Eternity and the Language of Flowers

SUMMARY: Sam takes time out for grieving

DISCLAIMER: Yeah, still not mine. I’m a student, not an heiress to millions.

NOTE: Belladonna never turns up here, unless you take the meaning --literally--…Oooh, I’ve come over all cryptic!


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“Sam.”

A warm hand touched his forehead, then stroked lightly along his jaw. “Sam, wake up.”

“Five more minutes,” Sam mumbled sleepily, then rolled over.

“I’ve brought you a cup of tea. Strong. It’s almost time for breakfast. I thought you deserved to sleep longer for a change.”

Slowly, Samwise rolled over to face the person who sought to disrupt his relatively peaceful sleep. Upon opening his eyes, he appeared to be confused as to why Frodo sat before him and not his sister or gaffer. “How…?”

“Tea,” Frodo interrupted, holding out a small china cup of fresh, steaming hot tea. Sam reached out a hand, and then stopped. He stared at the white bandage that covered his right hand, suddenly remembering the events of the previous day.

“The stones. I cut it on the stones beside her grave,” he whispered.

Muscles in Frodo’s face twitched, and silently he leaned over to the bedside table, placing the cup of tea there. After a moment he stood, then stepped back and held his hands before him.

Sam smirked and shook his head at the irony, then pushed himself to sit upright in the bed. “Sir, there ain’t no need to be standin’ like that. It should be me waitin’ on you, anyways – not the other way round.” With that, Sam pushed the bedcovers off himself and made to get up.

“Sam,” Frodo said firmly, pointing a finger at him, and one hand planted firmly on his hip. “Stay in bed, drink your tea. I want to talk to you.”

“I ain’t needin’ to be talkin’ about it, sir.”

“I know,” Frodo replied gently. “You will talk in your own time. But Sam, I think…”

“Please, sit down, Mr Frodo,” Sam interrupted. “If you’re goin’ to be talkin’ to me a whiles, mayhap you should be comfortable.”

Frodo smiled and settled himself into the overstuffed chair by Sam’s bedside. “Yes. Well…” Frodo paused. “Sam, I think you should take some time off work – away from Bag End, possibly away from Hobbiton. Obviously, you will need time to allow your hand to heal, but I believe you should allow time for your heart to heal also. My cousin Merry extends an open invitation to me to visit at this time of year. If you wished, you could accompany me.”

Sam leaned back against the pillows and headboard, apparently deep in thought. But after a moment, he shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Sam?”

“Sir, I couldn’t be away from my family at this time. The Gaffer needs me to bring money home, Mari needs her brother. Daisy has gone home to Hugh, and the baby is due soon now. Hal and Ham can’t stay away from their work any longer, and I heard them makin’ arrangements for travellin’ back to their homes. May’s husband told her to stay as long as she needed or wanted to, but she is anxious to get back to Whitfurrows. That leaves me. I can’t go no-where right now, Mr Frodo.”

“Well…” Frodo started.

“Mr Frodo,” Sam said, interrupting again, and held up his hands. “I can’t just go off on a holiday when they need me so much.” He sighed, then added, “I’d like to take your offer of a few day’s rest, though. But then I shall be back to work.”

The young Master flopped back in armchair and sighed. “If you are certain.”

“Thank you, sir.”


-----


Frodo did insist that Sam need not lift a finger during that day, but soon he found himself with his feet up in the parlour, pipe in hand, and book on lap, while Sam buzzed around doing little tasks such as his injuries would allow. As the sunset that day, Sam took his leave and bid Frodo a good evening, promising he wouldn’t return to work for another two or three days.

But for the rest of that week, Frodo heard and saw nothing at all from Sam or his family. He hadn’t been worried, but when rumours began to pop up at the market, ranging from the probable to the ridiculous, he felt a little uneasy, though without need. Late on Sunday afternoon, a neighbour of the Gamgees reported a sighting of Sam and the Gaffer tidying the garden together – alive, fit and well as far as he could tell (a lot, it turned out).

Sam returned to his job at Bag End first thing on Monday morning, and, as he had expected, a load of work awaited him – weeds needing pulled, bushes needing pruned, flowers needing watered, grass needing cut, a trellis to repair – as far as he could see from a first glance.

Before he tackled his work in the garden, however, he headed into Bag End itself to clean out and light the fires in the kitchen and parlour, then make breakfast for Frodo. Once that was done, he knocked on Frodo’s bedroom door to rouse him, let him know his breakfast awaited him, and if he wished a bath drawn, Sam would see to it straight away.

Frodo sat up sleepily, but before he could call out to Sam, heard his footsteps retreating down the tunnel again.

By the time Frodo appeared in the kitchen, Sam was already in the garden, hard at work and deep in concentration as he hauled at stubborn dandelion weeds and threw them into a metal pail by his side. Breakfast was laid out on the kitchen table, hot and ready for Frodo. A bowl of porridge drizzled with honey sat steaming at his place at the table, to the left a plate of toasted bread, to the right, butter, jam, and a pot of freshly brewed tea. A loud grumble from his stomach reminded Frodo just how hungry he actually was, and he settled down to make short work of the spread before him.

As he finished his first breakfast, Sam came trampling back indoors.

“Ah, there you are, Sam! I was beginning to wonder if the weeds had taken revenge on you and sent you headlong into the compost heap!”

Sam smiled, but said nothing. Instead he began to gather the empty dishes for washing, then set about tidying the worktops and banking the fire.

“I should like to take that bath now, Samwise,” said Frodo.

Sam immediately stopped what he was doing and turned about to face his master. “Yes, Mr Frodo, sir. I’ll see to it straight away, so’s you can go about your day as soon as possible. Nothin’ worse than havin’ to wait on someone else to do their job, is there?” With another smile and a brief nod, Sam scampered off in the direction of the bathing room.

Frodo returned to his room to gather clean clothes, then hovered there for a few minutes to give Sam time to prepare the room for him. When he reached the bathroom and opened the door, he was greeted with a pleasant mixture of orange-blossom and rosewood, as a cloud of steam wafted across his face.

“Mmm, lovely,” he commented quietly. Sam turned around from his position in front of the fireplace.

“Just finished here, sir. Fire’s going to keep you from getting chilled, soap and clean cloths to wash with, towels warming by the fire. You just give Sam a shout if you need anything more.”

Frodo nodded. “Thank you, Sam. I’m sure I’ll be fine here now.”

With a polite nod and a little bow, Sam ducked out of the room, closing the door behind him.


-----


For the remainder of the morning, and then afternoon, Frodo saw and heard nothing else of Sam. His second breakfast and lunch had been waiting for him in the kitchen each time he ventured through, hunger and the hope of speaking to Sam bringing him out of his study, away from his letter writing or bookkeeping. Each time he had been disappointed that Sam wasn’t there, but disappointment soon disappeared when he became distracted the substantial meals set before him.

When he popped his head into the kitchen again, late in the afternoon, he discovered that the dishes from breakfast and lunch had been done, and now a fresh pot of tea and a plate of fruit scones sat on the table.

A little frustrated now, Frodo grabbed a scone, took a large bite, then put it down again, as he decided to first of all head out to the garden and invite Sam in for afternoon tea. To his surprise and utter irritation, Sam was nowhere to be found. The grass had been cut, the clippings gathered and thrown on the compost heap, along with the weeds Sam had pulled that morning. There was evidence that the garden had been watered, from one end to the other, and the trellis that had needed repairing was standing upright and whole once again. It also appeared to Frodo that his rose bushes had been pruned, and looked all the healthier and happier for it. An unfamiliar scent on the air had the perplexed hobbit sniffing curiously for a minute or two, roaming the garden for its source, before he noticed two pots of paint and a clean brush sitting by the tool shed.

“Sam?”

The tool shed door opened and a familiar curly head peered round the corner. “Yes, sir? Is there anything I can do for you?”

Frodo shook his head, then said, “I haven’t seen you since first breakfast. Have you been that busy today, Sam? Will you not come indoors and take afternoon tea with me?”

“I have indeed been busy, Mr Frodo. A lot of work to catch up on, as has been neglected by my absence. Almost finished now – just to repaint the front door, then I’ll be away for the day. The gaffer has another job for me to do at Mr Burrows’ garden. I think he said there were a few repairs needin’ done.”

“Will you be back at dinner or supper time?” Frodo enquired.

With a gasp, Sam brought a hand to his face in shock. “Goodness, but I’d almost forgot! Of course, sir – I’ll see to making your dinner before I leave for Mr Burrows’ hole, then I’ll return later this evenin’ to see to your supper, if you’d wish, of course.”

“That wasn’t what was concerning me. But if you are going to be busy, do not worry about feeding me. I can do that for myself.”

Sam smiled again, the same strange, distant one Frodo had seen often that day. “It’s no problem, sir. I’ll do it before I leave.”

“Very well, Samwise,” Frodo conceded.


-----


Frodo thought no more of Sam’s odd behaviour, putting it down to him feeling stressed, running around until he caught up with everything he felt he had ‘let slip’ during his absence.

Weeks turned the autumn toward winter again, and it seemed to most folk that Sam had overcome his grief over losing his mother, and was back to his old self again. Most, that was, except two of Sam’s closest friends: Frodo and Robin Goodbody.

Since Sam first returned to work, Frodo had seen very little of him. He always seemed to be busy with one job or another, despite the fact the winter months usually brought a lack of work for a lot of hobbits.

On one rare occasion that Frodo had seen Sam out of work, he again asked if he would like to accompany Frodo to Buckland for a few weeks over the Yule holiday. Sam’s answer was the same, and was as resolute as he had been the first time Frodo had asked. Frodo acceded to his response, and two days later, set off for Brandy Hall alone.


-----


Three weeks later, in the new year, as Frodo walked to the Ivy Bush, Robin Goodbody approached him, asking after Sam. It transpired that Robin had seen next to nothing of Sam for at least a week, and when he had, Sam had drunk himself well into his cups. From this, Frodo also gathered that it wasn’t the first time this had happened. But when he asked if Sam was gaining a reputation as a ‘regular drinker’ – a polite way of asking if he was constantly getting himself drunk – Robin hastily assured him that no, Sam rarely turned up at the Inn any more at all – but when he did, he seemed to ‘make up for it’. Frodo at least was reassured that Sam wasn’t drowning his sorrows, or becoming dependant on a mug of ale to see him through the day – Frodo had heard what could become of a hobbit if that happened.

But he still found it disconcerting and out of character, and resolved to enquire of Sam himself.

The matter of confronting Sam determined itself when Frodo later heard from another friend that Sam was working from dawn, well into the night, day in and day out. She couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a day off work, but wouldn’t be surprised if he dropped dead himself one day, what with the gaffer’s constant demands, Marigold’s struggle to keep up with her own work, and the fact that Daisy had lost her baby, which her healer said was the result of her severe distress and grief.

“Daisy…what?” Frodo gaped in disbelief, and felt numbed and sick as a lead weight seemed to settle in his stomach. “I never knew.”

“You never knew he was holding down three jobs neither, though. Did you?”

Frodo had no answer.


-----


“So much has happened in the months since Bell passed on. I haven’t seen much of Sam at all since he returned to work, and I find this unsettling. I have just returned from visiting the relatives in Buckland. Many of them enquired as to Sam’s whereabouts, and Merry passed on his condolences. I have not yet been able to pass these on, however, as Sam seems more determined than ever to avoid my presence.”

“It’s not you he’s avoiding, Frodo. Samwise is avoiding the issue of dealing with his grief. He is working himself into the ground – and an early grave, at this rate – to avoid dealing with it. This method also seems to involve avoiding anyone that may actually be able to help him – his friends, close and professional, healers, employers, family…and unfortunately, it will all come to a very messy head some day. Unless you are prepared for it, of course, and can treat the situation with care, gentleness and empathy.”

Frodo sighed and slouched in his armchair. He said nothing for a few minutes, but stared across the room at his companion, who was perched delicately on the edge of a very large stool. Then, he spoke again. “Every day I hope to see him to speak with him, yet all the new day brings is more rumour or news of Sam’s crumbling life. Daisy, his sister, lost her baby. He was born sleeping. I found out two weeks after it happened, and from a friend of the family, who didn’t even know all the details.”

Frodo lapsed into silence again, which stretched into a quarter of an hour. Then, with another sigh, he added, “You always turn up when you are needed most.” A pause. “And you always know what to say, don’t you, Gandalf? In any situation.”

“What is a wizard for, if not for these very circumstances?” Gandalf asked, before chuckling quietly as Frodo opened his mouth to retort. “No, Frodo. I know what you would say. ‘That’s not all you’re are good for, Gandalf’…and you would be right. All I meant by that statement was that I am here, now, and I intend to help by not interfering in the slightest.”

Shaking his head, Frodo asked, “will you be giving me advice, at the very least?”

Smiling, Gandalf reached inside his robes for his pipe, and, lighting it, said, “I already have.”


-----


Later that day, Frodo and Gandalf took themselves outside to wander around Hobbiton and the Hill a while, discussing the many going-ons of the outside world. As usual, the old wizard evaded a lot of Frodo’s questions, and stuck to telling him news of the Elves of Rivendell and Men of Gondor. And as usual, Frodo answered Gandalf questions, most of which, again, consisted of asking how he felt, within himself and physically.

It was as they walked that Frodo spotted the forlorn, round-shouldered form of his once- amiable friend, walking slowly over the bridge beside the Mill toward them. It was at that moment Gandalf found a plant of much interest, and he moved away from the path to investigate, leaving Frodo to confront Sam.

“Good afternoon, Samwise,” said the Master of Bag End.

The young, wearied gardener looked up from the stony path. “Afternoon, Mr Frodo, sir.”

Before Frodo could launch into his little practiced speech, Sam made to move away again. Instead of a gently enquiring talk came out a string of frustrated words.

“Samwise Gamgee! Do not turn your back on me! What do you think you are playing at? I am still your master and I demand that you give the time due to me! I have been trying for weeks to speak to you, yet you seem dead-set on either ignoring me out of sheer ignorance or punishing me for not being able to read your mind!”

Sam stood gaping at Frodo with his mouth open. Gandalf sighed and shook his head. This was not what he had meant by ‘care and empathy’.

“I need you to speak to me. I can’t help you unless you *talk* to me!” Frodo ranted.

“I don’t need your help!” Sam shouted. “There ain’t nothin’ you can do anyway, you have no idea what we’re goin’ through! Leave us alone!” He took a step forward, determined to escape, but Frodo’s hand shot out and grabbed him tightly by the arm.

“I don’t know what you’re going through,” he said quietly, through clenched teeth. “Because you won’t tell me. The day you broke down in the cemetery, I held you, and you opened to me. But every day since then, I haven’t been able to make a bit of sense out of you and your behaviour.”

Sam wrenched his arm out of Frodo’s grasp. With an expression on his face like thunder, he stormed up the path, never hesitating or looking behind him.

As he disappeared from sight, Frodo’s anger left him immediately, only to be replaced with the sickening feeling of guilt, leaving him bone-tired.

Gandalf walked over to him and tapped his shoulder lightly. “Mr Baggins, that is not what I meant when I said--”

“--Said ‘treat the situation with care, gentleness and empathy’, I know, Gandalf, I *know*!”


-----


Nothing a Baggins says or does goes unnoticed, wherever they live in the Shire. The following morning, as his friend the wizard prepared to leave again after yet another flying visit, the market and town was abuzz with the standoff between the Master of the Hill and his gardener, which had unfortunately taken place by the Mill.

“Shouting and screaming…it almost came to blows!”

“Told his master to stick his beak into some other sod’s business.”

“Almost got told where to stick his job, too, I heard!”

“That old wizard ‘ad to ‘old ‘em apart, they were that keen on stickin’ into each other.”

“Typical Baggins, though, nosin’ around like that.”

“Can’t let a family grieve in peace.”

“Just got back from a visit in Buckland, too, I ‘eard. Wouldn’t surprise me if they influence ‘is be’aviour…”

Ted Sandyman smirked to himself as he picked out the best of the day’s fish from the market stall before swaggering down the road again.


-----


Frodo spent a very sore next few days, as he came to terms with the damage he had done to his and Sam’s friendship. It was only out of his sense of duty that Sam turned up to work at Bag End now, and no words passed between servant and master in all the hours they were together.

After a week of hostile behaviour, Sam seemed to fade to a shadow of his former self. It appeared that he had very little energy left, and the three jobs he had been holding down were now reduced once again to the one, at Bag End.

Frodo stood at the kitchen window one morning, searching for signs of new life in the garden, his gaze constantly falling to Sam, who knelt among the sleeping plants, tending to the earliest of the new shoots pushing through the cold, damp earth.

The movements of this usually very active hobbit seemed this pale morning to be more slow and lethargic than his master had ever seen him. Every lift of his arm seemed to be an extreme effort, and even from a distant side profile, Frodo could tell Sam’s face was contorted with grief, exhaustion and illness. His skin looked grey and transparent as he struggled on with the task at hand. Frodo could have compassion and shame as he realised that this whole sorry mess could only be resolved if he took the first step.

As he steeled himself, ready to move to the side door, he noticed Sam’s movements had halted completely. He knelt on the cold ground, staring blankly ahead, before suddenly keeling over, face-first into the earth.

Frodo cried out, dropping the teacup he held and tripping over a mop and bucket in his haste to get outdoors.

“Sam! Sam!” Frodo shouted, running across the short, dewy grass to where Sam lay, unmoving. A hundred thoughts sped through his mind. Was Sam ill? Did he really have the same disease that had taken his mother mere months before? Had he hurt himself? Deliberately? Maybe he had given up….Frodo would be to blame if he had, surely, for he had caused only more suffering with his insensitive tirade… “SAM!”

He skidded to a halt and dropped to his knees by his friend’s side. He grabbed his shoulders and shook him firmly, before turning him onto his back and gently slapping his face to gain a response.

“Wake up, please…” he begged.

After what felt like an age, Sam’s eyes opened, sad and dull. Frodo’s own eyes sprung tears that quickly ran down his face.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Frodo whispered. “Forgive me.”

“Never…was a finer thing than…to hear-to hear you s-say that…right now…sir.”

With a grunt, Sam propped himself on his elbows, and attempted to stand.

“Careful, Sam,” Frodo urged, helping Sam to move slowly and carefully. “Oh, look at you – you’re exhausted. It’s all my fault…”

Leaning against Frodo for support as they moved back toward the smial, Sam managed a weak smile. “Sir…”

“It’s going to change, I promise,” a suitably chastised Baggins added hastily.

They stopped at the doorway, Sam staring at Frodo intently. “I haven’t rightly played my own part too well neither, sir. I’ve hidden away from things, see, and it’s just made me plain tired, down to my bones…”

They moved on. Frodo helped Sam to settle in front of the fire in the kitchen, and he moved to the kettle, where he began preparing a fresh pot of tea.

“Well, talking will have to wait just a while longer, Sam. I want you fit and healthy again. That is going to start today. Once you have rested, and had breakfast here, I want you to go home, and rest for another week, before you even consider coming back to work. I shall visit you tomorrow, after you’ve had a chance to catch up on your rest and sleep. If your Gaffer wishes an explanation, I will be more than happy to speak with him.”

Frodo heard a vague grunt of agreement from Sam, and smiled as he poured steaming hot tea into two white china cups. He then picked them up, carefully, and turned toward the table. “Now, Sam. Would you like something to e-”

But Sam lay over the table with his head resting on his arms, chestnut curls hiding his worn features, and deep in sleep.

“Dearest Sam,” Frodo sighed. He placed the teacups down, then moved around the table to gently shake the sleeping hobbit awake. As loathe as Frodo was to disturb him, he knew Sam would not appreciate a stiff neck and aching back when he awoke, if he was allowed to sleep on in such a position.

At the light touch of Frodo’s hand, Sam’s head jerked up, and he snuffled sleepily. “Wha--?”

“You fell asleep. Come now. To bed with you.” Frodo carefully pulled Sam to his feet. “We can talk over tea and crumpets later.”

“You’re too nice to me, sir. What a lump of a servant you have, an’ yet you show him a kindness!” Sam staggered slightly as together they walked down the dimly lit tunnel to the guest room Sam had previously stayed in.

“You must not be hard on yourself, Samwise. You didn’t take time for grieving, but I did not help matters by accusing you of negligence!” Frodo pushed the bedroom door open and stepped back to allow Sam into the room first. “I should have been more sensitive to your situation. I have acted badly, and let you down as a master and friend.”

He fell silent as he pulled back the blankets on the bed and lit a small lamp on the nightstand. “I can only hope that you forgive me,” he added quietly, before stepping away from bed and nightstand.

Sam regarded his master wearily as he slid his weskit from his shoulders and loosened the top button of his work-worn shirt. He sat down upon the bed silently and removed his braces, placing the removed items neatly at the foot of the bed before lying down.

“I’m that tired as I canna think, sir,” Sam murmured in the darkened room. “But I know that’s there’s naught to forgive you for. I never was that angry at you, Mr Frodo. And more besides, friends don’t ever hold a grudge against each other.”

Frodo smiled softly and looked over his shoulder at his friend from the door. “Rest now, Sam. We can talk more later. I will be nearby in the smial should you need me.” But Sam was asleep before the door closed again.

And when Sam awoke later in the small hours of the morning, it was to find that Frodo had fallen asleep right by his side, deep in the armchair placed by his bed.


-~End part 12~-