Sound, Silence and Solace
-Mbradford
Summary - Third in a series, after "In Safekeeping" and "The Way of Vengeance". After being rescued from Bywater, Frodo tries to cope with the emotional aftereffects of the traumatic experience. Sam does his best to help.
Drama/angst/romance Rating: PG - 13
Warnings: Frodo/Sam slash (minor)
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, they're Professor Tolkien's. Doing this for nothing but the thrill.
Author's notes - Plotbunnies must kept in separate hutches, or they will multiply. When I picked up that first plotbunny for "In Safekeeping", little did I know it was about to give birth to a litter of its own. A few thousand words and much lost sleep later, Frodo and Sam are back and the healing process continues.
Chapter 1 - Sound
Frodo stood in the kitchen staring absently out the window into the garden. The sun was high and brilliant in a cloudless sky, the birds were singing blithely and the breeze was playing in the leaves of the trees and whispering through the green grass. He barely noticed the beautiful late summer day unfolding before him. With a blank expression, he turned away from the window and sighed.
To say that he hadn't been himself lately would be an understatement. At times things would be almost normal, nearly unchanged. Old routines would proceed smoothly, conversations would flow easily, his thoughts would not stray to - to that place, to what happened to him there.
Bywater. Two weeks had passed since Sam, Merry and Pippin had rescued him from the abandoned smial where he had been held captive by Rushford Bramblethorn. He was home at Bag End now, and had recovered - on the surface at least - from the horrifying experience.
His kidnapper had been dealt with, of course. Bramblethorn had undergone public humiliation and was cast out of the Shire once again. The big folk would incarcerate such an individual to keep him from committing further offenses, but such measures were unknown within the normally peaceful borders of the Shire. Historically speaking, they had not been needed.
Having been on display in the town squares of the major settlements, Bramblethorn was seen my much of the population of the Shire and would be quite recognizable should he attempt to return again. When Bramblethorn had been brought to Hobbiton, Frodo had felt an uncontrollable urge to speak with him, to face him one last time. Seeking closure, he had stood, accompanied by a Shirriff, and spoken briefly with his enemy.
The conversation had been somewhat beneficial to Frodo, being the first step in a process of healing. Having faced the physical reality of his tormentor, Frodo now found himself facing the memories. They were lingering stubbornly, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Frodo sipped his tea as he walked into the parlor and seated himself in Bilbo's old armchair. What would Sam say if he knew Frodo had been sleeping in that chair far more often than in his bed lately?
He had tried to sleep in his bedroom a few times, but found himself struggling every time he crossed the threshold of the room where Bramblethorn had stepped from the shadows and grabbed him. His heart would begin to beat faster as he walked down the hallway, candle in hand, and he would find himself stopping on the threshold and taking a deep, shuddering breath before entering. Should he succeed in getting that far, he would place the candle on the bedside table and allow it to burn through the night. He found he couldn't bear the darkness and the memories that went with it.
Sam would chide him, certainly. And if he knew that Frodo had actually gone, unaccompanied, to face Bramblethorn in the town square the night before he was cast out, Sam would have been distraught beyond expression.
Sam had been more than wonderful over the past two weeks, seeing to Frodo's every need, including those of which he was not even aware. Breakfast would be ready in the morning at just the right time. Fresh flowers from the garden were ever present, and a hot bath steaming fragrantly without any request being voiced.
A sound came to him now from beyond the kitchen window, the sound of Sam whistling as he walked from the garden to the front door. Sam had taken to whistling a tune at considerable volume as he neared, so as not to startle Frodo when he tapped on the door and entered the parlor.
Frodo found he was easily startled since his homecoming. Only the previous afternoon, he had leapt from his chair and nearly fainted when Sam accidentally dropped a book on the floor of his study. The reaction had been completely involuntary but had been surprisingly intense, and Sam had rushed to his side and supported him as he made his way back to his chair again.
He knew, Frodo thought with a pang of shame. Sam knew he was still frightened, still trying to pull himself together. Frodo wished he could rid himself of the fears that haunted him so that Sam wouldn't be hurt by seeing him so.
Sam tapped on the door and opened it slowly, speaking softly as he did. "Mr. Frodo? I've got those green beans picked and ready for snappin'. I'll just get a bowl from the kitchen." He paused by the armchair and looked down at Frodo with that expression of concern he now wore so frequently in his master's presence. "Is there anything you need, Mr.Frodo?"
"No, Sam, thank you," Frodo said, smiling with an effort. "There's tea ready, if you'd like to join me."
"Aye, I will at that," Sam replied. He found himself consciously trying to make his reply sound light and natural. He set the basket of beans down beside a chair by the hearth, and walked into the kitchen. Having located a large bowl for the beans and the aforementioned tea, he poured himself a steaming cup and went back into the parlor.
Easing himself into the chair across from Frodo, he took a sip of his tea and began to snap the beans into the bowl on his lap. They made a crisp noise as he broke them into small sections and dropped them into the bowl. He looked up and saw Frodo staring fixedly at his hands, as he snapped the beans - no, not at them, but past them, at nothing.
"Mr. Frodo? Are you all right?" he asked, pausing mid-bean.
"What? Oh. Yes, Sam. I'm fine. I was just - thinking," Frodo replied as he sipped his tea again.
"An' I can guess as to what about, meanin' no disrespect," Sam replied, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He had tried before to get Frodo to open up about what was bothering him. Frodo had spoken briefly about his feelings the first night back from Bywater, but had uttered barely a word to him regarding his recent ordeal since that evening.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo replied, examining the teacup in his own hand. "I know I'm not myself lately. I just feel so - so strange, as if everything around me has changed somehow." He swirled the tea in the bottom of the cup, and looked up into Sam's concerned face. "But none of it has changed. It's me. I'm sorry to burden you with my brooding, Sam. I know you've been worried."
"Aye, Mr.Frodo. I've been worryin' a fair bit," Sam admitted, his eyes not leaving Frodo's. "I want to help you, but I don't know how."
Frodo's eyes had taken on that cloudy, haunted look again, and a single tear escaped and slid down one cheek. "Sam - "
Sam placed the bowl on the floor and moved his chair closer to Frodo's. He reached across the space between them and took Frodo's hands in his, patting them gently. "It's all right, Mr. Frodo, I'm here if you need me."
"I always need you, Sam," Frodo replied softly. "And you're always there, as if you can hear my thoughts before I've spoken them."
Sam colored at the compliment. He couldn't hear Frodo's thoughts, that was absurd. But there were other, very visible signs of Frodo's distress that were plain as the daylight. The dark circles under his eyes were a tell tale sign of sleeplessness. If Frodo asked him, Sam would sit through the night beside him, to be a comforting presence, keeping the dreams at bay. Frodo had asked this of him but once, on his first night home since his captivity in Bywater. Since then, he had been valiantly trying to face each moment and each memory unaided.
"Mr. Frodo," Sam began, "I can't read your thoughts and all. I just know you." He looked down at Frodo's hands in his own as he spoke. "I know them circles under your eyes mean you've not been sleepin', and I see you jump when there's a noise nearby."
"You miss nothing, that's certain," Frodo replied, pulling himself together somewhat. "I will be all right, Sam. I just need time." He squeezed Sam's hands gently, acknowledging them for the steady support they were.
Sam nodded. "I can give you time, Mr. Frodo. I'll give you anything you ask of me, if you only will."
Frodo smiled and hugged Sam gratefully. How could he ask Sam to do any more than he already did? He felt he had to conquer his fears and memories himself. He had to keep trying. This could not go on forever, could it? Sleepless nights would fade into pleasant dreams eventually, and sudden noises would become but unnoticeable sounds of normal activity. He would not burden Sam any further with his foolishness.
"I know, Sam. Believe me, I do," Frodo said as he slowly stepped back and out of the embrace. "And if I can think of any need you have not already anticipated, I will call upon you."
Sam nodded, understanding that there was nothing more Frodo would divulge at this time. Was it just that Frodo didn't want to burden him with his fears and sorrow? Or were the memories so horrible that he could not yet give voice to them in the presence of another? Sam fervently hoped for the former. He could stand it if Frodo were just being considerate of his feelings.
What could have happened in Bywater to cause such lingering pain and terror? He ached to think of the things Frodo had endured and now carried deep inside his heart. If only he could chase the shadows from his master's mind and soul! But how?
~*~
When nightfall came and all the day's chores were completed, Sam stood at the door of Bag End, reluctant to leave Frodo alone with the thoughts that disturbed him. ~Mind your place, Samwise Gamgee,~ he counseled himself silently. ~If he wants you lingerin' about, he'll say so.~
"Good night, Sam," Frodo said almost as warmly as usual. "You mustn't worry about me. You should be getting your rest before working in the garden all day, not watching over a grown hobbit who should be able to care for himself."
"If you say so, Mr. Frodo," Sam answered, trying hard not to look at his feet. "But if you need anythin' at all, any time, you'll ask me?"
The almost pleading note in Sam's voice went straight to Frodo's heart and he felt a stab of guilt. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to feel hurt at being sent away, but Frodo was determined to manage on his own through the hours of darkness. "I promise. I'll see you in the morning."
"Good night, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied and turned down the path for home.
~*~ To be continued~*~
-Mbradford
Summary - Third in a series, after "In Safekeeping" and "The Way of Vengeance". After being rescued from Bywater, Frodo tries to cope with the emotional aftereffects of the traumatic experience. Sam does his best to help.
Drama/angst/romance Rating: PG - 13
Warnings: Frodo/Sam slash (minor)
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, they're Professor Tolkien's. Doing this for nothing but the thrill.
Author's notes - Plotbunnies must kept in separate hutches, or they will multiply. When I picked up that first plotbunny for "In Safekeeping", little did I know it was about to give birth to a litter of its own. A few thousand words and much lost sleep later, Frodo and Sam are back and the healing process continues.
Chapter 1 - Sound
Frodo stood in the kitchen staring absently out the window into the garden. The sun was high and brilliant in a cloudless sky, the birds were singing blithely and the breeze was playing in the leaves of the trees and whispering through the green grass. He barely noticed the beautiful late summer day unfolding before him. With a blank expression, he turned away from the window and sighed.
To say that he hadn't been himself lately would be an understatement. At times things would be almost normal, nearly unchanged. Old routines would proceed smoothly, conversations would flow easily, his thoughts would not stray to - to that place, to what happened to him there.
Bywater. Two weeks had passed since Sam, Merry and Pippin had rescued him from the abandoned smial where he had been held captive by Rushford Bramblethorn. He was home at Bag End now, and had recovered - on the surface at least - from the horrifying experience.
His kidnapper had been dealt with, of course. Bramblethorn had undergone public humiliation and was cast out of the Shire once again. The big folk would incarcerate such an individual to keep him from committing further offenses, but such measures were unknown within the normally peaceful borders of the Shire. Historically speaking, they had not been needed.
Having been on display in the town squares of the major settlements, Bramblethorn was seen my much of the population of the Shire and would be quite recognizable should he attempt to return again. When Bramblethorn had been brought to Hobbiton, Frodo had felt an uncontrollable urge to speak with him, to face him one last time. Seeking closure, he had stood, accompanied by a Shirriff, and spoken briefly with his enemy.
The conversation had been somewhat beneficial to Frodo, being the first step in a process of healing. Having faced the physical reality of his tormentor, Frodo now found himself facing the memories. They were lingering stubbornly, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Frodo sipped his tea as he walked into the parlor and seated himself in Bilbo's old armchair. What would Sam say if he knew Frodo had been sleeping in that chair far more often than in his bed lately?
He had tried to sleep in his bedroom a few times, but found himself struggling every time he crossed the threshold of the room where Bramblethorn had stepped from the shadows and grabbed him. His heart would begin to beat faster as he walked down the hallway, candle in hand, and he would find himself stopping on the threshold and taking a deep, shuddering breath before entering. Should he succeed in getting that far, he would place the candle on the bedside table and allow it to burn through the night. He found he couldn't bear the darkness and the memories that went with it.
Sam would chide him, certainly. And if he knew that Frodo had actually gone, unaccompanied, to face Bramblethorn in the town square the night before he was cast out, Sam would have been distraught beyond expression.
Sam had been more than wonderful over the past two weeks, seeing to Frodo's every need, including those of which he was not even aware. Breakfast would be ready in the morning at just the right time. Fresh flowers from the garden were ever present, and a hot bath steaming fragrantly without any request being voiced.
A sound came to him now from beyond the kitchen window, the sound of Sam whistling as he walked from the garden to the front door. Sam had taken to whistling a tune at considerable volume as he neared, so as not to startle Frodo when he tapped on the door and entered the parlor.
Frodo found he was easily startled since his homecoming. Only the previous afternoon, he had leapt from his chair and nearly fainted when Sam accidentally dropped a book on the floor of his study. The reaction had been completely involuntary but had been surprisingly intense, and Sam had rushed to his side and supported him as he made his way back to his chair again.
He knew, Frodo thought with a pang of shame. Sam knew he was still frightened, still trying to pull himself together. Frodo wished he could rid himself of the fears that haunted him so that Sam wouldn't be hurt by seeing him so.
Sam tapped on the door and opened it slowly, speaking softly as he did. "Mr. Frodo? I've got those green beans picked and ready for snappin'. I'll just get a bowl from the kitchen." He paused by the armchair and looked down at Frodo with that expression of concern he now wore so frequently in his master's presence. "Is there anything you need, Mr.Frodo?"
"No, Sam, thank you," Frodo said, smiling with an effort. "There's tea ready, if you'd like to join me."
"Aye, I will at that," Sam replied. He found himself consciously trying to make his reply sound light and natural. He set the basket of beans down beside a chair by the hearth, and walked into the kitchen. Having located a large bowl for the beans and the aforementioned tea, he poured himself a steaming cup and went back into the parlor.
Easing himself into the chair across from Frodo, he took a sip of his tea and began to snap the beans into the bowl on his lap. They made a crisp noise as he broke them into small sections and dropped them into the bowl. He looked up and saw Frodo staring fixedly at his hands, as he snapped the beans - no, not at them, but past them, at nothing.
"Mr. Frodo? Are you all right?" he asked, pausing mid-bean.
"What? Oh. Yes, Sam. I'm fine. I was just - thinking," Frodo replied as he sipped his tea again.
"An' I can guess as to what about, meanin' no disrespect," Sam replied, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He had tried before to get Frodo to open up about what was bothering him. Frodo had spoken briefly about his feelings the first night back from Bywater, but had uttered barely a word to him regarding his recent ordeal since that evening.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo replied, examining the teacup in his own hand. "I know I'm not myself lately. I just feel so - so strange, as if everything around me has changed somehow." He swirled the tea in the bottom of the cup, and looked up into Sam's concerned face. "But none of it has changed. It's me. I'm sorry to burden you with my brooding, Sam. I know you've been worried."
"Aye, Mr.Frodo. I've been worryin' a fair bit," Sam admitted, his eyes not leaving Frodo's. "I want to help you, but I don't know how."
Frodo's eyes had taken on that cloudy, haunted look again, and a single tear escaped and slid down one cheek. "Sam - "
Sam placed the bowl on the floor and moved his chair closer to Frodo's. He reached across the space between them and took Frodo's hands in his, patting them gently. "It's all right, Mr. Frodo, I'm here if you need me."
"I always need you, Sam," Frodo replied softly. "And you're always there, as if you can hear my thoughts before I've spoken them."
Sam colored at the compliment. He couldn't hear Frodo's thoughts, that was absurd. But there were other, very visible signs of Frodo's distress that were plain as the daylight. The dark circles under his eyes were a tell tale sign of sleeplessness. If Frodo asked him, Sam would sit through the night beside him, to be a comforting presence, keeping the dreams at bay. Frodo had asked this of him but once, on his first night home since his captivity in Bywater. Since then, he had been valiantly trying to face each moment and each memory unaided.
"Mr. Frodo," Sam began, "I can't read your thoughts and all. I just know you." He looked down at Frodo's hands in his own as he spoke. "I know them circles under your eyes mean you've not been sleepin', and I see you jump when there's a noise nearby."
"You miss nothing, that's certain," Frodo replied, pulling himself together somewhat. "I will be all right, Sam. I just need time." He squeezed Sam's hands gently, acknowledging them for the steady support they were.
Sam nodded. "I can give you time, Mr. Frodo. I'll give you anything you ask of me, if you only will."
Frodo smiled and hugged Sam gratefully. How could he ask Sam to do any more than he already did? He felt he had to conquer his fears and memories himself. He had to keep trying. This could not go on forever, could it? Sleepless nights would fade into pleasant dreams eventually, and sudden noises would become but unnoticeable sounds of normal activity. He would not burden Sam any further with his foolishness.
"I know, Sam. Believe me, I do," Frodo said as he slowly stepped back and out of the embrace. "And if I can think of any need you have not already anticipated, I will call upon you."
Sam nodded, understanding that there was nothing more Frodo would divulge at this time. Was it just that Frodo didn't want to burden him with his fears and sorrow? Or were the memories so horrible that he could not yet give voice to them in the presence of another? Sam fervently hoped for the former. He could stand it if Frodo were just being considerate of his feelings.
What could have happened in Bywater to cause such lingering pain and terror? He ached to think of the things Frodo had endured and now carried deep inside his heart. If only he could chase the shadows from his master's mind and soul! But how?
~*~
When nightfall came and all the day's chores were completed, Sam stood at the door of Bag End, reluctant to leave Frodo alone with the thoughts that disturbed him. ~Mind your place, Samwise Gamgee,~ he counseled himself silently. ~If he wants you lingerin' about, he'll say so.~
"Good night, Sam," Frodo said almost as warmly as usual. "You mustn't worry about me. You should be getting your rest before working in the garden all day, not watching over a grown hobbit who should be able to care for himself."
"If you say so, Mr. Frodo," Sam answered, trying hard not to look at his feet. "But if you need anythin' at all, any time, you'll ask me?"
The almost pleading note in Sam's voice went straight to Frodo's heart and he felt a stab of guilt. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to feel hurt at being sent away, but Frodo was determined to manage on his own through the hours of darkness. "I promise. I'll see you in the morning."
"Good night, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied and turned down the path for home.
~*~ To be continued~*~