Okay…
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Sure enough, Sam woke up many hours later, by himself and fully rested. Judging by the color of the sky and the shadow cast by the Stone, it was late afternoon. He sat up and stretched his arms, which, as he realized just then, were rather sore. He vowed that, next time, he fall asleep on a bedroll. Shire soil tended to be rather rough on the back.
He turned over to see that Frodo and Merry had fallen asleep. Their pipes laid beside them, hinting that they had tried to entertain themselves with a little pipeweed sometime before they fell asleep. Sam shook his head as he gazed at the two elderhobbits.
Those two…
Sam then came to realize his painfully empty stomach. It had been long, too long by hobbit standards, since any of them had eaten anything. So Sam decided to start dinner. Nothing helped bring feuding hobbits together better than food.
Once he had gotten a fire going, Sam set to preparing the food. A rasher of bacon would do the trick to wake them up. Digging around in his knapsack, he produced a bottle of oil (an essential for cooking on the road). He poured it into the frying pan, and it hit the hot metal with a loud hissing noise, sending up a cloud of steam. Quickly throwing a gaze in Frodo and Merry's direction, Sam saw them stir slightly in their sleep, but not wake up. He smiled contently and laid the slices of bacon into the frying pan. He allowed them to sizzle in the oil for a few minutes, watching them pop and crackle. Then, glancing about furtively, he deftly reached into the pan and plucked one of the pieces right of the oil. He blew on it to cool it off and popped it in his mouth, chewing on it gleefully. Merry was, of course, the first to wake up.
"Food!" he exclaimed, quickly getting to his feet and dashing over to Sam's side. "Food! Food! Huzzah!"
"Whuh?" Frodo mumbled, half awake. "Foo?"
"Food!" Merry squealed in delight. Frodo instantly snapped awake and hopped up next to Sam.
"How splendid!" he grinned widely. "I had forgotten completely about eating. My, am I starved!"
"And I certainly won't let you stay that, sir," Sam replied, handing Frodo the first slice. Frodo enthusiastically ate it up.
"Come on, come on!" Merry whined. "I'm hungry, too!"
"Hold your horses, Mister Merry," Sam stated. "One hobbit at a time." Sam unhurriedly tended to the cooking bacon while Merry grew more and more impatient.
"Certainly quick to service Frodo—"
Just then, before he could properly finish griping, he found a slice of bacon thrust into his hands. He looked at it, then at Sam, but ate it anyway.
The three hobbits continued to eat their meal in peace and the obvious sense of joy over, well, food. Even though it was simple, it was delicious. After they finished, they shared a little more pipeweed and watched the sky slowly grow dark.
"So," Frodo said, taking a small puff on his pipe. "What do you think we should do next?"
Sam inhaled deeply on his pipe. "Where can we—" He suddenly broke off into a series of coughs. He had just started learning how to smoke and he didn't quite have the full swing of it yet. "Ack, ack! Aggh… Pardon me, sir. As I was sayin', where can we go?"
Frodo rooted around in his knapsack and drew out a small leather-bound tube. From out of it he pulled a rolled-up parchment. He stretched it out on the grass. It was a map of the Shire. He pointed at the dot marking the Three Farthings Stone.
"We're here," he stated. "As you can see, there are several towns relatively near-by, excluding Bywater." He pointed to other cities on the map. "Waymoot and Frogmorton are right on the East Road. Tuckborough and Pincup are close, but located on the Green Hills. It's already late afternoon, so if we tried to make for any of these towns, we would be to any either of them after midnight." He looked up at Sam. "You see, Sam, your little nap has put us in a tough place. Trying to find an inn at one of these towns would be very hard after midnight (you would be mad if you tried pitching a tent when it's absolutely dark out). The problem is if we stayed here, or went back to either Bywater or Bag End, we would have to wait around until we felt tired again. That means we would wake up late, try to go out again, and not get very far at all." He paused. "Basically, we're stuck."
He sighed and sat back, allowing Sam and Merry to ponder for a moment.
"Maybe we can keep going, sir," Sam proposed. "It's very lovely out and we wouldn't be needin' a tent, if you follow me."
Merry nodded in agreement. "How about it, Frodo? You and I never tried hiking at night. Who knows…? It might be fun."
Frodo repeated Merry's last word. "Fun…" He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know… I'm feeling pretty lucky." He thought for a second, taking another smoke on his pipe. "Sure, why not?"
"Anything to get away from this Stone," Merry said, looking over his shoulder at the ruins. "It's such an eyesore. And it's giving me the creeps!" He shuddered.
"Do you fellows want to go south, then?" Frodo asked. "That's not near Buckland." Merry smiled and nodded in agreement. "So, let's see how far we can go, shall we?"
Frodo was, on the other hand, a little skeptical. With the way things had been going over the past two days, this whole trip was teetering precariously, hanging off a thread. One wrong move from any one of them could mean the ruin of the entire trip, and, heaven forbid, someone's psyche. So, he was very adamant in resolve to prevent anything else bad from happening.
The three hobbits shouldered their knapsacks and set off from the Three Farthing Stone. They were planning on going due south until they hit the Green Hills, and then turn west to Tuckborough, perhaps stopping off at the Tooks' before taking the north road to the East back to Hobbiton. The land they were going to go through was loose farmland with houses few and far between. It would rolling foothills, helping spread out the time they would take getting to Tuckborough and keeping it from being a straight, boring foot march. They had also chosen a leisurely pace at which to take all this. Merry certainly didn't want to hurry; the longer the time they took, the longer the time away from Brandy Hall he would be.
Twilight crept across the western Shire sky. Stars began lighting up one by one like candles hanging in the heavens. Soon, the chirping of the crickets filled the heavy summer air and it was evening at last. The hobbits marched wordlessly as night set around them. It was peaceful and tranquil.
Merry yawned. "Can we stop now?" It was getting darker as he spoke, though the stars and moon shone brightly. "I'm tired." He sat down where he was, letting the knapsack slide off of his shoulders. Frodo sighed and joined him, and was immediately followed by Sam.
"This is a good enough spot," Frodo pointed out, rubbing his back after taking his knapsack off. "Ah… I shouldn't have brought so much…"
"Do you want me to carry somethin' for you, Mister Frodo?" Sam piped up eagerly. Frodo knew he was going to do that.
"No," Frodo replied as he eyed Sam's knapsack, the tent protruding out quite saliently. "You certainly have enough to carry yourself." He patted the ground next to him. "Come sit. Take that silly thing off of your back." He reached for his water canteen and unscrewed the cap. Sam had not moved, but rather seemed to be waiting for something. Shaking his head, Frodo turned the other way and took a long swig. Sam leaned over and grabbed Frodo's knapsack. Weighing it, the knapsack seemed very light by his standards.
"It wouldn't be a problem at all, sir," he stated matter-of-factly. He let out a small, amused chuckle. "Actually, I could carry the whole thing." Frodo looked up from his canteen with a very straight, commanding look. Sam's grin melted off his face and he timidly placed both his and Frodo's packs onto the ground. He then sat down beside his master with a long sigh. Suddenly, before he knew it, he found the canteen being offered to him.
"Here, Sam." Frodo sloshed it around. "I can't believe you drank your whole canteen already. Are you sure you're not carrying too much?"
Sam blushed and shook his head. "Y-Yes, Mister Frodo, sir." He then stared at the canteen in Frodo's hands.
"Go on," Frodo smiled. "You must be very thirsty." He placed the canteen in Sam's hands. Looking at it and back at Frodo, Sam slowly raised it to his face and stopped. He had no choice but to drink from it, even if Frodo's lips had been on it or not. So, Sam took a small sip, feeling the water wet against his dry lips. His eyes flitted nervously back to Frodo's and he took a bigger swig. Sam was indeed quite thirsty, much to his surprise. When he was finished, he recapped it and gave it back to Frodo.
"Thank you, sir," Sam stated sheepishly, blushing. Frodo grinned and put the canteen back in his knapsack.
"That's good."
As they set out their bedrolls, they realized that Merry was already fast asleep. Frodo smiled and pulled the blanket over his sleeping cousin. Merry gave out a tired mumble and turned over in his sleep. Frodo sighed, laying back on his bedroll. Sam was still sitting up on his, but he seemed to be deep in thought. Frodo looked at him, at his distant, brown eyes.
"You know, Sam," he said after a long silence. Sam suddenly snapped back to reality. He looked over at Frodo quickly.
"Yes, Mister Frodo?"
Frodo sat up. "You know, Sam," he repeated. "I think you do some things only to impress me." Sam looked shocked, his eyes going wide and his face flushing darkly.
"S-Sir?"
"It's a curious thing," Frodo continued. "I know I'm not forcing you to do all these outrageous things. It seems more like you take them upon your own whim."
Sam still did not follow. "I-I'm not wholly sure what you're sayin', sir."
"I'm not saying that you're trying to show off, Sam." Frodo shook his head. "You are way too modest for that. It does seem, though, you are constantly trying to prove yourself to me."
Knowing he had to reply, Sam hung his head and exhaled a light sigh. "I always want to make sure you know that I'm doin' my best for you."
Frodo frowned in concern. "Did I ever say you weren't?" He placed his hands on Sam's shoulders and looked into his reluctant face. "Sam, I don't think you should ever worry about that. All I'm saying is that you're—"
"Too zealous, right?" Sam cut in tersely, leaving Frodo speechless.
"N-Not exactly…"
Sam let out an aggravated humph and tightly folded his arms across his chest. "Well, whether you think it's proper or no, I am willin' to do more for you than you would ever dare imagine. Tis nary an obligation on your part, nor a whim, as you put it. All that it is that I feel you deserve more than you give credit."
Frodo knew better than to question Sam like this, but when it came to the integrity of their master/ servant relationship, he always found himself in a corner. His servitude to Frodo was the single thing Sam was the most serious about. Such an encroachment upon it guaranteed a very bitter response from Sam, indeed.
"Please don't get me wrong, Sam," Frodo replied defensively, silently praying Sam would stop overreacting. "I'm not doubting you for a moment. Why must you become so offended whenever I bring this sort of thing up?"
"Forgive me, sir, but I thought you would have learned that by now."
"True…"
"I sincerely hope so.
"But, then again," Frodo continued. "You've been like that ever since you were a small lad." Sam seemed to be shrunken back behind his blanket, blushing sheepishly. Frodo tried smiling reassuringly, but he stilled sensed Sam's great distress.
"I'm not scolding you," Frodo cooed, his brow furrowed. "I know it's natural for you to go the extra mile when you do anything for me. I hope I'm not making it seem like you must do everything like that, am I?"
"Beggin' your pardon, sir," Sam mumbled shyly. "But you know that I enjoy doin' my best to please you." He straightened up, stately sticking his chest out. "It's my duty."
"It's not your duty to slave over me like you do," Frodo replied while he let out an anxious laugh. "For example, you did not need to carry the entire tent. We could have split it up."
"It's not a problem, really, Mister Frodo," Sam reassured him quickly, shaking his head and hands. "There's no need to worry yourself over me, sir."
Frodo smiled reluctantly. "It's just that you are almost too selfless and passionate in what you do. At home, you're always milling about, never stopping except for a quick meal. And, sometimes, you're even out in the worst of weather, risking illness." There came a reluctant pause and he slipped a quick look at Sam's face, right at his great, brown eyes. "But with you, it isn't just that. There's something much more." He gave Sam a very sincere, very serious look. "I have the feeling you'll wind up hurting yourself someday."
"W-What, sir?" Sam tried exceedingly hard to keep himself from yelling in disbelief. "What would make you say that, sir, if you don't mind me askin'?"
Frodo just smiled nervously and quietly chuckled to himself. "Never mind, Sam," he stated, shaking his head and laughing uneasily, though he seemed to do it to himself. "It… It's nothing."
Sam nodded his head weakly, mouthing the word "oh". Frodo quietly laid back down and turned his back to Sam while he drew the blanket around his shoulders. Drawing his knees under his chin, Sam sighed restlessly and stared ahead into the deepening night. He watched the black silhouettes of the trees sway back and forth hypnotically as staggered, erratic gusts of wind swept over them. Their slow dance only made Sam even more restless, and he stood up.
"I'm goin' for a stroll, if it's alright, Mister Frodo." His master stirred and vaguely nodded his head. He heard Sam walk off, his footfall diminishing behind the breeze. In the back of his mind, there was a small, chiding voice that nagged about Sam wandering off too far.
Frodo sighed softly. "I care about you more than you know, Sam." Nestling against his bedroll, he pulled the floppy wool blanket up to his neck and waited patiently for sleep to come.
As Sam ambled through the grass, he felt it brush up against his ankles and create a very annoying tickling sensation. The moon, though still quite full, was hidden from the sky, covered by clouds that had just started rolling in. He looked up at the sky above him, taking a moment to simply look. The farther he looked into the stars, the more that would appear. He gazed deeper and deeper until he realized he had been standing there for quite some time, just staring. Imagining how stupid he must have looked, he took his eyes off of the heavens and continued walking aimlessly off into the meadow.
"It's useless to stare at somethin' so pretty that you're never goin' to have," he mumbled sullenly under his breath. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he shuffled slowly through the field, his head hanging morosely.
Why was he so upset? Frodo talked to him like that all the time, so why was it bothering him now? Sam couldn't stand the notion of being a nuisance to his master; that would completely shatter him. After all, he had always tried to be an outstanding servant for Mister Frodo, doing everything he bid and even more, and always, always trying to please. The thought of Frodo considering him bothersome and, even worse, useless was more than he could possibly bear.
Sam kicked irately at a loose clump of dirt. "Damn it!" he growled, sending the dirt flying with considerable force. Where could Frodo get off with thinking that? Sam did nothing but better than his abilities to please his master, and what does he get in return? Humiliation, parent-like nagging, and that damned childish treatment. Sure, Sam was still a tweenager, but nobody, not even Mister Frodo himself, had the right to treat him like he was still "just a lad".
Suddenly, Sam's anger froze. Those words reminded him of his life back at home with his siblings and his father. Now that his mother was no longer around, life around the house became even more stressful. The only other hobbit younger than him was Daisy, but she was a girl. Sam was a lad, expected to be able to work at a moment's notice, toil in any kind of weather regardless of how important or necessary the task really was. "Always do as your master tells ye," his dad would say. "Remember that. He's your master and you're his servant, not his friend. An' if he says he ain't got anythin' for you to do, or thinks you're doin' too much for him, he's only tryin' to go easy on you. You're a strong lad, Sam. You don't need anyone's pity."
His older brothers didn't offer any more encouragement than his father, either. Most of all, his eldest brother, Hamson, was the most abusive. "Aye," he would say. "You don't need any pity because you don't deserve it! You wouldn't imagine how hard Da works us, while you get to loaf around all day with Mister Frodo. Fortunately, our masters ain't as cracked as yours, the bloody madman, and we get paid for doin' actual work, not lazin' about and readin' silly Elvish gibberish."
"Don't you go talking about Mister Frodo like that!" Sam would retort. Hamson would laugh, looking down on his youngest brother.
"The only reason you're even workin' for that loon is because Da doesn't want any of us gettin' involved with him." Sam's brown eyes would widen in disbelief at his words. "Da worked for Mister Bilbo," he would continue. "An' even he said he was off of it. But his cousin, that skinny, pale Buckland lad… There's somethin' truly wrong with that boy." Hamfast would watch in wicked amusement as Sam struggled between rage and shock at what he was hearing.
"They say, after his parents died, he went so mad they had to kick him out of Brandy Hall. He's supposed to be as angry as hell, lashing out at anybody he can get his hands on. An' then he turns around an' starts weepin' like a lass. An' they also say he takes to cuttin' himself up in the dark an' bleedin' 'til he's half dead… too cowardly to right kill himself, too cowardly to even see his own blood spillin' out his veins."
Sam would nearly be in tears. "T-That's not true… Mister Frodo's a kind and gentle person… H-He'd never act like that…"
But Hamson would only nod his head and grin. "You're just a stupid, little boy, Sam. How could you possibly think him bad? You spend too much time fawnin' over him like some love-struck lass an' not enough time keepin' your thoughts (an' eyes) on your work." Another crooked smirk would cross his face and he would tower above him, making him seem smaller and smaller until he was able to sense his unease. "An', if you're not careful, you're goin' to start feelin' up over him."
Sam's face would drain of all color, his eyes going as wide as saucers. "Wha-What…?" he would squeak, his voice cracking as his throat braced against stifled sobs. Tears would already be gleaming in his eyes and threatening to spill out over his sallow cheeks. Then, before he would know it, he'd be with his back against the wall, cornered like an injured animal, cowering beneath Hamson's acrid stare.
For a moment, Hamson would just watch this, saying nothing as his brother clung to the wall. Sam could tell that there was a great deal of iniquity, as well as horrible sadistic pleasure, in those eyes as they bore into him. An amused grin would cross Hamson's face, and he tossed his head aside.
"Heh. Pathetic. You're almost as bad as 'im. 'Tis a sad thought such a weak creature has been born into my family. Maybe it would've been better if he just stayed on that bloody boat… Or better yet… You an' him in that fire." He would turn around and start to walk away. "There's somethin' that wants to keep that stupid bleeder alive and why is certainly beyond me—"
Hamson's statement would dwindle off as he turned around to see his brother cautiously advancing on him, the rage now visible on his face. Hamson would then smirk amusedly, still remaining calm even after Sam had given him a powerful blow into the jaw. However, it would only glance off, not even making Hamson give so much as a stagger. Sam looked on in horror to see that his attack was completely ineffectual and now his brother was smiling evilly. He would then be overcome with crushing dread, watching a drop of blood roll down Hamson's insensitive face.
"Bloody, little fucker."
With one, fluid movement, Hamson would step forward and swiftly bring his hand across Sam's face, and not wasting a single moment, then deliver him a hefty punch in the stomach. The dizzying pain brought Sam to his knees, but a final, powerful kick in the side from Hamson would finally cause him to collapse completely.
"If there's one thing I can't stand more than your damn bastard of a master," Hamson would state as he stood towering over Sam's pain-ridden body. "Would be you tryin' to stand up for yourself."
"Go find yourself a girlfriend," he would say with a cruel chuckle, and then leave Sam to black out in his nauseating pain.
All of Sam's life, it seemed like his father and brothers were never on his side. To them, he was still "just a lad"
All those sayings drove him like a whip, subconsciously lashing out at him whenever he felt himself go out of line. He despised every word, yet he willingly let them drive him, control him. Sam was convinced he was still just a lad, completely devoid of any self-control or humility. The instant he would lose track of himself, let his defenses down, he was certain he would create disaster. So, like a triggered trap, the reprimanding words would spring from his mind and cast him back in place, like a stray soldier being thrown back into rank. By now, he had beaten himself hollow because of how many times he had to chastise himself. But the words still stung like poison every time he found his thoughts drifting about Frodo. Poison they were, indeed, and his system could not stand it for much longer. His master, the one whom he loved with all his heart, only brought him pain; a deep, venomous pain, dark with injustice and sorrow.
It shouldn't hurt so much to love someone… It shouldn't…It shouldn't…
"…I wish it wouldn't," he mumbled out loud, dejected. Heaving a sigh, he sniffled and idly brushed the tears away from under his eyes.
With that, he stopped to look at his surroundings. And sure enough, he was lost. He slumped his shoulders and sighed miserably, innately putting his hands into his pockets and making off in the opposite direction in which he had just come. All that thinking had completely worn him out, both physically and mentally. So as he gradually wandered back to camp, he was too tired and depressed to think anymore.
Before he knew it, he was back. Both Frodo and Merry were fast asleep. Sam stood there motionless for a few moments. It would have seemed like he was pondering about something, but he was not. Instead, he stepped over to his knapsack, pulled out his bedroll, and went back to the other side of the camp to sleep. After he laid down, he turned his head and saw the other two many yards away. He became rather sad and looked away again. It was a bit cold out now, but he didn't really care anymore, so he fell asleep shivering.
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Right-o.