A Hero Lost

By: Estella

This has taken forever, exactly three months! I can make many excuses, but I find that they are not needed. It might have been up a little earlier (and been a little better) if I had not saved over the file (twice!). Thanks to all those people who reviewed, especially the last three, who got me back on track!

Disclaimer: Same

~* Mourning *~

"Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life."

~* Minas Tirith, April 8, 3019*~

            The room was filled with black…all were dressed in black; there was not a sign of cheerful colors anywhere. Even the weather agreed, the sky was cloudy, and all throughout the day, there were occasional showers. Every face was streaked with tears, every mind clouded with memories. On a day when there should have been rejoicing, there were tears.

            The great hall of Minas Tirith was filled with people mourning, and eerie silence filled the walls of the citadel. Every street was uncluttered, and every tear excused, and no one wondered why, for they all knew. A hobbit from the unknown land of the Shire caused a whole land, and more, to mourn. From great soldiers and kings, down to the poorest peasants, they mourned.

            Mournful singing filled the hall, and cries of anguish echoed up to the high ceiling. Many stood towards the center, listening to the telling of tales. Some had not even heard of him until his death, but still they mourned the loss of him, the loss of a hero, the savior of Middle Earth. Though some had an almost joyful expression on their face, they were free from Sauron; it mattered not what happened to the one who had freed them.

            In the far corner of the hall, outside of the great assembly stood the one who had known him best, the only company he had in those last few moments of his life, Samwise, tears rolling freely down his cheeks, his heart almost breaking with anguish. He was surrounded by three of his closest friends, whose eyes were also clouded with tears. They tried to comfort him, but there was nothing that they could do. Still he would not admit that it was not his fault.

And then came the telling of the Tale of Frodo of the Ring. As it came to their journey up Mount Doom, Sam tried to run, but he was held back. If he would only wake up, and find this was all a dream, or run as far as he could, back to the Shire, and wake up to another day of tending Frodo's garden, as it was a year ago! He wanted to run as far as he could from this nightmare, though it was not…this was reality.

The day pressed on, and the gathering went outside, to where a grave for Frodo lay, though the body did not lie there, it would proceed on to the Shire. Through tears, Sam stared down at the epitaph:

Frodo Baggins,

Son of Drogo

Savior of Middle Earth

2968-3019

            The inscription was simple; it did not tell of his journey, of the trial he went through, and his struggle to hang on to life. It did not tell of all those whom he left behind, to live in his memory, or those after him who would be touched by his life and his heroism. It was only a blunt reminder that he would roam the land of the Shire no more, nor would he ever live a full life. He was a servant, and was willing to give his own life for the lives of others.

            Clutching the chain in his hand, the very chain that had held upon it the Ring, the thing that had killed his master, Sam fell upon the stone, and burst into a new bout of tears. He longed to be alone, and to find some solitude, but, in only a moment's time, there were many there, trying to comfort him. Friends and strangers he had never seen before tried to console him; they all knew what pain he was going through. The loss of a close friend, and the feeling that he had done it.

            He wanted to run out from the midst of them, but he could not. Tightly, he wrapped the chain around his wrist, trying to distract his mind with another kind of pain. If this day would ever end, he would be grateful.

But the day plodded on, and people continually pitied him. The crowd continued into a banquet room lined with tables, filled with masses of food, a hobbit's dream. But Sam's stomach lurched at the sight of it all. Taking his place at the table, he sat there, staring as food was piled endlessly upon his plate.

            Endless chatter went on all around him, but he took no part. They all talked of Frodo, and experiences they had with him. For once Sam was forgotten, no one noticed he had not even touched his plate, or spoken a word. They would only glance slightly over to him, and ask him if they agreed. He would nod, not even noticing what they had said, and then his mind would wander again. Some of what they said he knew to be untrue, though he paid no mind. Only the wine gave him some small comfort, and he sipped glass after glass of it. It made the world around him somewhat unreal, and lessened the pain, though it was only temporary.

            At the end of the seemingly endless day, the fellowship gathered around the grave. Some shared a memory that they had of the journey, but others stayed silent, and other broke into tears, but Sam felt as if he could cry no more, and he drifted off, almost unaware of his surroundings.

            The day ended, and Sam retired to his room, though he still was not alone. A healer sat in the corner or his room; Sam was still not given peace. If he even let out the slightest sob, the healer would be there, trying to comfort him.

            Late at night, Sam was still awake, restlessly sobbing softly into his pillow. He glimpsed up, and noticed the healer had dozed off at his position. This was his chance!

            As quietly, as he could Sam crept out of bed, and past the sleeping guard, who hardly stirred. He crept through the strangely deserted halls, with not a guard in sight. Even at the doorway, there was no one.

            He stepped out of the door out of bondage, and into the night. There was a slight drizzle outside, but Sam had not even noticed. As soon as he was outside, he had burst into tears, almost falling onto the ground. Through the tears he stumbled, and then fell upon Frodo's grave.

His finger traced the lettering, but when he came upon the dates, he could go no further. No matter how many times he heard it, or told himself that Frodo was dead, he still could not bring himself to believe it, it still seemed surreal.

Clutching the chain in his hand again, he examined it in the dim light. There was a slight stain of blood on it, Frodo's blood. His mind flashed back to when he had first noticed Frodo's maimed hand, and the story continued from there. He remembered him thinking about himself, and seeing Rosie again, how he missed her! When his master was dying all he though about was himself.

Hours passed, but Sam still lay there crying. The drizzle had turned into a downpour, crying onto the gravestone. Dawn came, everything around Sam stirred, but he still did not. Footsteps came behind him, and a hand was placed in his shoulder.

"Sam! We've been searching all over for you!" said the voice of Pippin. He motioned for Sam to get up and follow him, and with help, he did, walking back into the "prison" where he was held.

~* To Be Continued *~

A/N Again I apologize for the delay! I will make no promises with the time of the next chapter, but hopefully it will be up in 2-3 weeks. I know what I think of this chapter…now let's hear what you think! Please review!