*The Fourth Conspirator is somewhat connected to this story, but it is not necessary to read it before this one. If you don't like romantic stuff then stop reading right now. Now please enjoy and review!*
In the Light of a Star
Sam strolled silently along the road, imbibing the sight of Hobbiton while the sun struggled to rise above the horizon. All inhabitants still slept and the lack of the usual bustling crowds complied with the early light to make the sense of purity overwhelming. However, the sight did little to hearten the lone hobbit. Rather, a sharp pain tore at his heart. He felt as though he had already left and the serene landscape was nothing but an image etched on the back of his eyelids as some sickening jest, toying with him, and ringing with a cruel laughter when he reached out only to find that it wasn't there.
It was September the 22nd; he would be leaving with Frodo that very evening. The time had flow by so quickly and Sam wished now that he had not held this off and saved it for this very morning. It would only make the pain harder to bear.
He had never imagined that he would have to say goodbye to Rosie Cotton. It had been clear to him that someday they should wed for many months now. But with the interruption of this unwanted journey he wondered if the opportunity would ever arise. Whether or no, Sam knew he had to say good-bye to her. And though it was quite early, Sam felt a longing to speak with her alone. The rest of the house slept, and they were sure not to be interrupted.
He kicked up some dust with his feet. Why couldn't he have said good-bye yesterday? He knew why, of course. He was afraid. Afraid of the finality of the words. Afraid of what pain the words might cause Rosie. Rivendell was many miles away and they could not be sure of how difficult the road might prove. And, though Sam did not want to admit it to himself, he had a growing fear that it was possible he might never come back. Shuddering, he stopped to ponder this possibility.
Was it really possible the way might prove that dangerous? Sam knew nothing of what lied beyond the boarders of the Shire, and this ring business seemed a little strange. So it was a true possibility. A possibility that Rose ought to be warned of. Sam's heart swelled with grief. What a torment it would be for her, wondering every day if he would return, and if they would get their happily ever after! He could not put such a torture upon her! But then a small beacon of light dawned upon his thoughts. If it was possible that he could……die- then would it not be less painful for Rose if she had given up her affection for him? If he were to leave without a parting word with her, it should be enough to push her away, convince her that he had moved on! Then, if word came that he had- had died, the news would cause Rosie far less pain, because she would already have let him go. If he did come back, he would hope that Rosie herself had not moved on and marry her at the first opportunity.
Sam grimaced at the thought of risking their lives together, and sacrificing his love for her simply to lessen her pain. He searched frantically for a reason to see it as folly, for any reason to argue against it. But he had made his decision. He would not let her be heartbroken if he did not return. He owed this much to Rosie, at least. He looked up into the sky, searching for some sign that he had made the right choice. Then in the Easternmost strip of sky he saw glittering a pale morning star, still clutching to the sleepy dawn. And with what little comfort that sight could offer, Sam turned and stumbled back up Bagshot Row.
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Rosie sat anxiously on the threshold of her front door. She fingered the petals of a flower, wondering idly how long it had been since she had first sat upon the step. She gazed hopefully down the empty road. She couldn't imagine what would take so long. Rosie understood Sam's decision to go to Buckland. It was obvious that he was very fond of his master. Mr. Frodo's name rose often in their conversations, as well as Mr. Bilbo's. But it did not give reason to their suddenly lukewarm relationship. Admittedly, after he had personally told her of his decision he had begun to visit more often and they had arranged more quiet meetings at the Green Dragon. But in the last few weeks leading up to the 22nd, he had begun avoiding her, rushing their conversations when they met on the road, and never deliberately arranging a meeting. Rosie supposed Sam was feeling the same thing she was. True, Buckland was only a few days' journey away, but it was as simple as this: she was dreading the thought of saying good-bye.
Sam's living in Buckland did not make their relationship impossible. That was not Rosie's worry. What frightened her was that his life in Crickhollow might have more to offer than the one he lived on Bagshot Row. Of course, were it Sam's wish that she came to live in Buckland with him, then she would willingly do it. But Sam had not yet spoken, and conditions were not right for her to follow him to Buckland. She could not understand why he was delaying. What it when he came to Buckland he became so swept up in his new life that he began to forget? What if he-?
No. Rosie could not bring herself to even let the words enter her thoughts. But she could no longer keep them out. Forgot her. There. Now that she had allowed herself to consider the terrible possibility she told herself forcefully that it was a silly thought. Her Sam would never do such a thing. But why then had he not already come to say good-bye? Not for that reason, at least. Many other things could explain his absence. They had planned to leave in the evening, and that was swiftly approaching. Perhaps he had planned to stop there on their way out. No. Sam would desire to say farewell to her alone, and without any pressure to leave right away. Mr. Frodo might have decided to delay their departure until the following evening. But then why should he? The dark sky was clear and spray of stars glinted invitingly out of the blackness. It was a perfect night for travel.
Rosie stood, now worried. Could something else have happened? A wild image formed in her head of Sam, sick or injured lying somewhere in the road, where he had dropped on his way to see her. Only that could have kept him away. Panic swarming in front of her eyes, she began running blindly along the road. She frantically called his name. Then some movement on a shelf above caught her eye. Standing and seemingly looking down on the valley were three hobbits, each with a pack on his back.
The hobbit in the middle had a slightly larger pack than the others. He stood slightly apart from the others, as though eager to continue. Though Rosie could not see his face in the gloom, his stance looked vaguely familiar. His broad shoulders looked strong and he held his head slightly tilted to one side, as though in silent wonder and upon his head was a lumpy sort of bag. And Rosie knew. That was the hat that Sam had always been so fond of.
She fell to her knees, gasping for breath. It had all registered. His absence in the past few weeks now made sense. She clutched at her throat, clasping the white-jeweled necklace that Sam had given her months before. She pulled hard and the chain broke and fell to the ground, where it glinted in the dust. Sobs racked her crouched body. She stood again and began running wildly towards her front door, running as though this reality was a monster that she could hide from. The door banged open and she skidded to a halt at her room and threw herself atop the bed. She couldn't explain this away. Though she did not wish to believe the truth, she knew she did already.
Tears dampened her pillow. She rolled over, looking helplessly out the window and feeling more lost than she had ever imagined was possible. She glared at the stars, hating them for still twinkling with such fervor. The world seemed to crumble around her. All was lost. And she whispered desperately, as thought the words would vanish the situation, "I thought it was real."