A/n: im sorry this took me a whole month to get this chapter posted online but please hear my out before you kill me: a few days into October i get myself into the middle of a rather bizarre and (i suppose) ridiculous incident and TOTALLY murder my shoulder so now my left arm and hand are pretty much useless as i seem to have no feeling in them... something to do with bones being out of place and messing up my nerves or something like that- my doctor doesn't explain things very well but let me tell you the x-rays look really, really... weird! THE POINT: i am typing with my right hand only and im not right handed so its taking me hours upon hours to type this out let alone try and use a pencil to make a rough copy!
Disclaimer: idonotownanthing(sob)
If life's not beautiful without the pain then I don't ever want to see beauty again...
modest mouse- the view
As morning crept, damp and chilled through the trees the bitterness of his lies still burrowed fiercely into his freezing heart. Even in the pristine brilliance of the untouched morning he silently tore at his soul. His life was naught but a series of denials and carefully secluded truths. And now... there was no more beauty to be found in the world into which he was so horribly entangled.
"I can't tell him why..."
Frodo's breath caught in his chest as he glanced down softly at the sleeping hobbit curled tightly by his side. He wouldn't have been looking at him now... he wouldn't be thinking now... he wouldn't even have had the air in his lungs to choke upon.
"I don't even know how to tell myself."
He tilted his head to rest back against the coarse bark of the aged tree he had slept against. Closing his eyes he drew a deep, steady breath, resisting its release until he could feel the blood pounding in his veins.
Once he might have held in wonder the fresh sunlight dancing through the young spring leaves to illuminate his visibly peaceful face, how it neglected to reveal the turmoil within. But he no longer knew how. That had been lost to him so many moments ago. Dull and faded was his soul.
"Why..."
He forced his the corners of his eyes tighter still so that not even the faded rusty hue of the light he couldn't see broke through.
"...must this go on..."
Pressed close against him, Sam shifted in his uneasy rest, returning from what Frodo could only hope had been some kindly dream. A small calloused hand sought and clasped his thin wrist, enclosing it entirely, as the young hobbit's wide dark eyes fluttered open.
"Mister Frodo," He murmured sleepily.
"Sam," Frodo's voice fairly dripped with heartache. The fingers about his wrist gently slipped into his hand. "Shall we go back now?"
They walked in silence but not the easy quiet they so often shared- when no words were needed. It lay heavily between them: a stone wall muffling all comfort that might have passed between them. Frodo seemed to drift ahead with his long gliding steps lost to some distant dream as Sam slowly followed, head hung, his feet falling heavy on the road muddied by dew. He had willed himself to cease listening to his weary mind racing with the steady hum of questions which would not be answered.
"Why?"
It kept breaking through.
"Why, oh why, oh why..."
He gritted his teeth.
"How could he, how could he..."
Sam hardly noticed that he was finally back inside Bag End until the wide, round door shut behind him with a faint click.
"No."
Sam felt Frodo standing soundlessly behind him as an arm slung itself gently over his shoulder in poorly attempted condolence. Sam tensed, looking reluctantly up into the brilliance of the stormy-day eyes drilling through his own.
"Sam, is there something you need to say?"
"No." He echoed aloud.
"You've been quiet lately." Sam fidgeted, lowering his gaze. There was too much pity in his master's stare.
"I always am, sir."
Frodo sighed in defeat. "Sam..." His shoulders sagged. "I hate to ask this of you but... Sam, I need you to go into my room and..." He lost the words he had strung together in his head. "...tidy it up a bit." He finished lamely but Sam's heart cried out in bitter understanding.
"Aye, sir."
He didn't know what he expected as he prepared to enter the deserted room, trepidation consuming his being. Stepping in he was greeted by a shock of cold wet air.
"The window... he opened the window to feel the air..."
He hastened across the room to shut the thick, iron framed panes of glass.
"... to feel the air... one last time..."
Sam fastened the latch. The loose sheets of paper that had been haphazardly stacked on desk he now was leaning over were strewn about the room. But as he leaned to gather them his hand closed on something else entirely. As his fingers closed about the cold wood he knew that he had just discovered what he had hoped to avoid entirely.
"He held it to his chest... almost the same place as... as that scar... but he didn't mean to miss... he wouldn' have..."
He held Sting before his stricken face. The brilliant sword that he had once held in such awe was now no more than a menacing blade. He fought aside a fresh wave of tears. His glare refocused to what sat behind the sinister curve of piercing metal.
"I wrote you a letter, because that's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?" Frodo's voice rang frozen and hollow in his memory.
"No..." Sam couldn't hear himself whisper. This made it real. He had spent the last dreadful hours convincing himself numbly that it couldn't have been true- waiting to wake up from what he so solemnly wished was a terrible dream.
Sting clattered to the floor, much as it must have the night before.
"After I finished, I folded the letter. It's sitting on my pillow, next to..."
There it was. Poised and waiting for he the reader.
Sam stumbled blindly to kneel beside the bed, plucking the flawlessly creased parchment from the feather pillow, nearly tearing the note as his madly trembling hands struggle to unfold it.
"My Dear Sam,"
Unwanted teardrops fell from Sam's eyes as his limbs turned to heavy unfeeling stone.
" I'm so sorry that I must bid my final farewell in such an awful
manner as this but I have never been good at saying goodbye.
I am afraid, Sam, that I have run out of time.
My dearest friend- you saved my life so many times, but
there is no rescue for my soul. Do not blame yourself for there
is no one in all of Middle Earth could have done half as well
as you. It is my own fault that I must do this now, take away
my own life. I do not expect you to understand this now or ever
but hear me now. There are some wounds that run too deep to
ever heal. Life is so a wound to me but do not allow this to be such
a wound to you. Do not let my passing be another burden for
you to bear. You are meant to live. Live the life that I could not
keep.
Forgive me someday, Sam- but never forget what we have done.
Forgetting will only make it hurt.
Take my love and remember always that I give it to you.
Until again we meet. "
The last thing that Sam would have known to expect was the fury burning in his throat. He couldn't even find the means to think- for his gentle nature to find some acceptable reason for his master's woes to be so much greater that the rest of Middle Earth's. He only felt the pain of the anger flying like fire through his veins.
What hadn't they all suffered?
"How could you?" He cried as he leapt to his feet. "HOW COULD YOU!" He tore to the entry hall but Frodo was no longer there.
"The parlor."
He dashed to the second door on the left and flung it open, not noticing the handle slamming into the wall leaving a deep dent.
Frodo jumped as he drew back the heavy curtain and whirled to face the doorway.
"HOW...COULD...YOU?"
There stood Sam furiously swiping a tear from his eye- face flushed and contorted into some expression Frodo could never imagine the quiet, steady hobbit could possess.
"What makes y' think... that you... can just..."
"Sam... oh Sam... I... I am so...so sorry...I didn't think-"
"MAYBE YOU SHOULD 'AVE!" Sam shouted. "What if I just decided that just 'cause life wasn't one great holiday that I should jus' finish it 'cause all that was still beautiful jus' wasn't worth the hurt!"
"Sam... please... listen to me... just allow me to explain."
"I DON' WANT ANOTHER EXPLANATION!"
"Please-"
"I jus' want the truth!"
Frodo collapsed on the sofa.
"I can't give-"
"What makes you think you hurt so much more than any the rest of us? What makes you so special?"
The retort stung Frodo as if he'd been slapped.
"What about Mister Merry or Mister Pippin? Don' you know what they went through... for you?" Sam waved his hands frantically in the air about his head. "Jus' for YOU! And what about Boromir- he DIED trying to save the rest, Mister Gandalf too- trying to save YOU! Don' you think it has to hurt remembering what it's like to die. Who were you goin' to save when you..." His breath came in unsteady gasps but Frodo could only look on in shock. "...wh-when you were goin' to... to... Why were YOU goin' to die? 'Cause you jus' didn't want to try and make it alright again?" A new flame was kindled in Sam's passionate tirade. "WHEN DID YOU EVER TRY TO MAKE IT BETTER? When didn't you jus' sit around an' wait for it to go away? WHY COULDN'T YOU TRY!"
"Sam you don't understand-" Frodo made a desperate attempt to silence the enraged hobbit.
"What don' I understand?"
Now Frodo'd had quite enough. He jumped to his feet. Drawing himself to his full height he nearly seemed to tower over Sam. "Sam, you don't know what IT did to me! You didn't have to carry-"
"BUT I CARRIED YOU!"
Frodo was rendered utterly speechless.
"Have you forgotten?" Sam stared up, sorrowful eyes reddened and hopeless.
"Oh... oh, Sam." Frodo reached out to lightly grasp the young hobbit's arm.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Frodo startled, backing away. "I-I think I'd l-like t-to go h-home now, sir."
"SAM, WAIT!" Sam turned back from the doorway. "I-I...please..."
"Is th-that all you have t-to say sir?"
Frodo gave him no reply.
"I'll just g-get my things." Sam's muffled footsteps began to fade as Frodo sank to the floor- burying his face in his hands- and wept.
"But what about you?" He choked.
The soft patter of Hobbit-feet halted.
"Sam?" Sam's shadow fell over his crumpled form. "Don't you ever..." Frodo's fragile voice faltered. "Don't you ever just want it to..."
He heard Sam take a slow, trembling breath.
"I don' let myself remember anymore, sir."
"How can you just forget it?" Frodo cried. "Things changed Sam... the Shire's changed... we... changed... out there. You can't make it go back. We will never be the same- no matter how hard you try. Sam you'll just get hurt-"
"Funny you should say that." The blunt unfeeling in his young friend's voice stilled Frodo's speech. "I can't do this Mister Frodo. My heart jus' can't take it no more."
"Sam, I'm sorry!"
"It's too late for that, sir."
"Sam!"
"I'm sorry too, sir... but I jus' can't..." His voice wavered. "Goodbye..."
"Sam... I mean it now... I do... I'm sorry..." Frodo sobbed. But Sam was no longer there.
TBC
Sorry this chapter wasn't so great- next one will be better!