“If you could read my mind, love, what a tale my thoughts would tell.” - Gordon Lightfoot

This was inspired by the part in Larner’s “For Eyes to See That Can” in which Bilbo gave Frodo paper and a box with a lock and told his nephew to write down his deepest fears, frustrations, etc. instead of keeping them all bottled up inside him. It makes reference to those earlier writings. The title is a line from “Nights in White Satin” by the Moody Blues.

Warning: major angst as Frodo struggles with suicidal depression after the Quest.

I hope, my dearest Sam, brother of my heart, my guardian, dearest and most treasured of friends, that you never see these letters or if you do, you will come to understand what drove me away, why I couldn’t stay. It was not you. I know you will think you failed me and I beg you not to. It is not you at all.

I hated the darkness during the Quest. It was all I had at the end and I mourned every bit of light that disappeared day by day within my soul. I devoured every bit that still lingered, holding onto it jealously, but it was like trying to hold sunlight or moonlight. I could only watch as it slipped through my fingers.

But now when it should be all over but I know all too well that it’s not and I fear so greatly that it never will be, I love the dark. It’s a comforting presence now. I can hide or pretend to at the least. I can have peace or the pretense of it. I don’t have to pretend in the dark that I’m not hurting. I don’t have to hide my tears or see them. I don’t have the chance of a glance in a mirror and see the eyes of a stranger look back at me or grieve at the hollowed out soul that stares back from those once bright eyes.

I see in the reflections of your tears, my Sam, the sparks that still fly from that burned out place, see the dying embers that you still so fiercely guard. I don’t know if you realize that’s all they are. I pray you do not. For if you do, then all my hope is lost and I will not be able to withstand the voices that call all the more insistently that I just let go. But while I hold onto the (I hope) unbreakable thread of your faith and love, I can endure the unbearable a little longer, for you, my brother, who I do not wish to be parted from. Not in the way the voices keep insisting. So I pray for your strength as much as I pray for mine.

If I don’t look at your tears, but just into your eyes, I can see the one place I still exist as something other than a burned out shell. That is the only reason I don’t stay in the dark forever. I need to see all that love you have unceasingly given me nearly as much as you need to show it. I see it everyday in so many ways, in your constant care for me and I am so grateful for it.

_______________

I am beginning to fear the dark again. The voices are getting louder and more insistent that I cut the thread that binds me to this life, to you, my Sam. I think on some level you realize this, though you haven’t said anything. I wonder though if I have burdened you with that terrible knowledge through murmurs during the night when my struggle is the greatest against that which seeks to destroy me. I know you have come into my room, lamplight glinting off your tears, checking on me. Sometimes I will wake in the morning, exhausted from the battle to find you asleep in the chair next to me, holding my hand and I know then that’s how I survived the night. Sometimes I will wake and find you holding me and I so want to just remain there forever, the only place I feel safe anymore, the only place the voices can’t hurt me. Other times, you leave me a light burning on the stand near my bed and I stare at it for hours and hours as the long night passes, mesmerized by the light, drowning in it, drawing it into my soul. It is only when dawn comes that I can finally sleep, to try to find the strength to endure the next battle.

Sometimes I want so badly to give in. I cry so long. I am so tired, but I go on, dismissing each terrible idea as it comes to me, because I know no matter how carefully I make it look like it was just an accident, you will always know or at the least wonder that it wasn’t. And I will not do that to you, my dearest, faithful friend. You nearly gave your life to safeguard mine. I have promised myself that I will not abuse or betray that tremendous gift. I counter each of those ideas with a prayer for light and endurance and courage, but every day my resolution weakens and I am praying harder and harder day by day for the strength to keep my promise.

_______________

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My ----

It’s not working!

Oh my Sam, my dearest, dearest Sam, why isn’t it working?! The pain won’t leave! Words cannot bleed it away as it always used to. I looked tonight at some of my earliest writings I’ve kept in this box and almost laughed. Such terrible things I thought at the time, consuming my whole world. I thought I knew what pain was. I had no idea, no idea at all. I thought I knew what despair was. I never knew that until the Ring came.

Always before I could write out my torment and leave it behind, no longer a part of me, but just some ink on a piece of parchment, no longer able to harm me. Oh, Sam, how I wish I could do that now! Why can’t I?

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

My precious

Leave me alone!!

_______________

I have to leave.

I must leave.

NOW!

Please let it be by ship. There are so many other ways I could. So many. The voices are getting ever stronger and it is taking all my will not to give into their cries.

Help me, my Sam. My light in the darkest nights. But you are asleep now and I am awake and no night has yet been blacker. I stood for a long time tonight at the threshold of your and Rose’s bedroom, watching you sleep. I didn’t wake you because you have spent far too many nights awake, so lovingly watching over me, so I just watched until I thought I could be on my own. But I know now I can’t be.

Earlier tonight, a small drop of ink dropped onto my wrist. I turned my hand over and watched fascinated as more dripped on it. My wrist became black as I drew the quill across it over and over again. It is sharp, but not enough to cut. I must never let it be. It would so easy... I kept darkening my wrist with the ink, wasting it shamefully as it dripped down onto the paper. I raised my hand and the ink dripped down my fingers. I wish it could be all the poison in me coming out, but it isn’t. To do that, I would have to break the skin. It was tempting to do that, so tempting. I pressed the quill down a little harder onto my skin. But it was not strong enough and I am glad. If it could break the skin, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop. I would dig deeper and deeper until I am bled out.

_______________

You know now, Sam. I am so sorry. You saw my wrist at breakfast, darkened with ink that I couldn’t scrub off and I knew from the look in your eyes that you didn’t see black, but red. I had tried to clean myself up, but I couldn’t get it all. You didn’t say anything, just got a cloth and some soap. You took my hand tenderly in yours and wiped at the ink until it was all gone. I was crying so hard, unable to stop. When you finished, you brought my wrist to your lips and kissed it, then you looked up at me. There was so much pain there for me, but so much more love and compassion just like there had been there at the Fire and throughout the entire Quest, throughout the last thirty years. I cried even harder looking at all that love. You still didn’t say anything, not with words, but we have long passed beyond the need for that. You held me then and rocked me until there were no more tears in me. I looked back up at you and wanted to beg you to forgive me for what you had seen of my weakness and agony, but I saw that you already had. You wiped my tears and kissed my head, then let me go.

After breakfast, you packed a large basket and we spent the whole day out, the basket in one of your hands, my maimed hand in your other. You didn’t let go the entire time we walked. It was a bright, sunny day and I felt it slowly seep into my body and heart and soul. We didn’t talk as you led me past all the places I’d be missing if I let it all go. We had lunch at my favorite tree and I rested in your lap. I felt you stroke my curls and I slept, truly and deeply for the first time in months. We didn’t return until it was nearly dark and there was a warm light in the window welcoming us back. The basket was empty, but my heart was fuller than it has been for longer than I want to remember. You spent the night with me too, sitting in the chair next to me, holding my hand all the night. I can go on.