The door to Bag End stood open, though there were no lights on inside. The usual lofty smoke curl from the chimney had long since died away, and the rooms were growing cold. Sam swallowed hard, his throat felt very dry. His head pounded, and he felt bruised and stiff. Forcing his eyes to open, he glanced around the room.
He was lying in the midst of the load of wood he'd been carrying. Some under him, some over him. The memory of how he came to be on the floor in such a predicament started to come back to him. Moving his outer limbs, he began to take stock of all his possible and probable injuries.
Pulling himself up to a sitting position, he looked out the window. By the position of the sun, he'd been unconscious for hours. It was almost teatime, and Frodo would be coming home any minute.
Resting his head in his palm, Sam sighed heavily. He felt alright other than the dull throb in his head, and the bruises he was sure were popping up all over his body. Blinking a few times to clear his vision, he began to muster the strength to get up to his feet.
Once standing, he felt slightly dizzy still, and knew he couldn't and shouldn't handle carrying the full load the rest of the way to the kitchen. Picking up only a few logs at a time, he made several trips, but was able to fill the box by the hearth.
Kneeling was hard for him to do, but he did it nonetheless. As he began to build up the fire, he could hear voices getting louder as they came up the walk. Frodo was home, and he'd brought his cousin, Merry, with him.
Sam stood, a little quicker than he'd expected and swayed on his feet, having to steady himself using the kitchen table. Smoothing his hair, and hoping he didn't look any worse the wear after his blackout, Sam went to greet Frodo at the door.
Opening the door, he flashed Frodo the most charming smile he could muster. There was no need to worry his lover over his little...incident. Especially not on his birthday. The one day of the year, that should be absolutely perfect. Sam had no intention of ruining things, nor of taking any of the attention away from his partner tonight.
"Sam! You're bleeding!" Frodo exclaimed worriedly, as he reached to touch the small wound on Sam's brow.
Oh! I should have checked to make sure I had no visible injuries! Sam thought to himself. "I must've bumped me head as I was putting wood on the fire. I'm alright, don't you worry." He nodded. Frodo visibly relaxed, and embraced Sam warmly.
"I'm glad," he said, "I don't think I could bare to not have you there by my side tonight, dearest! You're sure you're all right?"
Sam nodded. "Hullo Merry." He added, remembering Frodo's cousin, who had been standing quietly by.
"Hullo Sam." Merry replied with a nod. Glancing visibly at Sam's swollen belly. "I shall have to remember to keep the deserts away from you tonight, I should think!" he added, patting Sam stomach as he passed by. Sam made a face as a wave of nausea washed over him once more.
"You alright there, Sam?" Merry asked.
"'Course I am. Just not feeling quite well today, if you'll pardon me." Frodo looked at him with a little concern showing on his face, but Sam continued. "Look at my manners! Can I offer you some tea? Something to eat? You two must be hungry after such a long day full of planning." Sam quickly changed the subject.
"Tea sounds wonderful." Frodo interjected with a smile, and headed towards the kitchen.
The rest of the afternoon passed rather quickly, and before he knew it, Sam was down in the party field following Frodo around to greet people. His head was still throbbing, and a dull pain had begun in his back apart from the usual ache that resided there. Longing to just be able to sit down and put his feet up, Sam dutifully stood at Frodo's side, and shook hands with people as they arrived.
After over an hour of greeting people and standing in one spot, Sam was finally able to excuse himself and take his seat. Never before had a small wooden chair felt so very comfortable, than it had that night. His legs throbbed with the memory of having to support his weight for so long, and the pain in his back had begun to worsen.
Not feeling very hungry, Sam picked his way through dinner, pushing the food around his plate idly and hoping no one would notice his lack of appetite. The speeches were to begin soon, and he knew that after that he wouldn't be missed if he trudged back to Bag End, and his soft, warm bed.
Frodo lay his slender hand upon Sam's shoulder while the speeches were taking place. This little gesture caused a chain reaction within Sam. It was more comforting than he ever thought possible. Frodo smiled at him, but then his face changed to that of worry. He looked Sam over, his eyes coming to rest on Sam's large belly.
"Are you okay?" Frodo mouthed, so as not to draw attentions to them. He leaned closer and whispered to Sam. "You look very pale, are you feeling alright? I noticed you hardly touched your dinner. Perhaps I should take you home to bed?"
Sam was about to reassure him that he was feeling alright, albeit a little tired, when the dull pain, that had rested in his back since his fall that morning, suddenly shot down his thighs and gripped him around his middle. The pain was sharp and searing, like a sword heated in flame. He bit his lip and closed his eyes tight in an effort not to cry out. Never before had he felt such pain.
The pain only lasted a minute or so, then slowly diminished and Sam opened his eyes to find that Frodo had turned towards him, and was wearing an expression of pure fear upon his face. Frodo reached out and laid his hand on Sam's stomach, under the table, and looked into Sam's face imploringly. Feeling sick once more, Sam swallowed it down, determined not to ruin Frodo's night. He patted Frodo's hand softly in reassurance and mustered a smile as if to say I'm alright.
There was a raucous cheer, as people toasted Frodo. Sam smiled to see people finally giving his lover the respect he'd always thought they should. Though the pain he'd felt only minutes before gripped him again. Searing hot and shooting all through his belly. Fear gripped him suddenly. A pain like that once can be ignored, more than once could mean something wrong. His mind went back to his fall earlier that day, and his heart dropped. What if something happens to the baby? It is too early for the child to be born, it would surely die!
The noise of the crowd seemed to fade in his ears, for all he could hear was the thundering of his racing heart. He felt flushed and too warm all of a sudden. Then it hit again, the same pain as before. Though this time it was worse.
No longer did he entertain the idea of not disturbing Frodo. He turned to the father of his child, who had not taken his eyes from Sam. He was about to open his mouth to suggest that maybe he really should go home to bed, when another wave of pain hit him. He let out a low groan unknowingly, and Frodo was on his feet and waving for the Healer.
The next few moments were a blur to Sam. He couldn't concentrate, and things seemed to be spiraling out of his control. Had he no control over his own body? He willed the pain to stop, but was only doubled over with it seemingly twice as bad as before. The Healer was asking him questions to which he should have known the answers. His head hurt far too much to think, and his body began to shake in anticipation of the next wave of pain.
What's happening to me!
It took the Healer, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin to half carry Sam back to Bag End, where they put him in bed. The Healer then shooed everyone but Frodo out of the room in order to examine Sam.
Sam lay on the bed, trying only to catch his breath and swallow some of the fear that had gripped his soul. This is it he thought this is how it all will end. I'm going to lose this baby right here, and there will be no hope to save it! He could feel the tears spring to his eyes, as he looked at the worry written all over the faces of those in the room. He felt sick to his stomach. Things were happening far too quickly. One moment seemed to be blending into the next relentlessly. He heard a gasp of horror escape Frodo's lips as he rolled to his side at the request of the healer.
"He's bleeding! You must do something! You must!" Frodo pleaded.
Sam's head swam, and panic gripped his heart. He couldn't believe this was happening. He had been fine for hours, why now? People were rushing around him; someone was holding a cup to his lips. Drink The liquid was hot, and burned on the way down. He choked halfway through, and thought every drop might come right up again. The cup was put to his lips again. Promises that he would feel better, reassurances. Someone stroked his hair softly. Pain. Searing pain. Hotter than before and closing in around him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against a cry. Tears running down his face, hot and salty.
The last thing he could remember was the look of fear and dread in Frodo's eyes. Only once before had he seen that look...