Disclaimer, I don't own Sam, Frodo or anything else here, I only thought up the plotline.
I went into Sam's kitchen after he dropped off again. He was going to need some sort of nourishment if he ever hoped to recover. I busied myself by making Bilbo's famous vegetable soup, which he would always make for me when I was ill. Well, maybe it wasn't famous, per say but it was very good and made the eater forget his sundry ailments. I set it over the flame and watched as it slowly began to boil. When it was done, I took it off to cool and went back into Sam's bedroom. He was sleeping so peacefully that I didn't have the heart to wake him, so I sat down in the chair beside his bed. I really didn't mean to fall asleep, but the chair was so comfortable that I did.
I was jerked awake by a scream. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was still in Sam's house and a few more to realize that the scream was coming from Sam. I leaped to my feet and shook his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up. "Sam, Sam, wake up now, it's just a dream." I reached for the basin and took the washcloth out of the still cool water. I began to wash his flushed and damp face with it while I continued to speak his name. "Sam, you'll be alright." To my relief his eyes started to flutter open, so I kept talking to him, "Sam wake up now, can you hear me?" I smiled as he focused on me. I watched as tears formed in his eyes and spilled over down his cheeks. I brushed them away, seeing the shame that was written so plainly on his face. "Shh, Sam, you're alright now." I soothed, "it was just a nightmare. You'll be fine after a bit." He looked as if he was still frightened, so I reassured him by telling him that even though nightmares feel real, they weren't. He looked up at me again, seeming to relax a bit when I remembered Bilbo's "famous" soup. I smiled encouragingly at him, "Do you want to try to eat a bit of soup? I made some earlier so all I have to do is reheat it." I was satisfied with the half-hearted nod that I got as an answer, "Good, I'll be back." I patted Sam's cheek before I left the room, and was a bit disheartened to find that it wasn't any cooler that it had been before. But I really didn't expect it to be, after all, I had only felt to see how high the fever was a few hours ago.
Sam looked as if he were sleeping when I came back in the room, but I saw that his eyes were only half closed and he was watching me through them. I picked up the large napkin and spread it over his blankets, just incase something upset the soup. Then I placed the tray over the napkin, pulled up the chair and asked him if wanted to feed himself, or if he wanted me to help him. His answer was lifting the spoon and managing to get it into his mouth on his own, though it looked as though it required a great deal more energy than was necessary. After he did this another two times I could tell he was wearing himself out. Gently I took the spoon from him, reassuring him at the same time that there was no one in here but me, and I wasn't going to laugh at him. I braced my hand against the back of his head, so that it wouldn't fall back and gave him the soup. I was a bit slow as I did so due to the fact that I wasn't sure how much Sam could take at once. When he was finished, I told him that he needed to go to sleep again. Sam looked at me with a bit of embarrassment in his gaze. He must have been feeling rather useless by now, always having to be catered to, but he was sick. Being sick gave him a right to lay around and sleep. I just nodded again, telling him without words that I really wanted him to sleep. With my permission, he closed his eyes, allowing his body to relax totally.
I went into the kitchen to tidy up anything I had made a mess of when I was cooking. To my surprise, I hadn't made that big of a mess this time. I am not a messy person, but when I cook I have tendency to be over enthusiastic, as Bilbo would say. I finished cleaning and headed back into Sam's room. He was still sleeping so I settled back into the chair, and allowed my own eyelids to grow heavy again.
A few hours later, I woke up to the sight of Sam watching me. It was good sign, but I was a bit annoyed with myself for allowing myself to fall asleep and force Sam to look after himself. I had no doubt that he was able, but I was put out just the same. I began trying to find a way to make up for my lack of care when my sight fixed on a book that was beside his bed. Why hadn't I thought of that before? I picked it up and examined the cover. "Sam, would you like me to read to you?" I asked him, hoping that he would say yes. I loved this book. It was a book of Elvish tales that Bilbo had given him a few months before he left. I could tell that it was Sam's favorite book by the way it looked well used. It wasn't dog-eared or crumpled, it just looked as if he read it a lot. Bilbo would have been pleased to see that Sam was getting such good use out of his present. If there was one thing Bilbo enjoyed more than giving presents, it was seeing them being put to good use. Happily, Sam nodded. "Right then, would you mind if I started over? It's been a while since I read these stories." Another nod, "Good." I read out loud to Sam until I saw his eyelids drooping again. "Aright, Sam, go back to sleep. You need your rest, and I'll be here when you wake up." I pushed his hair out of his face again. This time he stayed awake long enough to look up at me with trust in his eyes. As he allowed sleep to over take him, I couldn't help thinking about all the fun times we had together. I remember taking him down to the swimming hole and trying to teach him how to swim, even though he never did learn. He was always afraid of water. He tried to teach me how to plant a garden, even though I never did learn. I would always over-water or under-water, killing the plants either way. Poor Sam was always so patient with me, but I never got the concept. Bilbo laughed so hard when I came in the house excitedly showing him my tiny little carrots that I had managed not to kill, with a great deal of Sam's supervision, they were hardly big enough to make a mouthful each, but we ate them just the same. I chuckled at the memory. Whenever Sam told that story, he made the carrots out to be much larger than they really were, and left a great deal of his part out. He just is not the kind to try to take any credit, due or undue, for himself. But he wouldn't be Sam if he didn't do things like that, and I respect him a lot more than if he would try to insert himself. He let's his work speak for him, and people can see what he does anyway.
I went into Sam's kitchen after he dropped off again. He was going to need some sort of nourishment if he ever hoped to recover. I busied myself by making Bilbo's famous vegetable soup, which he would always make for me when I was ill. Well, maybe it wasn't famous, per say but it was very good and made the eater forget his sundry ailments. I set it over the flame and watched as it slowly began to boil. When it was done, I took it off to cool and went back into Sam's bedroom. He was sleeping so peacefully that I didn't have the heart to wake him, so I sat down in the chair beside his bed. I really didn't mean to fall asleep, but the chair was so comfortable that I did.
I was jerked awake by a scream. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was still in Sam's house and a few more to realize that the scream was coming from Sam. I leaped to my feet and shook his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up. "Sam, Sam, wake up now, it's just a dream." I reached for the basin and took the washcloth out of the still cool water. I began to wash his flushed and damp face with it while I continued to speak his name. "Sam, you'll be alright." To my relief his eyes started to flutter open, so I kept talking to him, "Sam wake up now, can you hear me?" I smiled as he focused on me. I watched as tears formed in his eyes and spilled over down his cheeks. I brushed them away, seeing the shame that was written so plainly on his face. "Shh, Sam, you're alright now." I soothed, "it was just a nightmare. You'll be fine after a bit." He looked as if he was still frightened, so I reassured him by telling him that even though nightmares feel real, they weren't. He looked up at me again, seeming to relax a bit when I remembered Bilbo's "famous" soup. I smiled encouragingly at him, "Do you want to try to eat a bit of soup? I made some earlier so all I have to do is reheat it." I was satisfied with the half-hearted nod that I got as an answer, "Good, I'll be back." I patted Sam's cheek before I left the room, and was a bit disheartened to find that it wasn't any cooler that it had been before. But I really didn't expect it to be, after all, I had only felt to see how high the fever was a few hours ago.
Sam looked as if he were sleeping when I came back in the room, but I saw that his eyes were only half closed and he was watching me through them. I picked up the large napkin and spread it over his blankets, just incase something upset the soup. Then I placed the tray over the napkin, pulled up the chair and asked him if wanted to feed himself, or if he wanted me to help him. His answer was lifting the spoon and managing to get it into his mouth on his own, though it looked as though it required a great deal more energy than was necessary. After he did this another two times I could tell he was wearing himself out. Gently I took the spoon from him, reassuring him at the same time that there was no one in here but me, and I wasn't going to laugh at him. I braced my hand against the back of his head, so that it wouldn't fall back and gave him the soup. I was a bit slow as I did so due to the fact that I wasn't sure how much Sam could take at once. When he was finished, I told him that he needed to go to sleep again. Sam looked at me with a bit of embarrassment in his gaze. He must have been feeling rather useless by now, always having to be catered to, but he was sick. Being sick gave him a right to lay around and sleep. I just nodded again, telling him without words that I really wanted him to sleep. With my permission, he closed his eyes, allowing his body to relax totally.
I went into the kitchen to tidy up anything I had made a mess of when I was cooking. To my surprise, I hadn't made that big of a mess this time. I am not a messy person, but when I cook I have tendency to be over enthusiastic, as Bilbo would say. I finished cleaning and headed back into Sam's room. He was still sleeping so I settled back into the chair, and allowed my own eyelids to grow heavy again.
A few hours later, I woke up to the sight of Sam watching me. It was good sign, but I was a bit annoyed with myself for allowing myself to fall asleep and force Sam to look after himself. I had no doubt that he was able, but I was put out just the same. I began trying to find a way to make up for my lack of care when my sight fixed on a book that was beside his bed. Why hadn't I thought of that before? I picked it up and examined the cover. "Sam, would you like me to read to you?" I asked him, hoping that he would say yes. I loved this book. It was a book of Elvish tales that Bilbo had given him a few months before he left. I could tell that it was Sam's favorite book by the way it looked well used. It wasn't dog-eared or crumpled, it just looked as if he read it a lot. Bilbo would have been pleased to see that Sam was getting such good use out of his present. If there was one thing Bilbo enjoyed more than giving presents, it was seeing them being put to good use. Happily, Sam nodded. "Right then, would you mind if I started over? It's been a while since I read these stories." Another nod, "Good." I read out loud to Sam until I saw his eyelids drooping again. "Aright, Sam, go back to sleep. You need your rest, and I'll be here when you wake up." I pushed his hair out of his face again. This time he stayed awake long enough to look up at me with trust in his eyes. As he allowed sleep to over take him, I couldn't help thinking about all the fun times we had together. I remember taking him down to the swimming hole and trying to teach him how to swim, even though he never did learn. He was always afraid of water. He tried to teach me how to plant a garden, even though I never did learn. I would always over-water or under-water, killing the plants either way. Poor Sam was always so patient with me, but I never got the concept. Bilbo laughed so hard when I came in the house excitedly showing him my tiny little carrots that I had managed not to kill, with a great deal of Sam's supervision, they were hardly big enough to make a mouthful each, but we ate them just the same. I chuckled at the memory. Whenever Sam told that story, he made the carrots out to be much larger than they really were, and left a great deal of his part out. He just is not the kind to try to take any credit, due or undue, for himself. But he wouldn't be Sam if he didn't do things like that, and I respect him a lot more than if he would try to insert himself. He let's his work speak for him, and people can see what he does anyway.