When Frodo next opened his eyes, he didn't immediately know where he was. There were still a number of shirriffs nearby, and Muggeredge was standing over him, but they were now indoors: a beamed ceiling curved high above them. The light of a single candle was too bright for his eyes, and he peeked through the shade of his lashes to take in his surroundings. It was the guardhouse. They must have carried him in... then he realized with a shock that he was lying on the same table where his cousins Merimas and Eliduc had been laid out. But he was alive.
He tried to lift his head, and the dull, throbbing ache in the back of his skull suddenly became a sharp stab. He groaned and shut his eyes.
The groan drew the Chief Shirriff's attention. "Awake, are you, Mr. Baggins? That's good to see. Just lie quiet, now. You've had a bad crack on the head. We got to you just in time--or a minute behind, I might better say, but not too late to put a stop to Jeb Todbrush afore he did worse. Caught 'm red-handed! He's shut up in the back room now, where he won't do no more harm to anybody."
"How-?" With an effort, Frodo asked the question. "How did you know to come?"
"'Twas his brother Ted," Muggeredge explained. "He's had his suspicions for awhile now that Jeb knew more'n he was saying, but when he found a spade with some blood on it tucked into a mulch pile in their kitchen garden, he couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer and came to tell us. Your friend Mr. Gamgee was here, and when he said you'd gone to speak to Mrs. Todbrush, Ted said his brother had hardly been at the farm these last days, but was hanging about his wife's house to keep watch on who was coming to see her. When we heard that, I called out all the shirriffs I could and we flew off like chickens out the hen-house door when a fox gets in, only we was flying after our fox. We came upon 'm just as he hit you. You didn't see Jeb coming up ahind you, did you, Mr. Baggins, but you knew it was him? I'd like to know how, but that'll have to wait 'til you're fit to tell me about it. I thought as Mr. Gamgee was a-going to run Jeb through with that sword of his."
"Sam." Another effort, but Frodo had to make it. "Where is he?"
"He's stepped outdoors. I sent Hob to tell 'em at the Hall what'd happened. Master Merry's come for you, and Mr. Gamgee's gone out to meet 'm."
Frodo could imagine the conversation between the two. Would they quarrel over what to do with him? He remembered that he hadn't yet told Merry of his decision to return to Bag End, and hoped that Sam wouldn't blurt it out as a way of asserting his own rights.
The door opened. "How is he, Chief?" asked Merry.
"He's coming 'round, Master Merry. He was asking questions a minute ago, but he don't seem up to much talking."
Someone took his hand and squeezed the fingers, then the familiar, comforting sound of Sam's voice spoke to him softly. "Can you hear me, Frodo? Master Merry and her ladyship want you brought back to Brandy Hall so she can tend to you proper."
"Mother insists," said Merry. "You'll have the best care, Frodo. After tending Ilbie and his head, she and the aunties are in good practice."
"You know I'd rather take you back to your cottage and look after you myself," Sam said apologetically, "but I couldn't go against her ladyship."
No, he couldn't. Frodo would have preferred to recover in the quiet and seclusion of Crickhollow under Sam's ministrations as well, but if Aunt Esme insisted, he was in no condition to argue.
"There's a cart waiting outside to carry you down the road, gentle-like," Sam continued. "It's all right with you, Frodo?"
Frodo opened his eyes--there was a fresh, sharp stab of pain at the light. As he met his friend's worried gaze, he tried to nod, but it only made his head worse.
Sam let go of his hand and put a warm, steadying palm on his cheek. "Here, don't try 'n' talk. I'll carry you."
"D'you need help with 'm. Mr. Gamgee?" offered the Chief Shirriff.
"No, I've carried 'm afore. He hardly weighs nothing."
When Sam picked him up carefully from the table, Frodo wrapped an arm around his friend's neck and rested his head on Sam's shoulder as he was carried out. It was night-time, and except for a few torches before the buildings around the green, mercifully dark. There was a crowd of hobbits outside, murmuring excitedly, eager for news. A pony-cart was standing before the guardhouse door, and Sam laid him gently down on a pallet in the back, then climbed up to sit beside him and hold him while Merry took the seat in front and picked up the reins.
With his head resting comfortably in Sam's lap and Merry taking great care to avoid the bumps and ruts in the road to the Hall, Frodo drifted off again and woke when Esmeralda and, from the sound of it, every other resident of Brandy Hall came out to meet them and see him into the room prepared for him.
Once Frodo had been settled into his room, the Mistress of the Hall examined the lump on the back of his head and declared there was no sign of a cracked skull, but one never knew with these blows to the head. The wound was bathed in vinegar and a cold compress applied to bring down the swelling, but the ladies agreed that no bandage was necessary, since there was no broken skin nor blood. Aunt Hilda gave him a few drops of black syrup in a glass of water to help him sleep. When Esmeralda said that Frodo must be watched through the night in case there was any change in his condition, Sam immediately volunteered to sit with him. After promising the Lady he would call on her if Frodo grew worse or he needed anything, Sam settled down in a chair beside the fire and the others went out to hear Merry tell what he knew of the incident.
Then all was quiet. Frodo lay in a dazed, mildly drugged, and dream-like state, but knew it was no dream when Sam left his chair and came to sit on the edge of the bed.
"I mustn't sleep," Sam said as he took Frodo's hand, "but I can watch over you just as well right here as from over there."
Frodo opened his eyes just enough to peek up at his friend--the low light of the fire was still too bright for him--and gave Sam a small smile. "Thank you for saving my life, once again."
"I should've been there sooner," Sam responded. "I shouldn't've let you wander around by yourself in the first place, when I knew there was danger and I was meant to be watching out for you. If I'd come too late and he'd done you real harm, I'd've killed 'm on the spot. I might've, if the shirriffs hadn't stopped me."
"I'm glad you were there even so." He squeezed Sam's hand. "That you're here with me now, dear Sam..."
Sam smiled at him, touched and gratified by this simple expression of appreciation and leaned down to give him a kiss. Frodo tried to rise and meet him half-way, but his head whirled the instant he lifted it from the pillow, and he sank back down.
"Just you lie quiet," Sam said, and put one hand on Frodo's brow to brush the hair from his face and hold him still while he kissed him tenderly, first on the lips, then cheeks, eyelids and temples, soft and quick and cool, and soothing to Frodo's aching head as the cold compresses. Then Sam lay down on top of the blankets without undressing, and put an arm around him to gather him close. "Go to sleep now, Frodo. I'll be right here beside you, looking after you all night."
With this comforting reassurance, Frodo moved his head as much he dared to nestle against Sam's shoulder and shut his eyes to sleep.
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