droubble

[rabidsamfan]

Morning in Minas Tirith

There came a morning that he just didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to be cheerful, didn’t want to smile and nod at the strange tall people who watched whenever they walked through the cobbled streets. The job was done, wasn’t it? Over. He’d earned a rest, hadn’t he? Just a little one?

“Time enough to rest come evening, Sam Gamgee,” he reminded himself, “and feeling sorry for yourself won’t put breakfast on the table.” But for once his Gaffer’s words were not enough to push him out of bed. Tears leaked out through his eyelashes as he twisted his face around into the pillow. “Mr. Frodo will be waking soon, and Gandalf and the others. And there’s that feast tomorrow, and someone’s got to see that Pippin’s tunic has been mended.” But sleep was as close as a heartbeat, and somehow he went from listing the things that needed doing to dreaming that he was doing them.

He roused once, to the sound of voices, and the blanket being tucked higher.

“He’s not sick, is he, Frodo?”

“Just tired,” came the reply, and a soft kiss on the crown of his head. “Sleep, Sam.”

He slept.



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Comments

[ansostuff.livejournal.com]

Sam h/c or angst is so rare to see, but you do it so excellent. This was truly lovely. Poor Sam - always thinking about what needed to be done and what the others would need.

[rabidsamfan.livejournal.com]

Thank you. I think one of the reasons I like writing about people taking care of Sam is because he takes care of others so often.