Lost in Darkness
Author's Notes; I'm glad that there are some fics out there about dear Samwise. There aren't enough though and that's why I wrote this so that damn bunny would stop stalking me. The fic is dedicated to yellowrose and The Letter Writer, who both write fics about Sam and Frodo that show the equality of the relationship, and don't portray Sam as Frodo's lapdog or nursemaid. There are plenty of sick!Frodo, or fighting inner evil!Frodo, etc., as well as Merry and Pippin. I think that Sam deserves some recognition. Samwise is the heart and soul, as well as the salvation of "Lord of the Rings" and Tolkien's Middle Earth. After all, Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam, Samwise the Brave.
This is a small story that may grow larger, I'm working on several projects at once. I felt resentful at the lack of good Sam stories and here is the result.
"Let us hope our presence may go undetected" Gandalf, 'The Fellowship of
the Ring'.
Samwise Gamgee wasn't known as a skittish hobbit. In fact, Samwise the Stouthearted was becoming a more common moniker among those who knew and referred to him. Since the humble gardener had joined his friend and master on this perilous quest, it was practically his surname.
But here in the deep blackness of the mountain, Sam was feeling the darkness push down on him.
He was a soul that loved light and life, he knew about all things grew in warm soil and he appreciated beauty and fineness in a way that surprised those that underestimated him.
This appreciation was one of the many reasons he practically worshipped Mr. Frodo, with his gentle, refined ways and fair features.
There was only one source of beauty and gentleness he didn't appreciate. In fact, anyone who would have tried to bring it to his attention would have dealt with a hearty reprise from the lad.
"Hmmph, fiddlesticks, I know o' the Elves, flowers that'll right take yer breath away an' the fanciest books an' writing that Mr. Bilbo kept stored 'way in his hobbit-hole. An' then there's Rivendell which I thought twas a dream till I pinched my arm blue and black, even Caracas when it wasn't tryin' to kill us was lovely. There was Mr. Bombadil's woods, some exceptions there too o' course. Everythin' of beauty I feel like I seen, an' appreciate too."
In all of that, Sam still missed one of the greatest of all, himself. But it was foolishness to tell him so and those around him had long since given up in the conventional sense.
Frodo was the most persistent, his love for his loyal servant ever presents, but Sam's stubbornness quelled even the Ringbearer. Things such as beauty, faith, loyalty, strength and light all defined the small hobbit.
So, in the cold depths of the mines Sam felt wary and stayed as close to Frodo as possible without being underfoot (quite a feet, um, for a hobbit).
Frodo was just as happy for Sam to stay close, as well as Merry and Pippin. Their familiar presence was almost as comforting as the grudging light on Gandalf's staff.
Sam himself was missing Bill, who had become quite a friend for the gardener. Sam loved most animals and Bill's help did not go unappreciated but he knew that Aragorn was right about the pony. Sam sighed, thinking of Bill trudging to some Big People's village through the passes they had had to travel through. He had felt more.needed with the friendly little animal around.
He glanced over at Frodo, who was watching Gandalf mutter to himself about which way they should go. Gimli was elbowing Legolas and the elf's expression said that he would not tolerate it much longer. Aragorn was silent and grim while Boromir was trying to watch his shield, his footing and Pippin's constant questions all at the same time.
Merry just held onto the back of Pippin's coat with a long-suffering expression on his usually cheerful features. Pippin usually allowed Merry to live up to his name with his youthful exuberance. He was a welcome distraction to the Brandybuck, as well as his best friend.
Sam watched Mr. Merry, feeling the admiration he usually did for the levelheaded hobbit. Not as irritating and accident-prone as Pippin could be or as morose as Frodo allowed himself to become, Merry could be mercurial with his emotions but was unfailingly courageous and clever. Sam liked him better than his Took relation, but even he had to admit to Pippin's endearing qualities.
He also felt somewhat envious, though he hated to admit it to himself. The emotions that had been nagging at him since the four had met the mysterious Strider in Bree were coming to a head and he felt helpless to stop them or to do anything about them.
Sam was Frodo's caretaker. Using Gandalf as a valid excuse to look after his master helped Frodo endure it better, he knew, so Sam used his promise to the wizard as often as he was able.
Yet.first there was Strider, or Aragorn as the Ranger preferred, then the Rivendell elves, then the Fellowship. Sam felt pushed aside and forgotten in his duty. Worse still, he no longer felt needed by his master.
He felt like a bumbling clown next to the rest of the Fellowship, even though his sensible Gamgee blood told him that he was feeling sorry for himself and that no one else saw it that way.
He felt Frodo slipping away from him, however, and not justs from the Ring's influence. He no longer confided to Sam, no longer laughed and joked with him. Sam would cook and help his master with his bedroll but everything else Frodo had seven other individuals to see to him.
Perhaps it was the oppressiveness of the mines, the tragedy that so obviously had taken place here and the smell of death and despair that even innocent Sam could sense. It aided his thoughts, increased them and made them seem more pertinent.
Unconsciously he stepped back from Frodo, not seeing his master's brow crease at the movement. Sam fell farther and farther behind the Fellowship, his steps dragging. He had always had the bad habit of falling behind and everyone from the Gaffer to Gandalf had tried to cure him of it.
It wasn't that he was slow, it was that he was easily distracted by what was around him yet unlike the manic inattention of Pippin, and Sam was content to sit and dawdle.
He was learning that there were some places that it did not do well to dawdle in, but the lesson was slow in coming. Now, however, he purposefully fell behind and kept his eyes on the ground.
The thoughts were growing in Sam's mind about his own inadequacy. It was another bad habit, one that no one could understand. He slowed his steps further and further, kicking at stray pebbles to hear them click off of the sides of the wall.
Frodo, far ahead by now, was surrounded by the Big Folks of the Fellowship and walking in Gandalf's large shadow, he was invisible to Sam. Invisible and he did not turn back to see if his gardener was following.
Sam, wallowing, kicked another pebble harder this time and when it clicked off of the side of the mine, something bright flashed at Sam nearly blinding him.
He remembered Gandalf saying something about mithril being found in these mines, as well as Mr. Frodo's uneasy expression. He had seen the thin veins and tendrils that had sparkled brighter than diamonds along the cliff walls but this was more than a small crack of the mineral. There was a gap in the wall, broken through by the sharp-edged rock Sam had kicked.
His hobbit feet had hardly felt it but the rock wall had been thinned by dwarfish picks for many years in hopes of finding another cavern of mithril. Sam had simply finished the job.
He knelt down and peered in, awed by what he saw. The Fellowship, used to the numerous clicking and random noises in the darkness beyond, paid no attention. They turned down another path, then another, until the only light left was from the gap in the wall.
Sam, transfixed by the cold beauty of the mithril, gleaming everywhere in the small pocket in the wall, did not notice that the light provided by Gandalf's staff was gone.
Somewhere far behind him, something muttered and croaked but the sound was lost by a gust of cold wind that blew through the narrow passage. Sam felt the cold creep up his back and saw the rags and debris waver and something deep inside of him became alarmed.
*Where would a gust like that be comin' from down here?*
Something echoed against the wall and Sam realized with horrifying clarity that he was alone. Completely alone. He cupped his hands to shout for Gandalf or Frodo but his better sense told him to remain silent.
Something was there. Some sixth sense told him that it knew he was there too. Sam gulped and crept along the wall, knowing he couldn't go too far because of the darkness everywhere but near the crack of mithril on the wall.
Sam squinted behind him, hoping to see something and his pointed ears twitched, straining the hobbit senses.
Ahead of him on the trail, a grotesquely thin figure crept out of sight, hissing about hobbitsss and preciousss. It's lamp-like eyes glowed in the bluish light before it slinked away.
Sam never saw it. Another gust blew through the passage, chilling him to the bone. The average noises in the uninhabited mine stopped, creating a silence that was more frightening than anything else was.
Sam pushed his back against the wall, hoping to vanish into it.
Author's Notes; I'm glad that there are some fics out there about dear Samwise. There aren't enough though and that's why I wrote this so that damn bunny would stop stalking me. The fic is dedicated to yellowrose and The Letter Writer, who both write fics about Sam and Frodo that show the equality of the relationship, and don't portray Sam as Frodo's lapdog or nursemaid. There are plenty of sick!Frodo, or fighting inner evil!Frodo, etc., as well as Merry and Pippin. I think that Sam deserves some recognition. Samwise is the heart and soul, as well as the salvation of "Lord of the Rings" and Tolkien's Middle Earth. After all, Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam, Samwise the Brave.
This is a small story that may grow larger, I'm working on several projects at once. I felt resentful at the lack of good Sam stories and here is the result.
"Let us hope our presence may go undetected" Gandalf, 'The Fellowship of
the Ring'.
Samwise Gamgee wasn't known as a skittish hobbit. In fact, Samwise the Stouthearted was becoming a more common moniker among those who knew and referred to him. Since the humble gardener had joined his friend and master on this perilous quest, it was practically his surname.
But here in the deep blackness of the mountain, Sam was feeling the darkness push down on him.
He was a soul that loved light and life, he knew about all things grew in warm soil and he appreciated beauty and fineness in a way that surprised those that underestimated him.
This appreciation was one of the many reasons he practically worshipped Mr. Frodo, with his gentle, refined ways and fair features.
There was only one source of beauty and gentleness he didn't appreciate. In fact, anyone who would have tried to bring it to his attention would have dealt with a hearty reprise from the lad.
"Hmmph, fiddlesticks, I know o' the Elves, flowers that'll right take yer breath away an' the fanciest books an' writing that Mr. Bilbo kept stored 'way in his hobbit-hole. An' then there's Rivendell which I thought twas a dream till I pinched my arm blue and black, even Caracas when it wasn't tryin' to kill us was lovely. There was Mr. Bombadil's woods, some exceptions there too o' course. Everythin' of beauty I feel like I seen, an' appreciate too."
In all of that, Sam still missed one of the greatest of all, himself. But it was foolishness to tell him so and those around him had long since given up in the conventional sense.
Frodo was the most persistent, his love for his loyal servant ever presents, but Sam's stubbornness quelled even the Ringbearer. Things such as beauty, faith, loyalty, strength and light all defined the small hobbit.
So, in the cold depths of the mines Sam felt wary and stayed as close to Frodo as possible without being underfoot (quite a feet, um, for a hobbit).
Frodo was just as happy for Sam to stay close, as well as Merry and Pippin. Their familiar presence was almost as comforting as the grudging light on Gandalf's staff.
Sam himself was missing Bill, who had become quite a friend for the gardener. Sam loved most animals and Bill's help did not go unappreciated but he knew that Aragorn was right about the pony. Sam sighed, thinking of Bill trudging to some Big People's village through the passes they had had to travel through. He had felt more.needed with the friendly little animal around.
He glanced over at Frodo, who was watching Gandalf mutter to himself about which way they should go. Gimli was elbowing Legolas and the elf's expression said that he would not tolerate it much longer. Aragorn was silent and grim while Boromir was trying to watch his shield, his footing and Pippin's constant questions all at the same time.
Merry just held onto the back of Pippin's coat with a long-suffering expression on his usually cheerful features. Pippin usually allowed Merry to live up to his name with his youthful exuberance. He was a welcome distraction to the Brandybuck, as well as his best friend.
Sam watched Mr. Merry, feeling the admiration he usually did for the levelheaded hobbit. Not as irritating and accident-prone as Pippin could be or as morose as Frodo allowed himself to become, Merry could be mercurial with his emotions but was unfailingly courageous and clever. Sam liked him better than his Took relation, but even he had to admit to Pippin's endearing qualities.
He also felt somewhat envious, though he hated to admit it to himself. The emotions that had been nagging at him since the four had met the mysterious Strider in Bree were coming to a head and he felt helpless to stop them or to do anything about them.
Sam was Frodo's caretaker. Using Gandalf as a valid excuse to look after his master helped Frodo endure it better, he knew, so Sam used his promise to the wizard as often as he was able.
Yet.first there was Strider, or Aragorn as the Ranger preferred, then the Rivendell elves, then the Fellowship. Sam felt pushed aside and forgotten in his duty. Worse still, he no longer felt needed by his master.
He felt like a bumbling clown next to the rest of the Fellowship, even though his sensible Gamgee blood told him that he was feeling sorry for himself and that no one else saw it that way.
He felt Frodo slipping away from him, however, and not justs from the Ring's influence. He no longer confided to Sam, no longer laughed and joked with him. Sam would cook and help his master with his bedroll but everything else Frodo had seven other individuals to see to him.
Perhaps it was the oppressiveness of the mines, the tragedy that so obviously had taken place here and the smell of death and despair that even innocent Sam could sense. It aided his thoughts, increased them and made them seem more pertinent.
Unconsciously he stepped back from Frodo, not seeing his master's brow crease at the movement. Sam fell farther and farther behind the Fellowship, his steps dragging. He had always had the bad habit of falling behind and everyone from the Gaffer to Gandalf had tried to cure him of it.
It wasn't that he was slow, it was that he was easily distracted by what was around him yet unlike the manic inattention of Pippin, and Sam was content to sit and dawdle.
He was learning that there were some places that it did not do well to dawdle in, but the lesson was slow in coming. Now, however, he purposefully fell behind and kept his eyes on the ground.
The thoughts were growing in Sam's mind about his own inadequacy. It was another bad habit, one that no one could understand. He slowed his steps further and further, kicking at stray pebbles to hear them click off of the sides of the wall.
Frodo, far ahead by now, was surrounded by the Big Folks of the Fellowship and walking in Gandalf's large shadow, he was invisible to Sam. Invisible and he did not turn back to see if his gardener was following.
Sam, wallowing, kicked another pebble harder this time and when it clicked off of the side of the mine, something bright flashed at Sam nearly blinding him.
He remembered Gandalf saying something about mithril being found in these mines, as well as Mr. Frodo's uneasy expression. He had seen the thin veins and tendrils that had sparkled brighter than diamonds along the cliff walls but this was more than a small crack of the mineral. There was a gap in the wall, broken through by the sharp-edged rock Sam had kicked.
His hobbit feet had hardly felt it but the rock wall had been thinned by dwarfish picks for many years in hopes of finding another cavern of mithril. Sam had simply finished the job.
He knelt down and peered in, awed by what he saw. The Fellowship, used to the numerous clicking and random noises in the darkness beyond, paid no attention. They turned down another path, then another, until the only light left was from the gap in the wall.
Sam, transfixed by the cold beauty of the mithril, gleaming everywhere in the small pocket in the wall, did not notice that the light provided by Gandalf's staff was gone.
Somewhere far behind him, something muttered and croaked but the sound was lost by a gust of cold wind that blew through the narrow passage. Sam felt the cold creep up his back and saw the rags and debris waver and something deep inside of him became alarmed.
*Where would a gust like that be comin' from down here?*
Something echoed against the wall and Sam realized with horrifying clarity that he was alone. Completely alone. He cupped his hands to shout for Gandalf or Frodo but his better sense told him to remain silent.
Something was there. Some sixth sense told him that it knew he was there too. Sam gulped and crept along the wall, knowing he couldn't go too far because of the darkness everywhere but near the crack of mithril on the wall.
Sam squinted behind him, hoping to see something and his pointed ears twitched, straining the hobbit senses.
Ahead of him on the trail, a grotesquely thin figure crept out of sight, hissing about hobbitsss and preciousss. It's lamp-like eyes glowed in the bluish light before it slinked away.
Sam never saw it. Another gust blew through the passage, chilling him to the bone. The average noises in the uninhabited mine stopped, creating a silence that was more frightening than anything else was.
Sam pushed his back against the wall, hoping to vanish into it.