The Hand
"Sam…"
"Y – yes, Mr. Frodo?"
"Can I – can I hold your hand?"
There was no more reply from Frodo's former gardener. Only, when Frodo shifted his head a little on his velvety pillow and turned his bleary eyes to Sam, he found that Sam's face had been wringing wet with tears.
"Sam," whispered Frodo. "Don't cry, please." He wiped away the filmy beads from Sam's softly lined skin but his hand was promptly seized and rested upon his beloved's heart.
"I'll hold your hand, Mr. Frodo," Sam sobbed. "I'll hold your hand even until you 'ave…"
faded away.
The room was stifled at the unspoken words.
Frodo shook faintly as warmth and tranquility from his enclosed hand coursed through his body. He knew he was safe and loved and protected.
At least, until he closed his eyes in the end, when there would be no more Sam by his side.
squeeze
His heart fluttered
and dimmed.
cold
empty
serene
squeeze
…oh?
There was that squeeze again. That could not be Sam.
Frodo's eyelids flickered and opened.
"Mama?"