Damage

by Trust No One

Sam has to fight his own demons after the completion of the quest, as well as despair at not being able to ease Frodo’s pain. Third in the series, follow-up to ‘Mind Games’ and ‘Memory of Trust’.

Damage

By TrustNoOne

Rating: PG

Category: Angst/Drama

Characters: Sam, Aragorn, Frodo

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended by the use of J.R.R. Tolkien's characters in this fiction. I derive no financial gain from this.

Summary: Sam has to fight his own demons after the completion of the quest, as well as despair at not being able to ease Frodo's pain. Third in the series, follow-up to 'Mind Games' and 'Memory of Trust'.

~.~ Many, many thanks to Aratlithiel who so kindly beta-ed this story and encouraged me to keep writing. This one is for you, mellon nin! ~.~

A/N: I always believed that Sam's inner torment was largely ignored. After all, even if he was not plagued by the same demons as Frodo, he had been subjected to a similar torment trekking through Mordor and had to deal with some kind of post-traumatic stress afterwards. Added to that was the fact that he also bore the Ring albeit for a short while and the premise for this story is that the Ring never stopped trying to tempt Sam and that after the Quest, he has to fight off some of his own brand of guilt.

…

It is not helplessness that I fear nowadays. I am now past that. What seems to take hold of me more often these days is an inexplicable anger and, more powerful than that, the guilt at feeling so enraged beyond words. I have learned to hide it though, and I am grateful for it.

After all, I learnt from the best…

…

I often go walking with Legolas and he seems to have an inexhaustible supply of places to take me to. There is always a new garden, or a new plant that he wants to show me and I begin to understand his true closeness to nature. It is something that I, as a gardener, can fully grasp yet I know that it will never be in my blood quite in the same way as it is for the elves.

But today I go off alone, in search of solitude and I am quite grateful that the palace halls are all but empty, courtiers and dignitaries alike much too tired after last night's feast.

Because I get lost more often than not, I have asked the guard to show me out. I am being led along winding corridors and across inner courtyards that are as unfamiliar to me as is this beautiful but daunting city. It takes me a while but I finally reach an open field some distance away from the first circle of the city and fill my lungs with the clean, summery air. I sit by a stream that rushes past in a strangely discordant, rhythm to the tranquility around me. Yet this music is not unpleasant because next to fresh air, clean water is the second thing I will never get enough of, not after Mordor.

Before leaving the quarters where we are housed, I glance in on you, just to make sure that you were asleep. Last night's feast ran well into the small hours of the morning and you are still sleeping. As I hold the door of your bedchamber ajar, I see that your back is turned but I need not enter. A large oval mirror in a crafted metal frame (that I have shifted slightly after you were lodged in this room, so I could look in on you without disturbing you) reflects your sleeping figure. The bottom half of the bed is flooded by the crisp morning light leaving the upper part of your body in the shade. Your face is relaxed, even a little flushed and the corners of your mouth are slightly upturned as you lay curled on your side tangled in the sheets, in what most would say is a sweet dream. But I know the true reason for your smile. Your hands are clasped tightly around one another, held close against your chest, as if you are holding something of great worth there, something… precious.

Yet your face belies all that. Your beloved face, which at this very moment mirrors healing and light.

Healing and light…

I understand the meaning of these words so much more than I would have months ago. For as I look upon your sleeping form, I know that you have none. Not yet anyways.

I often tell myself that it is too soon. Too soon for the memory of It to have faded away for you. And at the same time, the ugly head of doubt shows itself and my mind finishes the thought before I can banish it:

Will the memory of it ever fade away, or will YOU fade away before that happens?

I have watched you regain your strength every day since we both woke up in Ithilien and for a while, I was led to believe that you were indeed faring better. I even found myself amazed at the speed with which you seemed to recover, but then again I have never doubted the strength of our race. No matter what you thought, I never doubted your strength.

I am still angered at myself for not knowing, for not feeling… I know you like maybe no other, yet I failed to see through your mask. For a while. You have mastered the art of deception, I am pained to say, as if you learned it from the very cursed thing you carried for so long. Deceiving your friends, hoping to protect them from the darkness that is still wreaking havoc inside that frail body of yours.

You will never admit it.

You will never open your mouth to tell me that you still walk in the Land of Shadow, that you carry it within yourself, fighting it with every breath you take, the same way you wrestled with the Ring. That it is now as much part of you as the cherished memories of the Shire and sometimes even closer.

The torment that must have ripped through your mind when you saw Gollum and the Ring falling into the Cracks and knowing that they were consumed by the fire.

You must have felt Its dying agony and - oh, it took me long enough to fathom this, but here it is – you must have wished to cast yourself in after It, rather than live a moment longer in Its absence.

It must have broken your mind to hear Its dying song.

I heard it too…It called to me as well, as I ran up the passage of the Sammath Naur to find you, a strange knowledge guiding my steps.

I tried to drown out Its voice by calling out your name, louder and louder every time, just so that filthy, wanton murmur would stop.

I cursed Its voice as it finally turned into brazen laughter the very moment you set It on your finger and It took you, consuming your last bit of resistance. And then Gollum attacked….

…

The soft breeze carries the sound of youthful laughter and I turn around to see where it comes from. In doing so I catch sight of an unmistakable figure walking towards me. Under the rich silken garments and carefully tended hair, it is still Strider to me, although he is a great King of Men now. I find it awkward to treat him any differently and make quite a fool of myself more often than not and he laughs good-naturedly at my efforts. But at the same time, I can see the muted question in his eyes: Do you still think me the same?

I stand up as he draws near and I see that his countenance is calm and casual.

'Good morning to you, Master Gamgee.'

'Good morning, my Lord.'

Aragorn rolls his eyes and gives me a slanted smile.

'I thought we agreed on that about,...what was it?…a hundred times?'

'More than that, I think,' I chortle.

He sits by the stream and pats the grass next to him, beckoning me to do the same.

'Why all alone today, Samwise?' he wants to know.

'Well, Mr. Frodo is still asleep, as I think is mostly everyone after last night.' Here I turn my eyes to him and give him what I think is an eloquent look.

'Why are you not still in your bed then?' Aragorn asks.

I feel my cheeks burn a little and the words that come out next are clumsy and fumbling.

'Well, my lord, I mean, Mr. Strider...Sir! If you must know, I think I had a tad too much to eat last night and I ended up tossing and turning for the remainder of the night. Before I knew it, it was dawn so I thought, what's the use of trying to sleep, better to take a walk and clear my head.'

'You disappoint me greatly, Master Gamgee.' Aragorn teases with a feigned crestfallen expression. 'Are you saying that my fine food and even finer wines would cause a hobbit, of all races, to suffer from an upset stomach?'

I have no answer to that except to laugh.

We share a moment of silence as we both watch the clear water rushing past.

'I'm glad you are here alone, Sam,' Aragorn finally says and I can hear that his tone of voice has gone serious, 'for I've been meaning to speak to you for a while.'

'Oh? About what, Sir?'

'About you, Samwise. About how you are faring,' he said and before I could assure him that I was perfectly fine, he added quickly, 'beyond what you are showing everyone else.'

There was no use denying it. And maybe speaking about it would make it better, so that I could put the memory of the past behind me and try to help do the same for Mr. Frodo.

'Aye, I've been much better, but I expect I cannot fool you into thinking that I have forgotten about everything that's happened so soon.'

'I need you to talk to me about what bothers you, whatever that may be.' Aragorn said evenly. 'If I cannot get Frodo to do this just yet, because of the obstinate hobbit that he is, at least maybe I can aid you in some way.'

I feel suddenly reluctant to tell him exactly what is on my mind, because I know that he will think of me differently. He will even condemn me for it, maybe even banish me from the City and Gondor altogether.

But I have come to a point where I need to share this with someone, otherwise I think I will burst.

'I haven't told anyone about this, least of all Mr. Frodo,' I caution. 'He would only blame himself more if I did.'

'Have no fear, Sam,' Aragorn soothes, 'your secret, however dark it might be, though I doubt it is that, will stay with me.'

So I begin….

…

"…And I'll carry Mr. Frodo up myself, if it breaks my back and heart. So stop arguing!"

Sleepless as I was, and rendered unable to close my stinging eyes, all because of the lack of proper food and water and the foul air of Mordor, I took to talking to myself.

It occurred to me that Gollum did that a lot and I couldn't help but laugh at the thought. Only if anyone had heard that laugh, it would have sounded to them brittle, cracked and nigh onto madness.

There was silence for a while then I heard it again. My own voice, arguing back to me once more.

The other Samwise, the wiser one…

'You are setting yourself up for a slow, painful death. The task has to be carried out quickly, there is no time to linger.'

'No, I cannot wake Mr. Frodo now,' I said aloud, glancing at his sleeping form. If it hadn't been for the labored, ragged breaths that he struggled to draw, one could have easily thought him dead. 'He needs his rest.'

'There is no time for rest. The Ring must be undone NOW. The Dark Lord will not wait for two sleeping hobbits.'

'I said, stop arguing! I will not wake him and that's that!'

'Then let him sleep here and go. Take the Ring and go! He won't even feel it! You will reach Mount Doom by nightfall tomorrow if you hurry. With him in this condition, it will take a week. In all likelihood, you will find him sleeping here when you return! He is so worn out, he won't even move.'

'I cannot leave him here! What if the orcs come across him?'

Sobs lumped in my throat and I muffled a cry as I remembered the state I found you in, back in the Tower. How your poor broken body was full of whip welts and other, even more terrible marks. You never said anything about it, but I knew… I took one glance at the claw-marks on your waist and hips and at the blood coursing down your legs and splattering the floor and I knew, stars!, what they had done to you. Leaving you here, sleeping like this, would mean that you could be captured again and I knew for sure that I could not allow that to happen. Rather than have you go through that kind of torment again, no, I would sooner….

'Samwise Gamgee, have you lost your mind entirely? Too little air and too many fumes have gone to your head and you cannot think straight anymore! How can you even begin to think of raising your hand against your master?'

But the other Sam looked at me in earnest, his face wrung with pity.

'You know he will not survive if the Ring goes into the Fire. You have seen it take him little by little.'

'No! Under all this madness, it is still Mr. Frodo. And I will not do anything to harm him I would rather endure hundreds of years of slow torment at the hands of the orcs! I will NOT harm him!'

'You are not harming him. You are doing what many, in their mercy, would have done long ago. You would give him what he truly longs for, the freedom and deliverance he deserves after a long, drawn-out battle with the Ring.'

'I am not the others and I will stay by his side whether or no!'

'Look at him! Just look at him and tell me in all honesty that for a moment you believe what you are saying. Can you see him standing at the Cracks of Doom and parting with it, like it were a wreath of flowers thrown casually into the water?'

Silence.

'And after the Ring is gone, what then? Can you see yourself returning to the Shire with him and living a long and fulfilling life? After all this?'

It was then that I saw it, smelled it too. The fresh, earthy smell of the Shire, mixed with the inky, rich fragrance of Bag End. I was standing in Mr. Frodo's bedroom, my back to the slightly open window with a soft breeze blowing the hairs behind my back. Across from the bed I saw Rosie Cotton, her eyes sick with worry as she glanced at the figure lying deathly still on the bed, cornflower blue eyes heavy-lidded and glassy with burning fever, or…the glassy stare of death? I called out his name at the top of my lungs but neither Rose nor he seemed to hear. I wanted to throw myself on the bed, to jolt him awake, take back all the evil that had been done to him but as I made the first move, something drew me back and I was sucked into a tunnel with nauseating speed, winding further and further away from the image I had seen moments ago.

And suddenly, I was in the stillness of the Black Land again, staring into the moist eyes of the other Sam, the voice of my darkest fears.

'What was that?' I asked and he sighed because he knew. He had been there too.

'You know what that was! It was what will come to pass when this Quest is fulfilled and you return to the Shire as heroes.'

'Will he die?'

'Ultimately, yes. But it won't be an easy death. Every day that he lingers on this Earth will be more of a torment than the last.'

'No! I will not let him!'

'It is not a matter of you letting him! He's slipping away as we speak. Has been slipping away for months.'

My mouth was so parched and stabs of pain ran through my body as I sobbed out aloud knowing I had no more tears to shed. Sobs turned to coughing in that dust and ash filled air and when I finally stopped, I clearly saw the other Sam standing up unsteadily and padding across to where you slept. I watched in fascinated awe as he stroked your hair, matted with dust and sweat and murmured in the gentlest voice.

'Don't be afraid, Mr. Frodo.'

He brushed away the hair from your neck and his right hand cradled your head carefully, as if not to wake you.

And all this time I watched, glued to the spot, holding my breath.

Then your eyes fluttered open in the half-light and my heart was overjoyed to see something so rare and precious as your trusting smile as you looked up at me.

'Do it, Sam,' you said and your voice was so soft yet so clear, not hoarse and terminal as I had grown accustomed to in the latter days. 'The Ring has taken my strength and my mind and I have nothing left. I will never rise from here. I cannot take another step… Do it! Remember what you promised me back in the Tower.'

Those last words were spat out in the most commanding tone.

The other Sam's fingers, reluctant at first, then suddenly empowered by madness or despair, I will never know, wrapped around your gaunt neck and you closed your eyes, the smile not fading for even a moment.

'Yes, Sam…Thank you.' A whisper. Your last…

What I did was out of pure instinct because I do not remember jumping up and covering the short distance to where you lay. I only heard a blood-curdling scream and somewhere in the back of my mind it occurred to me that it had come from my own lips.

'Back, you fiend! Take your filthy hands off him!'

But there was no one there as I glanced about. Just rock faces and dusty air, mocking me with their merciless silence. I heard the sound of my own heaving breath while I held you in a fierce, smothering embrace until your arms came up and pushed against my chest. I let go, in a half-daze, as your eyes searched my face desperately.

'Sam, are you all right? Sam?'

I laughed out loud with shock borne of exhilaration. You were filthy, haggard, struggling to draw breath and in obvious pain, yet you were unharmed. My unexpected outburst had left you breathless and shivering and your right hand held fast to the chain and the Ring, trying to shield it.

'Did you have a bad dream, Sam?' you said and your broken, ragged voice was music to my ears.

'Yes, Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon for grabbing you the way I did, sir, but…'

You bent your head to follow my gaze.

'Yes?'

'Oh, nothing… I'm glad it's over. I mean the dream…'

You were too exhausted to press me further and for the briefest of instants I was grateful for it. How could I tell you that which I was beginning to fathom? That the Ring had tried to ensnare me yet again, that it had made me see things only to force me into hurting you?

You nodded knowingly but said no more about it. You had more than a suspicion about why I had acted so strangely.

'Get some sleep, Sam,' you urged even as you lay back down and in my mind I wished a silent plea to the Lady to give you restful, dreamless slumber.

It was a short while later that I heard your voice again. I knew you weren't sleeping, from the uneven pattern of your breathing.

'I'm sorry, Sam.'

'Sorry for what, sir?'

'Sorry for dragging you along with me on this hopeless road. Sorry for not being able to shield you from this evil. And… for being such a burden.'

'Now, there, Mr. Frodo, I'll have no more of that kind of talk from you. And after all, it was my choice, so you see, not your doing at all.'

I stopped abruptly since I was not about to speak a word about the burden. That might start you thinking about your own burden, if indeed you ever stopped thinking about it these days. But I saw your eyes darken at my unspoken words.

It was then that anger welled up in me like a wave. We were going around in circles, whatever we said, or more importantly, what we didn't say, it all sooner or later came down to the Ring. It was as if both of us were trapped inside the cursed circle of fire with no hope of escape.

You sniffed and I knew you had been crying and I wondered how, in this desiccated, arid land, your eyes could still pour out floods. I was so thirsty that for a maddening moment I wanted to pool your tears in my palm and drink them. I cursed myself for what had happened and it occurred to me that I had been closer to Gollum's character that I could ever imagine.

…

I look up, expecting a ruthless, disgusted stare and I am amazed to find that Strider's eyes are not in the least bit unforgiving, or even surprised. There is pain and doleful understanding in their gray depths. The man who is now King sits beside me on the grass and shakes his head sorrowfully.

'The price you both paid, in sweat and blood and madness, is not worth this kingdom of mine.' He turned to me again and I saw that he was dead serious.

'Mr. Strider…Sir,' I began, but he cut me short.

'This price would not have been worth the entire Middle-Earth, if it hadn't been for places like Shire. The knowledge that there are places like that, where great souls like yours and your master's dwell, is reward more than a thousand of my kingdoms. And reason enough for Middle-Earth to be saved.'

Words would not come because whatever I might say would have sounded unfitting.

After a few moments of silence I lifted my gaze from where it had been searching the ground.

'I understand now, sir. I thought about it a lot and I understand that what happened that night in Mordor was the Ring's doing and that it had nothing to do with me. But I saw myself trying to hurt him, Strider! And no matter how I try to convince myself otherwise, I cannot forgive myself!'

'Samwise,' Aragorn said, 'you have seen much of this world and come to it's darkest place. After having seen it, will you not believe that it could rob you of choice, will and sanity all at once? Besides, you have suffered a terrible ordeal and it is natural for you to suffer from lingering after effects. But in time, as your body healed, your mind will heal as well. Your nightmares will come less often and you will accept that whatever you may or may not have not done on that road, it all stemmed from your heart, from the love of your master.'

At his mention of nightmares, my head must have snapped up because his face creased in an easy smile.

'Yes, Samwise, I know you've been having nightmares. We do not keep vigil on your master alone. What did you think? But fear not, they will soon fade away.'

'I know, sir, but I do not mean to lay my troubles on you.' I feel more and more that I should have kept my mouth shut, since my cheeks flush and, although I am soothed by speaking out my mind, I cannot help but feel it improper.

'And who would have your troubles then, if not your friends?' Aragorn said patting my back amicably.

'Aye, sir,' I tried to reply in the same easy-going fashion but failed miserably, 'although pouring my heart out to the King of Gondor is not quite my idea of confession.'

'Well, at least you're willing to talk about it and you'll never know how much that will help you in the long run,' Aragorn said, his face turning serious once more.

A lump settled in my throat.

'Why can't Mr. Frodo do the same, then? Why does he keep so quiet about it? Surely he must know that talking about it helps?'

'Maybe he is not ready to talk about it just yet,' Aragorn offered.

'But will he ever be ready, sir?'

Aragorn sighed and the lump in my throat became a knot in my stomach and I almost knew what he was going to say even before he opened his mouth.

'Nobody stared into the pits of darkness quite like your master, Samwise. Even I had my doubts about his recovery when you were brought back from the Mountain.'

'You did?' the question left my lips before I could stop it.

'When I saw him and the condition that he was in,' Aragorn spoke softly, in a dismal yet steady tone, 'I could not help but wonder…'

Another heavy silence passed between us and I was aware of the sun tingling the back of my neck and the sound of the stream singing its mirthful song as it flowed to meet the Great River. I was aware of Strider's inner turmoil so clearly that it struck me like a physical blow. Yet I kept my eyes on him and I could see that he was troubled by what he was about to say.

'…I had to ask myself if it would be indeed a mercy to try and bring him back. He was so close to the respite he desperately wanted that it almost seemed like a crime to try and shatter that refuge.'

'But you did, sir,' I said, understanding his unease like no other. 'You did bring him back.'

Aragorn grunted and turned his eyes to me.

'Did I, Sam? Did I indeed?' He did not utter the words, but they were there in his stern gray eyes, now dark and full of regret.

My heart sank in spite of knowing what the answer was. The answer was: there was no answer.

'There is nothing you can do for him then, is there? What I saw that night, back on Mount Doom, was not so far removed from the truth.'

'I do not know what strength still lies in his spirit yet what I saw as a healer in the past months has given me much unexpected hope. I have but done all I could. It is now up to him to accept the healing.'

'There is one answer to that.' I said.

'Yes, there is, Sam.' He leaned closer and grasped my hand in his large fist. 'Take him home, Master Gamgee. I cannot help but believe that the choices he yet has to make will be easier once he is back in the Shire.'

The anger has somewhat subsided now, yet it rears it's ugly little head from time to time when I ponder at the unfairness of it all. When I walk the streets of this city and see stone-masons and tradesmen busily going about their business of rebuilding and supplying everything needed, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that all this was made possible because you stepped forward, laying down your life for a fight that was bigger than all of Middle-Earth's races put together.

We hear laughter of children again, this time much closer, in fact merely a few feet behind us. We turn around to see two lads and two lasses no younger than ten years old in men's age, yet almost as tall as I.

They stand shy of us, giggling and holding something behind their backs. One of them, obviously the boldest, is shoved forward and he speaks falteringly, in awe of the King' presence.

'My Lord, by your leave we would like to offer our King and the Ringbearers a small gift.'

The other boy and the two girls step forward as if on cue and remove their hands from behind their backs. They are holding out three wreaths woven of golden, ripe wheat, the first harvest of free Middle-Earth.

Aragorn glances at them and a wide grin forms on his lips.

'I would be honored to accept this gift,' He says, bowing his head slightly and the children almost burst into excited laughter at their unprecedented success.

They turn abruptly and break into a run as if the very hounds of Mordor are on their trail.

'This is the future of Gondor,' Aragorn beckons at the running sprites, the smile still very much on his lips.

'And what a future that will be,' I find myself saying. Glancing at the man standing tall and noble beside me, I just cannot have any doubts about that.

I glance at the wreaths and see that they are beautifully made. Even after years have passed, the wheat will still not have lost its shape or glowing golden hue.

It is almost noon and I see that Aragorn makes ready to leave.

'Walk back with me, Samwise,' he urges.

'Yes, I will. I wager Mr. Frodo is awake by now. But there's something I want to do before we leave.'

I kneel on the grass of the stream bank and, very carefully, I lay one of the wreaths on the surface of the water. It does not sink but instead is carried away by the rapid waters.

I believe, even know in my heart that the water will not swallow the wreath but that it will float purposefully until the stream joins the Great River and ultimately the Sea.

As I watch it sail away, sadness grips my heart yet almost from nowhere, a faint wisp of hope starts to rear its fragile head.

The rocks at the bottom of the stream must have been rough and jagged once. Yet in time the water had softened their edges and they were now round and smooth. Who knows, maybe in time, healing will come to Mr. Frodo too.

'Take him home, Samwise,' Strider had said.

I look up at him and he smiles. He understands.

Unhurried and in comfortable silence, we make our way back to the city and our duties that await us there.

~ The End ~

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