to lay bare our hearts as they call out to each other.
cast off your trappings. some things can only be seen
when you've lost everything.
----
The grass greeted Sam, as he gently awoke from a long dance of sleep. Flakes of memories surpassed his great loneliness and will to forget the last few days, and they landed with great caution. Wearily, Sam sat up and held his head, contemplating whether to get up, or rest longer. A melody of joyless dismal ran through his head, and as if it brought back a triste thought.
Sam stood up disheartenly. The sky shook with an oppressive embrace of clouds, that were colored a scorned evil. "No," he warned himself. "Mustn't get discouraged. Must move on, in whatever path I trust." Sam still felt bleak, and that hope was dying on him, even when he hadn't expected it. He had thought he would always be that optimistic hobbit. The hobbit who looked only for colorful things. "I ought to get in touch with myself lately...seems I've been changing on me." Sam sighed, wondering if he would even make plain sense anymore.
"Now, if only I could remember why it is I ended up here," he squinted about at the distant mountains and trees that bordered the plain. Last time he was awake, he was travelling very fast, through gathered rocks and trees. The position of the trees made it look as though a ruined village had once dwelled there, one made of keen stone. The Sun's last hours had been painting the sky smoothly with Her red hands, reaching to pull the Moon up in place. He decided to rest amoung the rocks for the night, and sleep as much as possible, and trying to forget all about food.
"That's right," he mumbled. "I fell asleep around that area...and I ended up here."
Sam reached to his pocket, wanting somewhere for them to call home. His fingers lingered slowly though; his trousers had a strange texture to them. They felt covered in a scattered substance. He pulled his hand from his side, and lo! for his hands were covered in not just earthly dust, but of shedded blood. Blood other than his own. His hand shook, leaving his arm to, and so forth his body. He wiped the dust on his shirt, trying to get a better look at the blood stained hands. "Mustn't yell in horror," he stammered.
He began to run, to look for any to wash his hands under. His body waded, he couldn't stand the way he ran. The blood ran dry against his tense hand, but he could feel it hugging his skin. He wanted the blood off; he felt almost deserving to be dead himself. What if he had killed a man? All these strange tidings, who knows what he could of commited.
Stranger stories ran through his mind, and he was scared people would begin rumours. Such as "Oh that Samwise, he use to be an alright lad. Until he turned into such a blood-ringing hobbit. Nasty little one he is, too. Always thought he was a harmless Gaffer, meaning to do no wrong. Now look at him; possibly that Frodo got him into it? Never trusted that fellow, either."
Sam shut his eyes, trying to ignore his mind. He couldn't ignore himself anymore. He certainly was changing on himself. Such times, bringing such horrible memories to come with it. He didn't want to dream anymore. "Such an ass, I am. I refuse to sleep now. I will do without."
His heart ached with longing for Frodo. Everything reminded him of his Master. The fields, the distant mountains, the wind hugging him from behind. Colors rang by Sam's side, as he ran amoungst the morning mists, and the awakening Sun. His heart reluctantly pushed him back, slowing him to be able to appreciate the rare life about him. No time to greet the mornin'... His eyes met with a snowy haze, one of which almost lightened his heart lest he remembered why it was he looked for a stream in the first place. He reached his hands out, wearily, wanting more than anything to drench the blood that caked his poor hands. Tenderly, he knelt down, stroking his hands under the clear flow of water. The reflections of the Sun sailed down the river repeatedly, cheerful as usual.
Overwhelmingly, Sam winced at the blood that took over the clear shining of the water. It turned everything dark, as if it were Mordor. "What happened to always being happy, Sam?" he wanted someone to ask. "Now, it seems you are leaning on anything that will lead you to happiness. Where has all in your life gone?"
Frodo crossed his mind. All that was meaningful to Sam was taken with Frodo. All that made him happy. As Sam would never know Frodo felt so low around Sam, for not having the cheerfulness he did. For having that meaningful appreciation for life. Life was very meaningful to Sam. It meant everything. Getting up in the morning, growing colors from the soil of Hobbiton, walks and singing along with the birds. Going with his master of a quest that would most certainly mean never coming back. Meaning, he'd never enjoy those things again.
He longed to sing with the birds once more. Most birds around the region weren't to be trusted.
"Wonder how all are doing back in Hobbiton, anyway. Hopefully all is the same. Hopefully they are all fine without me. Would it matter, at the least?"
Alas, he could never live without them. Without his dear fellow hobbits. Meriadoc, Peregrin, Bilbo, his Gaffer, and of course, his beloved Frodo. He scratched his head, almost grinning. What would all of those hobbits think of his feelings? They would tell him that they thought his only desire was being back home, safe with a hearty meal, a pipe, and a garden to dirty his hands in. That wasn't his life anymore. If in any case, Frodo was what he turned to with a broken heart. Though he never right out came to say it; he'd show Frodo his love through companionship. The only regret was, was that all Frodo got from Sam's intentions?
It was all too true, that Frodo probably did not love Samwise back. That he looked upon Sam as a true friend only. Not that that was a bad thing. Oh indeed no! It was a high honor for Sam; better than a year's worth of mushrooms. And it takes much to be better than that.
He wondered how much his feelings with Frodo were interfering with the whole quest. He had most likely delayed all chances as of now. Proving how much of a git he was.
Oh Sam! Frodo's laughing expression cried. You mustn't put yourself down the way you do. Such an admirable hobbit. Such a wonderful hobbit. There is no need to feel the way you do; you are valuable in your own way. In a way that is valuable to myself, as well.
Sam recalled those words perfectly. Frodo's reassuring advice had made his heart feel more supported that day. Sam had fallen over, tripping over a tree limb, and items flew from his bag and scattered everywhere. His position left him in a pile of food utencils and cloths. He remembered looking up at Frodo's almost crying laugh. He felt like a comic relief. But enough to make Frodo smile the way he did. That smile had stayed with him to this day.
He didn't forget either, how he explained to Frodo how he thought of himself at times. That's when Frodo knew exactly what to say. What to make Sam move on, even days from that day, and so on.
"Oh Master Frodo," his voice rang in a wounded tone. He dug his face into his hands, mists of tears blending with the mists of morning. Frodo was the millions of worlds that lay into Sam's mind. Each had such a story to tell. He wanted to be able to create adventures with Frodo, almost like Bilbo did with the dwarves and Gandalf. But this adventure was the complete opposite. They were not searching for a dragon and riches. They were searching for the future, along with death.
Was a very unwanted death. Was a death created by fate. Suddenly death had caught the interest of the gardener, he thought, "Why be afraid of death? No sense in living. I will be unneeded as it is...People won't accept me anymore. People won't want me. Frodo doesn't." His eyes flooded, creating a stream of his own. The tears slid down his face, creating a delta by the edge of his lips. He slid from the seat he had taken, and let himself be cleansed in the stream beside him. A world of black had taken him.
Hopefully even death, if Sam was lucky.
Bubbles caressed his face. They popped like dreams, the blast of air being released had pushed back his hair. His hair floated along the rough top of the stream, floating in all directions. Rain set a pattern against the long wide stream. Rain hit against the back of neck, sending chills up his body.
Sam lifted his eyes gently. The water scratched his eyes and nose. Far away in the abyss of water, he could of saw Frodo's face. Smiling, almost in a saddened way. The eyes of his face had been glazed with a barrier of tears, unable to release. It floated like the sea. And in that sea, Sam saw a longing that could not be described. Something that had dwelled, but never breathed air from above. Had it decided to show itself, finally?
Sam gaped his mouth, expecting fresh air to purify him. His heart skipped, and he coughed, remembering he had been in water. He came up, gasping for the air he needed. His mind still lay at the bottom of the stream, even as he floated above. He almost wished Frodo had been waiting above the stream for his Sam to return. If he were to be long, he could always of had the aid from Frodo of receiving air.
His face was flushed with red, as he always did spend much of his time fantasizing possible moments with Frodo. Moments that would involved them being in love. Sam hadn't for days, and it had recently became a daily task.
"I'm too afraid," Sam scolded himself. "I need to be more open. I cannot linger the way I do. Oh there I go again! I need to promise myself something; to stop making choices that I will not try on. Whatever I decide, my mind will be set. I will search for a way to achieve it." He dried his tears, gratefully. Samwise Gamgee, would begin anew lest to find Frodo first.
Soothing melodies crossed Sam's mind. He tried singing to himself as he walked a desperate path. Hours after hours came by, and a Sunset kissed him goodbye. Bidding him luck. He accepted what it was the flaming death of the day had given him. He had wasted the best of his day walking on, with one ambition. His legs burned, and his heart pulled onto him, as if trying to climb out. "I can last. I surely will, Master Frodo." The sky burned with a madness that only Sam's melancholy soul could understand. It brought out the worst in his memories of Frodo.
"No, no, no Sam! Don't be discouraged! What hurts you, only makes you stronger." His heart bled as though it had been tangled in the roses of his recent garden. That garden was a very healthy one. One of his favorite. He remembered plotting all of it, each flower planted after some conversation with his Mr. Frodo.
Sam held his torn heart. He craddled it in his arms. "Mr. Frodo, you pull me unto further limits. I wouldn't be going this far for just anyone, but you. Someday your shining face will help me plant another garden. A garden of roses, of so many colors. Red, yellow, blue. All of them for you. For that is what our lives are about. A garden of colorful roses, tangled yet scattered, different yet alike, hearts connected by roots. And of course, they have their thorns too."
A noise wrestled with leaves and trees. Sam jolted his head up, looking around furiously with confused fear. Bare feet could be heard, and a voice that seemed to not mind being loud. Sam cautiously stood up, wishing he had never stopped where he was. The Sun was almost in bed, as her nightcap was on and all she needed was to be tucked in and kissed. Sam paid to heed to the details of the dying sky, as his heart raced with both fear and hope. Fear in a way that he wondered if it would harm him, and hope in a way he thought it'd be help. Maybe even Frodo.
Prayers had been answered though, as Sam peeped himself over the bush after much daring. It was the stranger from the day or so ago. But there was much resemblance between him and Frodo. If anything, his face was sterner, much more emotionless, and looked like it had been through many more hardships. Almost a futuristic Frodo.
Not only that, but he was fighting with something that could not be seen. He swung an overly large sword in directions that did not seem random, but like he really was aiming for something. His hair swung, the waves brushing against his dirty face. His eyes, they had a Frodo look to them, but were much, much more lonelier. Too lonely to be the Frodo he knew.
Samwise's heart knew too well, but his mouth did not. He unintentionally let himself go, sliding through the bush and rolling into the stranger's (who wasn't very much a stranger anymore) view. He paid no heed to Sam's foolishness though, as his mind was still set on the beast that only he could see.
Sam notioned to let the scarcely clad fellow know. He was less or so not wearing much clothes. But more rags. Sam couldn't tell if he was a hobbit or not; he had raggedy bags about his feet. He seemed the right height for a hobbit, though. Still, Sam was not convinced it was Frodo. He almost felt the need to pour out a pen and scroll, and right down a list of Frodo-like qualities. Instead, he wrote it down in his mind.
The stranger grunted with fury, now more than ever trying to smite the air with his proud blade. Beads of sweat poured from the cracks of his scalp, and his hair was messier than Mirkwood. Sam closely examined him, but not long enough; the Frodo-looking hobbit disappeared. Sam gave a silent gasp, for one moment the stranger had hesitated, and behold! the next he had disappeared. Such devilry! It brought such a thought to Sam's mind!
Sam stood up, in a shock and a bleak memory crossed his mind. One of which he hoped never to think of again. "Damn it all!" he kicked the ground.
Moments later, the now feared stranger had reappeared before Sam's dreary eyes. Sam made no haste with questions, he had already begun the second his face had showed itself again. He felt as though he deserved to know the answers, for he had been through much sorrow and toil. The hobbit stranger, however, made no haste either. He sneered, barked back, and tried to hurry along, avoiding Sam as much as possible.
Sam only followed. Even if it were to make things worse.
"Who are you?" Sam demanded. Sam's nescience was sure end up on the edge of a knife.
No reply, as usual. Sam lowered his brow, with a determined look. He'd force it from him, if need may.
"I ask it of you again. I am very weary, and I don't plan on sleeping. I haven't eaten for days," he laid a hand on his empty stomach. "Which surely isn't good at all. Wouldn't like me on a empty stomach, I'll warn you that!" He smiled at his own witty words.
"Samwise," the voice mumbled. Sam awoke from the dream he felt stupid for dreaming; he had remembered how this stranger knew his name so long ago. "You needn't learn what I need to teach you, you will not need it where you are going."
The stranger lowered his head, smiling as the dark surrounded him only. Sam stood, facing the strangers back, wondering what expression he was wearing. The strangers Frodo hair shook back and forth with a dreaded 'no', beginning to say in a calm voice, "If you must know who I am," he turned about, feeling the need to expatiate. He still allowed the darkness to find his face. "I am merely a hobbit."
Sam wished he were out of the mess he dug himself into, repeating to himself a familiar quote, 'what a pickle we're in now, and no mistake.'
Words came from the strangers mysterious mouth, words that Samwise did not wish to hear of. He only knew in his mind one thing: Frodo lived. And Frodo was near. He had a feeling...
"If you want to know what it was I was fighting, it was my worst enemy." A pause followed this slow sentence. "Myself."
"Or should I say my worst enemy is now you? I most desire to have you head upon this blade!"
He drew his thick, wide sword, and swung it with no effort towards Sam. Sam screamed jumped, just barely missing the deadly edge. Sam tried to move his slow body around to get a better glimpse at the stranger. He jumped and dodged every swing. The blade came down like reflections of lightning all at once, aiming for Sam.
Sam swung himself about, running around a tree, and he began to run backwards. Randomly tripping backwards, he'd eagerly save himself and stand upright again. Just so, the stranger now swung hard and fast, and Sam bent backwards and forwards to miss the accurate aims that the hobbit would throw at him.
The hope of Sam thinking the stranger was not Frodo, had completely fell through, for lo! a deadly star appeared from the strangers undergarments. A deadly star Sam hadn't seen in days and wished to never again witness. What an omen it was!
Sam ducked for the last time, yelling "That horrid thing! Oh curse it all, my Frodo what has happen to you!"
"To me?" Frodo replied. "What has happened to you? Attacking me the way you did! Samwise, you truly have no clue! Friend of friends indeed, a friend of friends that was never to be. For I have only one friend now." He held the ring up by the chain around his neck and held it preciously. He held it almost motherly.
Sam looked away in disgust and called back, "Master Frodo! Do you know what you are saying? Have you no more will? The ring has been tricking you! Or some devilry! I would never hurt you!"
"You lie to me, Samwise Gamgee!"
Frodo's eyes burned with tears. Sam felt his heart sink, and the roses that he hoped to grow so lovely, had died. The night was covered with the darkest of clouds, and not a star would come out. It was a night that would cause death. Death to Samwise's beloved Frodo. What had become of his master?
Sam begged to his knees, "Mr. Frodo..."
"No, Sam. I love you. And now I hate you."