Title: Like Painted Rain
Series: LotR
Storyline: One shot
Characters: Sam, mentions of others
Pairing: Sam/Frodo? Sorta
Rating: PG, nothing really implied much, just sad
Summary: Seasons of change bring back quiet memories and the worth of true treasure.
AN: I own nothing but the story itself, not the characters.
Soft whispers of chill breeze danced across the lands below, an impish air leaping through the world as though it had the mind to do so. And all about the leaves had begun to hide themselves from that sparkling bite. It was not the sort of morning that held the snowfall cold of the months ahead, nor a day sparked with the warm caress of the shimmering sun upon one's back. No, instead the world lay in a state of waiting, brisk and alive. For these were days meant to be explored, experienced with eager eyes and willing minds. Days for the young, those hearty souls who would dare to trek the paths that sang in sharp snapping voices as those leaves crunched under racing feet. Though for those not so young upon such days it was an odd time. To see with eyes of wisdom the alterations the natural world was making to itself and understand that that mirror could be seen in the places of Men and the other sparse races that still roamed this world, it was an almost burden. Yet some took any task and made it simple, for that was simply their nature. And it was a simple enough thing indeed to feel the flickers of excitement in the air.
How truly alive the world did feel, and amid it all, always there was change. Even now the laughing voice of that season of half ways rang clear, not fully the aged man of winter, nor the bright-eyed youngster of summer. And truly, that was just how he felt himself to be, caught in his own in between. So much had come to pass that to go back to the beginning would have been impossible, those were moments to be retold in stories on the chilled nights huddled near a warm fire with those dear companions a person could still have faith in. And faith was something he had in such a strong reserve that it felt as though at times he could have willed the changing of the world by his own desire alone.
If only he could have done just that then things could have been different a thousand times over, if only he could have willed it all away. As it had turned, he could do little more than offer so little aid, at least by his own ideals. The burdens to bear were not fully his own, he knew this, but he would have carried that weight and a thousand times more if given a chance of his own. Instead he was left to watch the world fall apart, watch the people he had come to call friend get pulled in many directions at once and lose sight of so much. And more often than once he had thought in his most private of minds that perhaps more than a few of their weary little group would lose body and even soul to that venture. The words had never left his lips though, because he could not believe them, even if it did seem that the world was so very large and they were still so small.
His thoughts were drawn away as his eyes trailed to a few leaves upon one of the trees near his place sitting upon the rolling drying grass of the empty Shire fields, watching as the wind blew a few of those fragile objects free and sent them tumbling to the ground below. One caught his eye more than the others, a curled and dulled leaf that fell away from the rest. He sighed and thought then of dearest friends, now long gone to other places, better places. At least, his heart would not allow him to believe otherwise but he would have liked to have actually seen those shore himself just to be certain. And the dearest of friends was the same as that leaf, weakened perhaps by the world but still proud. How often, he pondered, had Frodo felt the sting of worry, of some inner pain that set him apart? He could not pull all that fear to himself, though he did try, but some things were born of a person's private hell and could not be taken away with such ease. How much they all had endured, just to see the world as it was now, and the suffering had sank into them each.
For his part he had felt the pain of others more acutely than his own, because this was simply his own outlook, his being. His nature was that of a care taker in every means, a watcher, a protector who could not be swayed. Even in the face of things he had not agreed with, pains he saw slowly eating away at them all, he still stood as the steady one. He never questioned the role, it was so deep-rooted in his being that to deny it would have been like pulling a part of his self away from the rest and leaving it lying upon the ground behind him. So of course he worried and grew angry, of course he bit back the frustration when their leaders had decreed such impossible things to them. He shut his eyes to cover the worn pain when all was said and done and he saw the empty gaze in once vivid blue eyes. And perhaps worse still was to see the change in the other two who had lived to return home, but never return the same. For all his boyish charms still intact the eager youngster of a Hobbit he had known in Pip had changed deep inside, painted something new with the crimsons of wars. Merry too fared little better, with his once calm eyes so hollow but hidden well, as though the very soul had been pulled from him by some dark hand. But it was all for days such as this, days that could be spent free and hopeful. And it never truly died away, even now, in the face of changes still, some stories were still worth telling. The world was a beautiful place, even with its loss, because they had made it that way through trial and fight. It just did not seem right to ignore that now, and his gaze lifted upward to the waving branches above once again.
If perhaps he had still been able to feel as young as life found him in body now he might have stood and wandered the roads until he found his friends, though they would never again be the same the two Hobbits still were degrees different than many their age. It was something made into their minds, he mused, that gave Merry and Pippin that ability to never let go but to at least put the bad thoughts aside for a time. He decided that that part must have been lacking within his own mind somewhat. Because he did still wonder what lay ahead, and the cost of what was before. He still pondered over the choices made, and above most else he still thought about his closest friend, now far beyond his reach. Somehow he knew though, that even that would not be forever, in time he too would follow that path the same as Frodo. Just, not yet, there was still a good deal of living for him to do.
And what a time to be living, so much ahead, so much behind. Paths still twisting and turning, and he could only wait to see what would come next. Be strong, steady, forever set to watching over this place, even if it was such a large task because he would not set it aside. But for now it only mattered that it was a beautiful time that was meant to be idled away with long hours watching the colors of the trees bleed from dulled green to a thousand jeweled hues of reds, oranges and every shade in between. Jewels of perfect colors and make, each of them, all the more important because not so many years past it seemed as though such sights would never again be seen. And it did not seem, at least in his eyes, that any Ring of gold could measure the worth of those treasures of color falling like painted rain all around him.