"Frodo Baggins!" said a scolding voice in the doorway. Frodo leaped out of his chair, surprised at hearing an unfamiliar voice, and even more shocked when he saw the owner of that voice.
"Who… what… er…. Hello," he stuttered.
"Frodo Baggins, you need some Talking To." Frodo could hear the pronunciation of the capital letters. He raised an eyebrow quizzically at the creature, who had by now removed herself from the doorway and perched upon a small table.
"All right," Frodo said resignedly, having accepted long ago that strange things were drawn to Bag End like flies to jam, "But if I am to be scolded by a… whatever you are… don't I at least deserve to know who you are?"
"I'm Aunie," the otter said. "And I'm very sorry to do this sir… meaning you no disrespect at all, you understand…"
"Of course."
"…But you've been somewhat, well, troublesome, and somebody ought to tell you." Aunie jumped off of the table and marched straight up to Frodo. "Sit down," she directed, pointing to the chair. Frodo obeyed, more because the creature seemed to be unarmed and not physically hostile than because he wanted to hear what she had to say. Aunie stepped back, her round eyes glistening as she inspected him. "You are," she continued, "Quite possibly one of the most stubborn, self-centered men I have ever known."
Frodo looked at her in a way that communicated very clearly the fact that he had no idea what she was talking about. Aunie sighed dramatically.
"Don't you listen to anything?" she asked. "What did Mr. Samwise just tell you? Were you not present for the conversation?"
"Of course I heard!" Frodo exclaimed. "He just said… and I… oh dear…" A certain realization dawned on Frodo. "He meant it, didn't he?"
Aunie looked up at the ceiling. "By the fish in the River, bless my nose, I do believe the boy is on to something!"
Frodo stood up from the chair. "I have to find him!" he said. "I thought he was just, you know, in one of his moods. He gets that was sometimes. I didn't think… Oh, what a fool I've been! Aunie, was it? Do you know where he is? I assume if you're here, that means he can't have gone to sleep like I told him to…"
Aunie shrugged. "He might have gone to sleep. But you're correct in thinking he's not here. He's gone to the garden shed. At least, that's where he was going when I came in here. What he intends to do there, I'm sure I can't say. You might want to go find out yourself, Mr. Baggins."
Frodo was out the door before Aunie's scolding was finished. She smiled as he scuttled out of view. She followed soon after through the window.
~*#*~
Frodo barely felt the chill in the air as he ran, without even a coat, from the front door of Bag end. He found himself hesitating as he grew closer to the garden shed. By the time he reached the door, he was going at a cautious walk. As his hand touched the rusted doorknob, he stopped completely. From the other dies of the door, he heard the unmistakable sound of sobbing. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his bottom lip. I know what I have to do, he thought to himself. Why can't I do it?? He took a deep breath, his hand clutching the doorknob tightly before turning it. The door creaked open.
"Samwise!" Frodo exclaimed, rushing to his friend's side. Sam was sitting on the dusty cement floor, leaning against a wooden crate with his face buried in his arm. In his right hand, he held the handle of a pair of shears; but on his left hand, which was balled into a tight fist, Frodo could see the unmistakable red gleam of blood.
At the sound of Frodo's voice, Sam dropped the shears and jerked his head up. Their eyes met for an instant only, and in that instant, the hurt he saw in the gardener's eyes terrified Frodo. But he did not have to see that pain long, for Sam immediately turned away. He scooted back against the wooden crate, almost as if trying to scramble away in fear. His motions were jerky and panicked, but upon realizing that he could no go anywhere, he settled on staring wide-eyed at the floor. Frodo could see his profile illuminated by the shine of a lantern on a shelf behind Sam. He had never seen anyone look so utterly lost as Sam seemed to look at the moment.
Slowly, Frodo knelt beside his companion. He took the injured hand to inspect it. Sam tried to pull away, but Frodo held tightly. "Oh, Sam…" Frodo reached for the bandages he knew Sam kept in the shed for just such purposes. Fortunately the cut was not deep, and Frodo mended in quickly. Sam had drawn his knees half way up and leaned forward to rest his forehead on them during the operation. "Sam, how did you do this…?"
Sam gave no answer, but turned his face away. Frodo circled his arms around Sam's shoulders and tried to pull him closer, but Sam fought him. "Get off!" he demanded brokenly, trying to pull away. "Just… leave me… go away!" He could barely speak through his sobs, and he had no strength to fight for long. Frodo clutched his shoulders and shook him roughly.
"Samwise Gamgee, you stop it this instant!" Frodo looked straight into his eyes. Again, he saw the wild, lost look-the same look he had seen once in the eyes of a snared rabbit. He felt the same sick feeling he had felt at the sight of the dying animal, but this time he did not run away. "SAMWISE, listen to me! Stop it! Stop it now!" He was pleading, he would do anything to erase that pain from the familiar hazel eyes, now glowing silver and drowned with tears. Finally, Sam stopped fighting. He melted into Frodo's embrace, his body shuddering with uncontrollable grief. Frodo held his friend's head against his chest, his fingers tangled in the mop of curly hair. He could feel Sam's tears soak through his shirt. He did not let go. "Hush now, Sam," he murmured. "It's all right. I'm here. Hush now…" He rocked Sam in his arms gently, as a mother would rock a frightened child after a nightmare. What words he spoke he did not know, nor did it matter. All that mattered was that Sam could hear his voice, knowing he was there.
Eventually, Sam's sobbing quieted to uneven, shuddering breaths. He had curled himself up in Frodo's arms. Frodo saw how vulnerable he was, and for the thousandth time, he silently tortured himself for allowing his friend to be so hurt. How could I have done this? How??
"Sam, how did you hurt your hand?" Frodo inquired softly.
Sam looked contemplatively at his bandaged hand. He sniffed, nestling closer to Frodo's side. "I… I guess I just… picked up the shears an'… they fell… and I tried… but they…"
"What were you going to do with the shears?" Frodo asked, not wanting to rush the gardener, but desperate to find out how badly he had hurt him.
"To… t' cut the bush…"
"What bush, Sam?"
"I… I think…" Sam shook his head as his voice dissolved once more in tears. But Frodo understood the meaning: Sam never had any intention of cutting a specific bush. He was following motions ingrained in his mind, motions he would follow automatically to do some every-day chore. His mind had been elsewhere.
Frodo held Sam tighter. "Samwise, I want you to listen to me." Sam nodded. "You are my best friend. I will never hurt you. Do you understand? I'm so sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry…" Frodo felt tears on his own cheeks. He would not release his hold on Sam to wipe them away, though, so he let them fall freely onto his sleeves and in Sam's hair. "I have changed, Sam, and that's why I'm distant. It hurts to be so different. It doesn't have to. I see that now. Stay close to me, Sam. Don't let me hurt you again. Please. Stay close to me. I want you by my side as long as you will be. You're my best friend. I won't lose that so easily…"
"I will, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, his voice cracked from crying. "I'll stay. Just don't let me go."
"I won't, Samwise. Not ever."
"Then… I won't let you go either… Not ever. Not until the sky falls on us."
Sam leaned over to kiss Sam's forehead. "Thank you, Sam," he whispered.
They sat there, coiled in each other's arms, until sleep claimed them both. When it had, a shadow slipped into the shed and paused before them.
"Darn you two," she said, smiling. "You've gone and made me cry." She batted the tears from her cheeks, then spread a blanket over the two sleeping friends. "Good night, my heroes," she whispered. With that, she was gone.
…….
After nights of hard sorrow, the Heroes awaken.
Their eyes are stained red with the tears of their past.
The gray prison-their shelter-holds little new hope,
But the Heroes know well this day won't be their last.
For the dawn, never heeding of troubles or hatred,
Burns on the horizon in glorious flame.
And the Heroes, chained, beaten, and shivering cold,
Find new hope in the light that holds them from their shame.
And the Heroes are marveled that dawn comes again
Through the shards of dreams scattered and hearts torn apart.
Still they hear the wind blow outside bars of hard iron.
It melts the cracked ice in their own broken hearts.
After nights of hard sorrow, the Heroes awaken.
They think of their quest-every king, every pawn.
Never yet have they failed, never have they surrendered.
They'll rise and continue, for still comes the dawn.
…end…