Chapter Forty-Seven: The Spider’s Lair

It was so utterly, utterly dark in the tunnel. Our hands reached out and grasped each other’s. The firmness of the return clasp was one bit of solid reality we could cling to as all our other senses, but for smell, failed. We trailed out our hands to see if we could detect anything and occasionally it would brush against something sticky. I am still trailing my hand along in the dark searching for a way out while my other remains still tightly in yours. Night always had been and always would be, and night was all, I wrote in the Red Book. So it seemed then and so it has seemed for many nights since. That you were with me and are still now is greater comfort than I can ever tell you, my dearest Sam, and though I will soon part from you, I imagine that I will still feel your hand in me. I hope for that more than anything I ever have, for I cannot continue on this journey without you beside me still. You will be, won’t you?

I tried to be brave as horror upon horror came down upon us, but I cannot be anymore. Each night I try to apologize for waking you, you hush me, kiss my head and hold me a little tighter, for as long as I need until I am able to go to sleep or back to sleep. It is before you come, when the dark presses the most, that I fear the fell voices are right after all and I am pierced by agony that I must scream out, but strangle instead until I taste blood on my tongue. Then my door opens, the light from the oil lamp in your hand wavers and bobs and I am mesmerized. I can breathe again, not the foul air of that lair, but of the sweet smell of grass and our garden. I can see again, not hundreds of eyes, but your two. I can hear, not hisses in the dark or voices that call for despair, but the soft murmur of your voice. I can feel again, not her terrible sting, but the gentle touch of your hand as you wipe at my tears. Thank you, my Sam. I could never thank you enough, not if I went hoarse or used all the ink in the world to write it out. You would stop me long before, put your fingers to my lips and take the quill out of my hand, but it would not remove my desire to keep thanking you anyway. Perhaps the only way you will accept is that you see me healed. That I will do for you, my beautiful brother. That I will do. I will not fail.

* * *

We had never been to a place so dark as that horrible spider’s lair and been laid there by Stinker. The only thing that stank worse than him was that place. You showed me and taught me so much about courage and endurance and perseverance and that horrible place was where you did one of your bravest things in facing down those eyes. You’ve always taken care of me, my dear, as much as I have tried to take care of you. And that was no exception.

You’ve kissed away all my hurts, the cuts on my fingers, the skinned knees, bruised and broken heart, just like my mum used to do too, and when she passed, you didn’t stop doing it. You always knew what to say, what to do, even if I just needed someone to cry with and be held for a while and be understood. You shared my dreams and didn’t mock them. My own pocket of sunshine you called me, but you were that to me. You planted as many flowers at my mum’s grave as I did and for the same reason. I wished I could have been with you the time every year you left for Buckland and put some at your own parents. At least I had grown their favorite flowers for you to take in that bit of the garden I had set aside for that. I think you were sad at first to see those there. I watched you stand there for a long time when I first showed you and I don’t even think you knew you were crying. I grew that fearful and nearly in tears myself, thinking I had done something terribly wrong. Then you smiled at me and thanked me and hugged me tight and you spent a lot of time there after that. I noticed that you went there on certain days and a lot right after Mr. Bilbo left. It hurt you some peace somehow. I noticed how often you went to it after we came back, how even in the summer you would sleep out there at times.

You did many other things to show me how much loved me. You tried to slip in something extra to my pay each week, but I would catch you each time. You would not listen to any of my protests, saying I could spend it however I wanted, even on myself. You knew well that I wouldn’t do that so I worked extra in the garden to make up for it or tidied up a bit inside. I always tried to be careful about it so you wouldn’t find out and pay me even more. But you knew very well what I was doing the way you would look and smile at me and ask casually sometimes how some book shelf came to be suddenly more organized than usual or that you noticed that the firewood was better stocked than you remembered it being or the cold room was neater than before or remarked about the new quill and ink bottle that was on the desk. You pretended to let me have my secrets and find another way to thank me. That friendly competition as to who could be more generous to who continued on the Quest as far as it could and as much as I tried to outdo you, I know by far I didn’t. You carried the burden out of love and nothing could be more generous than that. I won’t ever forget all the kindnesses you have done me and all of Middle-earth, my dearest master, friend and brother. You tried to thank me for all I did for you, but I wouldn’t and won’t have none of it. I am merely returning the gifts of love you have unceasingly given me.