1 Sam's Tale

Reviews coveted and appreciated!

"I asks, yes, I asks. And it that isn't nice enough, I begs!"

Author: Nilramiel@aol.com, aka RosieCotton

Genre: General/Romance

Setting: The Shire, year 1420



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Chapter 9: "It is gone…"

Rating: G

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Winter passed quickly, and melted into a Spring that surpassed Sam's wildest hopes. His trees began to sprout and grow, as if time was in a hurry and wished to make one year do for twenty. In the party field, a beautiful young sapling leaped up: it had silver bark and long leaves, and the travelers agreed that it must be a mallorn like the great trees of Lothlorien.

Sam now took regular treks around the Shire, nurturing his saplings and checking on their progress. There was now much to see, and indeed the trees changed and grew almost before his eyes. Samwise Gamgee was many things, not in the least including a poet, and a warrior, and a fiercely loyal friend, but he was at his core a gardener and a lover of growing things, and Sam treated the saplings as if they were his own children. He would kneel and check the soil at the roots of each tree for moisture, gently pulling aside the earth and looking for signs of rot or parasites. He would then use his small knife to prick the bark, just enough to check the health of the wood, and he would examine the leaves, and all of the plants growing nearby. This took some time, and Sam was sometimes away from Hobbiton for a week or more, which Rosie liked not at all, although she understood, and loved the young trees almost as much as Sam, having worked with him in their planting.

In Mid-March, when Sam was off on one of these forestry trips (it so happened it was the longest one of all), Frodo became ill. He was still staying at the Cotton farm at the time, and one morning did not appear at breakfast. As this was highly unusual, Farmer Cotton went back to check on him, and there was no answer to the gentle, then harder knock on the round bedroom door. Alarmed, Farmer Cotton pushed into the room, and found Frodo lying on the bed in a feverish state. He was clutching the white gem that he wore around his neck, and he was moaning. "It is gone forever…gone…all is dark and empty…it is gone…"

The farmer called for his wife, who knowing much about illnesses, and being possessed of a sizable portion of hobbit sense, brought woolen blankets and cool cloths. She wrapped Frodo warmly and bathed his forehead, but he seemed unaware of her, and moved restlessly under the covers.

"Rosie, run and get Meriadoc," she said to her daughter. "I know he is in town, and I think he will be up at the town hall, or else at the Whitfoots smail. I wish Sam was here, but Mr. Merry may know what to do."

Rosie ran, and fortunately she found Merry even before she reached the town hall, walking along the road with several other hobbits.

"Merry, come quick," Rosie called as soon as she was within earshot, "It's Frodo, he's ill, and mother does not know how to help him."

Merry came at once, and looked at Frodo and felt his flushed skin, and the concern was obvious in his face. "I've seen this before," he said with confidence, "Tho' there's nought that I can do for him. The last time he was like this was back in October, on the same day as he was stabbed on Weathertop a year before. That anniversary was hard for him, and he was in a great bit of pain. Only lasted a day or two, though, and then he was right as rain again. What's the date?"

"It's the thirteenth of March," answered the farmer.

"Ah," said Merry, "let me think…thirteenth of March. I was in the Druadan Forest with Theodan… Pip was… oh! That was the day before Minas Tirith was besieged, so… I know!" Merry was very pleased with himself for solving the puzzle, although his brow was still furrowed with concern for his friend. "March thirteenth is the day Frodo was bit by that horrid big spider, that Shelob. The memory of the poison must be stirring in him now." Frodo groaned, and Merry laid a comforting hand on his friend's forehead, then turned to Rosie. "Where's Sam?"

"He's off at the northern end of the Shire, tending to the saplings," Rosie answered, her voice taut with concern. "He's not expected back for at least a week."

"Ah. Well, that may be for the best," said Merry, "If I know Sam, this would worry him overmuch, and he's got lots of other things to keep his mind on without getting worked up over something that will likely pass shortly enough."

"What should we do for him?" asked Mrs. Cotton, "I've never seen a sickness quite like this – a memory sickness as you say."

"Just set by him, and keep him warm, mainly," said Merry, "Be sure someone is with him when he wakes – that's real important. Oh, and if ye can find some Kingsfoil, it may be of help. Break it up and put it in warm water. Do it here in the room, so as he can smell the vapors. And bathe his face and neck with the water steeped with the leaves. Wonderful healing properties has Kingsfoil. I was tended with it myself, by Strider, I mean by the King Elessar, when I was hurt."

"Sam told me all about Kingsfoil," Rosie put in. "I have some kept by."

"Good," said Merry, "And I'll check back by after him later, but he'll be right again soon. And Rosie," he added, "I wouldn't mention this to Sam, unless it comes up on its own. He'll fret, and he don't need to be fretting, if it's past."

Rosie nodded, and Mrs. Cotton thanked Merry, and he went on his way. They did as he had suggested, steeping the kingsfoil and bathing Frodo's face, and his neck where he had been stung. Nibs, the youngest of Rosie's brothers, happened to be the one sitting with him when he woke from his dreamlike state late on March the fourteenth.

He roused just before suppertime, and sitting up said, "Hullo Nibs! Is it mealtime? I feel famished."

"'Tis, Mr. Frodo," said Nibs, "Are you alright? You've been ill, you know."

"I know. But I feel well now, and hungry!" and Frodo would not say more about his fit, and the Cottons' did not question him. He certainly did seem right as rain, and when Sam returned on the twenty-third, no mention of the incident was made to him.

~TBC~

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Please do not copy or post this story to another website, or use it for your own purposes, without my permission and/or without the introductory comments. Feel free to link away!

Acknowledgements: The characters, setting, and much of the dialog belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, and I give full credit to him. This story focuses on the relationship of Samwise Gamgee and Rose Cotton, and it is how I imagine the events following the Hobbits' return to the Shire following the War of the Ring and King Aragorn's coronation and marriage. If you have read the book, The Return of the King, you will find the events and much of the dialogue familiar. I have tried to "fill in the gaps," regarding Sam's courtship to Rose Cotton. Sam is my favorite character in Tolkien's work, and this is written with the deepest respect for both Tolkien and the noble Samwise. There are some slight departures from the timeline of The Lord of the Rings, for which I apologize; however, creative license is a part of fanfic, right? smile.

Rating: The first several chapters are rated G or PG; however, eventually I may include a sweet romantic chapter, or more than one, involving Sam and his Rose. For those readers with more discerning tastes, I shall give you fair warning of this.

WC= 1037