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May. 8th, 2004 07:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanstill thinking about Sam and Elrond...
Coda: Minas Tirith
Two days after the wedding, while the celebrations were still echoing in the streets of Minas Tirith, Sam looked up from his book to find that Elladan was standing beside him. "Hello," he said, smiling upwards. "Are you looking for Frodo? Merry's taken him off to the Herbmaster, I think."
Elladan smiled back. "My father wishes to speak to you, if you've an hour to spare."
"For Master Elrond? Of course, I do. Seems like I've got nothing but hours to spare here. No one won't hardly let me do any work." He couldn't help but sound a little testy over that. Cooking they'd let him do, now and then, but let him lay a hand to a broom and everyone would fuss.
"Come then," Elladan said, so Sam put his book aside and came.
Elrond had been established in one of the great rooms of the Palace. Sam thought it was appropriate, but the high ceilinged rooms always made him feel like an errant child when he was summoned to them, and he was glad to see that Elrond was sitting out on the balcony, and that someone had provided him with a proper sized chair for a hobbit. Much to Sam's surprise, however, Aragorn and Arwen were on the balcony too.
Elladan made a bow to his father and the King and vanished, leaving Sam to dither. Strider had made it quite clear that he didn't want to be bowed to, but Elrond was three thousand years old, and had earned the respect. And he didn't know how to address a queen. He bowed carefully to Elrond, "Master Elrond," he said, and then swallowed and turned to Strider and his lady, ducking his head, and blushing at being so scant with the courtesy. "Congratulations, your majesties. I hope you're well," he said, as politely as he knew how.
Arwen, who looked even lovelier than he had remembered from Rivendell, laughed. "Thank you, Samwise. We are both wonderfully well." She bent, and kissed him on the head. "All our cares are small cares now, except for care of our friends. How fares your master, and his cousins? Do their wounds trouble them?"
"Well, now" Sam said, "Mr. Merry, he's fair enough, except that his arm troubles him when the wind blows cold. And Pippin -- you'll remember him, lady? He's the one who got into that tree in Rivendell and sang songs all the night? -- he got sat on by a troll, and his bones do ache at times. But some willow-bark tea settles him, most often. We're right near the houses of healing, and there's a lad stays by to run errands for us if we’ve need. Mr. Frodo, he's better than he's been in a long time, and that's the truth, but he misses the Shire, and so do I and all. It's a beautiful place Minas Anor, but it's not built for folk the size of us, and the stairs are high."
"And how do you fare, Samwise Gamgee?" Elrond asked. "Are you sleeping well?"
Sam turned to Elrond, aware that Arwen and Aragorn were both listening to the answer, and trying to find words to put around the truth. "Most nights I sleep," he said. "But I'd sleep better in the Shire, I'm thinking. We're up so high, here, like birds in a nest. But I can't go home till Mr. Frodo gets leave to go, and he hasn't said nothing, not yet."
"Are you so ready for a long journey, then, Sam?" Aragorn asked. "I've asked Lord Elrond to be certain of your healing -- all four of you -- before I risk sending you away. And even the stairs of the palace leave you out of breath."
Sam blushed. "They do," he admitted. "But not so much as they once did. And from what I can tell there's a good level road goes up towards Hobbiton we could take most of the way."
"There is. Very well; put yourself in Master Elrond's hands this afternoon, and the others will take their turns tomorrow, and we will see what road would best suit you." He held out a hand to his lady, and made a bow to Sam and Elrond. She curtsied, which left Sam red to the ears, and the both of them left.
When they were gone, Elrond sighed a little, and Sam looked at him curiously. "Are you all right, Master?"
Elrond smiled at him. "It is I who am meant to find that out about you, young hobbit. And it will be easier if you were out of that shirt of mail. Why do you wear it?"
"Sore losers, Gandalf says," Sam said, glad enough to set aside the heavy leaf mail for a little. "Someone took a shot at Merry in the camp, and Aragorn doesn't want to take any chances unnecessarily until all of Sauron's agents have been found or have given up their ways. Besides, everyone here wears armor most of the time. Haven't you noticed?"
"I have," Elrond said, helping Sam with the clasps. Without the mail shirt, Sam lost a good bit of bulk. Without his tunic it was clear that he'd lost a good deal more weight than was comfortable, and was only now getting some of it back. Elrond remembered strong lines of muscle under the unmarred tan and hobbit fuzziness that he'd seen in Rivendell and did not like the comparison. "What caused these marks?" He inquired, running a fingertip over several round bumpy scars that were grey from the dirt that had been captured in the wounds as they healed.
"Thorns," Sam said simply, indicating most of them, but near his wrists and waist there were scars of a different shape. "And these were from flies and midges. They all seemed to be the kind that bit in Mordor."
"And here?" The scars were older, cleaner, on his shoulder
"Gollum bit me," Sam dismissed the injury with a shrug. He stepped out of his trousers, knowing that the healer would want to see all the other scars as well. It was impossible to be shy of Elrond, not after those long nights in the hot springs so many months ago. He let the Elven lord turn him gently in those huge healer's hands. Elrond was singing something that sent warmth into the hurt places, easing a tension that Sam hadn't acknowledged.
“Open your eyes.”
Sam discovered that he had to obey, and a flare of alarm ran through him as he realized he didn’t remember closing his eyes at all. What else had he missed? “I’m just cold,” he said automatically, trying to fight back the shudders that danced across his skin.
“You’re not,” Elrond’s deep eyes met his and Sam knew that he’d not deceived this healer.
“It’s nothing,” he tried anyway. “Nothing serious. I just get tired. Fall asleep. It don’t last long. Don’t make Mr. Frodo stay here on my account.”
“And the headaches, Samwise?” Elrond asked, skimming one fingertip over the scar on his brow with the lightest of touches.
Sam shivered. “Everyone gets headaches.”
“Samwise…”
“Please, Master, I just want to go home,” Sam said desperately, feeling the quick tears gather in his eyes.
Elrond gathered him up into his lap as if he were a small child, and soothed him. “And so you shall, I promise. But do you truly think that Merry and Pippin and Frodo are well enough for a fast journey on a hard road?”
Sam just shook his head into Elrond’s shoulder, not trusting his voice. He’d never thought about the road, only about coming home and everything being the way it ought to be. But now he remembered the way that stone felt when you slept on it, and the way it pulled the heat out of you on a cold night. And he thought about how even the soft beds in Minas Tirith left him and the others aching of a morning. They’d never manage to bring enough willow bark, not all that way. Even if there were enough left in the herb stores.
“Here,” Elrond turned him so that he was sitting facing outward. “Take my fingers in each hand and squeeze as hard as you can.”
Bewildered, but willing, Sam did as he was asked.
“Can you feel how much weaker your right side is?” Elrond went on. “The blow to your head has left a mark on you.”
“But the scar’s healed already,” Sam protested.
“Not the scar inside,” Elrond said. “That is why you have been having headaches, and why you lose moments of the day.”
“But why didn’t Strider fix it when he healed Mr. Frodo and me?” Sam asked, and then flushed because he could hear the whining in his own voice. “I mean, not that he didn’t save our lives and all and I’m grateful to him for it, but I don’t see as how I’m going to be much use to anyone if I keep falling asleep on my feet. And it’s getting worse, not better. I don’t know how much longer I can keep Mr. Frodo from noticing.”
Elrond smiled, “My foster son learned much of healing in his youth, but it took me hundreds of years to acquire the skills your injuries call for. It is not a simple matter, but be comforted, this kind of damage can be wholly healed.”
Timeline (fiction only, most recent version, includes AU) first previous next last
Coda: Minas Tirith
Two days after the wedding, while the celebrations were still echoing in the streets of Minas Tirith, Sam looked up from his book to find that Elladan was standing beside him. "Hello," he said, smiling upwards. "Are you looking for Frodo? Merry's taken him off to the Herbmaster, I think."
Elladan smiled back. "My father wishes to speak to you, if you've an hour to spare."
"For Master Elrond? Of course, I do. Seems like I've got nothing but hours to spare here. No one won't hardly let me do any work." He couldn't help but sound a little testy over that. Cooking they'd let him do, now and then, but let him lay a hand to a broom and everyone would fuss.
"Come then," Elladan said, so Sam put his book aside and came.
Elrond had been established in one of the great rooms of the Palace. Sam thought it was appropriate, but the high ceilinged rooms always made him feel like an errant child when he was summoned to them, and he was glad to see that Elrond was sitting out on the balcony, and that someone had provided him with a proper sized chair for a hobbit. Much to Sam's surprise, however, Aragorn and Arwen were on the balcony too.
Elladan made a bow to his father and the King and vanished, leaving Sam to dither. Strider had made it quite clear that he didn't want to be bowed to, but Elrond was three thousand years old, and had earned the respect. And he didn't know how to address a queen. He bowed carefully to Elrond, "Master Elrond," he said, and then swallowed and turned to Strider and his lady, ducking his head, and blushing at being so scant with the courtesy. "Congratulations, your majesties. I hope you're well," he said, as politely as he knew how.
Arwen, who looked even lovelier than he had remembered from Rivendell, laughed. "Thank you, Samwise. We are both wonderfully well." She bent, and kissed him on the head. "All our cares are small cares now, except for care of our friends. How fares your master, and his cousins? Do their wounds trouble them?"
"Well, now" Sam said, "Mr. Merry, he's fair enough, except that his arm troubles him when the wind blows cold. And Pippin -- you'll remember him, lady? He's the one who got into that tree in Rivendell and sang songs all the night? -- he got sat on by a troll, and his bones do ache at times. But some willow-bark tea settles him, most often. We're right near the houses of healing, and there's a lad stays by to run errands for us if we’ve need. Mr. Frodo, he's better than he's been in a long time, and that's the truth, but he misses the Shire, and so do I and all. It's a beautiful place Minas Anor, but it's not built for folk the size of us, and the stairs are high."
"And how do you fare, Samwise Gamgee?" Elrond asked. "Are you sleeping well?"
Sam turned to Elrond, aware that Arwen and Aragorn were both listening to the answer, and trying to find words to put around the truth. "Most nights I sleep," he said. "But I'd sleep better in the Shire, I'm thinking. We're up so high, here, like birds in a nest. But I can't go home till Mr. Frodo gets leave to go, and he hasn't said nothing, not yet."
"Are you so ready for a long journey, then, Sam?" Aragorn asked. "I've asked Lord Elrond to be certain of your healing -- all four of you -- before I risk sending you away. And even the stairs of the palace leave you out of breath."
Sam blushed. "They do," he admitted. "But not so much as they once did. And from what I can tell there's a good level road goes up towards Hobbiton we could take most of the way."
"There is. Very well; put yourself in Master Elrond's hands this afternoon, and the others will take their turns tomorrow, and we will see what road would best suit you." He held out a hand to his lady, and made a bow to Sam and Elrond. She curtsied, which left Sam red to the ears, and the both of them left.
When they were gone, Elrond sighed a little, and Sam looked at him curiously. "Are you all right, Master?"
Elrond smiled at him. "It is I who am meant to find that out about you, young hobbit. And it will be easier if you were out of that shirt of mail. Why do you wear it?"
"Sore losers, Gandalf says," Sam said, glad enough to set aside the heavy leaf mail for a little. "Someone took a shot at Merry in the camp, and Aragorn doesn't want to take any chances unnecessarily until all of Sauron's agents have been found or have given up their ways. Besides, everyone here wears armor most of the time. Haven't you noticed?"
"I have," Elrond said, helping Sam with the clasps. Without the mail shirt, Sam lost a good bit of bulk. Without his tunic it was clear that he'd lost a good deal more weight than was comfortable, and was only now getting some of it back. Elrond remembered strong lines of muscle under the unmarred tan and hobbit fuzziness that he'd seen in Rivendell and did not like the comparison. "What caused these marks?" He inquired, running a fingertip over several round bumpy scars that were grey from the dirt that had been captured in the wounds as they healed.
"Thorns," Sam said simply, indicating most of them, but near his wrists and waist there were scars of a different shape. "And these were from flies and midges. They all seemed to be the kind that bit in Mordor."
"And here?" The scars were older, cleaner, on his shoulder
"Gollum bit me," Sam dismissed the injury with a shrug. He stepped out of his trousers, knowing that the healer would want to see all the other scars as well. It was impossible to be shy of Elrond, not after those long nights in the hot springs so many months ago. He let the Elven lord turn him gently in those huge healer's hands. Elrond was singing something that sent warmth into the hurt places, easing a tension that Sam hadn't acknowledged.
“Open your eyes.”
Sam discovered that he had to obey, and a flare of alarm ran through him as he realized he didn’t remember closing his eyes at all. What else had he missed? “I’m just cold,” he said automatically, trying to fight back the shudders that danced across his skin.
“You’re not,” Elrond’s deep eyes met his and Sam knew that he’d not deceived this healer.
“It’s nothing,” he tried anyway. “Nothing serious. I just get tired. Fall asleep. It don’t last long. Don’t make Mr. Frodo stay here on my account.”
“And the headaches, Samwise?” Elrond asked, skimming one fingertip over the scar on his brow with the lightest of touches.
Sam shivered. “Everyone gets headaches.”
“Samwise…”
“Please, Master, I just want to go home,” Sam said desperately, feeling the quick tears gather in his eyes.
Elrond gathered him up into his lap as if he were a small child, and soothed him. “And so you shall, I promise. But do you truly think that Merry and Pippin and Frodo are well enough for a fast journey on a hard road?”
Sam just shook his head into Elrond’s shoulder, not trusting his voice. He’d never thought about the road, only about coming home and everything being the way it ought to be. But now he remembered the way that stone felt when you slept on it, and the way it pulled the heat out of you on a cold night. And he thought about how even the soft beds in Minas Tirith left him and the others aching of a morning. They’d never manage to bring enough willow bark, not all that way. Even if there were enough left in the herb stores.
“Here,” Elrond turned him so that he was sitting facing outward. “Take my fingers in each hand and squeeze as hard as you can.”
Bewildered, but willing, Sam did as he was asked.
“Can you feel how much weaker your right side is?” Elrond went on. “The blow to your head has left a mark on you.”
“But the scar’s healed already,” Sam protested.
“Not the scar inside,” Elrond said. “That is why you have been having headaches, and why you lose moments of the day.”
“But why didn’t Strider fix it when he healed Mr. Frodo and me?” Sam asked, and then flushed because he could hear the whining in his own voice. “I mean, not that he didn’t save our lives and all and I’m grateful to him for it, but I don’t see as how I’m going to be much use to anyone if I keep falling asleep on my feet. And it’s getting worse, not better. I don’t know how much longer I can keep Mr. Frodo from noticing.”
Elrond smiled, “My foster son learned much of healing in his youth, but it took me hundreds of years to acquire the skills your injuries call for. It is not a simple matter, but be comforted, this kind of damage can be wholly healed.”
Timeline (fiction only, most recent version, includes AU) first previous next last
