A/n: Okay- I'm sure this chapter will be a little familiar to some of you that's because I originally posted it for my birthday (MARCH 25th!) this year under the title "Why Can't It All Be Beautiful". I really didn't want to get rid of it as a single chapter piece but I had to so... you know what I mean!
Disclaimer: Hear ye, hear ye! It is my great regret to announce that I do not own any characters or places of The Lord of the Rings. They are the property of the highly esteemed... oh what's the point! I hate writing these things!
They go on forever, don't they… the stars? Forever… tiny souls, shimmering softly. A beauty of the infinite dark. True beauty. So pure. That which cannot be marred, cannot be captured by any hand, though they try in vain. Even the bottled light of the brightest star in all the heavens could not compare, for there is something so glorious in the freedom of those little bright souls. Something that can never be trapped or tamed. They can't be dimmed. For they go on forever…
Frodo lay, gazing out through all he knew to be eternity, his bright eyes glazed with wonder. It was all so vast, so great, and he was so small... A cool breeze gently played across his face. The Hobbit sighed in content. The night was warm for early spring. Usually the fierce March gales would be racing across the grassy hills and wreaking havoc that could only be rivaled by certain young Tooks, Brandybucks, and, of course, the occasional Baggins.
But tonight, all was calm. The new moon hung like a dagger in the velvet sky above The Shire, and the stars gleamed with such a brilliance as Frodo had never seen before. Beaded on long blades of grass about him, fresh dewdrops mirrored their shine. The fresh green leaves of the gnarled tree above him whispered restlessly. The air was sweet with the anticipation of April.
Frodo allowed his mind to stray as it so often did and staring into the emptiness between the glimmers in the sky, the bitterness of it struck him like a deftly tossed stone.
Why can't it all be beautiful?
Suddenly the night seemed to press closer and as the faint breeze drifted away, the crisp air grew warm and uncomfortably thick. The terrible thoughts began to burrow into his mind but this time he did not brush them aside.
For I know of another infinite darkness and there, there are no stars. It's the darkness that comes when we close our eyes- and not in sleep. When we shut out the world after that final glance. When we breathe our last sighing breath and our heart shudders to a stop.
Frodo's own heart froze and quailed.
Why would I long for that...
He felt deep anguish swelling like an illness in his belly.
It is not beautiful...
He tried to sink into the ground, squeezing his bright eyes tightly shut, trying to make it all go away...
But when we're there, we don't know that. We don't know anything. The darkness consumes our thoughts, devours our soul. Smothering. Constricting. Winding about us. Spider's web. Cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot…feel.
The feeling bust and an icy wave of nausea swept over him, draining him. Pulling him down with the undertow. Seeping away...
Drowning. Drowning in this cloak of night- these deep dark waters to which there is no end. Sinking, falling, soaring.
He could feel it, feel it inside him. Eating away at his flesh. Crawling through him like maggots and worms through a corpse. He knew they were there. Gnawing away at his bone. Devouring his eyes. Crawling over him. Sharp legs and slime and rotting meat. He wept, striking out but he couldn't brush them away.
He could feel it, feel it about him. A wooden box.
Darkness… Pressing. Binding. Cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot feel.
Sinking down, beneath the earth.
Cannot feel. The terrible emptiness. I am a shell. A hollow shell.
Sam heard the frail, strangled sob. He had known he would find him here. He padded silently through the trees until he finally saw the small form curled pitifully among the twisted roots of the old tree. As he quietly approached his heart twisted to watch Frodo struggling to swallow his tears. Sam sat softly on the earth beside his master. He did not need to speak. His strong brown fingers curled lightly about Frodo's pale hand.
Tears began to flow freely down Frodo's face as he turned to Sam. His wide eyes shone a nearly luminous blue through their watery sheen as they delved deeply into Sam's own dark eyes. Sam wished so desperately that he knew what his master was searching for when that gaze cut through his soul.
"Mr. Frodo?"
Frodo suddenly twined trembling arms around Sam's neck, pressing his face into his shoulder. The Hobbit shook violently against his friend, trying to rid himself of all his waking dreams.
Darkness… Pressing. Binding. Cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot feel.
Sam enfolded him in a gentle embrace.
Then, at last, Frodo began to weep.
Why can't it all be beautiful…
He felt Sam's steady arms tighten around his slender frame, drawing him closer. Frodo tried again to close his mind- to shut out the shadows and hold close the light. But he couldn't. It was still there.
I'm screaming inside but no one can hear me…
Sam could feel his heart begin to crumble as Frodo sought shelter in his presence. Shelter from whatever storm assailed his mind. His own body shook with Frodo's jagged sobs. How did it come to pass that one could be forced through so much pain. And one who never deserved it.
No one deserved this torment.
He wished that he knew a cure, something that would put it all to rest. If only he could take it away, take it upon himself. But there was nothing to be done. Sam felt utterly helpless and terribly alone.
Everlasting night, the infinite dark…
Frodo clung to Sam with such desperate strength, wishing he could fade away, drift away. Drift away on the swells of the Sea. Sail away, into the light.
Then he remembered. The tiny jewel seemed to cut into his chest… there was hope for him yet.
He felt some knot inside come undone. Long awaited calm starting to flow. It seeped through him, coursing through him- like running through the door from the chill winter rain to find a warm fire and a hot mug of tea.
Sam breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Frodo had stilled and now lay limp against him, sides heaving with exhaustion. He wearily lowered his head to rest his cheek on the thick, dark curls, wanting to lift him gently and carry him home. But he needed Frodo to talk. He needed an answer.
Frodo then realized what it was he wished for. He wished to run, to run away from the darkness. To somewhere he might never need to face it.
But he knew what it would mean. It would mean running from all that he loved. Escaping the tangled web of memory and emotion and…
"Mr. Frodo?"
... and Sam.
"Sir?" Sam's tentative voice crackled.
Frodo twisted his head to see Sam's face. His eyes glowed again with that strange light. Like the stars he loved so much lived inside of him.
"Sam,"
The Hobbit stared down at him in great concern.
"Sam, I'm sorry..."
Sam looked away. Why did he always have to say that?
"For what?" he answered.
"For everything..." Frodo shook his head. "I'm terrible."
Sam was at a loss for the words to reply.
"You shouldn't be here." He continued. "You should be home, asleep. Not out looking for me."
Sam found his tongue. "You're wrong." He said flatly. Frodo's eyes widened slightly in surprise. He would never, never had expected Sam to rebuke him. "You're wrong, I should be here. This is where I belong. This is what I'm here to do. I'm here to help you. Whether you like it or no."
"No, Sam" Frodo sat up, speaking intently. "You're here to live."
"And what about you," Sam begged himself to not say the words that must follow. "You aren't dead yet."
Frodo gasped.
Why can't it all be beautiful…
What had come over him? Why must he say that?
The gardener felt hot tears burn in his throat. What a fool he was!
Frodo's stare was fixed on his lap, to the hand that rested on his knee. The right hand. He was glaring at the empty space. The ugly, scarred gap between finger and finger. The fleshy stump that had once been long and nimble was raw and red, even now.
"It was only a year ago." His voice broke. "I wasn't afraid."
"What was it like Sam," He asked without warning. "To drown."
If Sam found this question strange he didn't say so. "Mr. Frodo, sir, I'm not sure I understand."
"What was it like," Frodo cried "To know that you were gong to die?"
Sam, again, was hesitant to answer.
"I don't know why, but I wasn't frightened." He strained to find the words to say what he needed to say. "It was peaceful, down there." He almost choked as an unexpected sob threatened to burst from him. "It's hard to explain, you see. I'm as scared of water as anything but it… it was almost beautiful." His voice filled with wonder. "It was so beautiful. And, and I knew what was going to happen but… but how could anything so beautiful be bad?" Sam felt guilty about his next words. "But maybe a part of me knew that it would be alright because it was for you. You told me not to be afraid, I heard your voice and I wasn't. I was ready." He smiled slightly. "But then you saved me."
Frodo nodded.
But Sam wasn't finished. "I always wanted to be there for you, but somehow it seemed you were always saving me…why?"
"Because." Was the simple answer. And maybe that was all that was needed.
They sat quietly in that way, leaning on each other until the moon had begun to set. Then Frodo spoke again.
"It's almost over."
Sam seemed puzzled.
"The 25th of March."
And then he remembered- remembered lying hand in hand with his master amid the fire and the ash and the smoke. He remembered how strangely happy Frodo had seemed, and how he couldn't see how anyone could be happy about dying. For they were going to die and perhaps they did. Sam recalled a cold dark place but then he heard a voice calling to him. It was Frodo's voice. And then he saw the light, and he followed.
"I wanted nothing more than to die, Sam. Nothing more." Frodo marveled. "And now I want nothing more than to live. At least, I think I want to live." He chuckled softly, but the laugh was cold. "I am one very confused old Hobbit, now, aren't I?"
He had to say it. "Sam, I am going to tell you why I was here tonight." He waited for Sam to nod. "I was going to do it tonight. I wrote you a letter, because that's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?"
Sam's stomach lurched. A letter? That's what you're supposed to do? No, he wouldn't believe it!
"Sam." Frodo said sternly. "I need you to listen."
A silvery tear tailed down the gardener's stricken face.
"After I finished, I folded the letter. It's sitting on my pillow, next to where you would find me later. It explains nothing, though it was supposed to. Because to tell you the truth, I didn't have a reason to." He laughed again.
Sam's lip began to tremble. But Frodo continued his horrible tale.
"Then I opened the window, let the cool breeze fly through. I needed to feel the air one more time." He smiled. It had been a wonderful feeling, the rush that came before the fall. "Then, I blew out the candles. I took Sting from his scabbard. The blade was so lovely in the starlight, Sam. Then I stood. I took off my weskit and tunic and I waited."
Sam couldn't believe it, he wouldn't!
"I put the point to my chest, above my heart. Almost the same spot as my scar, from Weathertop."
How could Frodo be so blunt about something like this?
"I pulled it back, ready to thrust it in."
Sam waited, holding his breath.
"But then, I heard you. I heard you laughing in the parlour. And I thought of you stepping in to tell me goodnight but seeing the blood and the hilt coming from my chest instead. So I put down the sword and walked away as though it had not happened."
Now it was Sam's turn to struggle against the sobs gathered in his chest as his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. As Frodo looked at him, seeing what he had done to his dearest friend, he felt sick. Where was his heart? How could he say that?
"Oh, Sam..."
But Sam would not look his way. Frodo felt sick. How could he have done that? He saw his hand again still in his lap. How ugly he was.
"Why can't it all be beautiful?" He whispered.
Sam reached out. Closing his hand around Frodo's.
"It is."
"No, Sam... not for me."
There was something different in his rich, flowing voice. Something hollow and cold hidden in the undertones.
"Mister Frodo... you should come home... please?
"No. I can't go back tonight... I need to stay here." His gaze wandered. Sam understood. The slightest rumor of a wind rustled the leaves and some racketing creak broke the silence beside them. Sam smiled. He stood slowly, keeping careful hold of Frodo's arms to bring him to stand as well.
"Sam?"
Sam led him gently. Helping his hands to find the fraying ropes. Frodo recognized the feel beneath his palm and gingerly sat, swaying the swing with his toes. He tentatively grinned up at his friend.
And suddenly he was flying. Sam's hands pressing into his back, strong arms propelling up until he felt as though he was brushing up against the sky soaring into the stars. He gasped in delight.
But then Sam was no longer behind him. He scuffed his feet along the damp ground to slow himself. He wobbled slightly rising to face Sam.
"S-sorry, sir." He was crying.
"Oh, Sam... no. I'm the only one who needs to be sorry." He curled his arms about Sam's back and pulled him close as Sam lost all grip of his emotion. "Maybe, Sam." Frodo eased him to the ground. "It is."