WHISPERS OF THE RING
During the Night
A puff of flour caused Sam to sneeze. “Sorry, Sam,” Frodo said. “But you shouldn’t sit so close when I’m making bread.” Frodo’s arms were covered in flour to his elbows and his full apron was going to be in need of a good scrub.
“Why are you making bread anyways, Master Frodo?” Sam scooted his stool closer to the table and set his elbows on the tabletop. “Don’t you normally buy bread from Missy Proudfoot down the way?”
Frodo added another handful of flour to the bubbling yeast-water. “Yes, but…I felt a need to create something today, Sam. There is a great pride in making, and when you make something you put a bit of yourself in it.” He frowned at the mixture. “Does this look right yet? Missy told me to start using my hands when it was neither too wet nor too dry.”
Sam stood a bit on his stool and looked into the bowl. “It looks like flour and water to me, Master Frodo.” Frodo gave Sam a look. “Well,” he continued sheepishly, “My mom usually would add a bit more flour when it was still that wet.”
Frodo smiled and dug his fingers into the dough. With his other hand he threw another handful of flour into the mix and started working it with his bare hands. “Thanks, Sam. I’m sure I’d know more of this sort of thing if I hadn’t grown up with Uncle Bilbo. I don’t think he has ever baked bread before.”
Sam felt his heart ache at Frodo’s words. He didn’t know what it was like for other folk, but for hobbits, to be an orphan was an uncommon thing. Not being very daring, hobbits rarely did things that would end their lives prematurely. And poor Master Frodo, to have lost both his parents at once, and at such a tender age… It was enough to bring tears to a grown hobbit’s eyes.
“What are you thinking about, Sam?” Frodo asked as he mixed and punched his dough. He did not look up to ask his question; but if he had, he would have seen Sam’s eyes bright with unshed tears.
Sam ducked his head and discreetly snuck a hankie wipe. “Just about what you were talking about. About wanting to make something, and that thing being a part of you.” He traced his finger through a bit of spilt flour. “I don’t know if I quite know what you mean, but at the same time, I know exactly what you mean. Does that make sense?”
Frodo stopped punching the nicely forming dough and looked at Sam. “Yes and no?”
Their eyes met and they shared a laugh.
“It’s like Old Gaffer,” Sam continued, “He has been tending gardens nearly his whole life. He’s been helping Mister Bilbo to care for Bag End for most of his life, and now it’s as much part of him as the pipe that he smokes. You can’t dig up a bit of his garden, or move a stone in Bag End without him knowing of it.”
Frodo took a handful of flour and threw it lightly towards Sam. As the flour settled it lightly dusted the tabletop.
“Hey! Watch it!” Sam laughed. “You’ll not be wanting my sneezes in your great work there!”
“You mean, MORE sneezes,” Frodo teased. “Well, if anyone asks after the funny flavor, I’ll just say it’s due to Sam’s help when I was making it.” They laughed together again as Frodo turned his dough from its bowl onto the dusted tabletop.
“Wouldn’t that mean I too had put a part of myself in your creation then?” Sam quipped. A strange look came over Frodo’s face, and Sam was taken aback by it. “What…what is the matter, Mister Frodo? I didn’t mean to give offense by my words!”
Frodo shook his head and stared at how his hands were pushed into the dough. “It’s just a little strange, the possessiveness a person feels for something they create. Don’t you think so, Sam?”
Sam stayed quiet, not quite understanding but knowing Frodo was trying to share something important.
“Normally I would happily share any bread in my larder but this batch, that I have been making with my own hands, I—“ He stared at the dough as if he were seeing it for the first time. “I do not think I would be happy to share it. I want it to be mine and mine alone. Does that seem odd? I think it is very odd but also very natural. It is very natural to want to keep that which you have created for your use alone. I should become very jealous if anyone else were to take my bread, and if they should eat it with jam and butter-- I would—” His voice trailed off and Sam nearly fell off his stool in a startled jump!
Frodo was fading from sight.
“Master Frodo,” Sam yelled. “You’re fading!”
Frodo looked up at Sam with eyes that were wreathed in flames. “No Sam, you are,” he replied.
With a start Sam’s eyes snapped open. A moment later he felt a sharp elbow dig into his chest. He blinked several times and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the widow’s sitting room. The elbow jabbed him again.
“Sam—mmmm—no!” Frodo tossed again but the way he had wedged himself between Sam and the wall prevented him from turning over properly. “—don’t understand—Uncle—“
Sam pulled back the covers and gave Frodo a bit more room. Their bedclothes were wound around Frodo’s legs like a cocoon of spider silk and his shirt had been partly removed in his sleep exposing soft skin that had become gooseflesh in the chill of the night.
Sam shook Frodo by the shoulder gently. “Master Frodo? Master Frodo! Wake up, you’re having a dream.” Frodo’s skin was hot to the touch and Sam drew his hand back in surprise. Why did he have gooseflesh if he was so warm? Was it a fever? More concerned now Sam shook Frodo harder. “Master Frodo! Wake up! It’s me Sam! Wake up!”
Frodo woke with a scream that he cut short by burying his face in Sam’s shoulder. He shook like a leaf in the wind as he clung to his concerned companion. “Oh Sam!” He sobbed after a while. “What’s wrong with me?”
Sam rubbed Frodo’s back and tugged his nightshirt back into place. The unnatural heat was fading rapidly from his body and Sam could feel Frodo’s heart settling from its wildly skipping beat. “It’s alright, Mister Frodo. It was just a dream, and a bad one it sounds like. I was having one too, probably because of that scare with the bear.” But there hadn’t been a bear in his dream, had there? Sam couldn’t recall the details now, but didn’t it have to do with bread? About Master Frodo?
“I’m sorry, Sam. This has been two nights in a row now I’ve put fear in you because of my dreams.”
Sam held Frodo tight and rocked him back and forth gently. “It’s alright, Master Frodo. A person can’t help what they dream. If you want to talk about it, I’ve got two ears I can lend you.”
Frodo’s gaze slipped past Sam’s face and settled somewhere on the floor. “Thank you, Sam; for everything, including coming with me to find Uncle Bilbo. I can’t tell you why it is so important for me to find him, but I know I must.”
Sam felt that little ache again in his chest. “Master Frodo, you could lead me into the mouth of a dragon, and I would still follow you,” he swore. Then, recalling a bit of his dream, he said, “Both of us made this friendship, and so we each have put a bit of ourselves into it. It is ours and nobody can take it from us.”
Frodo suddenly looked up at Sam. Had he just said--? “That is a strange bit of conversation to come from you, Sam. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak like that before.”
Sam looked a bit uncomfortable. “It’s like making bread, Master Frodo,” he offered lamely.
Frodo’s smile faltered briefly, but he offered no explanation to Sam. “You’ll have to explain that to me in the morning, Sam.” He yawned and stretched but it was obvious to Sam that he was concealing something. “I’m very tired, did you want to try going back to sleep?”
Sam squeezed Frodo in a hug. “I’ll be right here if you need me, Master Frodo.” Sam reassured Frodo.
Frodo smiled weakly. He felt like being sick. Untruths never did sit well with him. “Thank you, Sam. But I don’t think I’ll be having any more bad dreams tonight.”
He let Sam arrange the bedclothes around them and wrap his arms around him before settling down. Normally Frodo would find Sam spooned against his back very comforting and secure, but tonight he could not find security in the arms of his steady friend.
How could Sam have known his dream? Or was it the other way around? How had he known what Sam was dreaming? Or was it all just a startling coincidence?
Frodo lay unblinking in the darkness trying to puzzle out his dreams. When dawn’s light took the substance from the darkness of the room he had still neither moved nor come to any conclusions.