--- Too Much to Ask ---
A/N: Written at four a.m. on a complete whim as tears pooled in my lap... now that I read it it's not quite as sad as all that. Still just a drabble.
~~~
As the last pale shimmers of golden light began to subside, the grey waters, lapping against the shores became a beating melody that mocked from a distance. The sky was growing dark when Sam felt a hand placed gently on his shoulder just as another tear fell to splash against his soaked cloak. A tear amongst an endless sea, coursing along his cheeks in rivulets that felt like acid as they dripped upon his drenched shoulder in an endless coursing stream. There he stood, rooted, until a shuddering sob escaped his anguished throat and curled upon his lips, causing him to tremble and his hands to twitch. The hand upon his shoulder lifted as if it too felt the stinging acid of his tears. A voice then sought to reach him.
"Sam, we must be going. Sam-"
It crashed upon his ears with the whispers of the waves, broke against him with that steady force, fell useless against the great loss consuming his thoughts. He took another trembling sob and arms immediately encased him. They offered little warmth.
"Oh Sam-"the youthful voice cracked wretchedly, consumed by tears and loss. It was Pippin who had sought to rouse him from his dreary reverie. Dear young Pippin who's eyes had not lost their softness despite the war they had seen, who's mind had not lost its clarity despite the wonders it beheld, who's voice had not lost its songful joy until his dearest cousin was torn from his bosom. And now that voice was trembling, choking, dying against the endless dirge of the sea.
Not a word escaped Sam's lips since his last to his master. For a moment his eyes lost their glaze, the images, dear expressions of joy of pain, of determined strength, of unimaginable loss. Sam crumpled into a sob again. The images fell away and now all that remained was the vast churning sea, the darkness of evening, the silence of the moors. Frodo had not long ago stood before him, and between his words of comfort of great wisdom and assurance, there were slight pauses, and an expression Sam never knew he could name so easily. There were pleas in Frodo's eyes, beseeching him something his lips would be ashamed to utter. And somehow Sam knew and that pained him most of all.
Years ago if someone asked Sam Gamgee about Frodo Baggins of Bag-End he would have listed a stream of eccentricities, oddities, and his wondrous gentlemanly manner that Sam held in reverence above all. Years ago he would have spoken such truthful praise of his master and his strange, mystical manner that was utterly captivating. But that was years ago.
If someone asked Sam Gamgee about Frodo Baggins now he would have said but one thing. "He is my master." Nothing else could possibly be said, nothing else was so certain. To know him you would have had to know him. Sam could have said that, but it was too much, too complicated. It wasn't right somehow. But it was true. In that long year of journey Sam Gamgee grew to love Frodo with greater reverence than he had ever had before. And yet he was so close. So very close that Sam knew what Frodo had asked of him just now, that which Frodo had never intended to ask because he had thought it too much.
Too much to ask and yet so much was asked of him. Could he be so foolish? Upon his shoulders he bore the weight of evil and he did not stoop beneath it. Upon his breast he placed a doom. In his heart he held his nobility, in his hands his humility, in his eyes his wisdom, in his body his strength, in his voice his courage, and before death he stood... and broke down to his knees and wept in that instant. Too much was asked of him and in that moment, as his feet faltered, his life was forfeit. And still he thought it too much to ask his dearest, closest companion this one request. Sam was his most loyal servant, who proved his love and dedication like no servant could. And still he could not ask.
But the look in those eyes, the pain and loss, was there always. He smiled and it was the smile that had graced his lips all those centuries ago. He laughed and it was the voice that sang its tune all those lifetimes ago. But those eyes tried in desperation to hide what could not be concealed. The agony that could not be known by any other mortal, that chilled the bones of their beholder and brought one to weeping. The agony of one who had known all and lost all shone so deeply in those eyes one must look away quickly for fear of being broken by it. How could Frodo have thought he could conceal this from Sam?
As Frodo spoke to him Sam heard more than his master had wished to convey. He had heard his deepest pleas, his most desperate despair, his last request. In his eyes there were words that cried with the true voice of anguish that he had known. "Oh Sam I can live no longer. It is all lost to me." They had seemed to cry so desperately.
"I beg of you, my Sam, live this life for me. Love the loves I'll never again know, sire the children I'll never raise, know the joy that was wrested from me. Some believed that what ate away at me in the end was the guilt of not being able to have given It up. It is untrue, my dearest Sam. I feel no guilt. I knew I could not have done it. I knew I would have claimed It in the end, from the very start I knew. But this... the torment of knowing that my life was wholly lost to me. That is what broke me utterly, Sam. Please Sam, breathe the breaths I'll never take, laugh at the joys I'll never again know, weep the tears I cannot bear to shed, fill your heart with the family I have been denied. I cannot bear to know that my life was so wasted. I cannot bear it! Of all things, This! I cannot bear!"
Sam crumpled to his knees and wept in Pippin's arms. This last request Frodo was frightened to voice and more frightened to see undone. It terrified him, horrified him, froze his very bones with dread to see his life drift away on a careless wind. To watch it all be lost to him and its last few threads slip between his fingers to be lost to nothingness ever and anon.
And he had been afraid to voice it because he thought the burden to live two lives was too much for any. He knew the pain of burdens and would never place one upon the shoulders of one he so loved. But Sam knew and he had wished desperately that he could have assured Frodo he knew what was being asked of him. And so Frodo sailed away in doubt and despair.
Sam rose to his feet and dragged himself to the cart where Merry waited, silent with tears upon his cheeks. Merry had taken the liberty to tie Bill and Strider with his ponies until Sam would part from them so that Sam would not have to be alone for a time. But this small act of kindness was utterly unheeded by the torn gardener.
And Sam began to wonder if he could possibly do it: If he could look around at the rebirth of their beloved homeland and appreciate it enough for two hobbits. Could he laugh at the jokes Frodo would never hear, could he sire the children that were denied Frodo, could he love his Rose for both him and Frodo? Sam paused before he stepped onto the cart and took an extra breath, a deep sigh that brought to him the sweet scent of an evening Frodo would never again breathe. Could he weep any more for what was lost than he already had? Could he find enough tears for two, his own grief was so great.
The sea seethed endlessly before him, grey and shadowed for lack of the light the white ship bore. The sun had flickered dead behind the clouds and Sam's eyes were denied the full beauty of a sunset. He felt a sudden pain as he looked at the haze where the sky met the sea. His heart twisted in agony. The ship was gone beyond his sight, Frodo was gone beyond his sight. Not even a small grey speck could be seen along that cruel horizon that seemed to swallow up the whole earth in that moment. Merry's voice reached Sam's ears and the gardener realized he was still standing, one foot on the cart, the other poised on the ground. He was terrified to move.
"Sam," whispered Merry and it sounded like a plea. The gardener still didn't move. The wretched, ragged sound of the once proud and joyful Brandybuck's voice would have once been enough to smite Sam's heart. But not now. Not even the most despairing losses could slay a heart already smitten; Pippin's youthful innocence, Merry's noble voice, nothing could reach Sam's shattered emotions now.
Why hadn't Frodo asked him? Why couldn't he just say those few words? "I beg of you, live the life that was lost to me!" That was all it took and Sam would have fallen to his knees before Frodo and wept, "Of course, Mr. Frodo!" over and over. And Frodo could have gone with hope and joy knowing that his last wish would be fulfilled for him. But this: knowing Frodo had gone in such doubt, believing he was the sole mourner for his own very life! It was too much to bear! Too much to brook! Sam tore forward, almost knocking the cart on his side as he thrust himself into a run toward the shore.
"Sam! Are you mad, Sam! You can't swim!" cried Merry, leaping from the cart to pursue the gardener. Pippin stared in shock before he too scrambled from the cart to stop Sam.
But Sam was born by grief and anguish and he felt the icy waves seethe about his feet, the sand yielding beneath him. He collapsed to his knees, the waves beating against him and he wailed over the vast ocean before him. "I will, Mr. Frodo! I'll live the life denied you!" And with that Sam buried his face in his hands and sobbed until all he knew was fathomless grief and sorrow.
Merry and Pippin halted beside Sam and stared out over the sea, tears pouring from their eyes afresh. Merry placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and both cousins shivered as they felt the water wash its icy froth about their ankles. Merry knelt beside Sam and wrapped the gardener in a tight embrace, allowing himself to sob into Sam's curls. Pippin found he could not tear his eyes from the mist along the horizon. Through his tears he thought he saw a slight glimmer there, like a star quickly shimmering right where the sky and sea met and then it was gone. The light of Earendil. If only Sam had seen it.
A/N: Written at four a.m. on a complete whim as tears pooled in my lap... now that I read it it's not quite as sad as all that. Still just a drabble.
~~~
As the last pale shimmers of golden light began to subside, the grey waters, lapping against the shores became a beating melody that mocked from a distance. The sky was growing dark when Sam felt a hand placed gently on his shoulder just as another tear fell to splash against his soaked cloak. A tear amongst an endless sea, coursing along his cheeks in rivulets that felt like acid as they dripped upon his drenched shoulder in an endless coursing stream. There he stood, rooted, until a shuddering sob escaped his anguished throat and curled upon his lips, causing him to tremble and his hands to twitch. The hand upon his shoulder lifted as if it too felt the stinging acid of his tears. A voice then sought to reach him.
"Sam, we must be going. Sam-"
It crashed upon his ears with the whispers of the waves, broke against him with that steady force, fell useless against the great loss consuming his thoughts. He took another trembling sob and arms immediately encased him. They offered little warmth.
"Oh Sam-"the youthful voice cracked wretchedly, consumed by tears and loss. It was Pippin who had sought to rouse him from his dreary reverie. Dear young Pippin who's eyes had not lost their softness despite the war they had seen, who's mind had not lost its clarity despite the wonders it beheld, who's voice had not lost its songful joy until his dearest cousin was torn from his bosom. And now that voice was trembling, choking, dying against the endless dirge of the sea.
Not a word escaped Sam's lips since his last to his master. For a moment his eyes lost their glaze, the images, dear expressions of joy of pain, of determined strength, of unimaginable loss. Sam crumpled into a sob again. The images fell away and now all that remained was the vast churning sea, the darkness of evening, the silence of the moors. Frodo had not long ago stood before him, and between his words of comfort of great wisdom and assurance, there were slight pauses, and an expression Sam never knew he could name so easily. There were pleas in Frodo's eyes, beseeching him something his lips would be ashamed to utter. And somehow Sam knew and that pained him most of all.
Years ago if someone asked Sam Gamgee about Frodo Baggins of Bag-End he would have listed a stream of eccentricities, oddities, and his wondrous gentlemanly manner that Sam held in reverence above all. Years ago he would have spoken such truthful praise of his master and his strange, mystical manner that was utterly captivating. But that was years ago.
If someone asked Sam Gamgee about Frodo Baggins now he would have said but one thing. "He is my master." Nothing else could possibly be said, nothing else was so certain. To know him you would have had to know him. Sam could have said that, but it was too much, too complicated. It wasn't right somehow. But it was true. In that long year of journey Sam Gamgee grew to love Frodo with greater reverence than he had ever had before. And yet he was so close. So very close that Sam knew what Frodo had asked of him just now, that which Frodo had never intended to ask because he had thought it too much.
Too much to ask and yet so much was asked of him. Could he be so foolish? Upon his shoulders he bore the weight of evil and he did not stoop beneath it. Upon his breast he placed a doom. In his heart he held his nobility, in his hands his humility, in his eyes his wisdom, in his body his strength, in his voice his courage, and before death he stood... and broke down to his knees and wept in that instant. Too much was asked of him and in that moment, as his feet faltered, his life was forfeit. And still he thought it too much to ask his dearest, closest companion this one request. Sam was his most loyal servant, who proved his love and dedication like no servant could. And still he could not ask.
But the look in those eyes, the pain and loss, was there always. He smiled and it was the smile that had graced his lips all those centuries ago. He laughed and it was the voice that sang its tune all those lifetimes ago. But those eyes tried in desperation to hide what could not be concealed. The agony that could not be known by any other mortal, that chilled the bones of their beholder and brought one to weeping. The agony of one who had known all and lost all shone so deeply in those eyes one must look away quickly for fear of being broken by it. How could Frodo have thought he could conceal this from Sam?
As Frodo spoke to him Sam heard more than his master had wished to convey. He had heard his deepest pleas, his most desperate despair, his last request. In his eyes there were words that cried with the true voice of anguish that he had known. "Oh Sam I can live no longer. It is all lost to me." They had seemed to cry so desperately.
"I beg of you, my Sam, live this life for me. Love the loves I'll never again know, sire the children I'll never raise, know the joy that was wrested from me. Some believed that what ate away at me in the end was the guilt of not being able to have given It up. It is untrue, my dearest Sam. I feel no guilt. I knew I could not have done it. I knew I would have claimed It in the end, from the very start I knew. But this... the torment of knowing that my life was wholly lost to me. That is what broke me utterly, Sam. Please Sam, breathe the breaths I'll never take, laugh at the joys I'll never again know, weep the tears I cannot bear to shed, fill your heart with the family I have been denied. I cannot bear to know that my life was so wasted. I cannot bear it! Of all things, This! I cannot bear!"
Sam crumpled to his knees and wept in Pippin's arms. This last request Frodo was frightened to voice and more frightened to see undone. It terrified him, horrified him, froze his very bones with dread to see his life drift away on a careless wind. To watch it all be lost to him and its last few threads slip between his fingers to be lost to nothingness ever and anon.
And he had been afraid to voice it because he thought the burden to live two lives was too much for any. He knew the pain of burdens and would never place one upon the shoulders of one he so loved. But Sam knew and he had wished desperately that he could have assured Frodo he knew what was being asked of him. And so Frodo sailed away in doubt and despair.
Sam rose to his feet and dragged himself to the cart where Merry waited, silent with tears upon his cheeks. Merry had taken the liberty to tie Bill and Strider with his ponies until Sam would part from them so that Sam would not have to be alone for a time. But this small act of kindness was utterly unheeded by the torn gardener.
And Sam began to wonder if he could possibly do it: If he could look around at the rebirth of their beloved homeland and appreciate it enough for two hobbits. Could he laugh at the jokes Frodo would never hear, could he sire the children that were denied Frodo, could he love his Rose for both him and Frodo? Sam paused before he stepped onto the cart and took an extra breath, a deep sigh that brought to him the sweet scent of an evening Frodo would never again breathe. Could he weep any more for what was lost than he already had? Could he find enough tears for two, his own grief was so great.
The sea seethed endlessly before him, grey and shadowed for lack of the light the white ship bore. The sun had flickered dead behind the clouds and Sam's eyes were denied the full beauty of a sunset. He felt a sudden pain as he looked at the haze where the sky met the sea. His heart twisted in agony. The ship was gone beyond his sight, Frodo was gone beyond his sight. Not even a small grey speck could be seen along that cruel horizon that seemed to swallow up the whole earth in that moment. Merry's voice reached Sam's ears and the gardener realized he was still standing, one foot on the cart, the other poised on the ground. He was terrified to move.
"Sam," whispered Merry and it sounded like a plea. The gardener still didn't move. The wretched, ragged sound of the once proud and joyful Brandybuck's voice would have once been enough to smite Sam's heart. But not now. Not even the most despairing losses could slay a heart already smitten; Pippin's youthful innocence, Merry's noble voice, nothing could reach Sam's shattered emotions now.
Why hadn't Frodo asked him? Why couldn't he just say those few words? "I beg of you, live the life that was lost to me!" That was all it took and Sam would have fallen to his knees before Frodo and wept, "Of course, Mr. Frodo!" over and over. And Frodo could have gone with hope and joy knowing that his last wish would be fulfilled for him. But this: knowing Frodo had gone in such doubt, believing he was the sole mourner for his own very life! It was too much to bear! Too much to brook! Sam tore forward, almost knocking the cart on his side as he thrust himself into a run toward the shore.
"Sam! Are you mad, Sam! You can't swim!" cried Merry, leaping from the cart to pursue the gardener. Pippin stared in shock before he too scrambled from the cart to stop Sam.
But Sam was born by grief and anguish and he felt the icy waves seethe about his feet, the sand yielding beneath him. He collapsed to his knees, the waves beating against him and he wailed over the vast ocean before him. "I will, Mr. Frodo! I'll live the life denied you!" And with that Sam buried his face in his hands and sobbed until all he knew was fathomless grief and sorrow.
Merry and Pippin halted beside Sam and stared out over the sea, tears pouring from their eyes afresh. Merry placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and both cousins shivered as they felt the water wash its icy froth about their ankles. Merry knelt beside Sam and wrapped the gardener in a tight embrace, allowing himself to sob into Sam's curls. Pippin found he could not tear his eyes from the mist along the horizon. Through his tears he thought he saw a slight glimmer there, like a star quickly shimmering right where the sky and sea met and then it was gone. The light of Earendil. If only Sam had seen it.