"Pawns"   by Tialys

Samwise joins Gandalf in a game of chess and choices are argued.

Aged hands, wrinkled and scarred by life’s wear, floated gracefully over the awaiting stone piece before snatching it soundlessly from its sable square. The white pawn was twirled absently in the gnarled fingers once, twice, before settling again on the marble-carved board with a faint clink. Samwise Gamgee’s eyes widened in surprise at the move and he glanced in question at his opponent.

Gandalf had cornered him in the weaving bridges that blanketed Rivendell and guided him to the haven’s grand library to join him in an elven game. Sam had gasped in delighted awe at hearing the game’s origin, for he had been playing it back in the Shire for many years under the tutelage of Bilbo.

He returned his attention to the marble board, eyebrows still quirked in confusion at the wizard’s last move.

Sam never claimed to be ‘good’ at what he now knew as the elven game. Bilbo had spent many hours trying to pound the game’s finer points into his gardener’s head, but the invisible pathways that his teacher could see plainly were a fine mystery to Sam. Still, the pawn's movement puzzled him and he finally gathered the courage to glance from his own pieces and again raise a curly head to face Gandalf. But the wizard merely smiled back and looked back to the board, awaiting Sam’s next move with infinite patience.

The two had been playing for an hour, though Sam knew Gandalf would never consent to a break in play – and certainly not to obtain more food from the kitchens. The game had progressed evenly between the two; Sam suspecting that Gandalf was only allowing him to think he was doing well. The wizard’s men had spread out quickly across the marble squares, effectively narrowing Sam’s moving options, but a few of his own sable pieces had managed to break through the wizard’s defenses and were doing their best to threaten the pearly white king.

So intent with his own advances, Sam had failed to notice the twin pawns that had painstakingly wove their way toward his own back row and now threatened transformation into more formidable adversaries: queens. He fully expected defeat at the hands of one of these, but Gandalf had surprised him further by moving an entirely different pawn, carelessly placing it deeper than his defense allowed, giving Sam room enough to destroy it.

A satisfied grin on his face, Sam quickly flicked the pawn aside where it clattered uselessly off the board to join a growing pile of its fellow pieces and was then replaced by the blackened knight in Sam’s other hand.

“You sacrifice too many pawns.” He remarked, grinning at the wizard, and was met by a gentle laugh from across the library.

“He always has,” Frodo chuckled, leaning around the cushioned arm of his chair, careful not to upset a large, leather book from his blanket-covered lap. “I cannot even begin to count how many pawns of yours I have taken, Gandalf.”

“And I, young hobbit,” Gandalf huffed, “cannot even begin to count how many times I have beaten you at this game.”

“True.” Frodo confessed with a smile, shifting back in his chair and tugging the quilts covering him closer about his slender shoulders.

Sam shook his head in denial, returning his gaze to the board at a pressing cough from Gandalf. The two pawns were advancing again, one now frighteningly close to the final row and its impending queenship, the other beside it in its journey, offering what help it could. He shifted his own queen over in the hope of blocking the pawn’s advance and Gandalf nodded in silent praise of the move.

The wizard’s hand wavered over the pawn, fingers flexing in quiet consideration as the piece awaited his decision. Sam glanced at the possible move for the pawn, his knuckles pressing white into the table at the revelation of the wizard’s plans.

There was only the one move for the piece: one sable square forward and it would be taken by Sam’s queen, freeing a path into the heart of Sam’s men and leaving the white queen space to slid in and defeat his own black king. Time-worn fingers grasped the pawn to be sacrificed gently, almost reverently, and lifted it off its own square.

Sam spoke almost before he could think, his words coming airily from his mouth so none but his opponent could hear.

“He weren’t yours to sacrifice.”

The pawn hit the board; returned to its original square with a tiny chink of stone on stone and settling with such force it caused the pawn beside it to tremble gently on its own square. The sound of coughing from Frodo was carried across the library – the foul air of Mordor still not cleared from his abused lungs – and Sam found himself shaking as he raised wide eyes to Gandalf, his mouth slightly open, though he could not find the words to fill it.

“What would you suggest I do, Samwise?” The welcoming twinkle had faded from Gandalf’s eyes, replaced by the deep well of black that now shone from beneath thick eyebrows. There was no smile on the aged face.

A milky white knight exchanged squares with a barely audible clink, passing unnoticed in the stifled quiet of the wide library.

Sam shrugged and averted his gaze.

“You’re the wizard, sir.”

The black queen glided to the left and the Gamgee breathed an exhausted sigh.

“Checkmate."

July 24, 2004