I didn't look at them. No one did."
As much as she'd been tempted to read before, in those months she wanted Frodo's past as far away from her as possible. She'd stacked everything together quickly and put in a corner with a plain-covered book on the top so there'd be nothing to see.
"Thank you."
Frodo handed her the empty teacup and Rosie held it, unsure of what to do next. She had no more excuse to stay here, so she really ought to ask what she'd wanted, or else just leave.
"I wouldn't read it without your permission," she said, "but I was wondering if you planned on showing it to anyone, eventually. After it's done."
Frodo shifted in the bed, and Rosie how if she were in his position she'd be wishing desperately for the other person to leave. She stayed still.
"I'm not sure," he said. "I'd thought, perhaps, I'd show it to my cousins first, and they could help me decide what else to do with it."
Rosie nodded. "Well. If you ever wanted someone else, someone who wasn't there to look at it. or if...if you ever wanted to talk about what happened, I would listen."
"Thank you," he said again, and she knew he wouldn't give the idea any more thought unless she gave him a reason to.
"I know you think I wouldn't understand, and I wish you wouldn't just decide that." The last words came out sounding bitter and Rosie bit her tongue. Perhaps this wasn't the best way of showing what a kind and compassionate listener she could be. "You don't know me very well, still, but I understand more than you think."
Frodo looked confused. "Have I said something...?"
"Yes," she said quickly. "There's something my father told me, something you said while you were sick." She steadied her voice and held his gaze. "You said, 'It is gone forever, and now all is dark and empty'".
Frodo looked away for a moment but then met her eyes again. He made no move to speak, so Rosie continued, "Do you feel that way? Do you...? Because I feel that way, all the time, I… I can't see any reason to go on sometimes, now that he's gone." There, she had said it, and she breathed easier now, and waited patiently for Frodo to speak.
"I didn't remember saying that," he finally answered. "But I do. It's not… It's not quite all the time. There are minutes, whole hours sometimes when I forget, what I lost. I'm sorry, Rose, but I really don't think I can talk about this."
"But you can. You're always telling me that, that it's difficult to explain, that I wouldn't understand. But you know that I loved him, just as you loved him. I feel, I have a heart and a brain just as you do, so speak, try to explain at least, or I'll have nothing."
"I try." He sounded pained, and Rosie knew she was more cruel than kind to insist that he talk right now, but she couldn't let this go.
"You don't! You say 'something happened'. You say 'it was difficult'. Tell me what happened, I need to know, don't you see? Here I am, here we all are trying to take care of you, and trying to help you get better and here I am trying not to hate you because you stole my Sam away –"
She hadn't meant to say that, had never meant to say it out loud, but even as her voice broke and she fell silent she was glad she had. If she was demanding the most painful memories Frodo had, it was only right for her to lay her feelings bare as well. She caught her breath and continued, "and I can't understand, I can't help you if you won't tell me what happened, and why you couldn't move on Tuesday, and why you took so long to come back and why you didn't bring Sam back with you. Come Frodo, I need this."
She was surprised to see him smile then, a small, sad smile, the only kind she really saw from him now, and even these were rare. "It's not so simple," he said. "I could tell you I was attacked by a giant spider, and you'd picture something the size of your hand. I could say we were tired and hungry and you'd remember a long day you spent at the harvest with only one breakfast to keep you going. I could tell you Bilbo had a magic ring, and I had to take it away, but there's no way it can make sense to you that this task was important enough that I expected it to kill me and I went anyway." He paused, and looked less certain. "Or that even if I'd known then that it would kill Sam, I'd do it again."
Rosie had never expected him to say anything like this. His every action and expression since he'd returned seemed to convey pain and regret, so how could he say he would do it again, if given the choice and the knowledge of the outcome?
She was angry, she couldn't help being angry, but she was also grateful to him for saying so much, even if it was framed in the assertion that she would never understand. She reached for his hand then, and stroked it for a little while, letting her anger subside and deciding what to say next. "How big was the spider?" she asked.
He laughed then, or maybe it was more of a sob, and he drew his hand out of hers and crossed his arms over his chest, but he smiled slightly again. "Bigger than your hand," he said first, but she knew he was taking a moment to try to put it into words that would make sense to her. "You know your father's shed, not the cowshed, the smaller one behind it where he keeps the plough and the scythe and the hoes and those things?"
"Yes," said Rosie, trying hard to keep the incredulity off her face and out of her tone.
"I think she was slightly bigger than that," Frodo offered.
Rosie considered this, then asked, "Just the body? Or with the legs too?" as if one were more or less imaginable than the other.
"Well, bigger than that with the legs stretched out, smaller, I suppose, if she hadn't had any legs. It's diff… I mean to say, it was dark in this tunnel, and I was frightened. I don't remember everything very well."
Rosie nodded, and thought she would like to take his hand again, but both his hands were gripping his opposite arms now. He looked tense and she knew she would feel the touch as an intrusion, he was already so vulnerable when speaking about this.
"Do you believe me?" he asked in a small voice.
Rosie shook her head slightly. "I know you wouldn't lie to me, but you admit it was dark, and you were frightened…." She saw his distrust increasing, and she tried to say it another way, "I just don't see how you could have survived being attacked by a thing such as that."
Frodo nodded, and looked somewhat reassured, at least in terms of Rosie's attitude, but she saw that he was also disturbed, and struggling again to voice his answer. "It – she didn't mean to kill me right away, as I understand it. Gandalf and I talked about it later. Apparently her way was to paralyze the prey, then take it back to her den and…and suck the blood out slowly." He shivered slightly at this, and Rosie made to move the blanket up over his arms, but he shrunk back from her unconsciously, and she decided to leave him be. "For all that, the first sting nearly killed me," he continued, "but Sam fought it off, and killed it, it seems." He fell silent again for a time then. "We never really spoke of it, later. I can't imagine how he managed it. But then I can't understand how he did a lot of things, and we never had time –" Suddenly he looked at her keenly. "I shouldn't have lived through it, Rose. There were so many things that went wrong. I don't know how he kept us going through all of it."
You shouldn't have lived through it, Rosie thought, and Sam should have. She had thought it many times, but realized now for the first time that she no longer felt it. She couldn't blame Frodo when she knew Sam had followed him, had done everything he had done willingly. It would have been enough to have them both back, healthy and whole and happy with each other. She didn't need to have Sam for her own, if Frodo was the one he wanted. And someday she would tell Frodo all of this, but not now.
Instead she asked, "Was that when you kissed him? In the tunnel?"
Frodo stared at first, then nodded. "Just before the tunnel, actually. We'd had to climb a great set of stairs…and again, please don't think I'm belittling you but I have no way of making you comprehend, how huge, how difficult…"
"A great many stairs then," said Rosie. "Don't worry, you can try to explain it to me another time. So you were very tired then."
"Yes, and at the top of the stairs there was this tunnel that seemed to breathe danger and evil, and we neither one of us wanted to go in, but it seemed there was no other way to go on. But we stopped to rest, and Sam said he'd watch over me, and protect me. Somehow the exhaustion was stronger than the fear then, and I actually lay down and slept, right at the entrance to that horrible place. And when I woke up, that was…" he broke off, took a moment to breathe before going on. "That was when it happened. It didn't last long, and we knew, we knew we had to go in and I think we both realized that was where things would really begin to go wrong, as they did." He touched a finger lightly to the wound at the back of his neck, then brought both hands back to grab his arms again. "And I was more frightened than I'd ever been and at the same time so thrilled I couldn't believe it. I wished time could stop then, or the world disappear, and just leave the two of us there together, to enjoy each other."
"Of course you did," Rosie said softly, and she didn't begrudge it to him. She remembered her own first kiss with Sam, after the Lithe dance of her nineteenth year. Slow and quiet and not really thrilling at all, just comfortable and natural and right. She had never before felt so safe. "I'm sorry," she added, "sorry that was all you had."
Frodo shrugged and looked distant, and Rosie relented, she would stop interrogating him. "Would you like me to leave, Frodo?"
He hesitated but surprised her by saying "No, I don't mind." He let go of his arms and finally took her hand. "I know I resist your questions, but it does feel right to say it out loud. I know I said you wouldn't understand, but I want to thank you for listening and for trying."
Rosie squeezed his hand. "Of course," she said. And waited for some more moments, finally growing comfortable with these silences. "And after that things changed."
"I don't remember all of it well. I woke up some time later, and I was stiff and sore, as I was these last days." He shifted uncomfortably, then smiled at her. "But instead of being cared for by kind hobbits like you and your family, I was being held prisoner by…by orcs, in a tower."
Rosie shivered a little, despite having only the vaguest notion of what was meant by that word. One more strange name out of old Bilbo's tales. If Sam had lived with a picture of them in his mind all the years of listening and believing the master of Bag End, to Rosie the word meant only fear and filth, and she'd never let her mind dwell on those nasty details of the old hobbit's adventure. "Goblins?" she said, as if the question would help.
"Yes. Rosie, I think you've taken care of me in my illness, you probably saw the scar on my side and the ones on my back."
Rosie's mother had done more of the tending, removing the clothes soaked through with sweat, bathing Frodo with a wet cloth when he was paralyzed and unaware. But Rosie too had glimpsed those scars and others. She tried not to think to much on them but couldn't help wondering, speculating on what kind of trauma had put them there. "Was it a whip?" she asked.
"Yes. So you've seen the marks that are still there, a year later. That was the physical part, that and the thirst, and the sickness and the cold, but all that was nothing."
"Compared to the fear."
"Compared to the fear, yes. So I was wrong, you do understand some of what it was like."
"Because he wasn't with you anymore, and you didn't know if you'd see him again."
"Because I'd lost him. And I wanted to believe he would come back, but I couldn't be sure of anything then. I know you felt that way too, Rosie, when you were waiting for us to come back. And I know you mourn for him because you loved him, as I did. It was because of what we did you've lost him too, and I can't tell you how sorry I am for that –"
She shook her head. "No, we're not talking about me and my hurts now, I'm trying to find out what happened to you, to the two of you."
"But that's just the thing, Rosie. I'm trying to say that… that I know you understand, what it felt like to think I'd lost Sam, but there's more, much more that I don't think you possibly could, more that I can't think how to try to explain."
Rosie was no longer frustrated with Frodo or his reticence. He took his time in speaking, but she didn't mind now, as she needed time herself to think over everything he said. She smiled and observed him. He was still struggling for words but he was no longer tense, his arms were relaxed, and she was grateful to know that he trusted her, at least more than he had ever seemed to before. After a while she said, "I think you explain things very well, Frodo. And you are helping me by telling me this, I hope you can see that." He only nodded. She continued, cautiously, "You didn't say 'He is gone.'"
"What?"
"My father heard you say, 'It is gone forever, and now all is dark and empty.' Not him, but It."
"Yes."
"The Ring?"
"Yes." His voice was tiny, and his body had tensed again, but rather than retreat this time Rosie moved closer and sat next to him on the bed. She put an arm around his shoulders and kept hold of both his hands in her other hand. She felt a slight tremor in his body and held tight and soothed, and waited for it to subside.
When he was still she spoke again. "I don't understand it now, Frodo, but I will try."
"Thank you," he breathed with another shudder.
"And I think that he understood, don't you?"
Frodo was silent.
"When you say you'd do it over again, I think he would have felt the same way. If you could go back, back to your days at Bag End, and know all that would happen, if you told him then that the quest would claim his life…he'd still go with you, I think, if it meant he could take care of you and bring you through it safe."
She was sorry she could no longer see his face, but she was glad to be holding him now. Even as he wept, she felt a new closeness between them and was glad she had not hesitated to speak of Sam's love for him. It no longer made her angry, because Sam's devotion to Frodo was so much a part of him, it couldn't make her stop caring about either one of them. She kissed his temple softly and felt him shake harder, then went back to rocking him. Rosie felt tears in her own eyes but let them flow silently and calmly as she held him through his sobbing. It was a long time, but she did not become uncomfortable or wish to leave.
When her own emotions calmed she continued to ride out his own, thinking to herself about what Sam had loved so much in his master. There was his kindness, yes, and it had taken Rosie a long time to appreciate that, since for a long time his politeness has seemed to her like putting on airs, adding more distance between him and everyone else, when there was far too much of that already. But he was kind, that wasn't just a show.
But more than anything he could do for her himself, Rosie liked the feeling of helping him. She liked knowing that he could trust her. It must have made Sam prouder than her could ever say, to know that he was the one who help Frodo, hold him, make him feel safe. It must have taken Sam a long time to understand that was his place.
And with that thought Rosie realized that the place wasn't hers, and she let him go, scooted back and sat up with her back against the wall. Frodo kept still, faced away from her.
"There was something else I wondered about, mis—Frodo, I'm sorry." Such a strange thing to apologize for after all the pain she'd put him through in the last hour. But she couldn't see why the mister had come to her lips after so many months of calling him by his name alone. Why should this question make her more nervous than the others? "I could ask you another time, when you're feeling better."
"You might as well ask now," he said, turning to face her with a small smile, sounding resigned but not unkind. "After all this I feel quite drained, but that's probably a good thing, nothing you can ask is likely to upset me now. If you wait a few days and bring up something painful you'll send me into another fit of hysterics."
It wasn't hysterics, she thought about saying, but she let it go. "I did see the welts on your back, Frodo, just briefly, and the scar on your shoulder, and this…" she reached out and fingered the bite mark below his neck. "And this…" and her fingers moved to the rough line around his neck, visible from time to time when his collar was open, so that she'd seen it fade some in the months since his return. He shifted but didn't move away. "And the smaller scratches, other scars on your face and your hands and feet that have faded, that I can barely see anymore. I won't ask you where they all came from, not now, though you can tell me whenever you'd like to and I'll listen. But I want to ask you if Sam had these. You said he was strong to the end and he helped you, and then he…he fell." She took a breath. "But I want to know, if he'd come back, would he be wounded the way you are? Do you think he'd be sick the way you have been? I don't know why it's so important for me to know this, but I just have to ask you, sir."
And where had the sir come from, and her with her hand still at his neck? She bit her tongue, but resisted apologizing again.
"At the very end of it," Frodo said slowly, "we'd both been hurt and we were both very...tired. But Sam was...still Sam."
"You were still yourself as well though."
"No, Rose. I was... Well, this creature I've been the last few days can start to give you an idea of what I'd become. That never happened to Sam. I think he'd have had grief over what happened, and he'd have had some scars. But it never took hold of him the way it did me. So it... There's no way of knowing, of course. But I don't believe it would have come back for him they way it has for me."
Rosie nodded.
"Is that what you wanted to know?"
He was asking her to leave again, in his polite way, and she was ready to hear him now. "I think so," she said. "Thank you, Frodo. I'll let you rest now."
Once Frodo was able to get out of bed he wished at once to get back to work on making Bag End livable. But his strength wouldn't return all at once, and everyone, even those who hadn't seen him ill, told him to slow down.
"Why don't you write some more of your book," said Jolly. "Leave the deep digging and the heavy lifting to us."
Later Rosie said, "That's what they used to tell me too, only I was supposed to see to my needlework. Tom and Mari and I are going to Hobbiton today. Come walk with us."
Rosie and Frodo talked more after that, not only about Sam and not only when one of them was bedridden and miserable. But when anyone else was around they both went very quiet and kept each other company that way. It was good to walk with Tom and Marigold because they'd hold up the cheerful conversation all by themselves.
So there were four of them on familiar road again: Rosie, Mari, Tom...and the thought of Frodo walking in Sam's place made Rosie laugh out loud, but she wouldn't say why, for fear speaking it out loud would make her cry.