A/n: Wow! I didn't think that anyone would actually read this. So thank you to all of the wonderful people who weren't too lazy to review... ahem... Alright- so I know I never review anyone else's stories but... well, nevermind. I hope no one has any difficulty following any of these chapters. As usual I am completely open to any plot or editing suggestions... ahem... okay, enough- on to chapter two!
Kos, chickloveslotrandJulia Baggins: I'm really glad you enjoyed that chapter!
PorcelinaCorgan: yes, and Starbucks rocks... by the way, judging by your name, would you happen to be a Smashing Pumpkins fan?
Larner: Yes it can...
BraellyraLeatherleaf: Thank you sooo much and I'm gad you enjoy my style. You're right- I just realized that I don't think I've ever written a story at a respectable time of day.
The Hobbit Lass: I guess it was a bit weird...
starvingartist: THANK YOU!
Disclaimer: Ummm... (again too lazy to come up with something interesting)... I do not own the Lord of the Rings... not like you haven't heard that before...
Dawn could not come soon enough. But when at last the first fragile rays of the early sun brushed Sam's weary form they were solemn grey and brought no comfort. Bathed in a splash of frigid light he shivered silently on the tile floor of the entry way- rocking slowly back and forth, back and forth to the rhythm of his own heart. His sun- browned face glistened faintly with a teary sheen as he gazed somberly at his master's slumbering head resting in his lap. Watching sunbeams play across the still, peaceful face- illuminating the deep blotched shadows beneath his eyes and the chiseled hollows of his ghostly pale cheeks.
"Oh, Frodo... what's happened to you?" Fresh tears spilled from Sam's eyes as he tenderly brushed a stray tendril of hair from an ivory brow. "What's happened?" His hand settled softly on Frodo's delicately rising chest. "Where have you gone?" He smiled faintly as he thought back to days that were now merely fond memories of a more simple time, before their quiet existence had been suddenly and painfully swept from beneath their feet. He knew that there was nothing in all of Middle Earth that could wrench his heart from master but even still Frodo was not the same person he had known such a short while ago. Gone was the strong, bold gentlehobbit with his wild eyes and eager laugh. He had been replaced by this frail whitewashed shell of what he once was. Some where inside, Sam hoped, still lay the fragments of soul that had been shattered but he didn't know how to wake them. "I miss you." He spoke unknowingly aloud. "I don't know why." He frowned as his voice thickened. "You're right here but part of you's elsewheres." He bowed his head as the older Hobbit lashes fluttered as he neared waking. "I just don' know."
Form the kitchen a clock chimed faintly. Five o'clock. In a few hours time he should have been rising from his sleep and readying himself for another day. He yawned widely, longing for rest. Sam sighed before gently lifting Frodo in his arms once more. Carrying him silently down the sparsely decorated hall to the his room. He fumbled slightly with the doorknob before letting himself in. He set Frodo lightly on the bed pulling the covers to his shoulders and tucking them tightly about him. Sam sought his hand and pressed it briefly in his own before turning away, not wanting to leave him alone.
"Sam."
Sam jumped. Frodo was awake, curled on his side, wide eyes staring with an openly pleading gaze. But he quickly moved his sight to the wardrobe across the room.
"You... you don't have to stay here. You can go home...if you like." He was now intensely interested in a dewy spider's web beyond a windowpane. "You haven't visited in a while... I'm sure-" He fell silent as he felt the mattress shift beneath him. Sam's hand settled on his shoulder.
"It's a bit early to be goin' home right now, sir." Sam said with all honesty. "I think it would be best if you went back to sleep for a while." Frodo bit his lip and nodded slowly. Sleep was the last thing he wanted. It was wasted time. His eyes drifted to a thick, weathered red book abandoned on the chair in the corner. Sam followed his path of vision. "Mister Frodo, beggin' your pardon, sir, but you need it."
Frodo knew he could never make himself tell the truth. That he was terrified to close his eyes because he knew what he would see. "I...I'm not tired now." But his voice must have betrayed him.
"Just you lie down and rest a bit, now. You'll feel better." Sam stood again to go. But as he turned a hand shot out to tightly clasp his own.
"Sam?"
The young Hobbit knelt by the bed, caressing the fingers wound about his own.
"Yes, sir?"
"I don't understand what it...what happened last night...but..." He began slowly. "Oh Sam, I'm afraid." He swallowed. "And I don't know if..."
"Mister Frodo," Sam looked up into his master's glazed, shimmering eyes. "So am I." Sam shoved the extra pillows aside and sat behind Frodo, leaning against the headboard. Frodo fell back, huddling against the gardener as though Sam could offer him the protection he sought from the deep shadows that lurked in his mind. Sam's arms wrapped loosely around Frodo's slender torso.
What had happened that night? Sam only wished for assurance- whether it meant that what Frodo had seen was true or not. Now he almost wished that his master was mad. That would mean that no one had tried hurt him. But regardless of that, Frodo now thought that someone wanted him to suffer and die. And he agreed. He Agreed! How could he? He knew he was not to be blamed for anything that had ever happened. He knew that he was loved.
But he had always been like that. He always took accidents and mishaps as a burden of guilt. Sam remembered how he'd found some way to take the drowning of his parents as his fault. And Bilbo's disappearance. Gandalf's fall. The misery of friends. But he'd never shown any intention to make any more of it that a passing worry and regret. Now... Sam shuddered. Now he didn't know.
"G'night." He murmured with a sure frown masking his face as he watched the dusty rose hue of the morning light dance across the walls.
When Frodo woke at last his spirits were raised. He found Sam to be slumped slightly over him, his breathing slowed- sleep having long since taken the young Hobbit. He cautiously unraveled himself from Sam's embrace and pulled the blankets close about his friend. "Sleep tight, Sam."
Rubbing the weariness from his bleary eyes he stumbled through Bag- End, pulling a finely woven grey cloak from a coatpeg to his shoulders before stepping out into a tall-shadowed hour and the angry March winds. He trudged, head down, hood up, along familiar muddy paths and rocky lanes. Watching the scenery grow increasingly brambled and untamed as he skirted the main roads that led through town. Frodo made his final turn down a weedy cobblestone way winding up a sleepily sloping hillside through thick hedges of wild rose. He nearly held his breath as he passed through a heavily rusted iron archway of broken, once intricate cords of metal.
It had been too long since he had paid them a visit. And in the late, golden hours of the day this place had always seemed so peaceful even in this violent month. Frodo strolled along in an almost trancelike state. Calmly surveying the wild lawn that sprawled out before him, the many weathered carven stones. So mossy or beaten by wind and rain that the names and memories inscribed upon them could only be read by the keenest of eyes. He paused now and again to read a poetic epitaph he had pondered in his youth or to stare in pity at a gathering of wilted flowers. It seemed sad to him that the dead were so often abandoned by those they had loved.
He knelt a while by the well kept and blossoming side of Bell Gamgee. Remembering and blessing for a moment the simple goodness and kindly welcoming smile she had granted her son.
Moving on he came to two solitary stones secluded by a peeling picket fence- unkempt and barely distinguishable through the masses of ivy that clung to them. Frodo felt the slightest pang of guilt. There lie his parents. He sat heavily before them. Tugging heartlessly at the troublesome plants. He vowed that should he ever return he would grow something lovely here but his promise was pointless and wholly empty.
He didn't know how long he was there lost deep in thought, crumbling dead leaves and shredding the stems of dandelions between his fingertips. But he was surprised to find that his thoughts did not wander to the family and the childhood he had lost. His mind was occupied with other matters. He had not come for this purpose- to sit for hours by a long forgotten grave. He had amends to make.
At the very crest of the hill there sat a great stone. On it were listed nineteen names. The names of the nineteen Hobbits dead, killed in the only battle Hobbiton would ever see. Though that would seem few it was nineteen lives severed too soon. Nineteen fathers who would never again see their children or never have their sons and daughters born. Nineteen families left to their grief. Nineteen more to be forgotten as they were erased from time. Nineteen lost because of him.
Frodo traced the etching with a slight hand- The Battle of Bywater 1419- and let it fall unceremoniously to his side. He carefully prodded a wilting daffodil to stand again. "I'm sorry, my friends. I never meant this to happen. If only I could explain to you. But it's too late for that. I can only hope that you would understand. I never knew that it could go this far, that one could go so far for pipe-weed and revenge. I didn't mean to bring the evil back with me...I didn't know..." He pressed his lips to the frozen rock. "Forgive me, please." He whispered as his chest tightened.
Evening was drawing about him swiftly. The western sky lit afire with a blaze of brilliant colour. Frodo hurried on his way. Sam surely would have woken now. And knowing his dear friend, he would be worried. Sure enough...
"Mister Frodo?" Sam's anxious voice drifted to him from around the bend. Frodo shook his head and grinned.
"I'm here, Sam!" He called as loud as his lungs would allow.
"Master? Where are you?"
"Right here." Frodo laughed as he came up beside him. Sam jumped and spun around, his clothes still crumpled from sleep. The smile was wiped from Frodo's face as he saw he was nearly in tears. "Oh Sam, I'm sorry but I didn't want to wake you. I just wanted to go for a walk before it was too late." Indeed stars were beginning to peer through the dusty violet heavens. But to Sam it seemed that something in the gentlehobbit's voice was not referring to the time.
"Yes, sir. I worry about you- that's all. You scared me last night... after that... I... I thought you'd gone off again... and gotten hurt." Sam rambled.
Frodo sighed.
"I know, lad. But everything's alright now." Frodo immediately regretted his choice of words.
"Yes! Fine! It's always alright. Everything's always been alright! Don't you know that, Sam?"
Sam winced.
"I mean it this time." Frodo hung an apologetic arm over Sam's shoulders, pulling him close to his side. "Come on, let's get inside. It's too cold out here."
"Here, Sam. You look like you need this." Sam found a steaming mug of strong tea forced into his chill hands. He startled, looking up to see Frodo smiling down on him, eyes shining. Sam was terrible puzzled by his sudden change of mood.
"You shouldn't have, sir. I could have gotten that." He muttered.
"I know I shouldn't have. But I did." The older Hobbit drug an overstuffed, burgundy chair across the study to be facing Sam's and flopped into it. "The least you can do is drink it, Sam."
"Alright, sir." Sam brought the mug to his lips but did not drink. Frodo groaned silently to himself. Would Sam ever stop addressing him so?
They spoke no more. Sam watched intently as his master produced a familiar worn red book and began to write, his thin hand coaxing the pen to glide gracefully from page to page forming bold and flowing words. Frodo would never tell him what he was doing nor allow him to read it but Sam felt he knew. Now and again he would go to stroke the embers of the fire, trying to encourage it to come back to roaring life. But Frodo remained motionless. Reclining against the arm of his chair, book propped against his bent knees, the sound of a scratching quill constantly filling the study.
"It's funny isn't it?" Frodo said suddenly surprising Sam again.
"What, sir?"
"It's funny." He declared.
"I'm sorry, Mister Frodo, but I don't follow you."
Frodo chuckled at the thought of Sam not following him.
"That we've only just gotten up for the day and it's night."
"I'm sure it is, sir." Sam had long ago learned not to pay mind to Frodo's odd comments. Frodo laughed.
"Oh, Sam."
Sam sipped his tea, smiling softly. He would never understand him.
"Sam."
"What?"
"Nothing." Frodo went back to his book. "That's all."
Sam shook his head. "I love him, whether or no. He's like that... somehow...he comes back sometimes...but he always has to go..."
"You're sure you're fine, Mister Frodo?" He raised his brow in question. Anyone but Sam might have thought he'd been drinking but the gardener knew he needed no ale to turn his head.
"Better than I've been in a long time." Was his only answer as Frodo left Sam to his befuddlement.
Some time later he spoke again.
"Strange as this may sound," He announced. Sam snorted. How much stranger could he get in one night. "I think I might turn in for the day... night." He corrected himself. But he didn't leave. He stood before Sam and tugged him to his feet, taking Sam's hands in his own with a sudden urgency.
"Sam. You know that whatever happens- I don't mean it. I-it's not your fault."
"Mister Frodo..." Sam didn't understand.
"What I mean Sam..." Frodo's hands began to tremble. Sam returned their grasp.
"You know I would never do anything to hurt you."
"Sir... I-"
"Never." Frodo said firmly. Blue eyes luminous, boring into Sam's heart. "You know... don't you? Tell me... Please?"
"I know, sir."
Frodo nodded and then to Sam's astonishment pulled him into a strong embrace. His body was shaking.
"I know." Sam whispered up into Frodo's ear. Frodo drew away.
"Goodnight then, Sam." He brushed the curls away from Sam's wide, dark eyes and walked away.
"Frodo."
He stopped.
"Goodnight."
Frodo smiled sadly. "Sam. I think that's the first time you've ever called me by my name."
"Oh! I'm sorry Mister Frodo, sir..." Sam blushed deeply.
"No... I like it." He murmured wistfully. "If only..." Sam turned away missing the tear trailing down Frodo's cheek. "Goodbye, Sam."
Sam sat back, his knees curled to his chest, and buried his face in his hands. What was wrong?
"Th-they think I... they think I should... they t-think I... sh-should..."
"Master... there's no one-"
"...die."
Sam wracked his troubled mind. But defeated, he knew he could not find the answer.
"Sam...Oh, Sam... I-I th-think I ag-gree."
TBC