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Sunlight nudged at Sam’s consciousness, warming his weary body. Blades of grass tickled his check and a lazy summer breeze ruffled his hair. Sam crack his eyes open and pushed himself up to his elbows. The skin on one side of his face was stiff from the sun’s prolonged touch and felt odd when he wrinkled his nose. He must have dozed off while tending the garden.
There should be birds, Sam thought. Not a second later, their fluttering trills reached his ears. The sound warmed him more than the airy noontime light. He’d nearly forgotten the sound of the familiar Shire birds. Whyever was that?
Sam pondered this, then other things, letting his mind wander as it often did when the weather was just so. The rolling hills Hobbiton provided a pleasant backdrop for his thoughts. Eventually his eyes traced the path from the distance back to himself and he realized he was meant to be working. Enough lazing about, Sam chided himself. He fumbled to his feet, finding that none of his aches or heaviness got up with him.
The tulips were doing quite well this season. Most of the tulips were red, with a few smaller yellow ones yet to bloom. All were pushing their sturdy stems skyward and only needed a little watering to help them along. Sam found his favorite tin watering can in his hand before he thought to fetch it. Just as well. He hummed a tune from the Green Dragon, letting the trickle of water accompany the playful notes.
Some of the lavender bushes were getting to be taller than he was, Sam noted with a rush of pride. Their distinct scent drifted on the warm breeze and made his toes curl with its sweetness. He pruned them, clipping the clusters that had started to close up their petals again or were crowding the shorter flowers. The clippings were tucked into a basket to be given to Mr. Bilbo later.
The more he inhaled the clean Shire air, the more Sam felt utterly at peace. Never before had the hues of the garden been so vivid or the freshly turned earth so rich under his feet. He felt a bubbling joy within himself that startled him in its intensity. It was as if he’d been empty for years, his insides parched and crackling, only to be suddenly filled to the brim with sloshing, shimmering water. Whoever had granted him such a kind vision, for he was beginning to suspect that was what it was, he hoped they were in no hurry to take it back.
Sam turned at the sound of footsteps on the slope behind him. “Mr. Frodo!” he greeted in surprise.
Here was his final proof of the dream. Frodo appeared before him with a healthy glow about all of his features, from the flyaway wisps of his curls to the soles of his barely-calloused feet. When he smiled, as he did now, it was not the weak attempt of down-trodden traveler but the carefree grin of someone much more suited to his young age. This was a Frodo who had never carried the burden of the Ring, an image that was still brimming with hope and a taste for adventure.
Frodo rocked back on his heels with his hands behind his back and surveyed the garden. Sam devoted the image to memory, determined to take the Frodo’s look of peaceful satisfaction with him to the waking world.
“Do you need anything, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked, hoping the answer was yes.
“Only your company,” the young Baggins answered. He sat down in the grass where Sam had previously been sleeping. He took a moment to stretch and then motioned for Sam to take a place on the lawn beside him.
Sam’s heart kicked inside his chest. “The garden,” he reminded.
“It looks lovely,” Frodo promised, motioning again for Sam to join him. “Now come enjoy it with me.”
Some other part of Sam’s mind remembered that there were no gardens in his life outside the dream, so it would be a terrible waste to ignore the one before him now. He set down his basket and garden tools and returned to his spot in the grass. When he did, Frodo took his hand gently in his and leaned on Sam’s shoulder.
“Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked, the warmth he was feeling was more than he’d felt from the sun alone.
“Sam,” Frodo replied in turn, softer than before. He turned his face up to smile at his incredulous gardener. When it was clear that Sam was unable to form words, the smaller hobbit reached up to kiss the corner of his mouth, then nuzzled his nose against Sam’s cheek for good measure.
Sam felt his face split into a grin. It might be a dream, but it was a very good dream.
When everything else was dark and harsh, Sam was not. Frodo lay on the hard, rocky ground unable to sleep. With little else to beat back the doubt growing in his consciousness, he studied the face of his sleeping friend. Against the inescapable grey of their surroundings, Sam’s relaxed, open features seemed to cast a light of their own. Frodo let the constant rhythm of his breathing soothe him and drive away the urge to gaze upon the Ring.
As he watched, Sam’s mouth creeped up into a smile. A piece of Frodo’s heart, the piece that hadn’t given in to the exhaustion of his task, swelled. Oh Sam, Frodo thought fondly, one of your smiles could carry me a thousand steps.