I. Am so. Sorry. About the incredibly long wait I have had since the last chapter. I can't believe I have left you guys waiting for so long. At first it was just a few weeks, and then it grew and grew into...however long it has been. I apologize. I should be shot.

In other news...I give lots of love to my reviewers MaidenOfImladris, Eregriel Gloswen, Julia, and riyna*riddle. Thank you SO much for reviewing!

Disclaimer: I just poke and prod and make them do what I say. You should really be thanking Tolkien.

Warning: If you've got this far, you already know.

And in order to avoid the obscene amount of A/Ns that usually come along with my chapters...I think we'll just move on to the story. You've waited long enough.

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Chapter 4: Home

Sam was tired. He felt weak and weary while he sat and as he walked. He was tired at all hours of the day, except while he was sleeping. He was even exhausted right after he awoke. In fact, it was at this time that Sam felt the most drained.

The few moments just after one opens one's eyes after sleeping are when the full weight of the world comes crashing down on you, or at least this was what Sam felt. The emotion of lifeÐand, yes, of loveÐfilled him with surging grief and happiness at the same time. It was during these moments that his mind felt vulnerable, open to thoughts about subjects that normally he would have pushed far, far away.

Sam thought first of the Shire. It is always to his homeland that a wandering traveler's mind flies to, when he has a moment to spare. Sam missed his Shire so, the green of the rolling hills and his flourishing gardenÐso much more alive than these dying places. He longed for the familiarity of it all; a home for everything and everything in its own place. He had known since he was a young hobbit the practices and routines of his neighbors, especially the ones who had lived there for quite some time. He had long ago lost track of time and dates, and he wondered how much time exactly had passed since his departure from the Shire. Would his neighbors even remember him, miss him, long for his return, welcome him whenÐand ifÐhe did? Would Rosie do all this?

And thus his brain touched upon a particularly taboo subject. Rosie. Rosie Cotton, the pretty farmer's daughter, the happy girl with curly hair that Sam had so adored for years, from afar of course. Sam remembered watching Rosie dance, joyfully, and feeling like there was nothing wrong in the world at all. Which, at that time in his life, had practically been true.

But now that felt like a whole different life. There were two different Sams. One who watched Rosie Cotton from a distance and laughed and worked in his garden, and one who was currently lying down on hard rock and feeling more tired than he had ever before in his life. It seemed absurd, even wrong, to think about the life he had in the Shire. It seemed so far away. Plus, there were other things he had to think about--from this life.

Frodo was one of these things. Frodo and the undying voice in Sam's brain that told him to stick by him, no matter what. He had meant what he said, back in the Shire, in his other life. He had told them, he had said that he would never leave him. And he knew in his heart it was true; Frodo was everything he had left to hold on to. Sam would follow him to the top of the world, because he knew there was more of a bond between them than just companionship. I am going with him, if he climbs to the moon.

Sam felt a tickling on his cheek and then on his nose; he lifted his hand and angrily brushed the tear away. He was supposed to be the strong one.

Sam sat up quickly and the noise caused Frodo to wake, next to him. Sam saw his eyes open and then close again, and he heard a dispirited sigh. Sam wondered what kinds of things were running through Frodo's mind.

"Mr. Frodo?"

No answer came.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam said louder, and a bit more anxiously.

"Yes, Sam. I'm sorry. I'm here." Frodo's voice was very quiet. Sam could almost see the energy leaving his body with every word.

"Mr. Frodo..." Sam did not know what to say. There was no way he could make Frodo walk on. However, there was no way they could stay there and rest longer. They had to get on to Mt. Doom, as quickly as possible.

But Sam could see Frodo was very unwell, and it almost brought him back to tears. Sam noticed everything. He assumed it was a result of his trade; watching for weeds and insects among the healthy plants was a task that required keen eyesight. Sam never thought that perhaps his skill was more than eyesight, but also insight. He could usually tell when something was not at rest with his Frodo. And he could see now that Frodo was at his worst: weak and unable to go on at all.

But there were other things he could see. Such as when Frodo purposefully scraped his ankle against a stinging nettle, for reasons Sam could not grasp. And when Frodo had opened his eyes, they were not devoid of emotion, as Frodo's usually were these days. But Sam could not yet grasp the real meaning of all his observations.

So, as he often did when he did not understand something, he thought of his Gaffer. He would be pleased to know that Sam had stayed by his master for all this time. And as this was all Sam could think of to do, he did it. He would dedicate, as he had been doing, every ounce of his will towards helping Frodo. I am going with him, if he climbs to the moon...

"Sam?" Frodo was calling out.

"Yes?"

There was a pause, and then

"I don't think I can go on, Sam."

"You can, Mr. Frodo. I'm right here," Sam tried to reassure him.

"I'm so tired Sam," Frodo whispered, his eyes closed. "There's no way"

"There's ways, Mr. Frodo. I'll help you. I'm right here," Sam said again. He thought he saw a trace of a smile on Frodo's face before he spoke once more, and his eyes opened.

"Help me, Sam. I'm sure I cannot walk alone."

Sam stood up, and then reached down and put one hand under Frodo's arm, one on his back. He stood him up and bit his lip as he saw how helpless and limp the other hobbit was. He positioned Frodo's arm on his shoulders and began to walk. For once they left their belongings behind; the situation seemed so hopeless now that there was no need to bring those things along. Frodo's feet were barely walking; it was more as if they were scraping helplessly along the ground.

They reached what was left of the road and Sam looked around. His face grim, he began to plod along in the direction of Mt. Doom, which seemed less than an hour's walk away.

But far from feeling the usual sense of foreboding, he felt an unfamiliar sense of warmth. Frodo's body was relatively cold, but at the same time an odd sort of heat radiated off of it to Sam. While he held Frodo, it was almost as if he could feel happiness again. Like this, he felt whole.

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Relatively short, I know. But the next chapter will come sooner than this one did. And if I take more than two weeks to update, you have my permission to kill me. Any way you like. Death by pudding sounds yummy, why not give that a shot?

Please leave reviews, they are the food of my soul! More reviews = more chapters.