Sam's Affliction
A/N: The last line is cheesy and I don't like it, but the rest of the fic is all right, feel free to ignore the last line if you wish, or make up your own last line. Those of you who have read any of my other fics gasp in shock now: there's no Pippin in this story! What next? A story that's not about hobbits?
Sam was lying on the dark and dusty plains of Mordor, in one of the many holes in that tortured landscape. He was just lying and trying to get his breath back. There was a familiar rattling in his chest, something he'd thought he'd seen the last of many years before. But he could remember only one time when his breathing had been worse than this.
~~~
Sam was sitting in the Green Dragon having a celebratory meal. He was celebrating his first full week in charge of Bag End's gardens with out the help of his gaffer and he was treating himself to a full Sunday roast, complete with ale, gravy and batter puddings aplenty. He settled back after eating half of his meal, waiting for it to go down so he could finish the rest off, and possibly get some more, the broccoli was cooked to perfection. He was always allowed a longer lunch break on Sundays so he could rest and his fill stomach completely. He listened to the general babble of the rest of the inn, he didn't like to eavesdrop but sometimes he just couldn't help it.
"How's young Ruby doing?" he heard from a group of old gammers sitting, nattering away. He smiled and leaned back, he loved slow Sunday afternoons.
"Will you be having dessert master Brandybuck?" Sam heard one of the waitresses say. Sam sat forward, alert. His knew that there was something he was supposed to remember about the Brandybucks on Sunday, he'd been told, he knew it, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. He strained to hear more.
"What would you like Merry?" That was it! The Brandybucks were visiting Bag End! He settled back down, he wouldn't be needed. Just as his heartbeat was returning to normal, his memory decided to tell him another important fact; he'd left his wheelbarrow and tools all over the lawn. Sam nearly cursed out loud, he knew Frodo wouldn't mind, but his gaffer certainly would. He dug in his pocket for some money and left it (with a tip) on the table.
Sam got outside and saw the carriage that the Brandybucks had come in and groaned. It was a fast one and he had to beat it back to Bag End. Sam ran, bumping into people and apologising briefly over his shoulder before they were too far away to hear. Sam hated running, but he hated being punished by the Gaffer even more.
He got halfway and had to stop, he was proud he'd got as far as that because he'd usually stopped before that. He'd paid for it with his breathing though. He was wheezing badly, but he heard a cart coming up behind him and it encouraged him to get moving again.
"Stop thinking about your breathing you ninny-hammer, you just need to get to Bag End, put everything away and then you can rest again, you just need to keep going. Just imagine your gaffer's belt is behind you." Sam told himself as he began to run again. He stopped to walk three more times before he finally reached his destination. It was now more than just a wheezing he was gasping like a fish out of water, but still he didn't let himself rest.
Instead, he rushed into the back garden. Everything was where he'd left it, a shovel and garden fork in the middle of the lawn along with a wheelbarrow full of weeds and rotting fruit that had dropped from the trees. A small trowel was lying at the border of the lawn and there was a hoe leaning next to the window of Bag End.
Sam started by emptying the wheelbarrow into the compost heap behind the shed then he gathered the tools, put them into the barrow and began wheeling them all toward the shed. The barrow toppled over a number of times, which was not helping. It was starting to become painful to breathe and he had to stop a number of times as he slowly pushed the barrow towards its home.
He finally got it into the shed, it was messier than usual, but the last thing he cared about now was a messy shed. He stumbled back to Bag End, aiming to make his way to the kitchen to sit down but he tripped on an imperceptible mound in the lawn.
Sam was on all fours on the ground trying to breathe, thinking about nothing but breathing. He had to spit out the saliva that was dripping from his mouth because he was too busy breathing to swallow it. He'd never take breathing for granted ever again.
Frodo, having seen Sam's odd behaviour from the window of his study, rushed out of the back door to see what was wrong. He could hear Sam's problem as soon as he was outside. He knew Sam sometimes had a small difficulty breathing, but he'd never seen it affect him like this. Frodo ran to Sam and sat him back.
"I-... I'm... sss... sorry." Sam said inbetween gasps.
"Don't try to talk Sam, just breathe. And there's no need to be sorry as far as I can see." Frodo noticed for the first time that tears were running down Sam's face. "What's the matter?" he asked before realising that Sam couldn't talk.
Sam didn't know why he was crying. He was confused. He couldn't breathe, he felt as though he needed to throw up and his throat was itchy. At other times his throat wouldn't bother him at all, but he had to scratch it. He did, but it didn't stop itching, he scratched more, he scratched and scratched and scratched.
"Sam! You shall rip right through your skin!" said Frodo as he pulled Sam's hand away. The skin had red marks where Sam's nails had dragged along it. There was a knocking from the front of the hole, the sound floated faintly out through the open back door to Frodo's ears, the Brandybucks had arrived. Frodo didn't want to leave Sam, but he couldn't leave his cousins on his doorstep, so in a very un-Frodo way he yelled, "I'm around the back!"
Soon Merry popped his head around The Hill to see why Frodo couldn't come to the front door. He could see Frodo sitting with his gardener, who was breathing in a very odd manner. As he approached he could hear Sam's breathing.
"What's wrong?" he asked. He could see that Sam had been crying from the wet paths on his cheeks, but he had stopped now. But before Frodo could answer, Saradoc had joined the group, and then Esmerelda. Sam blushed to be the centre of so much attention, but his breathing was now returning to normal and he told them all so. They helped him to the kitchen and gave him a cup of tea and let him relax.
Soon he was recovered enough for Frodo to send him home to get some rest. Sam was deeply embarrassed that he had caused such a fuss, and with a family of such high repute as well! But they all had the tack to never mention it again around Sam.
~~~
Sam's mind wandered back to his present situation. Was his illness returning? Or did the air in this sordid land have this affect on everyone. Sam rolled over and listened to Frodo's equally laboured breathing and it gave him comfort, just to hear his breathing, to know that he was alive. There they lay together, dust filling their lungs and covering their skin, two small hobbits. In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie.
A/N: I would just like to add on the end here that asthma is a detestable illness and should be damned to hell. Thank you for reading.
A/N: The last line is cheesy and I don't like it, but the rest of the fic is all right, feel free to ignore the last line if you wish, or make up your own last line. Those of you who have read any of my other fics gasp in shock now: there's no Pippin in this story! What next? A story that's not about hobbits?
Sam was lying on the dark and dusty plains of Mordor, in one of the many holes in that tortured landscape. He was just lying and trying to get his breath back. There was a familiar rattling in his chest, something he'd thought he'd seen the last of many years before. But he could remember only one time when his breathing had been worse than this.
~~~
Sam was sitting in the Green Dragon having a celebratory meal. He was celebrating his first full week in charge of Bag End's gardens with out the help of his gaffer and he was treating himself to a full Sunday roast, complete with ale, gravy and batter puddings aplenty. He settled back after eating half of his meal, waiting for it to go down so he could finish the rest off, and possibly get some more, the broccoli was cooked to perfection. He was always allowed a longer lunch break on Sundays so he could rest and his fill stomach completely. He listened to the general babble of the rest of the inn, he didn't like to eavesdrop but sometimes he just couldn't help it.
"How's young Ruby doing?" he heard from a group of old gammers sitting, nattering away. He smiled and leaned back, he loved slow Sunday afternoons.
"Will you be having dessert master Brandybuck?" Sam heard one of the waitresses say. Sam sat forward, alert. His knew that there was something he was supposed to remember about the Brandybucks on Sunday, he'd been told, he knew it, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. He strained to hear more.
"What would you like Merry?" That was it! The Brandybucks were visiting Bag End! He settled back down, he wouldn't be needed. Just as his heartbeat was returning to normal, his memory decided to tell him another important fact; he'd left his wheelbarrow and tools all over the lawn. Sam nearly cursed out loud, he knew Frodo wouldn't mind, but his gaffer certainly would. He dug in his pocket for some money and left it (with a tip) on the table.
Sam got outside and saw the carriage that the Brandybucks had come in and groaned. It was a fast one and he had to beat it back to Bag End. Sam ran, bumping into people and apologising briefly over his shoulder before they were too far away to hear. Sam hated running, but he hated being punished by the Gaffer even more.
He got halfway and had to stop, he was proud he'd got as far as that because he'd usually stopped before that. He'd paid for it with his breathing though. He was wheezing badly, but he heard a cart coming up behind him and it encouraged him to get moving again.
"Stop thinking about your breathing you ninny-hammer, you just need to get to Bag End, put everything away and then you can rest again, you just need to keep going. Just imagine your gaffer's belt is behind you." Sam told himself as he began to run again. He stopped to walk three more times before he finally reached his destination. It was now more than just a wheezing he was gasping like a fish out of water, but still he didn't let himself rest.
Instead, he rushed into the back garden. Everything was where he'd left it, a shovel and garden fork in the middle of the lawn along with a wheelbarrow full of weeds and rotting fruit that had dropped from the trees. A small trowel was lying at the border of the lawn and there was a hoe leaning next to the window of Bag End.
Sam started by emptying the wheelbarrow into the compost heap behind the shed then he gathered the tools, put them into the barrow and began wheeling them all toward the shed. The barrow toppled over a number of times, which was not helping. It was starting to become painful to breathe and he had to stop a number of times as he slowly pushed the barrow towards its home.
He finally got it into the shed, it was messier than usual, but the last thing he cared about now was a messy shed. He stumbled back to Bag End, aiming to make his way to the kitchen to sit down but he tripped on an imperceptible mound in the lawn.
Sam was on all fours on the ground trying to breathe, thinking about nothing but breathing. He had to spit out the saliva that was dripping from his mouth because he was too busy breathing to swallow it. He'd never take breathing for granted ever again.
Frodo, having seen Sam's odd behaviour from the window of his study, rushed out of the back door to see what was wrong. He could hear Sam's problem as soon as he was outside. He knew Sam sometimes had a small difficulty breathing, but he'd never seen it affect him like this. Frodo ran to Sam and sat him back.
"I-... I'm... sss... sorry." Sam said inbetween gasps.
"Don't try to talk Sam, just breathe. And there's no need to be sorry as far as I can see." Frodo noticed for the first time that tears were running down Sam's face. "What's the matter?" he asked before realising that Sam couldn't talk.
Sam didn't know why he was crying. He was confused. He couldn't breathe, he felt as though he needed to throw up and his throat was itchy. At other times his throat wouldn't bother him at all, but he had to scratch it. He did, but it didn't stop itching, he scratched more, he scratched and scratched and scratched.
"Sam! You shall rip right through your skin!" said Frodo as he pulled Sam's hand away. The skin had red marks where Sam's nails had dragged along it. There was a knocking from the front of the hole, the sound floated faintly out through the open back door to Frodo's ears, the Brandybucks had arrived. Frodo didn't want to leave Sam, but he couldn't leave his cousins on his doorstep, so in a very un-Frodo way he yelled, "I'm around the back!"
Soon Merry popped his head around The Hill to see why Frodo couldn't come to the front door. He could see Frodo sitting with his gardener, who was breathing in a very odd manner. As he approached he could hear Sam's breathing.
"What's wrong?" he asked. He could see that Sam had been crying from the wet paths on his cheeks, but he had stopped now. But before Frodo could answer, Saradoc had joined the group, and then Esmerelda. Sam blushed to be the centre of so much attention, but his breathing was now returning to normal and he told them all so. They helped him to the kitchen and gave him a cup of tea and let him relax.
Soon he was recovered enough for Frodo to send him home to get some rest. Sam was deeply embarrassed that he had caused such a fuss, and with a family of such high repute as well! But they all had the tack to never mention it again around Sam.
~~~
Sam's mind wandered back to his present situation. Was his illness returning? Or did the air in this sordid land have this affect on everyone. Sam rolled over and listened to Frodo's equally laboured breathing and it gave him comfort, just to hear his breathing, to know that he was alive. There they lay together, dust filling their lungs and covering their skin, two small hobbits. In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie.
A/N: I would just like to add on the end here that asthma is a detestable illness and should be damned to hell. Thank you for reading.