Arda, Middle-Earth, Rhûn, Desert of the Lost, Caves of the Blarney Son: F.O.1

It wasn't given as an order per say, but everyone who wasn't the Chief, his spouse or the strange hobbit that had been found half-starved, suffocating in the sands before their caves, quickly made a safe retreat. Some even considered trying to take the toddler who sat on the stranger's lap away from him; but all were too frightened to try.

'Say I have not been paying attention? Would you still tell me then Samwise Gamgee, or is that not your real name?' Said the chief, his voice calm and controlled.

'It is as real a name as I ever had Ka of the Blarney Sons, for anything before was merely a name for what I am, not who I am. I am Samwise Bungo Gamgee, son of Hamfast and Bell Gamgee. Youngest son of the Bastard line of Bilbo Baggins, and no one else.'

For half a second Ka, mulled that thought over.

'Perhaps that is true in part, but you said to me yourself – when you were still of wakeful mind - you knew there was something inside you that ought not to be there. Something that drove your master away, and I believe I'm conversing with that part of you now, so tell me Samwise of the kindly west, what name do people call your kind?'

'Many, but the name you and yours would know is...'

The Hobbit had known for many years now that he was not normal, not as all hobbits should be. He knew that he was different, that he understood concepts and actions before they were even explained to him. He knew that somewhere along the line between his conception and his birth, something had gone horribly, dangerously wrong with his development.

Samwise Gamgee had many strange memories floating around in the back of his skull. Some he could easily identify, like the time Ted Sandyman had pushed him down in the dirt and called his father a traitor. But other memories…other memories were not quite so clear. Sometimes they would just pop up out of nowhere, and he'd be forced to come to the realization that he knew exactly what an Orc looked like before the age of twelve.

Sometimes though they were different, sometimes they hardly appeared as memories at all. He'd realize as he was attempting something for the first time that, he already knew how to do it. Like hold a sword or write his name in that Elvish script of Mister Bilbo's, Blarney he'd even disarmed Boromir on his first try with a proper blade. He remembered Merry and Pippin had somehow tricked him into joining them for a lesson.

He remembered Boromir had looked uncertain when they'd faced each other with blades drawn for the first time. Sam after all was by far and away the least combat ready and most likely to be hurt by these little lessons, but the man of Gondor had promised to teach the hobbits how to fight, and it would be wrong to go back on his word now. So, they had readied themselves and had begun. At first Boromir had had to keep barking out proper foot placements because Sam's feet kept tripping over themselves.

'Right, left, right left! To the right Samwise you're going to trip over yourself again!'

And then their blades had touched and as if by magic Sam no longer had to be told where to place his feet, or how hard to hit or when to swing his blade, he just knew. Back and forth they had gone, Boromir blocking most of Sam's blows at first, but being caught off guard by a low swing to the butt of the blade. The Man of Gondor cried out in surprise and dropped the sword.

'I think…maybe that's enough Samwise. Maybe we'll do it again tomorrow.'

But they hadn't, Boromir had never offered again, and Sam had never sought him out. Still it had been a right old laugh for Merry and Pippin.

Yes, Samwise had had many strange memories like that, but none were stranger than the one he was experiencing right now.

The hobbit stood still as around him the world moved as it never should have, the world moved backwards until the hobbit was not a hobbit anymore, until the hobbit was a tree. And the tree was glorious, that's what all the strange people in long flowing robes said anyway. The tree was light, the tree was life, and most of all the tree was happy. This tree had been swept into life by the tears of two women, two mighty women. One the Goddess of the Earth, and all that did live and grow there. The other was the goddess of Mercy and pity, and she wept as she always did, with the grief of the world in her mind. The tree grew strong from their tears, and the tree grew bright, but one day something happened to the tree. Someone came and stole some of its light, some of the light that the tree used to light all the land. They stole its light and shoved it into three, beautiful shining glass orbs.

Then the world moved forward, and the tree was not a tree anymore. The tree was a jewel, a beautiful precious jewel. And this jewel hated war, which was a pity indeed, for this jewel started the greatest war the lands of Middle-Earth had ever seen. This jewel had not wanted to be stolen by the Dark God, but it had been, and suddenly it was not just a jewel anymore, it was a jewel in a crown. They all were, all three of them, until the girl, the boy and the dog came.

The girl took the sister of the jewel, and the boy tried to steal the jewel itself…but he failed as such things always fail and the jewel, well it ended up in the belly of a werewolf.

The world moved again and suddenly the jewel was no longer in that belly anymore. No, now the jewel was held by a hand, a hand of a one-handed elf. That elf had waited so long to hold the jewel again, but that elf had failed. Too much had happened, too much blood spilt for this purpose and this purpose alone, so the elf could no longer hold the jewel, and he cried when it burned his hand. Then the jewel was falling down, down into the earth where it stayed for more than an entire age. Where hopefully the jewel would melt into the rock and become, it hoped, finally again something greater than itself.

And then the blue wizard came, and the jewel, the Silmaril was no longer at peace.

Sam Gamgee had never considered himself special; not in comparison to some of the great people he'd grown up around. Mister Bilbo, Mister Frodo, Tooks and Brandybucks alike, Rosie and the rest of the Cottons, heck even his own family. Daisy was one of the only female solicitors left in the Shire; Hamson was a worldly traveller; you only had to mention the name Halfred Gamgee in certain corners of the Shire to provoke a riot of some kind and Marigold…well Marigold had been the last Ganyman. Samwise was a gardener, he was a good gardener, he was highly skilled at his craft, but he had never thought or wanted to be anything more than that.

Even when he had set out on the quest with Mister Frodo, he'd been nothing more than Sam Gamgee, the gardener lad, not even worth introducing as Mister. Yet something happened to him on that journey; he didn't know if it started with the dreams, or under the bright skies of Lothlorien, but something had changed within his breast. He'd felt brave and for the first time in his life he had finally understood what Halfred had been talking about all those years ago. He wasn't lesser because he'd been born to a Ganyman and a Seamstress instead of Gentlehobbits. He was worth every bit as much as a hobbit like Mister Merry or Mister Pippin; maybe not a hobbit like Mister Frodo, but then Mister Frodo's worth had nothing at all to do with the status of his birth.

Yet no, it was more than just that, it was something…something else. He had felt it in those Dead Marshes Gollum had led them through; the lights seemed to follow his every step and at night, Sam could hear their wretched guide muttering to himself about a subject that made the hobbit's skin crawl.

'Stupid Fat Hobbit, give us away he will yes precious, see him from all the way in Mordor the Orcses will. And the eye, ever watching, will find us and gut him open, yes, yes that is good. Maybe we should let it, so bright, so shiny, not real! Shouldn't be real, it burns us if we look at it, and calls us cruel names. It's the cruel thing, at least Gollum is real, Gollum is flesh and blood, Gollum is more than stupid burning light that calls to him. Stupid Fat Hobbit, Master would be better off with just Gollum, hope he trips and breaks his neck then there will be no cruel words or bright light to blind Gollum and his Master. Fat Hobbit will be gone, all gone.'

He'd remembered trying to shut those words out, after all Gollum was mad, no debating that; but now as he sat here in front of a mighty hobbit chief, who looked at him with nothing short of pure unrestrained terror, they were harder to shut out. Maybe it would have been better if he had broken his neck on the way to Mordor, for he had never wished to live long enough to see someone look at him like that.

'So, this is why they sent for you, I thought it not but a joke of our king. You must leave this place; his eyes will wander too close to us if we let you linger here.' Said Ka, his voice hitched in terror.

'Who? What are you talking about, whose eyes? I thought the dark lord was dead and gone.'

Elanor began to cry and Sam had to pick her up again, to settle her.

'You don't remember? You don't know what you are, who you are?'

'No of course…what I am? What…what did you do to me, what was in the food?'

'Oh Samwise Gamgee, it appears I've made a terrible mistake and I wish there was time enough to correct it. But for now, you must leave us at once, or he will find you, he will find all of us.'