Chaos: I'm flattered.
Hippielover459: Don't worry "More! More! More! More!" is on the way... lol
Larner: I just thought that since Frodo's family was originally from Hobbiton that it would be possible that they would be buried there. Also, on the name thing, i seriously considered cutting it out for being highly unlikely but that moment in the story really needed it.
PorcelinaCorgan: You now officially rule!
The Hobbit Lass: Thank you!
FrodoBaggins87: Wow! I'm glad you like this.
A/n: Okay- I've now learned to never underestimate the chapters that you think are going to be SOOO easy. This one took FOREVER! Only I probably spent more time trying to decide what music to listen to get me to write this and since I did that... the songs this chapter was written to were "a different kind of pain" by Cold and "scars" by Papa Roach and random songs by the Smashing Pumpkins which by the way is the greatest band EVER! And im totally sure that you have better things to do than to listen... read my ramblings- like REVIEW THIS STORY! ...please?
Disclaimer: Heck- you're psychic- you know what im too lazy to write here.
Frodo stood sadly in the doorway. "How did it come to this..." He slipped a sheaf of parchment from the book he held in his arms. Then set the red book back on the chair in the corner. He stared a moment at the note clutched in his fair, shivering hands, then nodded. He folded and creased it in perfect, meticulous halves and set it down to perch ready and waiting on his pillow. He nervously straightened the bedcovers. "I never knew it could go so far." He walked a practiced circle about the room. Fondly touching the dust faded binding of a favourite book or a childhood trinket, glancing a moment in the mirror before hastily turning from his ghostly reflection. "It needs to be done." He sighed before making sure that the door was tightly shut and locked. "This is what I want. It's all that's left."
Sam never saw that Sting was no longer glittering in it's stand on the desk beneath the window. Too deeply lost in his troubled thoughts he sat unmoving. The fire that he had finally coaxed to light was now no more than a small heap of faintly glowing ashes and blackened logs. "What's wrong, what's wrong, what's wrong, what's wrong..." Had become a constant chant sounding through his mind as seconds ticked slowly past.
Frodo fumbled a moment with the latch on the window. "The wind. Too stuffy in here." A glaze of sweat was forming on his palms. "I need to feel the wind." He threw open the heavy glass panes, tearing a curtain he had forgotten was still clutched in his hand. A breeze fragrant with spring flowed through the room bringing with it an enfolding calm. The crisp air seemed to pass into him, pooling and swelling in his heart, rushing to his mind. Lifting him. One last deep breath before the fall. Frodo merely drank it in, a simple smile spreading across his face. It was right.
He watched the tall candle that dimly lit the room flicker. He cupped his hand behind it and gently blew it out. The smoke drifted to the ceiling as a thin spiraling spirit.
Sam was called to life by the faint, timid tinkling of the doorbell. "At this hour...?" He rose stiffly all too aware of his spine crackling loudly as he straightened. He plodded tiredly to the door opening it only slightly. "Hullo?"
"Sam, you can open the door! It's me- Rosie."
He pulled back, looking suddenly into the smiling face of the young Hobbit-lass illuminated by a sliver of lanternlight from the hall behind.
"Rosie!" Sam gasped and then hastily turned his gaze to the floor as he felt the blood rising in his cheeks. "W-would you like to come inside?" He stammered.
Rosie Cotton laughed gently. The sound fell upon Sam's ears like a thousand tiny bells. He knew his face had gone a shade redder. "Why yes I would, Sam. Thank you." Sam stepped aside, holding open the door for her to step gracefully past. "I just thought I'd stop by a moment to see how you were holding up. We haven't seen you in a while." Her eyes locked intently with his own. "Are you alright?"
"I suppose so." He murmured. A frown flickered across Rosie's face but didn't linger.
Sam led her to the parlor and started a fire with fresh pine logs as she sat lightly on the sofa. "I'll make some tea, if you'd like." He suggested.
"No, thank you," She caught his hand and pulled him down beside her. "I'd just like to talk a while."
"Isn't it a bit late to be out?" Sam puzzled.
"It isn't that late, Sam. Only half past eight." She pointed to the clock on the mantle.
"Oh." Sam exclaimed softly and didn't speak again. Rosie stared into the fire. Sam pretended to do the same but found that the flickering tongues of flame could not hold his attention. Not with her sitting so close. He couldn't help but stare. Now with the amber light playing softly in her honey golden curls, pooling in her brilliant hazel eyes she seemed more beautiful to his than ever before. But to look at her so scorched his heart with a painful fury. He knew that the wish dancing tauntingly through his mind could never be.
"You lied to me, Sam." She spoke at last. Sam startled- deeply hurt.
"What?" He breathed. Rosie ran her fingers gently over his. Sam had never noticed that their hands were still clasped. His heard began to race.
From beneath his bed Frodo pulled with great care a heavily battered leather scabbard, so worn it was a wonder it still held fast, securing it cautiously to his belt as though it would dissolve at his touch. He shrugged out of his weskit and numbly began to unbutton his tunic, finally tearing it from him and casting it to the floor.
"You said you were alright. Sam Gamgee, I haven't known you all my life to not tell when something's wrong." Sam hung his head. "What is it?" The thoughts swam sickly through his head of the night before. "Is it Frodo?" Sam nodded, unexplainably ashamed. He wanted so badly to tell her as if it would ease the horror should some one else know. But his mouth went dry before he could speak. "Sam?" A hint of pleading was in her voice. "Please?"
"It'll be a year ago tonight, Rosie." He sighed.
"A year ago? What will be a year ago? Sam!"
"A year since the ring's been gone."
The ring? Months ago Sam had told her the story- or what of it he was willing to tell. Had anyone else told the tale she would have never in her life believed it. But there had been something in his voice, the way he had wept to bitterly to finish that had convinced her. But he would never tell the end or what had happened to his poor master's hand.
"I know that no one really thinks he's changed but he has... he has!" Something was swelling in his throat but he swallowed it back. Now that he had started he couldn't stop. "Last night..." He choked. "Last night he got angry but I don't know why. I hadn't seen him that way before. Not when he didn't have... it. But I suppose he decided he was mad at me. He just ran out."
"Is he back now? Is that what's bothering you?" Rosie interrupted.
"No... he's here now- sleeping- but I wish that was all. Truly, I do." He took a deep breath. "I went looking for him just after he left. It must've been an hour 'til I found him. But when I did... Oh Rosie... he was awful. He was just lying there on the ground, all curled up. I think I tripped over him- I could barely see." Rosie wanted to ask where Frodo had gone but knew better than to stop him. "He was cryin' so hard... I don' know if he could hear me. I jus' wanted to hold him, to get him home." His slow voice quavered. "But he started screaming. He didn't know it was me. He thought there was someone else there but there wasn't, Rosie... there was nobody there. He- he thought that they wanted to hurt him... kill him even. Somethin' in his head w-wants him t-to die!" He trembled. "A-and t-then-n he t-told me..." Sam's breath caught in his chest. "He t-told me that h-he agreed!" He slumped forward, his voice breaking. "H-he t-thinks he w-wants to die!"
Rosie stared aghast. That wasn't just wrong. And Sam had lived through that. But Sam had lived through a year of torment that she could never even begin to accept. And what of Frodo. What was it he had seen?
Watching Sam now, though, she felt something unknown rise in her heart. She wrapped her arms tightly about his quivering frame and let him rest against her as soft sobs escaped him. "Sam..." She whispered. He sat up, pulling away but she leaned still closer to him. Sam thought his heart would fly right out of him as her lips gently brushed his own.
Frodo stood, tall and proud, reveling for one last moment in the satin air. One graceful finger at a time he firmly grasped the time polished hilt of Sting from the scabbard at his hip and drew it solemnly from its hiding. The sharp sound of the blade unsheathing resonated in his mind. He held the sword steady before him relaxing his grasp a moment, captivated by the starlight glimmering along it, reflecting each tiny spark from its home in the velvet heavens. He tilted the blade back and forth making the light dance about the sharpened edge. For a moment he captured a sliver of his own face. A luminous blue eye nearly hidden beneath a mop of chestnut curls. He sighed. If only he had more time.
At long last Frodo tilted it to his heart.
"Rose?" Sam breathed his deep, brown eyes widened behind their teary sheen.
"Shhh, Sam..." They were still so close... all Sam needed to do was lean in... "We've waited a long time." She caught his lip tenderly in hers. But Sam again drew away, turning from the injured frown upon her face.
"This isn't real" He chuckled. "It can't be." Laughter erupted from him.
"Sam?" She pleaded.
"I'm sorry but for a moment I actually thought that you could-"
"I thought loved me, Sam." She spoke sadness edging into her voice. "You did once... befo-" Sam gaped- hardly able to believe what he was hearing.
"I do." A tear dripped down his face. "I do"
Frodo drew back his arm. The point of Sting poised perfectly. Ready. He took one last breath of the fragrant air...
But the sound reached his heard even before it fell into his ears echoing throughout his soul. The sweet innocent laughter of Sam. "Oh, Sam...My dear Sam..." Would that innocence still be there in the morning when Sam found him there, lying cold and rigid, Sting embedded in is torn body, the thick dark blood pooled about him. It would die along with him. Would he be killing what he loved more deeply than he ever thought he could. It would be another murder to his name but the only one that mattered. This was a different kind of pain. One worse than another day spent alive. Who would be there for Sam as the world fell apart? "I won't... but it wouldn't matter who was there because it wouldn't be me. I can do this to myself...but not to him...never to him..." The blade clattered to the floor. He turned and fled with his shame, tearing back into the night.
They both heard the door slam shut. Sam blushed, staring down at their fingers still entwined.
"Sam... go." Rosie pulled her hand away and set it on his arm. Kissing him softly once more. "He needs you."
I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to fail…