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‘Would you mind if I went out and tended the garden a while?’ Sam asked.
‘Hm?’ Frodo looked up from his tea, into which he’d been staring absently. They were having breakfast, supposedly, though Frodo had barely eaten a bite of food or contributed a word of conversation since they’d sat down.
It was the fourteenth of March, and Frodo had been ill the entirety of the day before. He hadn’t understood what was happening to him at first or why he had suddenly become so mortally terrified and sickened to the core of his being, seemingly for no reason at all. Then, he had remembered with horror that a year ago to the day, he’d been stung by Shelob and captured by the orcs of Cirith Ungol. The memories of it were still fresh in his mind, and they’d caused him to slip into a feverish, fitful state of half-consciousness. Part of Frodo had known that he was safe in Bag End with Sam, who held his hand, took care of him, and stayed by his side through it all. Another part of him was far away, and that part was cold, starving, beaten, and alone. The scars on his back burned. He’d screamed for Sam to help him, even though he knew that Sam –bless him– could do nothing but wait it out with Frodo and promise him that it would all be alright soon. Neither of them could be sure that was true, but Sam had only been trying to stay hopeful and Frodo couldn’t blame him for it. He needed Sam to be that way, to have enough hope for the both of them.
Frodo’s fever broke in the morning and at last his pain subsided into a dull ache. Sam had reluctantly left him alone for a bit so he could cook breakfast. Now they sat together again, equally exhausted and defeated.
‘I just thought I might get some work done,’ Sam said. ‘But really, if you’re still feelin’ awful, I won’t leave. If y’need me, I’d be just as happy stayin’ inside with you.’
He reached across the table and took Frodo’s hand comfortably in his own. Frodo had to resist the impulse to pull away and insist that Sam stop worrying so much. He was constantly having to remind himself that he didn’t need to cover up his pain for Sam’s sake, no matter how much he wanted to at times. With the way Sam was looking at him, with such warmth and sincerity in his lovely brown eyes, it was plain to see that, somehow, he really did love Frodo as much as he claimed to. Frodo still found it hard to believe.
‘Would you let me come with you, Sam?’
‘Pardon?’
‘The garden. Would you let me help you with it? If you don’t think I’d get in your way too much, that is.’ It was something Frodo had been wanting to ask for a while, and it seemed the right time for it. He didn’t want to stay inside anymore, and he didn’t want to be alone today. Maybe he could be of some use for a change.
‘Well, of course I’d let you,’ Sam said after a pause. ‘I mean, it’s your garden, but–’
‘It’s ours,’ Frodo corrected.
‘Yes, ours,’ Sam continued, though he seemed troubled. ‘And that’s at least part yours, isn’t it then, Frodo? So I wouldn’t dream of forbiddin’ you or nothin’, but are you sure you feel well enough for that? You should rest yourself after all that’s just happened, and I mean, forgive my surprise, but why d’you want to? You’ve never offered to help before.’
‘Exactly, I’ve never offered! That doesn’t bother you, Sam?’
‘Oh, Frodo,’ said Sam, tracing Frodo’s knuckles softly with his thumb as he spoke, ‘I’ve told you, I do the gardening because I like to, not because I feel duty-bound t’ you. I know I’m not in your service anymore. But see, there’s a difference between workin’ for you and helpin’ you, and the latter’s what I’m doing. I promise. Besides, I’ve looked after this garden my whole life almost, you needn’t feel like it’s your responsibility now. I enjoy doin’ it, I really do.’ He offered a reassuring smile.
‘I know, I know,’ Frodo said. ‘Nevertheless, I’d like to be the one to help you for once. Please. It’ll take my mind off everything.’
‘Well, if you’re really certain you feel up for it…’
‘I am.’
‘Alright then, I suppose a bit of fresh air wouldn’t hurt you.’
After Sam finished washing up the breakfast dishes, they went out to the garden. For the past month or so, Sam had been working to restore it when he wasn’t busy looking after Frodo. It had gone neglected since they’d first set out from the Shire, hence becoming wild and unruly in Sam’s absence. However, Frodo hadn’t been outside recently, and he was astonished by how beautiful the garden looked now, even if weeds and brambles still covered portions of the land.
Overall, the land appeared far more prosperous than it had in a long time. Many of the dead plants had been cleared away, making room for new green growths and a few wildflowers that were popping up here and there. Most of the new flowers Sam had planted hadn’t had time to grow yet, but it appeared as though he’d also obtained some that were already grown, which had presumably been transplanted from elsewhere. The path towards the front door was lined with rows of violas and tulips, as well as a few pots of fragrant herbs. In the soft, easy morning light, it was starting to look like a place for living things.
Frodo wanted to tell Sam how much the mere sight of the garden lifted his spirits. He needed to ensure Sam knew that all of his tireless hours of work were appreciated to the fullest degree. But by the time Frodo thought to thank him for his efforts, Sam was already speaking about something else and the moment had passed.
‘You’ll want to roll up your sleeves so you don’t get your shirt dirty,’ Sam instructed. Before Frodo could do this himself, Sam had taken ahold of his arm and was rolling up his sleeves for him. Frodo had to remind himself that this wasn’t Sam treating him like a child. It’s because he cares. It’s affection.
Even though it had been weeks since Frodo learned that he and Sam felt the same way about each other, he continually found it hard to fathom that he had done anything to warrant being the recipient of such love. Still, Frodo allowed himself to delight in the way Sam’s fingers lingered against the skin of his arm as he adjusted the shirtsleeves.
‘There. That should suit you,’ Sam said. ‘Now, if you’ll follow me over here, I’ll show you the areas that still need weedin’. If you’re comfortable with that.’
Frodo nodded and followed him to an overgrown corner of the garden that hadn’t yet been cleared out. Sam pointed out which plants were weeds and which could be allowed to grow and then demonstrated how to get rid of the unwanted ones.
‘You’ve gotta make sure t’ get the root when you pull the weeds,’ he said. ‘Else the plant’ll grow back and you’ll be just where you started again. It’s simple enough once you’ve got the hang of it.’
Frodo tentatively pulled a few weeds while Sam watched to make sure he was doing it right. It was more strenuous than Sam had made it look, especially since Frodo had one less finger than he did and was naturally less physically adept. After a few minutes of watching, Sam laughed aloud.
‘What?’ asked Frodo, afraid he’d done something wrong.
‘Nothin’, you’re doin’ just fine, it’s just… the sight of you,’ Sam said, sounding amused.
‘The sight of me?’
‘I don’t mean no offense. Only that it’s odd for me t’ see you out here like this. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do any gardenin’ before. Because, well, that’s what I’m for, I suppose. But what I mean is, you’re a nice sight. Doin’ this is mighty sweet of you.’
‘Mm,’ said Frodo, concentrating intensely on the patch of plants in front of him. ‘You needn’t flatter me. I’ve barely done anything.’
Sam rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘It ain’t flattery if it’s the truth. I think you’re sweet and I think you’re kind and good.’
‘Sam… ’
‘And I’m lucky t’ have you. I love bein’ around you.’
‘ Sam ,’ Frodo warned. He didn’t like this. He never knew how to respond when Sam said such things to him.
‘Alright, alright,’ Sam said, unoffended. ‘I’ll go work on the tomato plants if you’ll keep at the weedin’ for a bit. Let me know if you need any help with it.’ He kissed Frodo’s cheek and then wandered a few paces away to a plot of dirt where a few green tomato sprouts were growing.
Frodo kept pulling the weeds while simultaneously trying to savor the light, warm feeling that had arisen in his chest when Sam was speaking to him. He was so used to heaviness and emptiness, but recently there’d been more peaceful moments interspersed with the awful ones. It wasn’t easy to reckon with. Every single day he had to parse through all these new emotions and attempt to make sense of them. He’d never known how bizarre it was to feel something good after so much despair, especially when he’d become accustomed to despair as a never-ending, perpetual thing. He’d never needed to do so much healing before.
A year ago, he’d been in a dead and desolate land, trying to complete an impossible goal, attacked, ambushed, and injured at every turn. But it hadn’t been impossible in the end, because they’d done it. It was over. A year ago, Sam had rescued Frodo from certain death in Cirith Ungol, and today they were gardening together. Even if they weren’t entirely alright, they were alive. And they still had each other. That meant so much to Frodo.
He watched Sam smile to himself and sing quietly under his breath as he worked. Frodo wondered if he knew he was singing, and furthermore, if he knew how beautiful his voice was. It was, after all, Sam’s singing that had saved Frodo in the orc-tower. His singing and his stoutheartedness.
‘Sam,’ Frodo said. He was apprehensive about continuing, but he reminded himself quickly that he had no cause to be nervous. ‘I think you’re wonderful. I just want you to know.’
Sam looked as though he’d been caught off guard, but Frodo’s remark seemed to cheer him all the same. ‘Why, thank you. You’re quite wonderful yourself, Frodo.’ Sam went back to singing and gardening and Frodo continued to listen to him as he pulled the weeds, feeling content and at ease.
As the day wore on, it got hotter outside and Frodo found that he was becoming weary. He kept going despite this, with his energy slightly renewed every time he and Sam took breaks for meals and water. Even though he was starting to feel his body strain from doing labor he was unpracticed with, he was enjoying it immensely. It was incredibly pleasant to work with Sam, who was always patient with Frodo and willing to explain anything he asked about.
When he finished with the weeds, Sam had him clear brambles and vines from one of the more overrun sections of the garden. This task was far more arduous and physically taxing than the weeding, as it involved handling a mass of thorny growths that were often reluctant to be extracted from the ground. After it had become apparent that this undertaking was much more difficult than it had initially appeared, Sam came over to help Frodo and by the time the sun was setting, they’d tackled the majority of the problem together.
At the end of it, Frodo was exhausted and out of breath. As he and Sam sat on the garden bench in comfortable, tired silence, Frodo noticed a stinging pain in his hands. He looked at his palms and winced. Aside from being covered in dirt, they were reddened and scraped from handling all of the rough, thorn-covered plants.
‘Let me see,’ said Sam, gently taking hold of both of Frodo’s hands. He inspected them and then sighed. ‘It seems I’ve been a fool. I’ve gone and forgotten to give you gloves.’
‘I’ve never seen you wear gloves when you garden,’ Frodo pointed out.
‘I never wear ‘em. My hands are used to it. They used to get all blistered an' scratched when I was younger, though, because I was stubborn and always refused to have gloves with me.’ He chuckled at the memory. ‘My Gaffer taught me how t’ make a salve for it with kitchen herbs. Let’s go inside and I’ll make some for you.’
A while later, they sat in the living room by the fire while Sam tenderly applied the salve he’d made to Frodo’s injured palms.
‘You’ve nice hands,’ Sam mused. ‘Not gardener’s hands, though.’
Frodo couldn’t help but smile at that. He didn’t know exactly what he found funny, but he was so tired and delirious that he didn’t think it mattered much.
‘Nice hands?’ he pondered. ‘If you hadn’t noticed, Sam, I’m missing a finger.’
Sam shrugged. ‘Gives you character.’
They both laughed, even though it wasn’t really a laughable matter.
When Sam finished with the salve, Frodo lightly threaded their fingers together so that they were almost holding hands, though he didn’t let their palms touch. His own hands still ached too much. He rested his head on Sam’s shoulder.
‘I love you, Sam,’ he said. It came out sounding sadder than he’d intended.
‘Oh, I know you do, Frodo,’ Sam replied softly. ‘And I love you.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not very good at showing it,’ Frodo admitted.
‘I think you are.’
‘You just do so much for me every day and I never know how to thank you. I wish I had more to offer you.’
‘I don’t need anythin’ more than you already give me.’ With his free hand, Sam slowly ran his fingers through Frodo’s hair. Then, he pressed a short kiss to the bridge of Frodo’s nose, which Frodo found quite delightful. ‘You’re enough on your own, you know.’
‘I hope I didn’t give you too much trouble today.’
‘On the contrary, you were very helpful.’
‘I’d like to help you again sometime,’ Frodo said. He meant it. It wasn’t something he could do every day, but it would be nice on occasion.
‘Best let your hands rest a bit first,’ Sam said. ‘But I’d like it too, very much.’
‘I only wish I wasn’t so sick all the time.’
‘You’re gettin’ better, though, I can see it. Even with your illness yesterday.’ Sam spoke so confidently that Frodo was inclined to believe him. ‘You’ve got a healthy colour about you again. And you smile now and then. They’re beautiful smiles.’
Frodo wanted to protest or shift the conversation to something else, but he didn’t have the energy, so instead he said, ‘Do you ever run out of kind things to say, my Sam?’
‘Not when it’s you I’m sayin’ ‘em to.’
‘Hm. Now that is overly sweet.’
‘I won’t apologise for it,’ Sam said.
‘I didn’t ask you to.’
After that, it seemed they were both content to simply sit in silence and appreciate each other’s company. They’d come a long way and they’d endured countless horrors together. But for once, Frodo wasn’t thinking about all of those fearful things. He was thinking about the garden.