This is just a little prologue to see if the story takes hold. This fic has been written on the request of one of my best friends, so please review and let me know how to make it better! (Any and all suggestions are welcome, I really don't know where this story's gonna go). This is for you Courtney (or should I say Sam!)!

Disclaimer: Sadly, I am not the greatest mind in all fantasy, JRR Tolkien (or maybe not so sad, cause if I was than I would be dead.), so I do not own any of the characters portrayed in this story. Um. I think I just changed my mind, I do want to be Tolkien, dead or not, it would be worth it to have been such a genius!

Recollections of Samwise Gamgee

Sam stood alone atop the Three Farthing Stone, as he had so many years ago, and looked at the lands around him. He saw the countless trees that were scattered across the landscape, the results of the Lady Galadriel's gift. He found himself thinking back on the day of his heart's departure, the day Frodo left the shores of Middle Earth forever.

Life was happy in the Shire, at long last. The youthful pranksters, Merry and Pippin, had since outgrown their youthful exuberance and come into their own. Sam's dreams had come to realization with the conformation of his marriage to Rosie Cotton. Frodo was experiencing the peace that he had so dearly earned, excluding his annual illnesses. Sam had further encountered an even greater and unexpected joy when his beloved Master Frodo invited him and his new bride to share his abode of Bag End. Sam's life had never been so full of joy and contentment.

However, as Elrond had so morbidly predicted that their last meeting, Frodo soon yearned to, once again, experience the companionship of Bilbo. Sam had blissfully misinterpreted Elrond's fateful words. Taking them to mean that Frodo would embark on a visit to the land of Rivendell. To the dismay of his life long companions, Frodo committed to embark, with his dear cousin Bilbo, on the ships from the Gray Havens.

Grief clouded Sam's mind as the recollections became, conversely, more clear. The realization of Frodo's intentions hit him like a sack of taters. Master Frodo was to depart along with his fellow ring bearers. The irony of the course of events still unhinged Sam from his carefully oiled and positioned hinges. How could it rightfully be the fate of those who fought the hardest to save Middle Earth to have to leave it?

It was always at this time of year, "when the leaves are gold, before they fall," when Sam found himself setting forth into the early morning dew to seek clarity he knew not where to find.