Disclaimer: I don’t own Tolkien’s characters, just borrowing them for fun in the world of Fanfiction

Characters: Sam, Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Rosie

The Journal of Samwise Gamgee

Chapter One: My journal, what would I do without you?

23, March, 3020

The dreams continue. Horrible dreams Mr. Frodo tells me. I remember when they began. Many nights I would be at his home, by his side. I knew what would happen. And now I am afraid. They won’t leave him alone. I worry about him, though he doesn’t want me to, I do. The quest is over, but he’s still suffering. I ask myself, what can I do, Samwise Gamgee? What can I do? While he lay on his bed, frightened and shivering, I embrace him in my arms and hold him, tell him everything will be all right. Tomorrow will be a good day. I want to think it will be a good day for my Mr. Frodo. And then I get that awful feeling again. Go away I say to it. Go away why don’t you. And then it does. If only it would stay away. Well, I’m sitting here at my desk. It is night. Will the terrors come again for him? Please, let him sleep and dream good things, all that is good here in the Shire.

Sam paused at those words. Tired, he plopped his head against the oak chair. The need to sleep persuaded the quill in his hand to take a break from writing. He eventually also gave in to its powerful persuasion and placed the quill back inside the tiny jar of black ink. In the short distance behind him was his little bed. Before he retired, Sam meticulously read what he had written. Silently, he thanked Bilbo Baggins and Frodo for inspiring him to read and write. Another thing he was thankful for was the journal Frodo had given him for his birthday last year–the burgundy book he cherished since. Yawning, Sam gently closed the book and went to bed.

A warm, spring morning had arrived in Hobbiton. After Sam had finished his first breakfast of the day, he decided to visit Frodo. Anything else could wait. He had to make sure his master was okay. The stocky hobbit ventured outside his home on Bagshot Row. Birds chirped melodiously as they perched themselves on the trees. He stood for a moment, squinting up at the sunlight–the light that reflected off his beige long sleeve shirt and black trousers held up by suspenders. Sam breathed in the air and caught a whiff of something he knew all to well–the invigorating aroma from lush greenlands of the Shire. After reveling in what each morning brought to Hobbiton, Sam journeyed down the road that led to Bag End.

When he reached Frodo’s home, Sam opened the gate. His large, hairy feet clambered up the steps and headed toward the round, green door. Sam hesitated…the door was slightly ajar. An unsettling feeling arose from the pit of his stomach and up to his racing heart. He extended his hand toward the brass knob. Slowly, he opened the door.

“Mr. Frodo?”

Sam stepped inside the tunneled hall of what was the living room.

He hoped to hear his master’s soft voice, only to be greeted by an eerie silence.

“Mr. Frodo?” He called again.

Nothing.

Baffled as to why Frodo didn’t answer, Sam searched every room. And although he refused to accept the reality of the situation–he was indeed alone.

“Mr. Frodo!”

Sam hurried back to the door. There he stood at the circle, staring over the gate and panting from fear that gripped him.

*All right, Samwise. Pull yourself together now. Maybe Mr. Frodo is taking his morning stroll*

Sam left Bag End and trekked out into the woods where Frodo enjoyed his tranquil walks. It was also the place where he would sit against a tree and be contented with reading a book. Sam felt a warm peace that soothed his soul. It wasn’t only from the serenity of the woods, but knowing Frodo had to be there, safe and sound. And then, the peace left him. He longed for it to stay. He pleaded. It vanished, leaving the hobbit as fear returned to torment him again. His autumn-brown eyes searched frantically for Frodo.

*He has to be here. Where is he?*

Sam’s pace quickened as he continued to search.

*Where is he?*

Suddenly, the stout hobbit froze, and for a moment, he dared not breath. His eyes widened at the sight of a sprawled, gaunt body near one of the trees. Sam inched closer to the body he recognized. At first it seemed his screams were trapped in his throat until they spilled out of Sam’s trembling lips.

“Mr. Frodo!!!”

Sam raced toward his master and collapsed on his knees beside him. He noticed Frodo’s clothes–the white shirt with billowy sleeves tucked under a chestnut vest and brown trousers he wore yesterday. He stared at Frodo’s face that was a sickly chalk-white, and the right side of his cheek was blemished with a fresh blue and red bruise. Fear blinded Sam, tricking him into thinking his beloved master had died. But something cleared the fog of deception. A weak moan gurgled from Frodo’s throat.

“Mr. Frodo? Can you hear me?”

Frodo moaned again and opened his eyes. They rolled up to see a familiar face that always comforted him.

“Sam,” Frodo whispered.

The gardener couldn’t help but notice Frodo’s shirt along with the vest was disheveled and soiled.

“What happened to you?”

Bewildered, Frodo answered, “I–I don’t know. Oh, Sam, I’m so weak.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Frodo, I’ll carry you back home.”

Sam hoisted his frail master into his arms and carried him back to Bag End

*Why don’t they mind their business!*

Sam rolled his eyes at those who stood outside their homes. Their intrusive stares annoyed him. And when he glanced at an older woman, he imagined what she was thinking about Frodo.

(The woman) *What’s wrong with the lad? What has happened to him?*

Sam shrugged off his foolish thinking. Maybe she didn’t think anything at all. What mattered now was getting Frodo home. He pushed against the gate, opening it with the left side of his body and hurried up the steps to the door.

“You’re home, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said tenderly and rushed him into the quaint bedroom.

They were greeted by sunlight pouring through the windows. Its rays, inviting and peaceful, added a warm touch to the ambiance of the room.

Gently, Sam placed Frodo onto the bed. “I’ll get something for that bruise.”

Sam hated to leave him, even for a second. So he rushed into the kitchen, yanked one of the buckets and ran out to the pond by the well. He scooped up the water until the bucket was filled halfway, and then he sauntered back to the house. Inside the kitchen, Sam grabbed a small copper bowl. It was the only thing he could think of to use while pouring the warm water into it. Sam searched for something else and when he found it, he grasped a towel from the pantry. Hastily, he returned to the bedroom. The gardener set the water-filled bowl onto the oak table and when he sat on the bed’s edge, Sam looked down at Frodo who tucked himself into a fetal position. His eyes were closed and his hand clenched onto something around his neck–the chain that once held the ring. Now, it held a small white gem.

“Mr. Frodo, I’m back,” said Sam, awaking his master.

Slowly, Frodo opened his sunken eyes.

Sam dipped the cloth into the water. With a gentle touch, he dabbed the bruise with the cloth, hoping the warm water would ease the swelling.

“What happened?”

Dazed, Frodo struggled to remember. “I don’t know. Wait, I was sitting at my desk. I didn’t want to go to sleep, Sam, but it came for me. I tried to fight it, and so I must have fallen asleep at the desk.”

“And then what happened?” Sam questioned while he continued to soothe Frodo’s injury with the cloth.

“I thought I was sleeping, and then I left to take a walk.”

“Last night?”

Frodo shook his head. “Yes, but it all seemed like a dream. I don’t remember anything else until I awoke and saw you beside me.”

“You don’t remember hurting yourself?”

“No.”

Frustrated about the mystery of what happened, Sam sighed and hung the cloth over the side of the bowl. At the moment, he preferred staring at the bowl, avoiding Frodo’s gaze. Every time they looked at each other, it pained him to see his master so fragile and tormented. Sam felt the hot tears stirring but forced them back. After composing himself, his empathetic gaze returned to Frodo.

“Mr. Frodo, I’ve been doing some thinking…maybe it’s best I stay with you for a while, you know, keep an eye on you and make sure you’re all right.”

“Sam, you don’t have to–,”

“I want to,” the gardener insisted. “I have to take care of you.”

Frodo sat up and leaned closer to Sam. “What about…”

Sam waited for Frodo to continue, but when he didn’t, the silence provoked his curiosity about the unfinished question.

“Mr. Frodo, what is it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing, Sam.” A benevolent smile softened his lips. Frodo added, “You can stay.”

Sam returned the smile and placed a comforting hand on Frodo’s shoulder.

Suddenly they were startled by three swift knocks on the front door.

“I’ll see who it is,” said Sam.

When he left the bedroom and headed for the door, Sam grumbled to himself.

“Hope it ain’t the folk being nosy. Mr. Frodo needs to rest.”

Irritated, Sam flung the door open and there standing before him were two familiar hobbits.

“Mr. Merry? Mr. Pippin? What are you doing here?”

Puzzled, they both eyed one another and then they looked at Sam again.

A defensive Merry replied, “What, we’re not allowed to see Mr. Frodo?”

“No…I mean, yes.”

“Well, then,” Pippin cheerily interrupted, “We came to ask him to join us at the Green Dragon. You can come along, too!”

Sam peered over his shoulder, wondering if Frodo heard the conversation.

Suspicious, Merry crossed his arms and pursed his lips. “What’s going on? Is Mr. Frodo all right?”

“He’s tired is all,” Sam snapped. “He needs to rest.”

Offended at the way Sam spoke to them, they turned to walk down the steps.

“Wait,” Sam began, “I’m sorry. I just need to be here with him.”

Pippin accepted his apology with a warm smile. “We hope he feels better. And if you change your mind, you’ll know where we’ll be.”

Sam nodded, and then he closed the door.

He returned to the bedroom and saw his master resting his back against a propped pillow. Before he sat down, Frodo spoke.

“Why didn’t you go with them?”

“I was afraid you heard.” Sam sat beside him again.

“You need to have fun.”

“I don’t want you worrying about me. Besides, I don’t feel like going to the Green Dragon right now.”

Frodo raised his brows. His blue eyes brightened along with his grin.

“Really? Since when don’t you ever feel like going to the Green Dragon?”

Sam knew Frodo was right and sighed.

“Go on, Sam.”

“Mr. Frodo…”

“Go.”

The usual rowdy crowd of men and women were gathered at the Green Dragon Inn. Celtic-like music along with laughter and singing resonated around the bar. Sam sat across from Merry and Pippin at one of the tables. His lips touched the rim of the tall mug, and while he sipped some ale, the gardener somberly watched a couple embraced in a cheerful dance. Sam’s eyes skirted to Rosie Cotton, the barmaid he admired every time he visited the Green Dragon. She met his gaze with a coy smile. He smiled back, blushing slightly. The flirting between them was interrupted by the memory of a conversation that transpired an hour ago…

*”Go on,” Frodo insisted. “I’ll rest while you’re gone.”*

*”I don’t like leaving you alone.”*

*”I know, Sam, but you have to. Please, go. And while you’re there, don’t forget to dance with Rosie…”*

“Master Samwise?”

Merry’s voice hauled him back to the present.

Sam managed to only utter, “Huh?”

“It’s Mr. Frodo isn’t it?”

Unable to hide the pain etched on his face, Sam nodded and a melancholy sigh escaped from his lips.

Concerned, Pippin Took rested his chin atop the palm of his hand. “I hoped when we returned to the Shire, Mr. Frodo would feel better.”

Sam erased his gloomy expression and replaced it with one of strength and determination.

“He’ll get better,” Sam convinced himself. “I know he will.”

24, March

Mr. Frodo is sleeping now. He was afraid, but I stayed with him in his room until he fell asleep. I’m in the one of the guest bedrooms and this is where I’ll stay for a while. I told my old Gaffer what I had to do, but he was not at all pleased. Sometimes I get the feeling he thinks Mr. Frodo is nothing but trouble for me. It don’t matter. I have to do what’s best for my master. I thought about what happened earlier when I found Mr. Frodo in the woods. Somehow the terrors led him there. I heard this from some of the folk, talk of people walking in their sleep. I cooked dinner for him and I know he hoped I wouldn’t notice, but I saw how he picked at his food. He’s so frail from not eating much. I try to be strong for him, but sometimes I get frightened and feel so helpless. The chain around his neck, he never takes it off. I watch the way he holds onto it, as if he still had the ring. When he insisted I go to the Green Dragon, I went on like he told me to, but it didn’t feel right. I wanted to have a good time with Merry and Pippin, like we use to. Well, I did get the chance to see Rosie again. I wondered what Mr. Frodo was trying to say when he asked me, what about… but he didn’t finish. Then I realized it must have been Rosie on his mind. I love her and I want to marry her. Will Mr. Frodo be okay when I tell him how I feel about marrying her? I don’t know what to do. If I marry Rosie, who will take care of you, Mr. Frodo? I made a promise…a promise.

Frustrated, Sam slammed the journal shut. He buried his face in his hands and squeezed his tired eyes. When he looked up, he stared at the book illuminated by candlelight dancing inside a small, glass lantern

*I have to get some sleep*

He had written enough for the night. Sam left his desk and carried the lantern over to the table beside his bed. He slipped under the covers and blew out the candlelight. Darkness engulfed him, but as his eyes adjusted to darkness, Sam peeked through the window and was delighted to see the welcoming light of the rising moon.

Sam’s eyes snapped open. Something was wrong.

*Where am I?*

His bed was gone. As a matter of fact, the entire room no longer existed. Sam found himself on the cold ground in a place that was not the Shire. The olive-green cloak he wore kept him warm as an icy wind roared around what looked like a dark forest. Sam sat up and remembered he wasn’t alone.

“Mr. Frodo?”

Suddenly, he heard a familiar, dreadful sound–bloodcurdling screams of the hideous winged creature flying overhead. The Nazgul had found them again. Sam cried out as the screams permeated and clawed at his soul, torturing him so that if he didn’t cover his ears, he was certain to go mad.

Sam saw Frodo standing in the presence of the Nazgul hovering above him.

*No. No.*

He knew what would happen when Frodo was in its presence. The temptation of the ring grew stronger. His master could no longer resist, inching the ring closer to his finger.

Despite the agony he suffered from the Fell Beast’s screams, Sam stumbled toward Frodo. His eyes widened with horror at what he hoped to prevent. Frodo Baggins had vanished, and he feared that time he would never see him again.

“Nooooo!!!!”

Sam sprang from his pillow, gasping in the darkness. He was back in the room, back to Bag End. It was just a dream. But then why did he still hear the screams? No, they weren’t screams from the beast. As Sam drifted more and more into reality, the screams were clear now.

He flung the covers off of him and cried, “Mr. Frodo!”

TBC