A short, sad little story, set just before Frodo makes the decision to leave the Shire.
I do not own The Lord of the Rings
I watch him, sometimes, Mr Frodo.
Mr Frodo is, this has to be understood, a very good actor. I've watched him entertain the biggest, loudest crowds with his stories. I have seen him clutching his stomach in laughter at the Green Dragon, finishing as many halves as he can manage. I've seen him race after my little ones, playing a seemingly never ending game of hide and seek with relentless energy.
I also see him when he thinks I'm not looking.
The split second before he launches into another story, I see the exhaustion in his eyes behind the smile. At the Green Dragon, I catch his fleeting, pleading glance at me...I'm tired, Sam... and when I see him with my young ones, he will sometimes place a hand to his forehead, his other hand still gripping my child's hand.
I watch him and I see his pain...the pain behind his smile.
It's my job to look after him... don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee.
In a way, this calm after the storm...I'd never say it was harder than what we went through...but for Frodo...it's like he can't get back home. Not really.
The other night, at the Green Dragon, anybody else would have thought that Frodo was on fine form. He laughed, he drank, he danced. Yet as I staggered for he bar I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Sam...Sam, I need to get out of here"
"Mr Frodo?"
"Sam, please..."
He didn't need to say anything else. Leaving the halves on the bar, I followed Frodo out of the door.
"Bag End?" I asked gently.
Frodo nodded, bringing his hand over his eyes.
"Come on." I said softly. "Not far, Mr Frodo."
Frodo nodded, accepting my outstretched arm.
I felt the weight on my arm and realised that Frodo was struggling to even stand. I felt alarmed but continued to speak calmly to him, reassuring him that all was fine. Even though I knew, without any question, that it wasn't.
I was losing my best friend... and this time there was nothing I could do.
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