Many Meetings
FrodoBaggins87: I am glad you enjoyed the part with the soldiers. I am sorry it had to go, but I hope you can still stand it this way! The medicine bottle's still here, but I hope it is written even better. And you will really enjoy the next chapter!
Frodo-lovers: No, unfortunately I cannot make Frodo come back to life. But I will (or at least hope I will) make a beautiful ending anyway. After all, death is not the worst thing.
Disclaimer (which I have forgotten to do the past two chapters): I do not own anything related to Lord of the Rings, all the characters belong to Tolkien.
"I don't suppose we'll ever see them again."
"We may yet, Mr. Frodo. We may."
*****
The sun rose after a long slumber to greet the dawn of a new day. Its bright rays shined over the Mountains of Shadow, through the thin tent walls, waking Sam from his sleep. He yawned and rolled away from the sun, trying to fall asleep again, since he had hardly slept the night before. What little sleep he did get had been haunted by horrible dreams of his master, as he had seen him, lying dead.
But as he drifted between sleep and consciousness, he did not remember the events of the night before, or the past year. The soft mattress and the sun waking him brought him back to Hobbiton and his family's hole at number three Bagshot Row. Every morning he rose with the sun, to a day of gardening in Frodo's garden.
Slowly he opened his eyes, and gazed upon the foothills of the Ephel Dûath. It was not another peaceful day, but it would be a day filled with grief and guilt. This day, when he would finally meet the Fellowship again, he had looked forward to during those long days in Mordor, but now he dreaded it. It would not be the meeting he had hoped for, with feasting, music, dancing, and the telling of all their tales, instead it would be full of tears.
His eyes went out of focus staring at the mountains, and he remembered when he had climbed those mountains with his master. The mountains looked friendlier that they had then; the sun shown on them now, no longer were they wreathed in shadow.
Frodo had been weak even then, before the spider had attacked him. They had started up the steep, narrow, dark stairs as the forces of Mordor issued out of Minas Morgul. Sam and Frodo climbed slowly with both their hands and feet, as a fall would most likely result in death. But Gollum scampered ahead, constantly motioning for them to hurry.
Sam knew his master was tired, for each step he took slowly, and his breathing was heavy. Frodo slipped slightly, but quickly caught himself, and started climbing again, being even more cautious. "I had not helped him at all," thought Sam, "I had only been concerned with myself, getting myself up those wretched steps."
For a while, they climbed on without breaks and without speaking to each other. The forces of Minas Morgul had all left the fortress, and now marched to vanquish Mordor. The only hope left for Middle-Earth was upon the stairs climbing his way into Mordor. Finally, they came to a landing, and Gollum pulled Frodo up the last few steps. Sam stumbled up slowly after him.
Frodo turned to Sam, his blue eyes burning with weakness and hopelessness. The gaze pierced Sam, even though it was only a memory. "Mr. Frodo!" he screamed, reaching out, longing just to touch his hand, to feel warmth in him again, instead of cold hard skin.
"Sam!" cried the voice of Gandalf, penetrating Sam's memory. Sam sat up quickly, and his eyes snapped open; he did not even realize he closed them. Gandalf looked at him with concern, and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder. "You have been dreaming!"
After catching his breath, Sam lay down again, and closed his eyes. "I saw him Gandalf," whispered Sam, "He was alive, not all dead like he is now. He was struggling and I did not help him."
***
After being forced to eat his first real meal in almost two months, Gandalf helped Sam out of bed, and into new clothes, to see the Fellowship again. At first, Sam was dizzy standing on his feet, but after a few minutes, he was walking without any help. When he was dressed, he sat down on the bed again. Gandalf called the healer in, and left the tent.
The healer felt Sam's forehead, and asked him to walk around the tent. Then he gave him a dose of a different medicine, more foul-tasting than the first, and he replaced both bottles on the bedside table.
"You may go see your friends now, little master," the healer said, smiling at Sam. Sam only nodded, and walked out of the tent. Gandalf let Sam walk alone now, because no longer did Gandalf have to worry about Sam going to see the body. After the previous night, he knew that Sam would not do that again. He did not fear Sam hurting himself anymore either. Sam did not seem to blame himself as much now as he did before. Little did Gandalf know, because Sam's guilt and hatred for himself was even greater than it had been, but he was more wary of showing it.
As Sam walked, he hardly took notice of his surroundings, or the people that passed. All around him, tents that had been sent from Minas Tirith dotted the grove. People bustled to and fro, soldiers returning from small skirmishes with the Easterlings, wounded being carried to be treated, and soldiers celebrating the victory. He spotted the deep blue tent, the King's tent, where Gandalf told him to go, only a little ways beyond him. In only a few minutes, he was there.
Before entering, he paused for a moment to collect his thoughts and emotions. Tears welled in his eyes and threatened to pour down his cheeks the moment he stepped in, but he would not let that happen. He would not let them see him cry, their own sorrow was enough, they did not need to care for or worry about him, after all, he did not deserve it.
He was going to see the Fellowship again, friends whom he had not seen in months, and he was weeping; this should have been a time for celebration. It felt more like a funeral now. Frodo's death had taken all triumph out of the Quest, and all joy out of meeting his friends. He had always believed that he would see them again with Frodo, not alone. He took a deep breath, and dried the tears that had slipped down his cheeks. Pulling back the tent flap, he slowly stepped in.
For a moment, his sorrow was forgotten when he saw familiar faces that he had not seen in months. There were Gimli and Legolas, sitting silently in the corner, Pippin whom he had seen last night, and Merry talking with Gandalf and Aragorn. Boromir, he knew, had died at Cair Andros. Upon each of their faces there was no laughter, only dried tears and pained smiles.
Merry ran to Sam first, and embraced him; tears were in both of their eyes tears of both of joy and sadness. No words were said, for words could not adequately express their emotions.
Then Pippin came, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, his face somber. He had changed so much during the quest, he seemed almost a stranger to Sam; no longer was he the cheerful carefree hobbit whom Sam had known in the Shire. As Merry and Pippin stood in front of him, he noticed another change in them also. "Why you've grown!" Sam exclaimed. Merry and Pippin nodded, and smiled through the tears.
"We shall tell you later," Pippin whispered, and led Sam to a chair.
Aragorn came and kneeled before Sam, tears trickling down his kingly face. He looked into Sam's eyes, and then bowed his head, saying nothing. "Strider!" Sam exclaimed. Aragorn nodded, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder. He quickly embraced Sam, and then rose.
Gimli placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, tears is his eyes also. Sam had never believed that Gimli could cry, even as he stood watching Gandalf fall he had not shed a tear.
Legolas came last, and stood before Sam, his head bowed. "I am sorry," he said, "Hiro hon hîdh ab 'wanath.*"
***
Food came later for the Fellowship, but it sat on a table untouched by everyone. They sat mostly in silence; Sam did talk at all, for he feared that if he would, the tears would come again. Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn talked some, though they spoke very softly, and looked over at Sam often. Gandalf sat in a corner by himself, his eyes glazed, deep in thought.
Suddenly, Sam stood up, back to back with Pippin. "I still don't understand it, especially at your age," he said.
"Well, what can you expect," said Gimli, who had been watching Sam, "To go drinking ent-draughts, and expect nothing but a pot of beer."
"Ents?" said Sam, confused. "I see there is more to this tale than my part."
And then Merry and Pippin told part of their tale, from how they met Treebeard to the Battle of Isengard. Sam listened at first, commenting as they spoke, it seemed so good to be back with them again. But after a while, his attention waned, and his mind drifted to his master again.
"I don't suppose we'll ever see them again," Frodo's words replayed in Sam's head as he looked around the tent, at the Fellowship. Those words brought him back to when they stood upon the Emyn Muil. They had just crossed the Anduin, and parted from the Fellowship. Before them stood the impossible labyrinths of the Emyn Muil, and then Mordor, which they would surely be found and killed in there, if they made it there at all.
"We may yet, Mr. Frodo. We may," was Sam's response. All through the Quest, he believed they would be reunited with the Fellowship, even right up to those moments upon Mount Doom. Even when Frodo lay dying, he believed that still there had to be a way.
"And there was a way," thought Sam, "But I hurt him too much. I did not help him. If only I had helped him, then he would have lived. He could have been here, and seen them again, and we could have all been happy. We could have had a joyous reunion, instead of this." He glanced around again, looking at the mournful looks on the other's faces; he had caused all their pain.
Merry stopped talking, when he saw Sam crying again. Sam just shook his head. He imagined how it could have been…how it could have been if he had not failed. There would be smiles on those faces instead of tears; there would have been celebration and feasts, instead of this mournful reunion. Sam could not bear it anymore. He could not bear being the reason for their pain.
Nor could be bear being the cause of his master's pain. He still vividly remembered his master's eyes, piercing him, begging for help, but he had received none. He could not bear this any longer, bearing all this guilt and pain, it had to end.
"I am sorry," he said softly to Merry, and then he fled.
He sprinted away from the tent, not knowing where he was going. His feet carried him somewhere, hopefully far away from these people, but his head did not know where. He needed to end his life…this failure, and then he would no longer have to see the pain he caused, or feel his own pain.
People stared at him as he passed, and tried to dodge him, but still he almost ran into many. Finally, he reached his tent, and ran inside, fortunately, the healer had left. Throwing himself on the bed, he looked around, his eye landing on the medicine bottles by his bedside.
He grabbed one of them and uncorked it, holding it to his lips. He had but a moment, before someone would come, he had to do this quickly. He must end this failure. If he would drink this one bottle, then in a few hours he would be gone, they could do nothing to help him.
He tipped the bottle upward now, and the liquid started to flow toward his lips, but suddenly something stopped him.
"I failed the quest." He remembered Frodo's words. "No," he said, "you did not fail, Mr. Frodo, I did." He lifted the bottle once again.
"Forgive me, Sam."
"I have forgiven you, Mr. Frodo, but I cannot forgive myself." He closed his eyes now; the medicine bottle at his lips. Footsteps and screams came from outside, but Sam did not hear them.
"Sam!" Pippin shouted, running into the tent knocking the bottle from Sam's hand. It hit the ground and shattered. Sam winced; his escape shattered with it.
"What do you think you were doing!" screamed Pippin. Now others entered the tent also, Merry, Legolas, Gandalf, and Aragorn all stood at the door staring at Sam.
"Giving me what I deserve," said Sam quietly, his face downcast.
"You do not deserve to die for this," said Aragorn stepping forward, "No one does."
"But I killed him," said Sam, trying to rationalize his actions, but he could tell that they did not believe him. "If I had only cared for him more, if I had not let him get attacked by the spider, and carried him up Mount Doom, if—"
"There was nothing else you could have done, Sam," said Pippin, "There was nothing anyone could have done. It was Frodo's choice to give up his life then. Strider's right, it is no one's fault. Now all we can do is remembering him."
*****
*May he find peace after death.
Thanks again for reading, please review or e-mail me and tell me what you think! The next chapter will be a new one that actually goes before this chapter, and it should be up around the end of May.