A thirtieth fic by Iorhael

Summary: Sam finds that adding an entry to the Red Book is much too difficult for him.

Who says the sea is blue? Might it be blue but with a gloss of earthen brown and golden sunlight? Might it be the green of lush trees down in Woody End? Yet somehow I know for sure it will not be angry crimson of the sizzling fire of Mordor.

Who says the sea is blue? I dare not tell, for only from those arias often sung by the elves have I ever heard. I have never witnessed it myself.

But Gandalf has also told me that it is blue as the sky; though unlike the sky, the blueness of the sea I will be able to touch, and it will touch me back.

“And upon it, my dear Frodo, you will feel as if it rocks you to slumber. Its waves are gentle and affectionate. They will hold you in their embrace and coddle you till you sleep,” Gandalf once said. “You will forget all the burden in your heart and you will only remember the beauty of the Shire and the love of your fellow hobbits, Merry, Pippin, and Sam.”

Remember, my beloved Gandalf? Forget I would love to do for the torments in my body and soul. But only remember everything I love?

Let the sea touch and coddle someone else. I don’t want to be able to reach it if in the end The Shire or Merry or Pippin or Sam will all be in the sky or at any place where I cannot even glance.

What shall happen tomorrow? What shall happen at the place the elves named The Grey Havens? Shall I have the heart to leave you all behind? To kiss you farewell and touch the sea? To pretend as if I am the strongest of all, to be able to turn away aboard the ship without shedding a single tear? For I know there will be a million tears crowding in my chest. Yet I cannot and I shall not. I shall meet you again, at least one of you. So I will not cry.

I shall not cry when I throw my last glance upon you, my most beloved friends and brothers. And upon the Shire, my one and only home country.

I shall not cry.

I shall not cry.

* * *

And Sam wept, hard and long and bitter. He would meet Frodo again sometime; he knew that even before he read this last entry of the Red Book.

The last entry.

This was the last thing Frodo ever scribbled in this leather-bound volume before his master had put it into his hands. Him. Sam. His loyal gardener. Best friend. Companion. And it was his chore now to complete it until he, too, departed to the Undying Lands.

“The last pages are for you, Sam.”

The last pages or nearly a full book still, empty waiting to be lined with words and phrases. To be filled with events recent and past. To be breathed with the lives of people filling his life. Sam’s heart clenched as he remembered all those, and realized there was only one way to make them eternal. He had to carve the stories down here, in the book Bilbo and Frodo had initiated.

Sam wiped his tears away and flipped open a new page of the brownish parchment. Holding the quill with his slightly trembling hand, Sam started – and startled.

He did not know what to write.

Puzzlement engulfed him, and he thrust the point of his quill onto the paper again. Nothing happened. He could not even produce a single letter.

Sam was obliged to write about things that happened after Frodo departed, and thus far had only their farewell at the Grey Havens to write about. Squeezing his eyes closed, Sam could feel despair and longing rush in him again. The feeling was intense yet he could not express it in words. He was not as – what was Frodo’s word for this – articulate? Yes, that was it. He was not as articulate as Frodo, who had always been so easy with words.

“I can’t do this, Mr. Frodo,” Sam whispered in deep frustration, still with eyes shut. His hand holding the quill hung over the chair’s arm, trembling. “Help me.”

“You have to feel it, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes snapped open. Frodo?

“Look into the depth of your heart and find what you really want to say.”

Oh. Sam knew he was only imagining, but he knew that was exactly what Frodo would tell him.

“I know what my heart wants to say but I cannot utter it.”

“You must try. Empty your mind. Let your fingers play. Let your heart lead the way.”

“Mr. Frodo - ”

“Let’s do some practice. About our journey – what do you remember the most?”

“I remember everything.”

“Which do you feel most passionate about?”

Sam frowned. He knew the answer to that but –

“Sam. You should not be embarrassed. But honest with yourself. That is how all those writers work. Pour out everything you want to say and people will feel the passion and sincerity.”

If only it was that easy… But Sam put forth his attempt nonetheless. He let himself drift back to Minas Tirith when he heard that Frodo had awakened. All the other members of the fellowship had paid his master a visit, wanting to see how the Ringbearer fared – save himself. Sam had been the only one by Frodo’s side at the final moments of the Ring. Sam was the only one to witness how the Ring had finally claimed Frodo, and Sam was the sole witness to Frodo’s last wound. He had waited at Frodo’s side when he was still unconscious, and now when Frodo was finally awake, Sam could not bring himself to face the sweet master of his. Sam had been afraid and unsure of Frodo’s feelings.

He moved back to the table and motioned his pen to the book again. Let your fingers play... and so he did.

Looking at you on the bed on that day, Mr. Frodo, with your face bright with joy and your cousins lightly embracing you, just took my breath away. You were – so different. There were no more burdens shadowing you or fear or hunger or thirst embracing you. Gone was the filth over your body or the creases on your brow. You were dressed in an unstained and sweet-smelling white nightgown. And on your head you wore uncrumpled curly locks of hair. You personified an angel, Mr. Frodo. I was proud to be your friend.

Yet I could not forget your eyes. They were brimming with unshed tears. Why, Mr. Frodo? Why, when all around you were your cousins and your best of friends? Oh, I know. You would tell me they were tears of joy and not of sorrow. And you would deny the fact that you were still thinking of your burdens. I could see that, Mr. Frodo, and I hated it very much. I still do.

But when you looked at me with that unspoken acknowledgment, my heart just ceased to beat. I almost could read it in your eyes, you were saying,“You have seen me at my worst, in the depth of my depravity… And no one here will ever know or understand what happened up there. Yet still you have helped me, saved me, and forgiven me.” I was stuck frozen by the door. I should have told you that I had done nothing compared to your deeds. I should have reached for you and said it was the least I could do. But I could only smile a smile that said, “Of course.”

Sam sat back and saw a page full with his handwriting. He had done it. Frodo would be proud of him.

Dipping the point of the quill to get more ink, Sam was more than prepared now to add yet another entry.

Finish

AN: Inspired by Celandine Goodbody's muse and Summer Snow by Sissel. Betaed by the lovely Shirebound.

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