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Feb. 6th, 2003 01:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
louiseluxI got an enormous kick out of writing this piece of unholy angst. Comments and suggestions welcomed.
On the way back they’d not spoken a word, not until they said goodbye on the East Road. As Merry and Pippin rode away, Sam had heard their voices drifting back to him on the night air. They were singing, and their voices were light and happy. They knew what was best for their cousin, Sam thought. They knew it was better that he’d gone. His heart beat hard against his ribs, strained with a rush of grief that he’d been holding back all the long journey across the downs. His jaw ached from not wanting to cry, but now the tears came and he didn’t try to stop them.
Merry and Pippin knew better than Sam did, then. Every ounce of him wished for Frodo to be here, but even before the wish was properly formed in his mind he tried to catch it back, cursing himself through his tears for his foolishness. He bent his head against the bitter sadness that flooded him, and let Bill take him along the quiet roads back to Hobbiton. His tears dripped unheeded onto Bill’s glossy coat, and as he turned up the hill towards Bag End, it was as though everything he’d once known and loved was cast afresh in a strange, cold light. The familiar sights of Hobbiton gave him no comfort, only a sense of loss as each road and path brought back memories. All these places Frodo had once walked, and would now never come again. The thought took the breath from him, and he covered his face with his hands.
Sliding down off his pony, Sam wiped at his face with his rough coat-sleeve to hide the worst of it. But as soon he opened the door and faced Rosie he knew that she guessed half of the matter, at least. She put her arms round him hard enough to squeeze the life out of him, and then plonked Elanor in his lap, and plate of food in front of him, and said nothing.
Later that evening, when Rosie was busy with Elanor, Sam found his way to Frodo’s study. He hadn’t meant to come in here, but the closed door was too much to bear. He lowered himself into the chair that his master had sat in for so many hours, poring over the Red Book, filling it with his neat and graceful hand. It was Sam’s Red Book now. He stroked the cover, and remembered how he had flushed with pride when Frodo had handed it over to him. But then Sam had thought that Frodo would be close by, two weeks easy journey.
Now Frodo was gone for good, and Sam hadn’t foreseen that, not at all. His heart ached with fresh pain. Frodo had seemed so glad, when he’d kissed Sam goodbye and there had been an air about him that Sam hadn’t truly seen for years, an air of expectation and freedom and happiness. That he was never going to find here, with me. The thought came before he could stop it, and he knew it was true; but it hurt just as much anyway.
He wiped away fresh tears, before they pattered down and stained the red leather of the book. What would he do now? There was no Mr Frodo to comfort him anymore. The lack of that familiar and beloved presence was like a hollow place inside him. All they’d done together, and been together, the only one who truly knew all that had gone and left. Sam would have to make his own way, and would have to look after himself and Rosie and Elanor, and the Shire.
He rubbed his hands on the cool, smooth wood of the desk, smelling pipeweed and candlewax and musty old paper. He had pinched the candle out ages ago, it somehow being easier to sit in the dark with memories strong around him. He had sat in this room so many times listening to Frodo read, in a voice that was at once both clear and soft. Sam had loved to listen and also to watch, to see the shape the words made on Frodo’s lips, and the way that the candlelight made the shadows jump, laying their dark fingers on his white skin.
Abruptly, Sam pushed himself away from the desk. He knew that he shouldn’t be in here, weeping over things that would not change now, not if he cried an ocean. But harsh sobs rose in his throat and forced their way out. He scrubbed at his eyes to stop them weeping, but he only managed to made them sore, and probably redder than they already were.
After a time, his sobs became less, and a strange calm came over him, along with a resolution that was an unshakeable part of his nature. This was the way things were now, and he’d best get on with it. He still thought that his heart might break just from remembering, but he couldn’t bear to be by himself any more. He should be with Rose. Sam opened the study door, and golden light spilled in from the hallway, and he could hear Rose in the kitchen, clattering the dishes as she washed them. It was wrong to be here, alone and weeping, when his master was on the sea. Sam shut his eyes briefly, a vision of Frodo on the grey ship coming to him like a flash of light. He could see him on the prow, watching the brilliant white stars turn above him in the inky sky, the sea air filling his lungs and the sea wind blowing his dark hair from his pale skin. He was smiling, and his eyes shone in the starlight.
The vision faded and then was gone, and Sam was left standing alone in the hallway of Bag End surrounded by light and the small sounds of home. Sadness and weariness threatened to engulf him again but he smiled against it, not wanting to give in. He remembered Frodo’s parting words and kiss, given as though no one else was there. The words that took hope from him, and then gave it back. Sam couldn’t go with him, not yet. He had things expected of him, and he wasn’t one for letting others down. He meant to live his life, and live it well, just as dear Frodo had said he should.
[Edited 16.44]
On the way back they’d not spoken a word, not until they said goodbye on the East Road. As Merry and Pippin rode away, Sam had heard their voices drifting back to him on the night air. They were singing, and their voices were light and happy. They knew what was best for their cousin, Sam thought. They knew it was better that he’d gone. His heart beat hard against his ribs, strained with a rush of grief that he’d been holding back all the long journey across the downs. His jaw ached from not wanting to cry, but now the tears came and he didn’t try to stop them.
Merry and Pippin knew better than Sam did, then. Every ounce of him wished for Frodo to be here, but even before the wish was properly formed in his mind he tried to catch it back, cursing himself through his tears for his foolishness. He bent his head against the bitter sadness that flooded him, and let Bill take him along the quiet roads back to Hobbiton. His tears dripped unheeded onto Bill’s glossy coat, and as he turned up the hill towards Bag End, it was as though everything he’d once known and loved was cast afresh in a strange, cold light. The familiar sights of Hobbiton gave him no comfort, only a sense of loss as each road and path brought back memories. All these places Frodo had once walked, and would now never come again. The thought took the breath from him, and he covered his face with his hands.
Sliding down off his pony, Sam wiped at his face with his rough coat-sleeve to hide the worst of it. But as soon he opened the door and faced Rosie he knew that she guessed half of the matter, at least. She put her arms round him hard enough to squeeze the life out of him, and then plonked Elanor in his lap, and plate of food in front of him, and said nothing.
Later that evening, when Rosie was busy with Elanor, Sam found his way to Frodo’s study. He hadn’t meant to come in here, but the closed door was too much to bear. He lowered himself into the chair that his master had sat in for so many hours, poring over the Red Book, filling it with his neat and graceful hand. It was Sam’s Red Book now. He stroked the cover, and remembered how he had flushed with pride when Frodo had handed it over to him. But then Sam had thought that Frodo would be close by, two weeks easy journey.
Now Frodo was gone for good, and Sam hadn’t foreseen that, not at all. His heart ached with fresh pain. Frodo had seemed so glad, when he’d kissed Sam goodbye and there had been an air about him that Sam hadn’t truly seen for years, an air of expectation and freedom and happiness. That he was never going to find here, with me. The thought came before he could stop it, and he knew it was true; but it hurt just as much anyway.
He wiped away fresh tears, before they pattered down and stained the red leather of the book. What would he do now? There was no Mr Frodo to comfort him anymore. The lack of that familiar and beloved presence was like a hollow place inside him. All they’d done together, and been together, the only one who truly knew all that had gone and left. Sam would have to make his own way, and would have to look after himself and Rosie and Elanor, and the Shire.
He rubbed his hands on the cool, smooth wood of the desk, smelling pipeweed and candlewax and musty old paper. He had pinched the candle out ages ago, it somehow being easier to sit in the dark with memories strong around him. He had sat in this room so many times listening to Frodo read, in a voice that was at once both clear and soft. Sam had loved to listen and also to watch, to see the shape the words made on Frodo’s lips, and the way that the candlelight made the shadows jump, laying their dark fingers on his white skin.
Abruptly, Sam pushed himself away from the desk. He knew that he shouldn’t be in here, weeping over things that would not change now, not if he cried an ocean. But harsh sobs rose in his throat and forced their way out. He scrubbed at his eyes to stop them weeping, but he only managed to made them sore, and probably redder than they already were.
After a time, his sobs became less, and a strange calm came over him, along with a resolution that was an unshakeable part of his nature. This was the way things were now, and he’d best get on with it. He still thought that his heart might break just from remembering, but he couldn’t bear to be by himself any more. He should be with Rose. Sam opened the study door, and golden light spilled in from the hallway, and he could hear Rose in the kitchen, clattering the dishes as she washed them. It was wrong to be here, alone and weeping, when his master was on the sea. Sam shut his eyes briefly, a vision of Frodo on the grey ship coming to him like a flash of light. He could see him on the prow, watching the brilliant white stars turn above him in the inky sky, the sea air filling his lungs and the sea wind blowing his dark hair from his pale skin. He was smiling, and his eyes shone in the starlight.
The vision faded and then was gone, and Sam was left standing alone in the hallway of Bag End surrounded by light and the small sounds of home. Sadness and weariness threatened to engulf him again but he smiled against it, not wanting to give in. He remembered Frodo’s parting words and kiss, given as though no one else was there. The words that took hope from him, and then gave it back. Sam couldn’t go with him, not yet. He had things expected of him, and he wasn’t one for letting others down. He meant to live his life, and live it well, just as dear Frodo had said he should.
[Edited 16.44]