~Chapter Three~
The Devil Within Me
I Have Nothing Left to Give.
I Have Found the Perfect End.
You Were Made to Make It Hurt;
Disappear Into the Dirt.
Carry Me to Heaven's Arms.
Light the Way and Let Me Go;
Take the Time to Take My Breath.
And I Will Find the Enemy Within,
Because I Can Feel It Crawl Beneath My Skin.
~Dear Agony, by Breaking Benjamin
Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.
War stole something from me. I thought bitterly, the familiar line playing around and around in my mind like the music from broken records. War. He died in the war.
The Gondorian slowly, carefully, seated himself next to me on my cot. He stayed far enough to the side that our arms were not touching, but close enough that I could feel his body heat. And Boromir asked, "His name?"
My throat constricted painfully around the simple response, and I couldn't help but clutch at my chest. Six months. I had not thought his name or even spoken it aloud in months. Six months. It was merely a single chord in the lullaby of grief that my cracked heart tried to sing. Six months.
His name…
His name was…
"Seth," I whispered, tears blurring my vision and washing the world into white nothingness. "His name…was Seth."
Air, thick with the sweet and succulent scent of honey, called out to me as a siren. Our lunch carried with it that tantalizing scent that nearly made me salivate. My eyes closed with pleasure, I inhaled deeply and decided to follow my nose to the source. It had been about two weeks since I had found myself in the strange pool of water that peopled called the Magical Mirror. My first mission had been to find the mirror again and then avoid it at all costs. After much work on my part, I then learned the path leading to…the kitchens.
Oh, and I had also learned how to navigate between my small bedroom – tent, really – and the communal bathhouse, too! I could also make it back without getting lost and having to play charades with amused Elves to get somebody to volunteer to help me out. For somebody without a sense of direction, I had made quite some progress. Boromir, however…
"Ah, Samantha, there you are! I have been searching both high and low for the likes of you. Where in name of the Valar are you gallivanting off to this time?" Boromir scolded, truly exasperated with me. Why, I had not the faintest idea.
Hell! I should be the one exasperated with him! He won't even use my nickname! Why? "Because, Samantha, Sammy it is not feminine!"
Head tilted to the side, I stared at him – and quite blankly, too – and slowly pointed out, "But…I only know my way to three o' the hundreds of places in this godforsaken forest. Why did it take that long to find out where I am?"
A faint blush painted his nose a rose pink, and Boromir ducked his head to brush his hand down his neck. The Gondorian smiled and sheepishly mumbled, "I could not find the correct route to the kitchens..."
My eyes narrowed and danced with amusement, and I snickered gleefully at his admission. "Is that so? Here I am, startin' to think I might be to blame!" I poked him in the side, missing his armor, and passed him by, continuing on my quest for good food.
Gray irises glared, flashing like steel in the sunlight that slipped through the branches of the tall trees. "You are at fault!" Boromir stubbornly insisted, and although I had not known him for long, I wouldn't have been surprised to find him pouting now. Would've made me smile.
"Silly me," I mumbled quietly, all the while thinking – Men! Can't live with 'em. Can't live without 'em.
At my side, Boromir grumbled faintly about tripping over yet another large tree root. His large feet tended to get the better of him sometimes, especially in his padded leather boots. If Boromir had been in America, I was almost positive that the Man would have worn a size sixteen – at the least! I smiled at the thought, glancing at him and picturing him in a pair of Nikes. For his part, however, Boromir appeared lost in his thoughts and glowered at the trees, muttering curses and threats at the ancient Oaks. They rustled quietly in response. I smirked at his pale face.
A loud cry of – "See, Merry? I was right! I saw 'em!" – echoed through the whispering forest, and it reverberated off of the bark of the seemingly hollow trees. Now all I could hear was – "I saw 'em, I saw 'em, I saw 'em …"
While immensely childish, I grinned at the following response, secretly congratulating myself for the job well done. My words, while strange, and the slow accent with which I drawled them, had caught the attention of the Hobbits. I did the mature thing and tried to teach them fun stuff, like messing with people. Yeah, I was a wonderful influence. Top notch!
"…Congratulations, Pip. Should I get you an award?" Merry sarcastically repeated the line that I had taken to speaking whenever one of their companions – usually Legolas – hit the mark with a weapon. I usually clapped slowly, too.
"No, thank you!" Pippin cheerfully declined the offer, completely missing the sarcasm. "I would like another roll though, if I could!"
Yep, I had only been here two weeks, and I had already impacted several members of the Fellowship. The Hobbits, with the exception of Mister Stick-in-the-Mud Sam, had taken an immediate liking to me. I found their interest rather strange. Nobody back at the Ranch – or even the University – had been that fond of me. The Dwarf seemed to like me as well. But I shrugged it off because I could probably thank my new (more tolerable) attitude for their attention. Death could do that to a girl…
"Sammy~!"
At the moment, I was now carrying around two armfuls of happy Hobbit. My smile widened, and I looked down at the two much smaller males to find them smirking and smiling, respectively. "What's up?" I brightly asked them.
Merry and Pippin returned the smile with cheerful expressions of their own. Whereas Merry shrugged his shoulders, Pippin waved his hands out to the side. "Nothing much, Sammy," Pippin piped. "We just wanted to ask you and Boromir to tag along for elevensies!"
"Definitely! I can smell the honey from miles away. It's actually making my stomach growl," I admitted, setting them down and poking said stomach with a smile. I pretended to gasp. "It's screaming, 'Feed me, Sammy! Feed me!"
Obviously amused, Merry and Pippin snickered at my continued antics, whereas Boromir merely swatted at my arm. We continued walking, and I smiled, secretly glad that I could offer them a reprieve – any at all – during their perilous quest to escort the Ring to Mordor. Even if the four Hobbits weren't currently in immediate danger, I still figured it would be pretty bad. Speaking of the Ring, by the way…
A small brunette popped out from behind another tree, with Sam trailing behind him, and quietly greeted all of us. Frodo peered at me curiously, blue irises shining eerily in the light and making me nervous. "Are you and Boromir coming to elevensies, Sammy?" He asked.
Head bowed, I slowly nodded at the Hobbit to show that I wanted to tag along, too. "Yes, I most certainly am," I said respectfully, while helping him climb out from behind the tree roots. Sam ignored the outstretched hand. Whatever…
It might sound strange, stupid perhaps, but I tried to treat the Hobbits like adults. They were adults, and much older than me! At the least, I could offer them my respect and try to keep from offending them. Especially Frodo – Frodo deserved much more. He deserved the world – Earth, Middle Earth, whichever – handed to him on a silver platter. Because Frodo was certainly much braver than I!
Why? It might have had something to do with that cursed Ring swinging cheerfully from the silver chain that hung around his neck. It might have been the quiet smile that Frodo offered at each joke, each little wave. It might have been his patience with me. Day and night, night and day, though, Frodo carried that damn thing around and smiled at me and listed to the stupidest jokes, all while being patient with me. I honestly did not understand how Frodo could handle that burden.
Me? I would have thrown the little hunk of metal straight into the nearest ocean if I had been given the opportunity – and the task – of getting rid of the evil little trinket.
Bling with an attitude, I thought sourly, before giving it the Evil Eye. How cute…
But! A trinket the Ring was not, and I wasn't heroic, by any means. It was not something to be concerned about at the moment, either. We were relatively safe in Lothlórien. So I shrugged it off without a care and continued onward to the kitchens, cheerfully forgetting the Ring for the time being. I smiled while furiously shoving down my revulsion and fear, stomping it down inside to be dusted off and fretted about later – much later. Ignorance is bliss!
"Care for a roll, Miss?" Sam asked after Frodo, Merry, Pippin, Boromir, and I seated ourselves at the table with him and the rest of the Fellowship. He tentatively offered the plate of steaming buns, covered in drizzled honey, and waited for my answer.
"Hell yeah," I declared without thinking about it, before remembering where I was and who I happened to be talking to at the moment. "Um… I mean, yeah, I would like one. Thanks."
Embarrassed, I coughed into my arm and tried trying to hide the dark blush behind its sleeve, while Boromir watched with amusement. Mister Stick-in-the-Mud Sam raised his eyebrow at me, a gleam of disapproval tinting his brown eyes. Not that I cared too much! It happened to me on a regular basis – offending somebody and embarrassing the snot outta myself, I mean. Why should elevensies not be the same way? Sigh…
Chagrined, I mouthed at him a silent – Sorry! I hoped that the Hobbit would forgive me my slip this time around (Sam was still rather annoyed that I had accidentally referred to his chowder as a 'soup.'). Upon receiving the faint smile in return, I relaxed, and glanced back down to return my attention to the full plate in front of me. My own smile widened with excitement. Rolls! Honey rolls! YUM!
With a small knife (Boromir refused to let me near a sword after last week's episode, which had featured his weapon soaring off into the sunset), I spread out a very (un)healthy glob of butter on the first roll. The Hobbits clasped their hands together and offered both their thanks and their prayers to the Valar. I did not bother praying because Oromë probably wouldn't listen to me anyway. On the other hand, Oromë might listen, think that I was mocking him and…kill me again. I honestly did not want to endure that a second time. So I stayed silent.
Better safe than sorry! That's what Daddy always said. Yes, I disliked him, but Daddy always had good advice about these kinds of things. He usually yelled them at me, so my memory of those sayings was good. I tightened small fingers over my own necklace, even as my eyes warily stared at the chain bearing the Ring. Truer words have not been spoken…
Respectfully, I waited for them all to finish giving thanks, but as soon as everyone stopped praying to the Valar, I dug in. I immediately shoved the entire roll into my open mouth and then shut it, chewing slowly in the attempt to swallow the small loaf of bread. I licked both lips after swallowing the rest of the bite, taking the time to savor a rich taste of the honey that trickled slowly over my tongue. Honey rolls had always been a personal favorite, something that I apparently shared with Legolas. My Mom had apparently liked them, too…
"Delicious," I stated happily, smiling down at my now empty plate with satisfaction. It might be empty at the moment, but I planned to remedy that soon enough. Have I mentioned that I love honey rolls?
My stomach growled loudly at that thought, and Aragorn snickered at the sounds, taking the chance to tease me, as usual. The Ranger was usually pretty serious, but if I happened to be about, Aragorn always tried to pick on me. Now, Aragorn teased, "Hungry, Little One?"
"…no. I'm not hungry, Aragorn. Whatever gave you an idea that I might be hungry?" I darkly muttered because, to be honest, food – and the lack thereof, back at the Ranch – had always upset me. Disgruntled, I glared at the Ranger that had seated himself beside me.
The Ranger shrugged the questions – and the glares – away and grabbed another roll, tossing me one as well. "I do not have the faintest idea, My Lady," He said innocently, with twinkling gray eyes. He gave me a glance, and then, like most other males, quickly forgot my presence and went back to shoveling food down his throat.
"'Feed me!'" Boromir mocked in a high-pitched voice at the perfect moment – well, perfect for him and terribly traumatizing for me. Both Pippin and Merry, who had been there to me mess around, got it almost immediately.
Poor Pippin coughed around his mouthful of bread, and Merry slapped him on the back to dislodge the choking hazard. The rest of the Fellowship burst into laughter, but I blushed and sank down into my chair. I halfheartedly reached out to smack him in the arm, and although I doubted that it hurt him much, Boromir scowled at me. I instinctively sensed that I would be paying dearly for that later during our next training session. Now, however, I smirked and proceeded to partake in the Victory Dance.
Amused by my strangeness, Gimli slapped his hand against his leg and, through his mouthful of food, chuckled, "A strange lass ye are, always keeping us on our toes!" He smirked at my grumbling reply.
Legolas, however, appeared deeply disturbed, with his beautiful face caught between horror and resignation. I could not tell if Legolas had been disturbed by my, er, mildly provocative dancing. Or if Gimli had scared him off with his beautiful display of 'see-food.' Neither was very pretty. After I had completed the rendition of Rihanna's Pon de Replay, I returned to my meal and then acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Legolas sighed, but said nothing. He was slowly beginning to learn that the best course of action when dealing with me was none at all.
Eyes faintly reproachful, Aragorn turned his attention to me as well and demanded, "Where in the name of the Valar did such indecency become acceptable to teach young women?" It appeared that Aragorn did not like the dancing. Wonder why…?
Thinking about it, I stared at him, smiled brightly, and then quipped, "Los Angeles!"
At least I didn't lie when answering him…
Everyone was now sporting confused expressions, something that had become quite common in the last two weeks. Nobody here really clicked with my sense of humor and, apparently, hated how I danced. My singing and spouting off information in different languages would probably freak them out, too. The Fellowship, even now, was confused and uncertain because none of them had heard of the place I referred to – be it village, town, or city.
"Little One, I have not heard of this 'Los Angeles,'" Aragorn hesitantly admitted, before turning his head to the side and muttering a quick – Thank the Valar for that small miracle. "Is it close to Rohan, perhaps?"
"It certainly is not close to Gondor," Boromir muttered with absolute certainty, facial expression and tone of voice clearly expression his disgust with my so-called dancing. The Gondorian looked ready to give me a chastity belt and lock me up.
The Fellowship quickly agreed with each other – have not heard of it, where is it, is it far away? So I began to panic. I had forgotten how stubborn the members of the Fellowship, particularly Aragorn and Gimli, could be if they wanted something badly enough. Fucking bloodhounds! Let me add that Aragorn and Boromir really wanted to know all about the life that I had led before I had found myself in Lothlórien. Really, really, really wanted to know…
Eventually, I shifted in my seat, unknowingly confirming their suspicions, and mumbled, "Home is where the heart is."
A piece of wisdom, I recalled, that Seth had imparted before leaving for Iraq.
Thankful, for the first time, that Sam was a stick in the mud, I exhaled in relief because the quiet Hobbit had changed the subject. He offered his dearest friend another roll, studiously ignoring my presence. Frodo accepted with his usual aplomb and, thankfully, the matter was closed, completely shut down, and The End.
As soon as my stomach settled, I glanced back to the side to see our current leader observing me closely, and sighed wearily; it seemed that Aragorn would not be deterred. The Ranger smiled, hearing the sigh, and started, "I have traveled for many years now…"
Yep. Ya really are an old goat, aren't you? I thought wryly while leaning forward to cup my chin with the hand I braced against the table. Damn shame, too. Because I gotta admit that you're really attractive…
"…and I have yet to comeacross anywhere named 'Los Angeles.' New territories have not been created and declared to us as of late, either…"
You know, Arwen is one incredibly lucky girl. I paused while blinking furiously, momentarily struck dumb with the realization. ...uh, Elf. One lucky Elf.
"…Care to explain that without omitting the details, Little One?" Aragorn finished triumphantly, smirk pulling handsomely at his lips. A clear gotcha expression was pasted to his regal face, which made him look at least ten years younger.
My head slowly cocked to the side, like a puppy, and I pleasantly drawled, "Ya do realize that I wasn't payin' the least bit o' attention to ya, right…?" My voice trailed off to give him a moment to consider that question.
The Ranger stared down at me, expression devoid of all emotions. A blank slate. Tabula Rasa. Smiling, I waved both hands in front of his face, but nothing – no response. I bit back hysterical laughter because, apparently, Elvis had left the building, Ladies and Gentlemen. He beat quite the hasty retreat, too. I slowly frowned at his lack of response. Alas, Boromir was speaking to Gimli and not watching me carefully enough – terrible babysitter, that one – and I slipped the knife from his plate and grasped it tightly in my palm because I had yet to receive a response from Aragorn. So I resorted to Plan B.
Without thinking too much about it, I slashed the knife through the air and slapped it down against his left hand. No need to worry! It was a regular ol' butter knife, not a machete…
As such, Aragorn jumped in his seat and let out a startled yelp, tumbling back from the chair and down in the dirt in an ungraceful heap. A large clay mug was suddenly tipped, spilling the white milk down his sleeve because the Ranger had tried to right himself. Wide gray eyes stared at his hand like it might be something foreign. As the hand had been covered in milk and butter and bread crumbs, I had little doubt that it did freak him out – or at least confuse him!
Mechanically, Aragorn turned his head to the side and glared nastily at my amused smile. He appeared absolutely furious, and the amusement slowly washed out of me, as a wave of guilt flooded in instead. The Ranger snarled, "You little terror!"
My amusement had vanished, and in its place, I could feel the churning of unfamiliar feelings, like guilt and shame. I smiled at him, but said nothing, deciding to ignore the feelings. What happened to 'Little One,' Aragorn? Merely shrugged in response, because I knew it would infuriate him beyond all belief. Called it, too!
The Ranger gritted his teeth in his fury and practically grinded them to dust with the force of keeping the worst of his insults to himself. Uncharacteristically, Aragorn rudely demanded, "Honestly! Were you raised in the barn?"
"Racist," I sang out cheekily, while also stamping down the need to blush at the painfully accurate insult. I had spent plenty of time in the barn – with the animals, and with Seth. "Discrimination!"
Quickly, Aragorn shut his mouth, but the Man continued giving me a good dose of Evil Eye. If looks could kill, I would certainly be on my way to the Great Beyond yet again. Poor Aragorn would probably be joining me soon after because Oromë would most probably kill the idiot that sent me on my way up to disturb the serenity of his little sanctuary. The Rat Bastard had not wanted to see me once. Seeing me again would probably make him homicidal.
Not that I blamed them, but nobody here wanted to spend time with me now, or ever. I had been asked to train with them, and I ate most meals with them, but other than those two things, I was pretty much left alone. My recognition of that thought didn't really sit well because I could remember well enough that old feeling of loneliness. And I did not want to return to that horrible and empty lifestyle. Not now, not ever.
Why, then, did I always push people – good people, nice people – away?
I wish…
A soft noise left his lips, drawing my attention to him, and I noticed Aragorn giving me a rather strange look. He appeared quite disturbed with something I had done or said, but hey – nothing new. "Are you…?"
"Why is Samantha crying?" Boromir suddenly demanded, and without letting him finish his question, and without waiting for his explanation, either. Instead, Boromir sent him a rather dirty glare. "…Aragorn?"
"I… I'm sorry," I whispered to Aragorn, to Boromir, to all of them. How could I tell them the truth? How I could I explain? Being here was wonderful, but I hated being the oddball. I had always been strange back home, but here, I was really strange. My voice cracked, but I still repeated the mantra – "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
The Men were unnerved and confused with the reaction, and I briefly wondered if either of them had though to blame PMS. I was supposed to start two days prior, but dying seemed to have jacked it up. My emotions still seemed to be wild and out of control, though, and I couldn't blame them for staring at me so. Honestly, I didn't know what I was apologizing for…!
Harassing Legolas. Clinging to Boromir. Hurting Aragorn.
My cursing, attitude, and stupidity?
I wish…
Finding that Boromir seemed to be only one step from strangling him, Aragorn hastily set about fixing the situation. "There is no use in crying about spilled milk, little one," The Ranger (stupidly) tried to tease me.
Blankly, I stared at him. No hug. No smile or wave. Seth would have smiled and pressed his side to mine. A few wise words spoken in a soft and playful voice appeared to be the only apology I would receive, though, from Aragorn. …Why had I bothered to try again?
War stole something from me…
Had it been another time, another place, and had I been the girl that I was a year ago, I would've laughed. I would have laughed hard enough that I dropped to my palms and knees, with tears in my eyes. I would have found him pretty funny. And I would have appreciated his attempt at humor. Now, though…
No explanation for it at all, but suddenly, I was angry. No, I was not mad. I was enraged and infuriated with this cheeky shit. He was supposed to be serious and predictable, and not funny and playful and likeable and…and…
An unpleasant sneer on my upturned face, I scowled furiously at Aragorn, who blinked in shock. I started to speak without thinking, like I usually did, and snapped, "What the Hell? You weren't quite this fresh in Tolkien's books –"
Ah. As I usually did, I also regretted speaking without thinking beforehand. I froze, suddenly very aware of why I had decided to avoid contact with these people. Yet, here I was now…in the kitchens…eating lunch with the entirety of the Fellowship. My stomach sank, slowly burrowing itself deeper and deeper into my old sneakers. I visibly deflated at his dumbfounded expression. With another sigh, I gathered the empty plate I had used and then stalked towards the kitchens, depositing the dirty dish in the sink. My appetite was gone. Shocker…
Ignoring the calls of the Fellowship, I skidded down the unfamiliar hallway and into a small but breathtaking garden. I heard them approaching me. Before I could examine the blue flowers, I had to hide, and I quietly slipped through the hole in marble wall that lined the bed of roses. A soft grunt escaped through parted lips. My hands were now scraped, knees bloody by the time that I had successfully dug my way out, to the other side. Why do roses need to have all these thorns? Ouch, ouch, ouch!
As I brushed myself off and glanced around, I realized that I wasn't in a garden, but the peaceful valley that the in which the Magic Mirror had been placed by Lady Galadriel.
"Lady Samantha! Sammy! Where are you?"
"…Little One!"
I cringed, finding that nickname particularly bruising to my conscience, but I stayed silent. My lips trembled, and I stared into the water, ashamed that I had left the kitchens like I had during lunch. Essentially, I had stormed off – much like the spoiled child would if disciplined by her parents. Aragorn wasn't like Daddy, though; I doubted the Man would hit me. I wasn't even angry with Aragorn. Honestly, I was not mad at anybody.
No, I was just really…
Disappointed.
After twenty miserable years of life, I had finally been given the chance to fit in and participate in a worthwhile fight – saving Middle Earth would be worthwhile, too – and yet, I couldn't allow myself to get closer to these eight individuals. I was already close enough, much too close. Any mention of Earth, and I would be tempted to tell them the truth, to tell them that I could help to figure out how to save more people and change the fate of Middle Earth.
My head bowed, I dropped down to the ground and burrowed into my arms, which I had placed atop the knees I pulled closer. No, I couldn't afford for that to happen. There could be no sly words of wisdom. No suggestions. No hints. Nothing!
Because if I slipped and let somebody hear those secrets, even once…
Consequences would be dire.
I wish…
"'Destiny is not the matter of chance, but of choice,'" I quoted slowly, thinking back to the lectures about William Jennings Bryan that I had heard in college history courses. "'Not something to wish for, but to attain.'"
My heart ached, but I repeated the last line once more. "'Not something to wish for.'"
War. War stole something from me. Wind whistled through the trees at each word, spoken only in my mind, and in theirs, the ancient language that only the trees understood. I sighed quietly, wondering if I really deserved to be here, in Middle Earth. After all, I wasn't needed for anything special…
The Men, Elves, Dwarves, and Hobbits of Middle Earth saved themselves in the end.
What should it matter that I had made some stupid wish?
His name was Seth.
***Author's Note***
Hello again! I'm still posting the edited version - Edited 2015.
Questions: Who is Seth? Will I ever reveal Sammy's feelings for Aragorn?
PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!
:)