Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of LotR.
Author's note: Despite what some may think, ::sticks out tongue at Sigil Galen:: (just joking, don't worry) I am not very new to Tolkien, and this is supposed to be book-verse, not movie-verse. Yes, it is Frodo and Sam sitting on the hill surrounded by the fires of Mt. Doom, but this is how I pictured the scene to be before I saw RotK. I'm too lazy to go get my book, but I believe there is a quote saying something like "It (the hill) was an island now, not long to survive." So, I am not quite sure where you got the impression that I am entirely new to Tolkien, Sigil. If I made a careless error, which I have stupidly failed to note, please tell me, because I don't want to look like an idiot. I know that Tolkien never wrote about what Frodo was thinking at this time, and only provided a brief glance at Sam's feelings, but that is the reason I wrote this fic. I thought that it gave the scene a fresh perspective. My writing style is a little flowery, I shall admit, but I was trying to, in a way, capture the way that his mind was wandering, almost in a slight panic, because he and his friend were about to die, or so he thought. I was not trying to imitate Tolkien's style in the least, for it would have been impossible with a fic like this. He very rarely provided detailed glimpses at what the characters were thinking and feeling, instead allowing the readers to draw independent conclusions, so the very premise of this fic, I shall admit, was a violation of his personal style. Be that as it may, this is NOT slash, and I still believe that this fic does not stray from Tolkien canon. So don't pounce on me! ::evil grin::
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Sam, how is it that I have just now come to realize that, when you are afraid, you wring your hands, as if you do no know what to do with them? And that then, when you notice my glance, you cast your eyes to the ground, and then you look upon me, not quite meeting my gaze, and smile? But this smile, it is only a ghost, a fleeting vision of what will soon ever cease to be.
So soon, Sam, your eyes shall never go alight when I speak a loving word, and creases of mirth shall never again from beside them spread like ripples in a shimmering pond, alive with sunlight and the joy of day. If I spoke your praise, would you again play with the loose threads upon your frayed shirt, and stare intently at your feet as they make swirling patterns in the dust?
And to think that I shall follow you into whatever abyss awaits my despairing heart! That I should leave this Earth before I could pull from the depths of my mind the words to tell you what you have meant over these spanning years we have had, now coming to an end in this one, final doom!
Our time here shall soon be spent, so soon, before I can pry open my soul and words and tears come tumbling forth in raging torrents, churning and blending until they become who you are, as you sit before me now, and as you shall never be again.
I wonder, Sam, will towers shatter like splintered glass and mountains crumble to sullied dust when you are consumed by the awaiting fires, lapping greedily at our very heels, caring not that the body which they shall set alight has shielded me from shining blade and borne me to my salvation and my doom?
You will rest in no kingly hall, in a quiet sleep in the silent company of your kin. No mockery of your warm smile will be set into some cold, unfamiliar stone, for the world to look upon and so soon turn from to return to their ever-shortening lives.
We are so small, Sam, compared to the world, and yet it was thrust upon our shoulders, for us to bear away from the consuming fires of some bestial will. And so, we set it down upon the shores of life, and then it forgot us, and left us to perish in that from which it was saved.
I try to grab a hold the reins of Time so I can lie here and hear your sweet voice forevermore. So I can sit and trace the creases in your brown hands, that have done such deeds. But try as I may, they slip from between my clumsy, sullied fingers, as easily as sand from the shores we shall never ourselves reach. They slip, until I hold but a single grain, soon to melt in the fires of the setting sun.
Your sweet head droops, now, upon my shoulder, but this last burden I can bear. I shall follow you now, to weary sleep and blissful blindness to the horrors set now before my eyes. I shall drown in the waters of peace before the fires of rage I allow to take me.
I am glad you are with me. Friend.
Author's note: Despite what some may think, ::sticks out tongue at Sigil Galen:: (just joking, don't worry) I am not very new to Tolkien, and this is supposed to be book-verse, not movie-verse. Yes, it is Frodo and Sam sitting on the hill surrounded by the fires of Mt. Doom, but this is how I pictured the scene to be before I saw RotK. I'm too lazy to go get my book, but I believe there is a quote saying something like "It (the hill) was an island now, not long to survive." So, I am not quite sure where you got the impression that I am entirely new to Tolkien, Sigil. If I made a careless error, which I have stupidly failed to note, please tell me, because I don't want to look like an idiot. I know that Tolkien never wrote about what Frodo was thinking at this time, and only provided a brief glance at Sam's feelings, but that is the reason I wrote this fic. I thought that it gave the scene a fresh perspective. My writing style is a little flowery, I shall admit, but I was trying to, in a way, capture the way that his mind was wandering, almost in a slight panic, because he and his friend were about to die, or so he thought. I was not trying to imitate Tolkien's style in the least, for it would have been impossible with a fic like this. He very rarely provided detailed glimpses at what the characters were thinking and feeling, instead allowing the readers to draw independent conclusions, so the very premise of this fic, I shall admit, was a violation of his personal style. Be that as it may, this is NOT slash, and I still believe that this fic does not stray from Tolkien canon. So don't pounce on me! ::evil grin::
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Sam, how is it that I have just now come to realize that, when you are afraid, you wring your hands, as if you do no know what to do with them? And that then, when you notice my glance, you cast your eyes to the ground, and then you look upon me, not quite meeting my gaze, and smile? But this smile, it is only a ghost, a fleeting vision of what will soon ever cease to be.
So soon, Sam, your eyes shall never go alight when I speak a loving word, and creases of mirth shall never again from beside them spread like ripples in a shimmering pond, alive with sunlight and the joy of day. If I spoke your praise, would you again play with the loose threads upon your frayed shirt, and stare intently at your feet as they make swirling patterns in the dust?
And to think that I shall follow you into whatever abyss awaits my despairing heart! That I should leave this Earth before I could pull from the depths of my mind the words to tell you what you have meant over these spanning years we have had, now coming to an end in this one, final doom!
Our time here shall soon be spent, so soon, before I can pry open my soul and words and tears come tumbling forth in raging torrents, churning and blending until they become who you are, as you sit before me now, and as you shall never be again.
I wonder, Sam, will towers shatter like splintered glass and mountains crumble to sullied dust when you are consumed by the awaiting fires, lapping greedily at our very heels, caring not that the body which they shall set alight has shielded me from shining blade and borne me to my salvation and my doom?
You will rest in no kingly hall, in a quiet sleep in the silent company of your kin. No mockery of your warm smile will be set into some cold, unfamiliar stone, for the world to look upon and so soon turn from to return to their ever-shortening lives.
We are so small, Sam, compared to the world, and yet it was thrust upon our shoulders, for us to bear away from the consuming fires of some bestial will. And so, we set it down upon the shores of life, and then it forgot us, and left us to perish in that from which it was saved.
I try to grab a hold the reins of Time so I can lie here and hear your sweet voice forevermore. So I can sit and trace the creases in your brown hands, that have done such deeds. But try as I may, they slip from between my clumsy, sullied fingers, as easily as sand from the shores we shall never ourselves reach. They slip, until I hold but a single grain, soon to melt in the fires of the setting sun.
Your sweet head droops, now, upon my shoulder, but this last burden I can bear. I shall follow you now, to weary sleep and blissful blindness to the horrors set now before my eyes. I shall drown in the waters of peace before the fires of rage I allow to take me.
I am glad you are with me. Friend.