Winter came with a sudden rush to the Shire the year Sam and Frodo found their love. With his cloak of ice, wind and snow, the King of Winter led his troops to the Shire as quickly as a sudden sting to the neck. Suddenly the ground was all covered in white and the wind was howling, making it a dread to go outside. The inhabitants of Hobbiton went shivering about to their daily chores and Sam, of course, was one of them.
He usually didn't mind the cold and the snow; he loved the smiles and the happiness this weird, white stuff brought Hobbit-children. He often stopped on his way home from work to watch Hobbit-kids tumbling around in the snow, building snow-castles, having snowball fights, and not seldom he joined them. But the last couple of weeks he'd been bothered with a cold that never seemed to let go. And now that Winter had come with all of his ice-cold servants, Sam's cough got worse.
Now, Sam wasn't one to complain, so he lived his life as he always had. He worked for Mr. Frodo, desired him as secretly as a hobbit in love could, cared for his family and future fiancee, and played with Hobbit-children in the snow. It was when he dived into his old, creaking bed at night that he allowed himself to feel just a little bit tired.
But one day Sam felt worse when he opened his eyes early in the morning. His chest was aching, making it painful to breathe, and his cough sounded terrible. Marigold didn't like it at all.
"You're staying home sick today, Sam Gamgee!" she said, as Sam sat at the breakfast table doing his best not to look too miserable.
"I'm fine, really I am!" Sam coughed.
"I'm fine!" Marigold repeated in a sarcastic tone. "Look at you, you're a wreck! There is no way you're walking through that door, Brother, if I have to tie you down to the chair to prevent it!" She planted her hands solidly to her hips to look as intimidating as her sister Daisy used to when she was in a dangerous mood.
"Well, then I suggest you do just that," Sam answered, "Because I'm going to work no matter how grumpy you get!"
Marigold sighed. She knew she was talking to a wall. Therefore, she turned to the other "wall" of the house: their father.
"Come on, Dad, reason with him! He won't die if he misses work one day!"
The Gaffer took a close look at his son.
"Now, son, how are you feeling today, lad?"
"Honestly, I'm fine!" Sam said, with a raspy voice that revealed the truth. "Marigold's warm milk with honey in it works wonders!" Sam slowly rose from his chair. "Besides, you never had a day off sick when you worked for Mr. Baggins, and neither will I!"
The Gaffer was quite proud of this fact, and he smiled broadly when his son mentioned it. He felt proud that he had such a dutiful son.
"If you're sure you're up to it son," the Gaffer said, and he continued slurping his porridge.
Sam fetched his jacket and went for the door, while Marigold looked at him with concern in her eyes.
"Promise me you'll take it easy, Sam," She handed him a knitted scarf. "And wear the scarf Rosie made for you to get well." Sam smiled as he received the scarf he'd gotten a week earlier.
"Thanks Mari-dear! I'll take it easy today, I promise!"
Sam was hoping he would feel better once he got out into the fresh air, but the cold made it even harder to breathe. The scarf around his neck, despite the love and care it was knitted with, weighed him down, and he was breathing heavily, tramping up the hill.
Frodo was still asleep when Sam entered his bedchamber, and Sam tiptoed across the floor to watch him in his sleep. He looked so peaceful and handsome in his sleep, and Sam loved to see his master like this. He looked so happy. As Sam stood there by his master's bed, a giant sneeze forced its way up his throat and exploded out of his nose.
Frodo jerked out of his sleep as if a rocket just had gone off by his ear.
"Sam?!!?" Frodo gasped in surprise. Then he calmed down and smiled.
"You often come in here when I sleep, don't you?"
Sam blushed. Not only had he waken his master up with his nasty cough, he'd been caught, red-handed, spying on him.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Frodo, I didn't mean to startle you! The sneeze just jumped right out of my nose! I tried to hold it back, sir, but it felt like my head was about to explode! And about the spying... I'm so sorry, sir, but you look so beautiful in your sleep, I just couldn't help myself - I just can't help it. I feel like I can watch you without disturbing you then, if you follow me, sir? But I won't do it again if you don't like it!"
"Not to worry, my dear Sam!" Frodo said, and he beckoned for him to come closer. "I don't mind at all!"
"Well, I better get to work then!" Sam said, sounding more or less voiceless, and hurried out of the room.
Sam sighed and blew his nose on a hankie as he walked down the hall. He would like nothing more than to cuddle up in his love's warm embrace, but Sam was afraid he might pass his cold on to his master, and that he would have nothing of! So Sam went outside to chop some wood for Mr. Frodo to have through the upcoming day and night.
Frodo wondered why Sam had hurried out of his bedroom in such haste. He had never run off on him like that before.
"Well," Frodo thought, "I've done it to him more than one time, so I shouldn't act like a crabby old man." Still he felt a little disappointed as he climbed out of his bed and got dressed. He trudged into the kitchen to get some breakfast. Sam had already prepared it, and the table was filled with good, healthy Hobbit-food. But... where was Sam? A Hobbit never turns down the offer of good, solid food, and Sam had eaten breakfast both at home and in Bag-End as long as Frodo could remember. The distant sound of an axe hitting wood told him where his servant was. Frodo found it very odd that Sam had skipped his breakfast. He sat down with a confused look on his face. Was Sam avoiding him? And if so, why?
He didn't eat much of his breakfast. The food tasted different without Sam at the table.
Frodo found himself listening to the sound of Sam handling the axe outside instead of eating. Here and there long periods of silence followed, until the sound of wood cracking reappeared.
Frodo sighed and rose from the chair, wandering out to the living-room and slipping down into one of his armchairs.
"I guess I'll have to wait until he's come back. No use in tramping out there and shaking it out of him," Frodo thought, as he opened a book he was currently reading. Still, his thoughts kept wandering off, wondering why Sam was acting so strange.
A few minutes later the sound of footsteps came from the entrance, and there Sam came with a pile of firewood in his arms so tall his face disappeared behind it. He was panting heavily, and it sounded like he had half a pint of fluid circling in his chest. Frodo ran to help him with the big load.
"Easy, Sam, you sound like you're about to blow both your lungs!" Frodo said, and he took half the load off Sam's hands.
"Sam!" he cried when his servant's face appeared. Sam's face was all white and covered in a cold sweat. His eyes were red and moist, he looked terrible. Frodo dropped the firewood to the floor.
"My dear! Why didn't you tell me you were sick, Sam! I would never let you work if I knew you were in this condition!" Frodo said urgently as he took the rest of the wood from Sam's arms.
"But I'm not sick, really I'm not!" Sam coughed and dried the sweat off his forehead with the arm of his jacket. " I... I just need to get my breath... back."
Frodo dragged him to a chair and sat him down. "You have a fever, Sam. And you're not looking good at all. I would call that being sick..." He looked straight into Sam's eyes. "I won't let you work as long as you are ill, it's not good for you! I'm going to give you the rest of the day off. And if you feel better tomorrow, and I mean truly feel better, you can come to work, all right?"
Sam looked like he'd just been fired. "But Mr. Frod..." He began coughing violently, and Frodo felt ashamed that he hadn't noticed Sam's cold had gotten much worse earlier that morning.
"Dear Sam. I want you to get well soon, and the only way for you to get well soon is if you lie down and take the load off your feet for a couple of days."
"I'll follow you home as soon as you feel you're able to walk." Frodo stroked a gentle hand over Sam's chin. "You know I would prefer to have you here in one of the guest-beds until you're well, but after that close encounter with the Gaffer we had in the summer I don't think that would be wise."
Sam nodded his head slowly as if he had accepted defeat. "We'd better get on our way then," he said as he rubbed his chest. "But you don't have to follow me if you don't want to... I'll manage."
"I'm going to follow you home no matter what you say, Sam Gamgee!" Frodo said, and he kissed his lover's hand.
Nightfall came quickly that night. Frodo sat in front of the fireplace with his favorite pipe in his hand, thinking about Sam. Dear, sweet Sam who didn't know when to throw in the towel. He expected him to be sick for at least a week. Probably longer if Marigold managed to keep him in his bed. He couldn't help but worry, though - but then Sam always had been fit as a fiddle. Frodo couldn't remember him being sick at all, except for the occasional autumn cold every couple of years.
Later that same night, Frodo was awakened by frantic knocking at the door. He yawned and discovered he'd fallen asleep with a book on his lap in the living-room. The knocking continued, and now a voice close to hysteria started shouting.
"Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo, please! You must open! It's urgent, please!" Frodo got to his feet in a hurry.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he shouted as he ran for the door, heart thundering in his chest. Whatever it was, it had to be serious in this late hour. He was filled with dread when he opened the door and realized it was Hamfast Gamgee standing there howling. The old Hobbit looked worn, and his eyes were tearstung.
"I'm so sorry to bother you at this late hour, Sir, but it's Sam. He..." The world started spinning. Frodo's face went white.
"What about him, Mr. Gamgee?" he said urgently, and he looked sharply at the old Hobbit, whose lower lip had begun to shake.
"He's worse, much worse. He can hardly catch his breath, the lad, and he keeps calling your name, Mr. Frodo. I'm so afraid, me and Marigold don't get any contact with him, and it's like he's in a world of his own. Come with me, please! Maybe you'll be able to shake him out of it."
Frodo felt a cold chill run down his spine as he entered Sam's humble house, where he lived together with his father and sister. He could hear the sound of sobbing from Sam's bedroom. Marigold was sitting by the side of her brother's bed, her face dissolved in tears.
In the bed lay Sam, shivering and panting, chest shaking. His face was pale as a corpse, and he was mumbling words Frodo couldn't understand.
"He's been like that since you left, Dad," Marigold said, and she rose from the bed, drying her tears. "Please, Mr. Frodo, see if you can bring him back, he's been calling your name for the last hour or so."
Frodo went to the bed, trembling all over as he sat down beside the shaking Hobbit in the bed. Sam. His dearest, dearest Sam. It pained him to see his lover in this state, it cut like a knife in his heart, and all he wanted to do was to take Sam into his arms and cradle him, make it all go away.
"He needs a doctor. He's burning up with fever," he said as he held his hand over Sam's forehead.
"I sent one of the neighbors, Lefty Gimblewood, for the doctor half an hour ago," Marigold answered. "They should be here any minute." Then she started sobbing again. "I knew I shouldn't have let him go to work today! That awful cough and the wheezing from his chest, how could I let him go?"
The Gaffer embraced his daughter and calmed her down. "Don't blame yourself Mari-dear! You know Sam. If he's hurting he pretends he's just fine, even if he's not. He looked sick this morning, yes - but he said he could handle it. And we believed him, because he believed it himself."
Frodo held Sam's slack hand, calling his name over and over again.
"Sam. Wake up, Sam! It's Frodo, we're worried for you!" Suddenly Sam opened his eyes and looked straight at him "Mr. Frodo!" he gasped and struggled to gain his breath. He had a desperate look on his face and he tried to lift his head from the pillow. Frodo held his hand and tenderly touched Sam's cheek with the other.
"Shhh, Sam. Try to save your strength."
A single tear ran down Sam's cheek. "Frodo, my love... my dear..." His head fell back on the pillow and he closed his eyes. He was unconscious again.
Frodo felt his stomach sink down to his ankles. Sam had called him "his love" right in front of his sister and father! Frodo swallowed and turned around to face them, dreading the look in their eyes, but they had more of a panicky look on their faces.
"Rosie! He asked for Rosie!" Marigold cried, and she held her hands to her face, apparently not knowing what to do.
"I'll go get her!" The Gaffer shouted and immediately ran to the door; "I'll see if I can borrow one of Lettyman's ponies. I'll be back as soon as I can!" The door slammed behind him.
Frodo dared to breathe again. Just as he thought there were no more surprises, two young hobbits from Buckland appeared in the door for no apparent reason.
They had lurked their way to Hobbiton in the night with a silly idea of giving their cousin Frodo a really good scare. But their plan failed, as they couldn't find him at Bag End. So Merry and Pippin went to the next most obvious place to find their cousin, Sam's house.
"Merry... Pippin! What are you doing here?" Frodo looked like he was about to fall down to the floor.
"So this is where you spend your nights now," Merry grinned, but he immediately piped down when he noticed Sam. "He looks really sick, Frodo, what's the matter with him?"
Frodo rushed them out into the small kitchen and asked Marigold to take care of them. He had no time for them now; Sam needed him. And it would be good for Marigold to have those two clowns to keep her spirit up. Amongst all hobbits he knew, nobody was more light-hearted than his dear cousins.
Doctor Aribarr Mitten arrived just minutes after Merry and Pippin. Frodo moved so that Dr. Mitten could examine Sam, and joined the others in the kitchen by the doctor's orders. Marigold sat on a chair in the kitchen, still crying her eyes out, Merry and Pippin looked like they didn't know what to do, and Frodo paced back and forth on the floor, clenching his teeth so as not to cry out loud. His love lay sick in his bed in a drafty and moist room; how could he possibly have sent him back that morning? He should have let him stay until he was well. The Gaffer would've understood that; it would have been for the welfare of his son! Frodo exhaled and tried to calm down.
The doctor's with him now, he'll find out what's wrong and make it go away! Frodo looked around the small cottage, and suddenly he felt stunned, given the fact that there once lived a family of eight in this small house. Now only three of them still were living here; two of Sam's sisters and both his brothers had moved out, getting married or leaving to get work somewhere else in the Shire. Sam's mother, Bell, died of an illness when Sam was ten, and the Gaffer had single-handedly taken care of his children ever since. These walls contained all the love and feeling of safety and family Frodo lost the day his parents died when he was twelve. And it made him miss Bilbo dreadfully. Oh, how he wished Bilbo was here right now! He longed for a comforting embrace and a lap to crawl up onto and feel safe.
A creak in the door to Sam's bedroom made them all turn around. Dr. Mitten came out, closing the door behind him. His face looked grave.
"How is he, Dr. Mitten?" The words were no more than a whisper from Frodo's throat. He'd already seen in the doctor's face that Sam was very, very ill. Aribarr looked down on his hands before he answered.
"I'm afraid it doesn't look good."
Frodo felt he had to sit down, as his world crumbled into small pieces and vanished. "What... what's wrong with him?" he stuttered.
"Pneumonia. Both of his lungs are heavily infected. I don't understand how the lad had the strength to get out of the bed today at all, with all that fluid in his chest."
"What are... his chances?" Frodo forced the words out of his mouth.
Aribarr sighed. "In his condition and given the environment surrounding his sickbed... fifteen percent." In the background, Marigold began to whimper.
"What do you mean, 'given the environment surrounding his sickbed'"? Frodo exhaled, as the fact that he might very well lose the one love of his life dawned to him.
"Hobbit-houses like this are very drafty and cold during the winter. That could make his lungs collapse entirely I'm afraid. The best for him would be a warm and dry room, without any form of draft. I'm afraid none of the rooms of this house is in that condition," Aribarr said with a sad look on his face.
"Can he be moved?!" Frodo almost shouted the words out as he got an idea.
"I'm afraid not." Aribarr answered. "He's too weak. A trip in a wagon might very well kill him."
"Then I'll carry him!" Frodo said, determined. "If he's warm and I don't bump around with him, he wouldn't notice it at all except the air he's breathing. Bag-End is the warmest and driest Hobbit-hole in the Shire; it should be the best place for him to fight off this... lungthing!"
Dr. Mitten thought about it for a moment; then he said: "I think that would be his best chance, Mr. Frodo. But be aware, he still has a long way to go, and he will be needing endless care all day and and all night long. All I can provide is a medicine that will help him with the fluid in his lungs. The rest will be entirely up to him and his will to live."
Frodo nodded eagerly. "What are his chances if... if we do this?"
The answer felt like a needle in his brain: "Twenty, thirty percent."
From the bedroom the sound of a dreadful cough followed by a gasp for air made Frodo leave all his worries deep down in his heart, and he found his calm as he quickly instructed the others what to do.
"Merry, Pippin - you go ahead and fire up both fireplaces, the one in the living-room and the one in my bedroom. Make sure there's no draft from the windows, and heat some water!"
"OK, Frodo, consider it done!" Pippin said, and he and Merry both ran out the door. Frodo turned to Marigold, whose eyes were big and puffy.
"Marigold, you write a note to your father so he knows where we are taking Sam, while I get Sam ready to go. Then you'll carry the things we'll need, like Sam's medicine, and things he loves and cares about." Marigold nodded and went to work. Frodo hurried into Sam's room to wrap him in warm blankets. Sam opened his eyes again when Frodo came to the bed, but he didn't attempt to speak.
"Rest now, my Sam," Frodo said. "I'm taking you home." Sam closed his eyes again and fell asleep.
Dr. Mitten entered the room just as Frodo wrapped Sam in a last blanket. He looked like a gigantic, sleeping baby, and under other circumstances he would have been a pretty funny sight.
"Remember to keep him warm at all times, Mr. Frodo, even if he complains of being hot. It'll help him fight the disease." Frodo nodded as he carefully lifted his Sam from the bed and into his arms. Sam was a sturdy hobbit, and a heavy load for a rich hobbit like Frodo who wasn't used to carrying much more than a book out to his garden and back.
"Anything more?" he puffed as he carried Sam out the door.
"Give him lots of fluids, make sure he's not bathing in sweat - that means clean him when necessary... and pray it's not contagious," Aribarr answered.
Frodo turned around in a haze. "Contagious?! Do you mean it can be contagious?"
"Usually it's not, but we never know for sure. We had an outbreak of a more gentle version of lung-disease some years ago up in Tuckborough; a whole family got it. Therefore I hope you keep your visitors to a minimum in the following days."
Although Bag-End was not far away from Sam's neighborhood, Bagshot Row, Frodo felt he had walked for hours when he finally reached the doorstep of his home. Marigold opened the door for him, and Frodo just barely got through the doorway.
"Now, you send Merry and Pippin home. They haven't been in contact with Sam, and if this thing's contagious they'll probably not catch it as long as they leave now," Frodo panted as he carried Sam down the hall. "And make them alert the rest of your family so that they keep away in the following days, all right?"
Frodo lay Sam down in his own bedroom. He could hear Merry and Pippin protest loudly as Marigold escorted them out the door. They didn't want to leave at all; what if Sam didn't make it? Couldn't they at least stay out in the living room? But Marigold wisely ignored their pleas. As Frodo unwrapped him from the layers of blankets, Sam coughed and stirred. A soft moan came out of his throat, and he opened his eyes. He saw right past Frodo, like he was staring at someone standing behind him. Then he smiled, a tired but happy smile, and lifted his left hand.
"You look beautiful today, my dear," Sam coughed, and he stroked an imaginary chin. "I feel so happy. At least we're together, my love, together and we don't feel ashamed. Who would believe my Gaffer would approve of something like..."
His eyes went blank and unfocused.
"Frodo? Where are you? Frodo, my love!" The dry sound of crying went through Frodo's bones, and he gripped Sam's hand and held it tight.
"I'm here, Sam, I'm right here beside you!" His heart trembled as he saw the pain on Sam's face. "Please, Sam! Don't you see me?" But Sam had already closed his eyes again, and new pearls of sweat were appearing on his forehead. In the same moment, Marigold came in with a mug of water and a glass. She saw a worried and scared hobbit, and realized she wasn't alone in feeling like that.
"He'll make it through, Mr. Frodo, I just know he will!"
Frodo looked upon her; the tired look on his face made him look much older, but at the same time, young and frightened. "I hope he will, Marigold, but now we can't do much more than wait and hope."
Frodo had no idea how many hours had passed when he heard the sound of someone coming through the entry-door. The loud voice of Hamfast Gamgee didn't leave much doubt of who it was, though.
Marigold was the Gaffer's youngest, and probably the wisest as far as how to calm the old hobbit down when he was in a quick-tempered mood. And from the looks of him, Marigold had an armful of trouble ahead of her. He didn't look happy at all, the old one. With him he had brought Rosie and her oldest brother, Tolman.
"I come to my own home after hobbling several miles on an old, grumpy pony, only to find that my boy has vanished from his own bed! What's wrong with that bed, if I may ask? He's slept in it all his life and never complained before. Now, just who decided that bed wasn't fancy enough for my own flesh and blood?!"
Marigold tried her best to calm him down: "The doctor, Dad. Sam's room was too cold and drafty. He needed somewhere warm and dry, and kind Mr. Frodo offered his own room."
"Oh." The Gaffer piped down with a grunt and helped Rosie off with her coat. She looked worried and scared; her hands were trembling.
"Marigold, where is he?" Rosie's voice was no more than the squeak of a mouse, and she couldn't stand still. Marigold looked at the young hobbit-girl standing in front of her with tears in her eyes, knowing there was nothing she could say that would soothe the anxiety of Sam's future bride.
"Please, Rosie - there's some things I need to tell you before I take you to him," she said, and she laid a hand on her shoulder.
"What do you mean?" Rosie got an uncertain look on her face. Marigold took a deep breath before she continued. The Gaffer also tuned in his good ear.
"Sam is very ill, Rosie. Very ill indeed. But that's not all, I'm afraid..." Rosie looked like she was going to faint, and the Gaffer and Tolman suddenly got very interested in the carpet on the floor.
"Mr. Mitten, the doctor, was afraid what Sam has can be contagious. If you go near him you may be infected, Rosie; therefore I advise you to head home, now, or you may get it too!"
Rosie's eyes welled up with tears, and she looked at Marigold with a hurt look on her face. "Leave my Sam when he needs me the most? Just turn around here, on the threshold, to save my own skin? Marigold Gamgee, of all hobbits! I thought you knew me better than that! How could I do that to my love? I'm staying right here where I belong, and no one's gonna stop me!" With these words, she stamped down the hall with red glowing cheeks, heading for Frodo's bedroom as if she instinctively knew where to find Sam.
Frodo couldn't help but look surprised when Rosie stormed into the room. He knew her arrival was inevitable, but now that she was the first here, it all seemed so... strange?
And as she more or less threw him off the chair he was sitting on to get close to Sam, Frodo felt an anger emerge from the darkness of his heart, the anger of jealousy. Wisely, he chose to leave the room for the time being. He didn't have the energy to handle the Rosie business in all this.
Let her sob and cry for a little while until she is satisfied, and I can take care of him again.
Frodo dragged himself out to the kitchen, where the Gaffer was sitting by the table sipping a cup of tea. He heard Marigold's voice somewhere nearby, talking to Tolman, who'd also decided to stay, despite the warnings he was given. Frodo started pacing back and forth on the floor, not knowing what to do with himself. His eyes continually sought beyond the kitchen walls and into the bedroom, heart trembling at every cough and moan therefrom.
"Sit down, lad, you make my head spin with all that trampling of yours!" The Gaffer looked as nervous as he did. He never would have used the word "lad" when talking to his former boss unless there was something going on. And something definitely was.
"I'm sorry," Frodo said, and he stopped for about two seconds. "I can't help it." He started pacing again.
He was about to go mad. The whole night passed, so did the next day and afternoon, and still Rosie sat by Sam's side, unmovable. She had cleaned him, given him water and medicine... she was even singing him soft lullabies, centuries old, to calm him down when he was acting restless. It was a true pain.
Frodo couldn't sit still no matter how hard he tried. He could hear Sam calling for his "love" loud and sore while gasping for air, and Frodo was absolutely convinced he would go insane any second.
Dr. Mitten paid them a visit about suppertime, and his news was not good. Sam wasn't getting any better by the looks of it; they should be lucky if he survived the night. They all started crying, hearing this - all except Frodo. He felt cold as ice, and had an urge to run away from it all. To just lie down in the snow somewhere and die felt almost too appealing to him. Once more he missed Bilbo and his safe, warm embrace, and he felt so lonely that he feared his heart should break.
Merry and Pippin came by to hear how Sam was doing and to pass the news to the rest of Sam's relatives.
In his despair, Frodo wrote a letter for Gandalf to come immediately if there was anything he could do to save Sam. He instructed Merry and Pippin to take it to an old hobbit near the forest, Littelbo Withersheet.
He was the closest you could get to a messenger to the outside world. He knew hobbits who knew other hobbits who knew a hobbit who knew an elf. And this elf knew other elves and so forth... maybe, if Frodo got lucky, the letter would reach Gandalf in time. But Gandalf was a busy wizard who traveled all over the land, and Frodo hadn't heard from him in years...
The night came, and Sam still was out of Frodo's reach. Frodo had made a decision. He couldn't pretend any more; he would truly die if he stayed out here another minute! He took a deep breath and walked down the hall on trembling feet, after making sure he wasn't going to be seen by Marigold or the others. This matter was between Rosie and him, and he intended to keep it that way.
He hesitated for a moment in front of the door. Had he lost his wits entirely? A terrible gasp from behind the door made his mind up. However how insane this would be, he had to do it!
He knocked softly on the door, hating himself for his weakness and the pain he was about to inflict upon Rosie. There was no doubt in his mind that she loved Sam as much as he did.
"Come in," a tired voice answered from the bedroom, and Frodo entered the room on traitorous legs. There, he found Rosie, kneeling by the side of the bed where Sam lay.
Frodo almost cried out loud when he saw him. His dearest Sam! All covered in sweat, pale and apparently lifeless. Rosie turned her head towards Frodo. Her eyes were red after hours of crying, and she didn't look much better than Sam.
"Mr. Frodo..." Her eyes lit up for a moment and she got to her feet, slow like an old woman. She embraced him, and started crying all over again.
"I'm so scared!" she sobbed. "How could I live if Sam was taken away from me? I'm losing him, Mr. Frodo, and there's nothing I can do but sit here and stare while his life slips away by the minute."
Frodo closed his eyes as he answered; he was shivering all over as he held Rosie close.
"Thank you, Mr. Frodo." She turned and had a look at Sam again. "He's everything to me," she said, and a true smile came to her face.
"I know, Rosie," Frodo said with tears in his eyes, "I know..."
Suddenly Sam started to writhe, coughing violently. His face went red with pain and fright as he battled to force air down into his lungs, his hands were clasping after an invisible hand. Frodo took a leap forward to hold him down before he fell out of the bed.
"Rosie, grab his feet!" he yelled as he opened the top buttons on Sam's nightshirt to help him breathe. A deep rattle went through Sam's chest as some kind of cramp made his body convulse.
"Sam!" Rosie cried, and she started sobbing with renewed power. Sam lifted his head from the pillow with a horrifying grimace on his face, his chest looking like it was going to explode. He opened his eyes, and there was true surprise in his face when he recognized his master.
"F-f-fro..." he began, but he was cut off by his own lungs. "C-c-an-nt bre-e-a..."
"Hush, Sam, don't try to talk. I'm here for you, and so is Rosie." Sam grabbed ahold of Frodo's hand and held it tight.
"D-dont... leav... m..." Sam closed his eyes as he lost control of his body again. A loud moan came from his throat and his body trembled and shook, tearing itself apart. Rosie was crying loudly, scared out of her mind by the sight of her love fighting for his life right in front of her. In the door Marigold came running, but stopped with a gasp when she saw Sam.
"Marigold, take Rosie with you to the living-room!" Frodo yelled as he did his best to keep Sam from hurting himself. Both Rosie and Marigold were standing there, too panicked to move.
"NOW!" Frodo screamed. "There's nothing you can do for him now, this he has to fight this off himself. I'll call if I need any help!"
Marigold and Rosie went out the door, hand in hand, crying silently. It looked dark, it definitely did.
Sam fought the whole night through, gasping, coughing, trembling and convulsing with a high fever burning in his veins. Sometimes he was present, sometimes he was not. Sometimes he cried like a baby for the pain in his chest, and sometimes he just screamed until he had no breath left, and he had to gasp for air until his whole body arched. And Frodo sat by his side, refusing to allow Sam to let go, soothing his pain by his mere presence.
By the morning Frodo was dead tired. All he wanted was to lie down beside Sam and cry. But he had to be strong, help Sam through the attacks by being calm and comforting. If he showed Sam his fears, it was over. Sam would lose his faith. But his false calmness drained Frodo of all the strength he had within, until he sat there weakened and could hold back his tears no more. The first morning-light peered through the circle-shaped window and captured the silhouette of the hobbit as he sat there by the side of his lover's bed, crying silent tears over his one true love. Sam had been silent for a long time now; only the rattle in his chest proved he was still alive. Frodo feared he was near the end.
"Sam, love," he sobbed, "don't leave me, you hear? I can't live without you, come back!" Frodo fell to his knees, squeezing Sam's hand. No answer came from the bed. Frodo lifted his head from the bedside and looked at Sam. He looked peaceful. Except for the wheezing in his lungs, it looked like he was asleep. Maybe taking a nap in the sun...
Sam was in a faraway place where no one could reach him. He had found peace now, after days and hours of struggling to break free and run away. It felt nice here, he had to admit to that, but still it wasn't home. And how could he spend eternity without Frodo or all the others he loved and cared about? Sometimes he could still hear them calling for him, and the sorrow in their voices made him gasp for one last breath of air, made him try to break the chains holding him down even if he knew it was hopeless. But in time, he realized this was a fight he couldn't win. He'd given up hope now, and he assumed the doors would close behind him any second.
So this is how it all will end then, Sam thought, as his soul prepared for the last journey.
I'll have to leave them all without the chance to say goodbye - just fade away like a shadow in the nightfall. Never again would he feel the touch of his love's warm embrace; never again would he feel the joy of running around in a field of daisies, just being happy he existed. How he would miss it all in this silent place. Would he ever have the chance to get a last glimpse of his family, friends, Rosie... and Frodo? Frodo, his dearest Frodo. His soulmate. How could he ever go on without him? It was all quiet around him. Sam knew he had to let go.
"Sam!" A voice from somewhere Sam couldn't determine cut through the silence. It was the voice of an old man, and it was clear and came from nearby. Probably he had come to help Sam take the last step into the new world.
"Sam!" the voice repeated, closer now. Sam got to his feet, surprised he could stand up, and walk, even.
"I'm here," he answered, "step forward so that I can see you." Around him, all was nothing but a white mist. No sun, no sky, trees, ground, or anything. Just white, and strangely enough, comfortable. To Sam's surprise, the old man who stepped out from nothing was a man he had known and respected as long as he could remember.
"Gandalf!" Sam gasped, and the joy of seeing a familiar face in these unusual surroundings made him laugh. "What are you doing here? Are you the keeper of this place?"
Gandalf smiled and shook his head. "No, Samwise, I have nothing to do with this place. I shouldn't even be here. It's against the laws, you see."
Sam got a confused look on his face. "What do you mean, Mr. Gandalf? Why shouldn't you be here, and what laws are you talking about?"
Gandalf laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You're in the place mortals go before their souls leave their earthly bodies, my young hobbit. This is where they spend their last hours before they are strong enough to take the journey to the new world. The laws I was talking about were the ancient laws of the immortals. No immortal should enter the temporary world to try to alter the future of a mortal."
Sam looked like his eyes were about to pop out of his head. This was too much information in one time. "I don't understand," he said. "Am I dead?" Gandalf made a gesture with his right arm and smiled once more.
"No, Sam, you're not. But you are about to die, and that's why I'm here. You see, I got a letter from a certain worried hobbit a day ago. This letter has been brought to me in such a rush and with such pace, I know you are loved by far more than your family and friends. And this certain hobbit I'm talking about, although he doesn't know it yet, has a great task awaiting him in the future. And so have you, Sam. And if your story ends here, I fear it all will be lost. You need each other, you and he. You shouldn't have ended up in this place at all, or at least not for a long time yet, young lad. Therefore I've got permission to help you find your way back home, Sam. I've watched you fight for it while I worked for your ticket back home, so I know I've done the right thing."
Sam fell on his bum, so overwhelmed by it all he couldn't manage to stand up. "So I'm about to die... but you are here to make me not, and I have something I have to do in the future?" Sam exhaled the words as Gandalf patiently helped him back on his feet.
"The other Hobbit, it's Mr. Frodo, isn't it?"
Gandalf nodded. "That's right, Sam, but we don't have much time. I'll have to send you back now, before it's too late. You won't remember any of our little talk when you wake up, though; the laws of the immortals forbid it." And with a new gesture with his right arm, Gandalf made a door appear from the nothingness - the well-known green door of Bag End.
Sam laughed in joy. "That sure is a nifty trick, Mr. Gandalf!" He looked at the door and felt more homesick than ever, but before he opened it, he had one last question.
"Will there be elves, on that great task you're talking about, Mr. Gandalf?" he asked as he turned around. But the old wizard had disappeared; there was nothing left of him except a little gray spot where he had last stood.
Well then, Sam Gamgee, you better head home then. Won't you have a great story to tell the others! With this in his thoughts, Sam smiled, quite pleased as he opened the door and stepped through. He was going back.
"I love you, Sam Gamgee," Frodo whispered, and he kissed Sam on the cheek. "If there's no other way - I'll have to let you go, but not like this, Sam, no like this!" His face dissolved as he lost the rest of his self-control. Sam couldn't die! How could he live without him? He would rather see Sam marry Rosie than lose him like this.
He buried his face in Sam's bedsheets as the daylight slowly found its way across the room and to the bed, covering it with a thin beam of light that made it shine. And in this precise moment, the miracle appeared. The miracle Frodo had begged for the whole night through - the miracle no one really believed could happen.
"Mr. Frodo... why are you crying, sir?" The voice was rusty and didn't have much resemblance to the original sound of it, but to Frodo's ears, it sounded like music. He lifted his head and looked straight into two brown, clear eyes with a dash of confusion over them.
"What's wrong, Mr. Frodo?" Sam coughed. To Frodo's joy, it was nothing like the coughing he had heard throughout the night.
"Sam!" Frodo almost cried as he got to his feet. "You look marvelous! And here I was, sobbing away like a child because I thought you were going to die on me!" He kissed Sam's forehead, grinning like an idiot. What happened, in the few minutes Frodo gave up hope? He would probably never know. But now Sam had returned somehow, and he looked like the beginning of a spring. Frodo felt joy from his toes all the way up to his curly head. His Sam had come back to him!
"I love you, Sam." Frodo's eyes glowed with love as he bent down and kissed Sam once more, this time on the lips. "I thought I'd lost you. I was sure I never could feel joy again. And just to prove me wrong you opened your eyes and spoke, you... you... ah, who cares as long as I can see life in your big brown eyes again!" Frodo laughed and touched Sam's nose with a tender fingertip.
Sam still looked confused. He didn't know what was going on at all. The last he remembered was diving into his own bed, feeling sick as a dog. Now he found himself in Frodo's bed, still not feeling like jumping out of the bed and dancing, but still feeling better. And what was all this nonsense about dying? Frodo looked like he'd seen a miracle appear before his very eyes, with that grinning of his. Sam remembered dreaming, though. Something about Gandalf...? But before he could ask what was going on, the door flew open, and in came faces that all were dear to him.
"Sam!" Rosie and Marigold screamed, each one louder than the other. Behind them, the Gaffer and Tolman came strolling in with big cheerful smiles on their faces. Tolman was even chewing on a piece of pie.
"That's my lad!" the Gaffer said, and he had a pleased look on his face. "I knew you would pull through!" The puffy, red eyes proved different, but nobody cared about that in such a joyous moment.
Tolman had a good look at his friend and laughed, "I thought you was a goner for sure, my friend! I'm glad you proved me wrong!" Sam almost felt embarrassed where he lay in his master's bed.
"A goner, eh?" he snorted, and he gave his childhood friend a strict look that showed nothing but friendship. Marigold gave her brother a long and intense hug, and cried his nightshirt wet with tears of joy at the same time.
"Never do anything like that again, you hear, Sam-dear?! The next time you get as much as the sniffles I'm locking you up in your room!" She gave him a last hug, and moved so that Rosie could step forward. Frodo felt nothing but pain when he saw the look in her face. The love shining in her features made her eyes glow, and she looked as beautiful as any elven-maiden. Frodo knew neither he nor Sam had the cruelty needed to break Rosie's heart. She deserved better than that. Their sneaking behind her back was bad enough, but to tell her...
Frodo sighed and left the room, to let Rosie have Sam for herself. If one could call it that, given the fact that she had him "alone" with her brother, future father-in-law, and sister-in-law...
Frodo had come no further than the hall when he heard knocking from the door. Outside, Merry and Pippin were standing, both looking grave, as they both suspected the news they would hear was a burial date.
"How... is he, Frodo? You look tired," Merry said with concern in his eyes. Frodo looked at them and smiled.
"He's going to be all right, boys - he's just..." Frodo's legs collapsed beneath him, too exhausted to carry the hobbit anymore. Frodo had used the last of his reserves. Merry just managed to get a hold of him before he crashed down to the floor.
"Whoa there, cousin! I think you need a rest!" He helped him gain his balance, but didn't let go. "Let me help you, Frodo. You've had a rough night." Frodo let him help, too tired even to protest. Sam would survive, and with that thought in his mind, Frodo leaned against Merry's helping arm.
Frodo slept through the whole day and far into the evening. His slumber was so heavy, Marigold started to worry if he had gotten the illness too. But he had no fever, no cough or shakes - he just slept.
"I don't understand what's the matter with him!" she said to Rosie as she helped her make Sam more comfortable by fluffing his pillow.
"He's not sick, is he?" Sam's eyes got big and scared, and if it hadn't been for Rosie's strong arms, he'd have been halfway to the door already.
"No, Sam - I don't think he's sick. At least I'm sure he don't have what you have, brother-dear," Marigold said, and she made sure her brother didn't escape from the bed. Sam sighed as he saw he was outnumbered. He should be with Frodo, not lying here getting dolled with and being fed soup with a spoon. Rosie had been quiet during Sam and Marigold's discussion.
"I think he will be all right," she said quietly. "He just needs some rest. He hasn't slept for two nights, and he was the one that stayed with Sam when it looked the darkest. Any of us would have been dead tired after such a night, I know I would be." She looked at Sam with a loving smile on her face. "He's a good friend and master, Sam."
Sam nodded with a little sadness in his heart. "Yes, he is," he said as he took Rosie's hand carefully in his. And he's so much more than you'll ever know, he added in his mind.
Frodo awoke to a darkened room, lighted only by the small flame of an old oil lamp. He felt rested and relaxed, with a singing joy in his mind. Sam, he had to go see him! But before Frodo even managed to sit up, a soft voice from the darkness called his name.
"Frodo, sir. Are you awake?" And into the dim light leaned a hobbit as dear to him as the air he breathed. He was covered in a blanket and only his face and some of his left hand was showing. No wonder Frodo hadn't noticed him in the darkness.
"Sam! What are you doing up? You should be in bed!" Frodo whispered, and he sat up.
"Not to worry, Mr. Frodo. I sneaked out when everybody had gone to bed. Marigold almost had to drag Rosie out the door. She wouldn't leave me," Sam whispered back and smiled.
"I don't blame her," Frodo answered. He sounded both sad and in love at the same time. "But you shouldn't ramble about like that just after recovering from something like this. You should be in your bed!" Frodo sounded like the Gaffer early in the morning, before breakfast.
Sam smiled and rose from his chair.
"Is that an invite, Mr. Frodo?" he whispered, and he came to the bed with a smiling face. "Don't worry, not for long," he laughed silently when he saw the well-known panic in his master's eyes. "I only ask for a couple of minutes, just enough to feel your heartbeat against mine. I don't remember much from the past days, but I do remember you being there for me no matter what the cost." He curled up against Frodo's body, and kissed him gently as he looked him in the eye.
"I thought I would lose you, Sam," Frodo said, stroking his lover's hair with a tender hand.
"I love you," Sam whispered, and his eyes welled up with tears. "How could leave you like that, without even saying goodbye?"
"You didn't," Frodo said, smiling, "and you won't, or at least not like that."
"What do you mean?" Sam looked confused.
"One day you will have to leave me, Sam - for Rosie's sake. We both know we don't have the heart to hurt her."
Sam sighed. He knew. But he didn't want to think about that now.
"Please, let's not take the sorrows and the griefs before we need to. Let us enjoy this moment in each other's arms, and don't let's care about anything other than us," Sam said, and he underlined it with a soft kiss.
"I love you, Sam." Frodo smiled. He pulled him closer, tightening the embrace, and wished they could stay like this forever. They only had a few minutes, Sam was right - they had to make them count.
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