Author's note: I'm sorry this one took so long. I rewrote it twice, deleting a scene that I didn't think belonged here at all. It was a nice scene featuring Gandalf's thoughts on his exile, but I decided that, in the long run, all I could do was cover ground I had already walked on (but don't worry; the important parts in that scene will show up in other places for all you Gandalf fans). So I axed it, and in result, this one is a bit short. I'm sorry about that, but I feared that lengthening it would have lessened the impact, so what you see is what you get – for this chapter, anyway. Don't fear on that regard; there is more on the way. How much, even I do not know, but rest assured that I do not like leaving loose ends lying around to trip over. Therefore, I promise that I will finish this baby. Really, I will. As always, while I struggle toward that goal, please review and tell me what you think of my baby.
Disclaimer: In case you didn't notice, it's on the first page of the first chapter. To make a long story short, none of them are mine. Not a soul. Really. I'm not the genius Tolkien is, nor do I have that kind of money, so I'm not worth suing. And speaking of Sue's: since there are no Mary Sue's in my story, you need not worry. None of the characters are mine. I haven't needed to create many, although I have given one or two "little guys" a personality that Tolkien might not have intended. If so, I apologize. I'll put the toys back (neatly) in the box when I'm through. You hear that, Mom? I promised to clean up after myself!
Where the Shadows Lie
A Tale Of The Ring
"The Road goes ever on and on. Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, and I must follow, if I can, pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say."
Chapter Twenty: Memories
The dirt was warm beneath his knees. High above shined a sun that Mordor had not known in too long; accordingly, its affect was widespread and long overdue. Although not hot, the temperature was pleasantly warm, and the blue sky was clear, its smooth perfection marred by few clouds. All in all, many might have called it a perfect day – and others could have termed it a rebirth, a sign of good things to come, but for some, it was a day of memory.
Frodo hardly noticed his surroundings. The beautiful day had no effect on him; from the moment he had awoken, it had been with a heavy heart. The others had left him now, alone with his thoughts in respect for all he had been through. The last to leave had been Gandalf, who, with deep sadness in his eyes, had merely laid a gentle hand upon his left shoulder with feeling that transcended all need for words. One by one, though, they had left him kneeling in the dirt, his face wet with warm tears that flowed from his eyes like the waters of a river rapid. Alone, they had left him, in more ways than one, but that was not their fault. He had been alone for some time, no matter who stood with him; the press of events had only kept him from fully feeling it until now. But still, he was alone – forever now.
Frodo knelt in the dirt by Sam's grave, tears flooding from his eyes in droves as he wept for the best friend he'd ever had. It was not only Sam's sacrifice that he mourned for, of course; he cried as he thought of the future that Sam would never have, of the adventures they would never share. He wept because it was his fault that Sam had died. He wept because he would never see his friend again.
"I'm so sorry, Sam," Frodo whispered hoarsely. "I didn't mean for this to happen…"
He choked back a sob. It was hard to know if his decisions or fate had led to this point, but that, in the end, hardly mattered. The loss of Sam had punched a hole in his heart that nothing could ever heal. He had come to terms with his own role in it, eventually, while still a prisoner in Barad-dûr – it was either that or go insane – but burying Sam had reopened old wounds. He had been too busy, and too afraid, before to ever look toward the future. Now that he could, though, he did not like what he saw. Frodo did not want to think of a future without Sam.
The entire Fellowship had come to the burial, had been reunited one last time. For one final hour, the Nine Walkers had come together: Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, Frodo – and Sam. To honor Sam they had borne him to the gravesite together; eight beings from such widely differing backgrounds and cultures who were united by purpose and grief. Each had spoken soft words in memory of Sam. Most had cried. Only Gandalf had remained dry-eyed, but his sorrow had been no less real as he stood by Frodo's side, lending silent support to the grieving hobbit. Last to speak, Frodo had found himself unable to find words to say all the things he wanted to, and had finally, only whispered, "I will miss him." The others understood.
That, he knew, was why they had left him there, kneeling in the dirt by his friend's grave. They had given him the chance, in private, to say to Sam what needed saying. Now, though, the words that had been so hard to form came flooding from him like his heartfelt tears.
"I wish that Bilbo had never found the Ring, Sam…" he whispered. "I wish it had never come to me – because then we could still be in the Shire, living life the same old way. I wish none of this had happened.
"Most of all, though, I wish you hadn't insisted on coming with me. I wish you'd gone back to the Shire. Why did you have to be so loyal, Sam?" his voice broke. "Why did you have to come? Why didn't you go back to the Shire? If you had, none of this would have happened…" But he knew that was not true. Without Sam, he might very well have been dead, then, and though Frodo had wished for that once or twice, in his darker moments, he knew that he really did not want to die. He owed Sam that much – much more than he could ever repay. And if going on was the price of Sam's sacrifice, Frodo would do so for eternity.
Something inside him seemed to lift with those thoughts. Perhaps there was a life left now, even though he had a hard time imagining the future without Sam. Perhaps, then, there was a reason to go on, even if it was only to honor his best friend. It would not be easy, but no Baggins had ever known how to give up on the hard stuff, and Frodo was no different. He swallowed.
"Or maybe it would have." He sighed. "I guess I still don't understand why you had to do it, Sam… But I'll honor your choice. I really will. I know it will be hard, but I owe you that much. I owe you my life, and I will not throw it away over grief. Even though I want to sometimes.
"You're the best friend I've ever had, Sam, so please don't take it wrong when I walk away from here with my head held high. Maybe I'm fooling myself in thinking that you'd want me to, but I hope I know you well enough for that. You gave me a second chance, and now that the Ring is out of my hands… Oh, Sam, I owe you so much. I just wish you were here to share this world with me. I just wish you could see it now…" Frodo gulped back tears, and glanced up at the sky. In the space of so few days, the world had changed. Darkness had turned to light, and while there was still evil left in the world – just as there would always be – Sauron and his legacy were destroyed.
In the end, perhaps that was Sam's legacy. Who knew what would have happened had Samwise not made a fateful decision and sacrificed his life to Sauron's evil madness? Where might they have been without him? Frodo closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back frightening images of the darker future that he had very nearly experienced. It was done. Sam was dead – and the world was reborn.
"So I guess this is goodbye." Frodo found, to his surprise, that his tears had dried. It was over, and now he could look to the future – but he had to say one last thing first. Gently, he trailed his fingers over the newly packed dirt under which Sam lay. "I wish I had told you before, but now it's almost too late to say that you've always been more than a friend to me. I hope you can hear me now, too, because I should have said this long ago. I love you, Sam. You've always been a brother to me. I've always loved you like that."
He withdrew his hand, rubbing the dirt gently between his fingers. There was little warmth there, now, little of Sam, but he could almost feel something remaining of his best friend. His brother. He was gone, yes, but never forgotten. Frodo would see to that; he would help Bilbo finish his book, and together they would write of the brave hobbit's sacrifice. Someday, too, when Frodo, Merry, and Pippin had children of their own, they would share the story with them, and ensure that which needed to be told was told. That, Frodo decided, would be the best way to honor their lost comrade. That would be worthy of him.
Slowly, he rose to his feet. His legs were no longer shaky; in fact, they had seemed to acquire a steadiness that they had not held during the entire War of the Ring. He felt whole, somehow, even with the gap in his heart that the loss of his friend had caused. He took a deep breath, and looked down at the grave one last time.
"I will miss you, Sam."
