Title: Fourteen Days

Author: rabidsamfan

Summary: Fragments of the time between Mt. Doom and the Fields of Cormallen. Book-oriented.

Disclaimer: The characters are Tolkien's, but much gratitude is given to the movie-folks for putting images in my head and inciting me. ***Once Sam wakes up, I've used many many lines and bits of description from Tolkien, particularly in dialogue. And if you haven't already read the books and don't know which lines are his and which are not then shoo! Get thee hence to a library!

Medical disclaimer (since I've seen so many of them!) : I'm not even trying to be accurate, darlings, but if Viggo Mortensen wants to come and sprinkle some athelas water around me I'm sure I'll perk up nicely too.

There were birds singing, and the scent of crushed kingsfoil, and voices in quiet colloquy just beyond the cocoon of warm blankets and soft linen that soothed his skin.

"…sometime today, I think, but not before afternoon," the voice was too low to identify, but reassuring and familiar. "What can be healed by our arts is healing; sleep will no longer serve as well as food."

"And pap will no more serve as food once sleep is gone," Another voice and dearer, warm with pleasure. Frodo lost the sense of the words as he sought his way out of slumber to join the conversation. "A wakeful hobbit is a hungry hobbit. Warn the cooks."

"That, at least, I can do before another petitioner interrupts. Something light at first - a feast goes ill on a belly long empty."

"My lord," another voice, breathless with hurry. "A messenger has come from Cair Andros."

"Take him to the Council tent and fetch Prince Imrahil and King Eomer. I'll be there shortly."

"Yes, my lord." Clumsy Man feet on soft grass, running away.

"You see, Mithrandir? Stay you here and keep watch in my place, and one of us at least will find the rest that is meant to come with peace!"

Mithrandir? But that was the name that the elves used to call Gandalf. Frodo opened his eyes.

A tall white figure was standing nearby among the birches and the face was Gandalf's but he was brighter and clearer than Frodo remembered, and with a sudden clarity of eye, Frodo understood much beyond explanation. "You've changed," was all he could put into words. And Gandalf turned and smiled.

But with words came memory and Frodo's heart cried out, for it wasn't Gandalf he last remembered smiling at him. "Sam!" he called, looking past the wizard for another face and not finding it. "Where's Sam?" And he was afraid, suddenly, that being with Gandalf meant that he had gone someplace where Sam could not follow.

But Gandalf only laughed and settled on a chair by the bed, "Beside you, Frodo," he said, looking past Frodo with a nod. "Just as he was when we found you."

Frodo sat up and turned to look, and there indeed was Sam, asleep, and Frodo's heart was wrung in two, for joy at the sight of Sam's chest rising and falling with soft breaths, and for sorrow at the lines of care that had been molded into the trusting face that would never seem young again. "He's cleaner than he was then," Frodo observed softly, leaning back into the hand that Gandalf had place on his shoulder. And that was mixed joy too, for the filth of Mordor had disguised the shadows that hunger had put in Sam's face and now Frodo saw the gauntness that lack had caused, and the marks that dirt had hidden. And yet the long deep cut on Sam's forehead was almost healed, and there were fresh scars on the backs of his hands.

"How long have we been here?" he asked Gandalf, "and how did we come?"

"Fourteen days," Gandalf replied, "and the Eagles found you, just as you fell unconscious on the shoulder of Orodruin. But of Gollum there was no sign."

"He slipped and fell," Frodo said, not taking his eyes off Sam, for he did not wish to face Gandalf's eyes as he confessed. "Fell into the fires, with It, once he'd bitten off my finger. I failed, Gandalf," he admitted in a low voice. "I could not cast it in, and so I tried to claim it."

"So I guessed, when I saw your injury," Gandalf said, but he didn't sound angry. "But you did not wholly fail. Had you not brought the Ring to the edge of the fire, no mischance on Gollum's part would have mattered."

"I couldn't even have managed that much," Frodo said. "Not without Sam. He carried me and the Ring right up the mountainside, when it was so heavy I could barely lift my head, and how he managed it I cannot guess. There's scarce enough left of him to bear his own burdens. I should have seen to him, not been so quick to believe when he told me that he'd eaten or had his drink while I slept. But I could not see him, Gandalf, I couldn't. All I could see was the wheel of fire." And he burst into tears, and Gandalf gathered him up into his cloak and lap and there let him weep away the fear and longing and sorrow.

"There is less of you than once there was, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf said, producing a handkerchief as the storm abated. "And more to Samwise Gamgee than eyes can see. It was duty that made you carry the Ring, and love that bade Sam carry the Ringbearer, and I know which of the two is the stronger."

Frodo turned his head, to be certain that Gandalf was listening, "Didn't I talk in my sleep this time?" he asked, remembering that awakening in Rivendell long months ago. "Sam is a Ringbearer too, Gandalf. He kept it from the Orcs when Shelob struck me with her poison. He thought I was dead, and he must go on alone to see the task fulfilled."

"Indeed I learned some things, from you and from Sam too, as you slept," Gandalf said, helping Frodo settle back onto the bed. "And I know that once he learned you were alive he turned back to rescue you, and the peril of the Quest meant less to him than to keep you from the torments of the Enemy. I do not speak less of Sam when I say that he could not have borne the Ring so far as Frodo of the Shire. And nor do I speak less of Frodo when I say that to destroy the Ring was a task he could not have done alone. I am glad that you let Sam come with you at the last."

"But I should have taken better care of him, if I let him come at all," Frodo said. "What would the Gaffer say if he could see his son now?"

"That the lad is healing, and stronger than he was even a day ago, and that there are few hurts left to him that will not be mended by time and food," Gandalf said. "Take heart, Frodo, for by the time he wakes, Sam's injuries will grieve him little, and to find you well and alive is all I expect he'll wish."

A memory struck Frodo then, of Sam's hoarse voice trying to comfort him at the end of all things. "I can think of one other wish," he said, "he spoke of it, once or twice. Sam loves tales, you know, and he wondered how ours would sound, all sung out proper or chanted in rhyme. 'Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom,' he called it at the last, when there was nothing left in the world to make us think that we would ever hear it." He smiled at Gandalf, pleased suddenly by the thought of a small thing he could do. "I'm not as good a poet as Bilbo, but if someone could help me write it, maybe we could find some words for Sam."

And Gandalf met his smile with a smile of his own. "There is a bard from Minas Anor who has pestered me for days, wanting details to go into his lay of the Great War and how it was won beyond all chance of hope. Timrithell is his name, and if you've the patience to tell him what he wants to know you'll find that he spins verses as other folk spin wool and flax."

Gandalf left Frodo to break his fast with a little wine and porridge, but returned in a few minutes with a tall Man carrying a sheaf of paper and a harp, who limped a little as he entered the glade and made a bow.

"Mithrandir tells me I might be of service?" he said, with a diffidence that surprised Frodo.

"Yes, if you will. Gandalf tells me that you are a poet."

Timrithell flushed with pleasure and bowed again. "Gandalf is kind. It has been my happy duty to make songs for the Lord of the City since I came to manhood." He smiled shyly. "I would rather wield my pen than a sword."

"Which is why he brought a harp to the last battle," Gandalf interjected, steering the minstrel to a chair. "And we are fortunate that he took that Orc arrow in the leg and not his hands." Having settled the Man on one side of the table and seeing that Frodo was served another bowl of porridge he stood back. "I have told Timrithell a great deal of what happened before you reached the Dimrill Dale, and others have told him the tale as far as Rauros, and of your meeting with Lord Faramir in Ithilien. Some he knows of what happened after, from what I gleaned of your dreams, but it is scant bones. You two talk, and I will go and watch Samwise, and warn you if he begins to waken."

Timrithell looked after the wizard with a question in his eyes and Frodo laughed. "I want to surprise Sam with your song," he said. "He loves stories, you see."

Timrithell got out his inkpot and pen. "Tell me about Sam," he said.

"The things Sam carried," Frodo laughed, "my inkpot and pen, and a little silver mathom that hid a store of herbs inside the shape of an acorn. Little things I wouldn't have thought to bring, like powder to soothe chafing and an ointment for what the Gaffer calls "sore bones". But farthest of all he carried his pots and cooking things, and a little box of salt, in case we found something to cook. And we did once, or Smeagol did for us."

"What did he find?" Timrithell asked, making notes.

"Rabbits. And Sam made rabbit stew. I woke to find it ready, and we ate from the pot, taking turns. It was the best meal I'd had since we left the others." He smiled now, finding the taste more clearly in memory than he'd known it at the time. "That was the day we saw the Oliphaunt, and Captain Faramir's men found us."

"Lord Faramir is Steward now, in Minas Anor," Timrithell said, "And we are glad of it. But what is an Oliphaunt?"

"Mumakil you call them," Gandalf interjected from his place by the bed.

"Ah, I know the day, then. Damrod has told me that he stayed with you and your servant while the Company ambushed the Southrons. And they took you to Henneth Annun until Lord Faramir could decide how to deal with you. What happened to Sam's cooking pots?"

"He had to give them up, near the end. The Ring was growing heavier, and I couldn't bear it and the orc gear I carried too. We had crossed the road, and there was only the barren land between us and Mt. Doom, but I couldn't see how we could possible manage. But Sam said we should rid ourselves of all we didn't need and try. It was the first time I think he realized...or admitted... that there wouldn't be any road back." Frodo closed his eyes against the memory. "He put his cooking things in a crevasse, so Gollum wouldn't mess with them. They're probably melted by the lava from the mountain now."

"How many days was that before you reached the mountain?"

"Three. And it had been a full day before that since we'd last found water, and that was only a bit at the bottom of an orc cistern by the road." He frowned, trying to remember. "And the orc cistern was the last place where I'm certain Sam had a drink at all. We had only one water bottle between us. And I remember being terribly thirsty, and Sam giving me a mouthful of water, two and even three days after we found it. So he must have gone without. But I didn't notice then, not really. The wheel of fire was all I could see, and its weight was all I could bear." He rubbed at his neck, where the marks of the chain had turned to a fretwork of narrow scars.

"Maybe it only seemed like three days," Timrithell suggested gently.

"No. We left the things by the road, and walked, and that was one day, and that night was cold, because we had thrown away the blankets. And the next day we were closer to the mountain and the air was foul, and made us dizzy, but we reached the foot of it and stopped because it was too dark to see. And that morning, I couldn't get up. I couldn't do more than crawl, but somehow Sam found the strength to carry me. Carry me and the Ring with me." Frodo looked over to the bed. "You will put that part in, won't you? Because I don't know how he did it. Halfway up the mountain, or more, he carried me, until we were above the foul air and I could breathe a little. And as we rested the Eye fell upon us, and I would have put the Ring on and betrayed us to Sauron if Sam hadn't taken my hands in his and carried me some more."

"Did he carry you all the way to the Cracks of Doom?"

"No. Smeagol attacked, trying to get the Ring. I don't think I could have moved if he hadn't tried to take it from me, but by then I was more than half mad with desire for it. If I'd had a weapon I might have killed him, and as it was I cast him down, and left him for Sam to deal with, knowing that Sam hated Gollum, and had a sword." Frodo shook his head. "I don't know why he didn't kill Gollum, at the last - when he wakes you'll have to ask him if you want to know - but it's a good thing he didn't."

"Why is that?" Timrithell asked softly when Frodo didn't go on.

Frodo took a deep breath. "Because the Ring won, at the very last, or I lost. I went on into the mountain along a path that leads you to its heart, but when I looked down into the fire I was caught between desires. Sam followed me in, and when I heard his voice I chose. But even as I put on the ring, Gollum came behind Sam and struck him to the ground, giving him that great cut on his head, and leaped to attack me, finding me even though I was invisible."

"And I was fighting the Ring too, as well as Gollum, trying to master the power of it, and could not do both well, so Gollum bit off my finger, and got the Ring, but in his very moment of happiness, his joy betrayed him, and he stepped off the edge of the path and fell."

"And Sam came, and took me out of the mountain, and I felt the Ring melt away, and my burden with it, and there we stood at the end of all things," he smiled now, remembering, the relief and joy of that moment. "And Sam still wanted to go away from the worst of it, even though there was no chance of surviving and I went with him, to make him happy, and to guide him because the blood was in his eyes."

Timrithell nodded, making notes with his eyes carefully on the paper until Frodo spoke again. "When you sing of Gollum, you should call him by his right name. Smeagol he was, before the Ring came to him, and for a while to me as well, until desire for the Ring overcame him."

"Smeagol?" Timrithell said. "Yes, Mithrandir has told me part of that tale."

"Slinker and Stinker, Sam called him, depending on whether the Smeagol side or Gollum was strongest. He never trusted him wholly, and he was right not to."

"And why is that?"

"Do you know Cirith Ungol?" Frodo asked.

"It has an evil name," Timrithell said. "Guarded by orcs, and worse than orcs – although what is worse the tales do not say."

"Her name is Shelob," Frodo whispered, rubbing at the place where her sting had pierced him. "A spider, gorged with prey until she has grown to hideous size. Gollum led us to her lair, knowing she would kill us, and pay no mind to what we carried. He wanted the Ring."

"Shelob?" Timrithell had heard the name, it was plain, for he paled. "But that is an evil from the oldest tales we know. How did you get away?"

"I didn't," Frodo said. "It was Sam who fought her, and drove her off. Killed her perhaps – for the sleeves of his shirt were green and stiff with her blood when he found me, prisoner to the Orcs."

"I had dropped Sting, the sword that Bilbo carried and gave to me when we began, and Sam found it on the ground. It cut her webs, when Sam's sword would not, and cut her too, when she tried to crush Sam under her. And he used Galadrial's star glass. She didn't like the light. I didn't see any of this mind, and Sam told me the story in few words. I was unconscious. 'Limp as boned fish,' I was told."

"Sam thought I was dead, so he laid his old sword by me. And then he took the Ring, to keep the Orcs from finding it, and go on to the Cracks of Doom alone." Frodo met the minstrel's eyes. "You must put that in the story. Sam was a Ringbearer, and he did what I could not have done. Within Mordor, with the Ring heavy on him, and promising him glory and power, he gave it away. He gave it back to me, when he rescued me from the tower, and hesitated no more than a breath or two."

"When was this? In the tower where you were prisoner?"

"I'm sorry – I'm not telling any of it order, am I?" Frodo ran his hands over his face. "Yes. In the tower. And I called him a thief, for wanting to help me with my burden." The memory was bitter.

"You tire, Ringbearer," Timrithell said, beginning to gather his things. "I should let you rest."

"No," Frodo stopped him. "I will rest, in a little while. But you must understand that once we reached Mordor, the quest was all Sam's doing. I knew nothing but torment and weariness; the Wheel of Fire, and the Mountain where I might find rest. If I ate, or slept, or drank it was at Sam's bidding. He found the water. He saved us when we were mistaken for Orc folk and driven to the crossroads. He chose our paths. He never stopped believing that we would succeed."

"And so I will say, in my song," Timrithell promised. "Harthad Uluithiad I shall name him. Hope Unquenchable."

Frodo smiled, for Timrithell's eyes were shining with admiration when he looked to the still sleeping Sam. "He doesn't speak much Elvish," he said. "Call him Samwise the Brave; that he'll understand." Frodo sighed, letting the tiredness settle into his shoulders again. But it was a good tiredness this time, such as he had not known since the Shire, the tiredness of a task completed and a warm bed waiting.

"Come Frodo," Gandalf rose from his chair and came to the table. "If Timrithell has more questions he can bring them to me. You stay by Sam."

Sam was laughing. Frodo listened a little longer, to be certain that he wasn't dreaming.

"I feel like spring after winter, and sun on the leaves; and like trumpets and harps and all the songs I have ever heard!" Sam's voice, and then his tone changed to concern. "But how's Mr. Frodo?" he said. "Isn't it a shame about his poor hand? But I hope he's all right otherwise. He's had a cruel time." And Frodo opened his eyes and sat up lest Sam should worry overmuch.

"Yes, I'm all right otherwise," he said, laughing with delight at the sight of Sam standing straight and shining on the grass. The wound on his head was healed now, leaving only a pale scar; and his face, alight with unrestrained happiness, looked young again. "I fell asleep again waiting for you, Sam, you sleepyhead. I was awake early this morning, and now it must be nearly noon."

"Noon?" Sam asked, "Noon of what day?"

Frodo let Gandalf answer Sam's questions, for his ears caught soft voices nearby saying "He's awake," and "Tell the king." He wondered if the King were Aragorn, come at last into his inheritance, and by what Gandalf was saying about crowning it probably was.

"But what shall we wear?" Sam asked, and Frodo wondered too. They couldn't go to see a king in nothing but soft shirts, and the only other clothes he saw on the grass were the ones he'd hoped never to see again.

"The clothes that you wore on your way to Mordor," Gandalf said, catching Frodo's eye, and nodding acknowledgement of Frodo's reluctance to don those things again, "Even the orc-rags that you bore in the black land, Frodo, shall be preserved. No silks and linens, nor any armor or heraldry could be more honorable. But later I will find some other clothes perhaps."

And he held up his hands, and one shone with light, and Frodo's protests died aborning. "What have you got there?" he cried. "Can it be - ?"

"Yes," said Gandalf gently. "I have brought your two treasures. They were found on Sam when you were rescued; the Lady Galadriel's gifts: your glass, Frodo; and your box, Sam. You will be glad to have these safe again."

"Oh, Mr. Gandalf, sir," Sam breathed, taking the box in both hands. "Thank you."

"Thank you, Sam," Frodo said, accepting the star-glass and holding it so tight that the light of it showed red through his fingers. "I am glad not to have lost the light of Elbereth."

Sam blushed. "You gave it to me for safekeeping, Mr. Frodo. I'd've been ashamed to lose it for you."

Frodo didn't know quite what to say to that, and was grateful when Gandalf interrupted. "Here are baths," the wizard said, "and when you've washed, a bit of luncheon for you."

"Baths!" cried Frodo, jumping out of bed, and "Luncheon!" cried Sam, and then their eyes met and they laughed together for pure joy.

"I hope the water's hot!" Sam said, and Gandalf laughed and stroked his beard. "I am a wizard you know," he chuckled. Then he began to sing, "Sing hey for a bath at the close of day, that washes the weary mud away..."

It was so funny to hear Bilbo's bath song sung in that deep voice, that Frodo and Sam had to catch their breaths before they could join him at the last line of the verse. "O! Water Hot is a noble thing!"

It was some comfort to find that their Mordor clothes had been well washed, and more comfort to eat the simple meal that Gandalf set before them. All of Sam's questions were for Gandalf, and how he had survived the fall in Moria, and Frodo was content to listen to the answers. It was strange to see Gandalf in white, and yet Frodo found that he sometimes glimpsed Gandalf brighter still, like a vision of light from a star that had come to touch the ground for a time. Frodo rubbed at the place where his finger had been, and chided himself for feeling any scrap of sorrow on his own account. Others had lost more than he had.

And when they were fed and their heads and toes were brushed, Gandalf said "Follow me," and led them out into the waiting world.

Frodo expected only to be taken quietly to Aragorn, and what Sam had expected he never found out. The good green grass and tall trees in flower were a delight to behold, but when they came to the tall armored men who bowed to them Frodo realized that Gandalf had no intention of taking them quietly anywhere. He hesitated, but one of the Men had taken up a trumpet to announce them.

Sam looked as uncertain as Frodo felt. Frodo looked to Gandalf, but Gandalf only smiled and nodded, and the memory of Timrithell and his song came into Frodo's head and he knew that he'd have to take Sam with him, or they'd not go another step. He reached out a hand, and Sam took it and they walked forward through an aisle of trees until they came to a wide green land and ranks and ranks of tall Men bearing many devices. And as the shouts went up, Frodo blessed Gandalf, for every cry in every tongue he knew was for Samwise too.

They came to three tall seats built of green turves, and on the highest there was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and his face was full of gladness. He stood, and Frodo ran to him, feeling Sam follow close behind.

"Well, if this isn't the crown of all!" Sam said. "Strider, or I'm still asleep!" But Frodo only looked up into the proud grey eyes and saw again the light he had seen as they passed between the Argonath on the river.

Aragorn smiled at both of them. "Yes, Sam. Strider," he said. "It is a long way, is it not, from Bree, where you did not like the look of me?" Aragorn spoke softly, for only Sam and Frodo to hear. He knelt, taking each of them by the hand. "A long way for us all, but yours has been the darkest road."

He rose and took them to the throne, picking up Frodo first, and then Sam, and setting them high, where they could see out over all the gathered companies, and turned to call out, "Praise them with great praise!" one more time and raise the glad shout.

Then Timrithell stepped forward, and made his bow, and begged leave to sing, and Sam stood up and clapped his hands like a small child at a birthday party when the presents are ready to be handed out. "O great glory and splendour!" he cried out. "And all my wishes have come true!" And he burst into tears.

And many of the host laughed and wept and Aragorn among them, even as he nodded permission to the minstrel to begin. Frodo gathered Sam to him, holding him in the curve of his arms as Sam had once held him in the dark of Moria; and Sam quieted his tears and leaned against his master to listen as sweet words were spun around the bitter story.