When Frodo was fit to be moved, he was carried from the Houses of Healing up to the house the Fellowship shared, so that he could complete his recovery in the company of his friends. The room he was placed in lay just down the hall from Sam's.
Sam passed the closed door a dozen times a day. He often heard voices within--Gandalf's mostly, for he had assumed the chief responsibility for Frodo's care, Aragorn's whenever he visited, and sometimes Frodo's voice as well--but he did not knock or try to go in. Both Gandalf and Aragorn had insisted that Frodo not see him for the present and, after that scene in the Houses of Healing, Sam ruefully complied.
Worst were the nights when Frodo screamed. The whole household awoke at these dreadful cries, and there was always a commotion outside Sam's door until Frodo was soothed into quiet. Once, Frodo had howled his name in the darkness. That was more than Sam could bear; he had to go out, and would have gone to his master if Gandalf hadn't met him at Frodo's door and told him, "Go back to bed, Sam. It's better if you don't answer his call. Not yet."
Perhaps it was for the best. He heard parts of Frodo's story retold by the others: how the orcs had killed each other quarrel-ing over the mithril shirt, how Frodo had been left forgotten in the top of the tower until hunger and fear had forced him down from his cell, how he had survived alone until the Men came and found him. From the embarrassed looks on Merry's and Pippin's faces and their awkward hesitation when he asked, Sam knew that Frodo had also spoken of him--and it must be something awful if they didn't want to repeat it in his hearing!
Sam did his best to keep his distance, until a week after Frodo had been brought in; when he returned to his room after dinner, he found that the door to Frodo's room had been left ajar. Frodo was visible within, sitting up in bed and reading. Sam froze at the sight of him, just as he had that day in the Houses of Healing.
Frodo looked much better than he had when Sam had last seen him. He was still pale and painfully thin, but that alarming, half-dead look had gone. There was some flesh on his bones, and even a little color in his face. His hair must have been too snarled and matted to be combed out, for it had been cut off short.
Sam knew he ought to slip away quietly before Frodo noticed him, but he could not move. He stood at the doorway, staring, tremb-ling with fear, aching with hopeless love.
He remembered holding Frodo that terrible day at Cirith Ungol. The body cradled in his arms had been still as death. When he'd put a hand on Frodo's chest, he'd felt no heartbeat. There was no stir of breath. The lips he'd kissed in farewell were cool and unresponsive. Frodo's eyelashes hadn't even flickered when Sam had taken the Ring from around his neck. He'd been certain that Frodo must be dead. How could he have guessed otherwise? And yet he'd been wrong!
If only he could make up for what he'd done... but how? What could he do to gain Frodo's forgiveness?
Before Sam could force himself to make a noiseless retreat, Frodo lifted his eyes from his book and found him. "Sam."
Too late! Sam's face went red, and he took a step back. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"No, don't go," said Frodo. "I'm glad you're here. I've been wanting to talk to you. I've asked a dozen times, but they won't allow me to see you."
Was it possible? Frodo had asked for him! Sam drew closer, heart pounding hard as Frodo crawled toward him on his hands and knees until he reached the foot of the bed. There was an odd, intent glimmer in his eyes that Sam didn't know what to make of.
"I've heard what a great hero you are," Frodo told him. "You completed the quest in my place. You destroyed the Ring, and because of that, your name is praised all over this city. Tell me the truth, Sam. Is that why you did it?"
"Did what?" Sam echoed, not understanding.
"You wanted all the glory for yourself. That's why you left me there, and didn't tell anyone I was prisoner."
"No!"
"You deny it then?"
"I do!" He had accused himself of many horrible things since Frodo had been found, but this was so grotesquely unjust that Sam had to protest. "I didn't know! I thought you were dead! How can you say such hurtful things, Frodo? How can you even think of it?"
"Oh, I've had plenty of time to think about it," Frodo replied bitterly. "I spent more than a month in that tower with little to do but contemplate your betrayal. I've tried to tell them, but no one will believe me-" he stopped suddenly and looked up over Sam's head. Gandalf had come to the doorway behind them.
"No, we don't believe you," the wizard said with a note of well-practiced patience, "because it is plainly nonsense. Sam would not betray you."
"You don't know him as I do."
"Enough!" Gandalf spoke more firmly. "When you are yourself again, you will regret that you ever said these things." He turned to Sam, "You must go. I'm afraid Frodo isn't well enough to see you yet."
Sam went to his room and shut the door. He sat on his bed, arms around himself and head bowed, too horrified to weep. There was a tight, squeezing pain in his chest, as if a cold hand had closed around his heart. And beneath his hurt and bewilderment, a darker thought had come into his mind. Something worse. A terrible question...
There was knock at the door and Gandalf peered in.
"Is that what he's been saying to you?" Sam asked.
"I'm sorry that you had to hear it, but you see now why we've taken such pains to keep you from him."
The dark question was almost too frightening to be asked, but Sam had to know. "Has Mr. Frodo lost his mind?"
"Frodo is still very ill. His body recovers as well as can be expected, but his mind..." the wizard shook his head sadly. "He has endured a horrific ordeal, too terrible to be imagined, and the Ring has had its affect on him as well."
"But the Ring was destroyed!"
"Yes, but he is not free of its influence. He may never be free of it, not fully. Much of the time, he seems quite lucid, but when your name is mentioned, he begins to speak this way. It's as if he blames you for what's happened to him."
"Maybe he's right." At Gandalf's look of surprise, Sam quickly explained, "Not meaning that I left him on purpose--I didn't, Mr. Gandalf, not as he says I did--but all this about me being a hero. It just isn't so. I'm not what they say."
"If Gondor praises you, it is because you well deserve it. You succeeded in what was an almost impossible task, one that was never asked of you."
"It should've been him," Sam answered. "It was Mr. Frodo's job -- he was asked to do it. He should've been the one to carry the Ring to the mountain and throw it into the fire, not me. By rights, the celebrations and songs ought've been for him. It should've been Frodo that Aragorn lifted up to sit on the throne before him, and said, 'This victory is ours because of you.' I took that all away from him. Dead or not, I should never have left him behind." Even as he'd walked away that terrible day, Sam had known that his rightful place was at Frodo's side. "If I'd stayed, I might've rescued him. I'd more rightly be called a hero if I'd done that."
"You can't be sure of that, Sam. You might have been captured yourself, and the Ring taken by the Enemy. The quest was too important for you to take so great a risk." Gandalf considered him solemnly before he went on. "You made the most difficult choice of your life that day, and you did what you thought was right with the knowledge you had at the time."
"Is it what you would've done, Mr. Gandalf?"
"Anyone might have done the same in your situation. It was a enormous sacrifice, one that has torn at my own heart as much as yours, but one that had to be made for a greater good. I do not fault you for it. When he is well again, Frodo will understand that you did what was necessary to carry on the quest he under-took, and he will not blame you either. But, Sam, you must stop blaming yourself."
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