Author's Note: This is a one-shot for Allie (thgloryofspring on Tumblr) because yesterday was her 20th birthday!
Lyrics belong to Holding On by Kerrigan-Lowdermilk. It's a beautiful song.
I do not own Lord of the Rings or Samwise Gamgee in any capacity. I do, however, claim any mistakes.
A heartfelt sigh escaped the lips of one Samwise Gamgee as he perched himself on a hefty branch of the highest tree so he could see the whole Shire. Leaning lazily against the trunk, the hobbit closed his eyes and let the calm wash over him. Others would argue, but Sam thought the Shire was the most beautiful when it was asleep. Sure… it was vibrant with any color one could imagine in the bright shinin' Spring sun. But, Sam mused with a small smile, you never truly realize how peaceful the Shire is until you see it early in the mornin' before the sun starts to rise. And that's exactly what he was doing.
As the sun's rays peeked over the horizon, the colors began to appear. They glowed against the stubbornly sleepy village before flying across the vast canvas, painting it in their wake. Some colors were slower than others, preferring to seep through everything like water before moving on. It was times like these that Sam wished he could paint. Every time he watched the morning wake up, it was different and beautifully so. He enjoyed the unfamiliar familiarity of watching the dawn break softly (or sometimes violently) over the hills.
At last, the sun itself rose upon his home. A full smile broke unto Sam's lips as the light radiated through with an extra burst, discovering new places that the colors missed. The reds and oranges were especially brilliant, mixing in a surprisingly soothing palette. Crossing his arms and shifting to a more comfortable position against the worn bark, Sam let his mind aimlessly expand and explore. While soaking in the splendor of nature, Sam's thoughts began to shift to a memory.
Triggered by the colors, an image of Mordor slowly emerged. The sun breathed warmth onto his placid face, but he thought he could feel it intensify just a fraction. He could still smell the stench of burning sulfur and ash and feel how the ash was ingrained into every inch of his cracked skin. But what haunted him most was the scene that unfolded before his eyes that day - the fire exploding all around them, from the entrance of Mount Doom to the ground just before their feet; the boulders tumbling perilously close to their small rock on which they hoped they would be saved; the molten lava licking at the earth and splashing up with a sadistic and terrifying laugh. Everything was red, yellow, orange, and black - and even the black had a treacherous red tint to it. How funny, Sam thought, that the same colors would mean two extremes. Odd how everything seems to have two sides. He crinkled his nose in a half amused, half haunted expression.
Sam remembered back when Frodo and Bilbo sailed out from The Grey Havens, back to when he realized that Frodo was really leaving them. At the time, Sam could have sworn that his heart was broken. He never really thought of Frodo as his master anymore, but as his best friend - someone that would always understand the trials they suffered through and conquered together. That day was years ago… but one day - not that many months prior to this day - recognition of something else struck him. Frodo's departure was a blessing to Sam. Not only had his best friend left him with a commission to write his own story, Frodo left so that he could write his own hobbit's tale. Sam's bondage to the plague of their past was broken. Frodo was the last strong link to their adventure. Staying would have meant being stuck in the past, forced to relive the memories every time they saw each other. Now Sam was free to live the life of a hobbit, a life he always wanted, a life he always knew. Sam could move forward.
Sam's thumb absent-mindedly brushed over the red leather that bound the pages together. He always carried it with him in case the urge to read parts of the Baggins's stories in the morning sun overcame him. It was odd to think that Frodo wanted him to write his story - one that was sure to be filled of a simple hobbit's detail - after these exciting and frightening adventures of theirs. Chuckling and shaking his head, the bemused hobbit couldn't help but feel that it was right to include something so mundane. It was ironic that his would be the atypical one of the three.
A phrase entered his mind. I see the Shire. A single tear rolled down Sam's face, the path traced and highlighted by the sun's brilliance. "I wish you were here to share this Mr. Frodo. Not another morning like it, ya know. It gives meaning to everything we went through - to see Home so quiet and peaceful. It reminds me every mornin' that holdin' on to each other in the middle of that fire and everythin' else was worth it." Sam's soft whisper floated in the air around him, carried on by the small breeze that only just disturbed the leaves. When they returned to the Shire from their journey, he had felt a million years older - outdated and outside of what used to be the only place he could find comfort. Sam knew better now. As days turned into weeks, then months, then years, the hobbit knew that he still had a full life to live and much to learn. A simple hobbit, Sam remained. A simple hobbit with fantastic stories. "Thanks to you Mr. Frodo, I'm growing up again."