Banazir (Samwise)
My lord Elessar King,
A year and a half had has passed since last we parted at sunset in Isengard. Many had have passed since, as you surely have learned from Mr. Peregrin's letters. Last year had been full of bliss for me. I married a lovely and worthy lass, Rose, in the spring, and in another month or so we will be blessed with the birth of our first child. Mr. Frodo had has kindly invited us to live at his smial, and Rose and I do our best to take care of him.
For it is him that worries me the most, my dear King. None of us returned from the war without some hurt or injury. But we have healed and become strong again, except Mr. Frodo. He seems to be hurting still, though from what wound or illness I cannot rightly tell. He eats little and sleeps badly and he keeps clutching the white jewel that Queen Arwen gave him before we set out for home. He never complains of anything, and when I press him, will only say that he is tired but otherwise fine. Yet Rose and I can tell that he is always in pain; a pain nothing can seem to ease. On the sixth day of Winterfilth he took ill, and he never fully recovers recovered from it. He is becoming thinner and weaker now, and he tires easily. The party we had on his birthday was a small, simple one, and he only invited his very few closest friends, and even then he talked little and retired earlier. He came to Buckland for Yule, but Mr. Meriadoc said he stayed away from the party and locked himself in his room in Crickhollow.
I have talked to Mr. Meriadoc and Mr. Peregrin and they have come more often now. I notice how much Mr. Frodo seems to enjoy his cousins' company. He looks brighter and merrier, and eats more when they are around. But even so, the good days when Mr. Frodo looks more his old self become fewer and far between. He rarely ever goes out nowadays, spending his time between his study—where he sits writing long into the night—and his bedroom. He even has his meals there most of the time now, though one of us has to come and remind him to eat. I know the story needs to be told, but it does not seem right that Mr. Frodo should forget all else while he is writing it. He gets so mired in the tale sometimes that he loses his appetite, and even loses the light in his eyes that shows that he is alive.
When he laid aside the office of Deputy Mayor, I was glad, seeing how the job, however easy, wore him out dreadfully. But now that he takes to lock himself up in his room, making Rose and me worried with his muffled groans and sobs, never coming out and visiting with other hobbits, I am frightened, my King, very frightened. My helplessness to ease his suffering adds to my growing fear. I feel him slipping further and further away, and I can do naught to get him back. It pains me to remember how there seemed to be so many ways I could comfort him in Mordor, where there was no food, no water, no friend and no light, but here, in his own home, among people he knows and loves, and plenty of everything besides, I am powerless.
My dearest King, Mr. Peregrin told us about the Houses of Healing; how you rescued Mr. Faramir, Mistress Eowyn and our own Mr. Meriadoc by the touch of your hands. Gandalf told us how you brought us back from the brink of death. Your hands heal. My only hope for Mr. Frodo lies in you, my King. Mr. Meriadoc, Mr. Peregrin and I had tried to talk him into going for to Minas Tirith, but Mr. Frodo refused, saying the King had other more important matters to deal with than a sickly hobbit. And with his condition right now, traveling all the way to Gondor will be too much, and even dangerous, for his health.
So, my King, I wonder if you would do us a great favor. If you care about us, and I do not doubt you do, do you think you could come to Rivendell around the time of Mr. Frodo's birthday? Mr. Meriadoc, Mr. Peregrin and I will be riding with him there, as Mr. Frodo will surely wish to see Mr. Bilbo on their birthday, old Mr. Bilbo being 131 this year. The baby will be nearly six months by then, we will have finished with the harvesting around that time, and I trust that it will be easier for Rose to give me leave then. Rivendell is not as far as the Shire from Gondor and now that it is safe to travel through the gap of Rohan, you can reach Lord Elrond's house through an easier route.
I am aware that your duties are many, my King, and maybe what I ask of you is hardly proper. But my lord, do you expect me to do nothing, knowing that there is a chance? Do you expect me to deny Mr. Frodo anything that might ease his pain and let him enjoy the life he nearly died to save? You have been generous with us, my King, but now I am begging for one last gift, the most priceless one. Please come and heal Mr. Frodo.
All our love to the Queen.
Your servant and friend,
Samwise Gamgee
