Chapter Text
He wants to wish for something. A lump forms in his throat.
What could the universe give, when he doesn’t deserve it?
It’s been a couple of months since the Quest, and Frodo is yet to mentally find his place back at the Shire. Most hobbits can barely imagine what he’s seen, what he’s heard and what he’s felt; most do not realise why he has become more sheltered. He’s attended his fair share of gatherings and rounds at the bar, but he gets exhausted too quickly for Pippin and Merry’s liking. Fulfilment left him a while ago, but now he has found that the rain has a way of comforting him during dark hours.
Frodo lay on his back against the soft grass, greener than he last remembered. The comforting scent of earth wafted up from the ground beneath him. Harsh raindrops pelted his skin, making him flinch whenever they fell near his eyes. Still, he hesitated to close them.
Clouds obstructed his view, yet the moon still peaked shyly through them. Sentient, bathing the lonely hobbit in its soft embrace of glowing light. Frodo is reminded of the books he read before the Quest, about how the moon was theorised to occupy inner knowledge of the waters, including the rain that poured tonight. The immense power both fascinated and frightened him, for he knew of the dark side of nature now, but perhaps the moon would protect him tonight. Perhaps it would aid as his barrier for evil, casting away the shadows that lurked in the back of his mind. The hoarse voice that used to claw at his ears no longer muttered its curses, for he is no longer bound to the forsaken ring. Though, he often still cannot rid of the ghastly images that infected his head whenever he’d close his eyes in search of restfulness. It seems, however, nature offered him peace on this forgiving evening.
A faint sound. A voice. Silence. Once more,
“Mr. Frodo?”
Sam had called, his voice barely above a whisper, but Frodo was too absent to reply. His eyes were vacant, a concerning blankness, but Sam was not worried. Frodo was content, and doubtlessly calm, he knew that much. It took a short while for him to gain the self-assurance to address him again.
“Mr. Frodo, are you well?”
Frodo had turned to him. The question briefly filled him with uncertainty, because realistically: no. He was not well. Far from it. If being out within the cruel night didn’t say as much.
“Will I ever be?”
He was crying. He could feel it, the burning sensation in his eyes, but the rain concealed them. It hid his woes like a blanket, except colder and more overbearing. Sam was never so foolish, though, he knew Frodo’s hidden sorrow.
“May I inquire about what you’re doing out here in the pouring rain?” Sam said, his voice now closer. Frodo glanced at him again and found he was kneeled next to him, where he should be, where Frodo always wanted him to be. An inescapable guilt hindered him now though, for Sam was shivering under the moonlight.
“You are also out here.”
“I wanted to check on you, sir.” Sam said patiently, daring to apprehensively move the hair out of Frodo’s eyes. It was soaking and sticking to his forehead, but he paid no mind. He seemed peaceful, yet undeniably in pain: either mentally or from his unhealed wound.
“You are kinder than you ought to be, dear Sam.” Frodo whispered and, suddenly self-conscious, covered his eyes with his hands. Sam remained ever so still, allowing him a moment to regulate himself. An air of melancholy surrounded him, but Sam still stayed. After a few minutes, Frodo looked over to Sam again. “I feel a strange comfort in the rain now.”
Sam hummed in response, shuffling so he was now lying beside Frodo. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“You could never.”
They laid in silence, Frodo mentally thanking the moon and rain for bringing Sam to him. He noted that the downfall was considerably softer than what he was used to on the journey to Mordor and wondered if Sam felt the same way.
“Rain makes a wonderful sound,” Sam began, his whisper barely audible, “But I can’t help but think the sound is not what comforts you. At least, not entirely.” Frodo inhaled deeply, the sincerity and warmth in Sam’s voice made him feel particularly dizzy.
“We... experienced a lot of rain on our quest. I often found myself drifting off to the sound, and the feeling of it, as though I couldn’t sleep without it. I am accustomed to it now, and it brings me a sense of tranquillity instead of danger and fear. Unlike many things...” He trailed off.
Sam gazed at Frodo, considering his words. “Are you meaning to imply that... many things bring you fear?” Sam asked, an expression of dread hidden under the rain. Frodo nodded weakly. He didn’t originally want to worry Sam about such pitiful things, but Sam always manages to see his loose threads.
“May you please come inside? I’m afraid you’ll catch a cold in this chill.” Sam suggested after a few moments. Frodo reluctantly agreed, standing up slowly with the aid of Sam. He snuck a glance at the moon one more time, wishing for a day where the pain would subside, and he could be with Sam comfortably as always intended.