A/N:  This is a sequel to Galadriel's "The Kindest Choice" and includes an expanded version of the letter from that story that Frodo wrote to his Sam explaining his decision to go West and also Frodo's letters from my story "Letters I've Written Never Meaning to Send" (which is why this story is rated what it is and because Sam has a nightmare after reading one of the letters).  No slash, lots of angst and a good amount of love, even some fluff, but you'll have to wait for the epilogue for that! :)

Through the Flames by Antane and Queen Galadriel

Chapter 1: The Nature of Grief

It was too quiet. If it weren’t for Elanor’s coos from her cradle, Sam thought he might have gone mad. Too many other things were missing – there was no scratch of a quill scribbling across a piece of parchment; no word of welcome and thanks when a cup of tea was received; no smile from one almost too weary to do so, but who always would for his Sam; no loving gaze from eyes that had never stinted from showing what was in his heart and soul. Bag End felt too big now with its master gone. Then Sam realized with a start that he was Master now. He shuddered. He would never feel that way. He felt like an intruder now as he walked through halls and rooms that were as familiar as his own home and just as dearly loved because of who had lived in them: both his masters.

And now they were gone and the rooms were cold and empty of cheer. Only memories lived there now: ghosts, voices he heard so clearly that he expected just to turn around and look into the bright, shining eyes of either Mr. Bilbo or Frodo. Rose would sometimes find him standing stock still in one or other of the bedrooms, the dining room, or even the hall, just listening, staring into space, sometimes in tears. For neither hobbit would be seen here again, not the master who taught him his letters and so much more or the brother of his heart he had adored since childhood.

Frodo’s walking stick remained at the front door, never to be used again. His pipe was on the mantle over the fireplace where it had always been. His favorite armchair had the blanket he had used last still draped over it. His customary teacup awaited him on the table near his chair. A wardrobe full of clothes that would never be worn again stood in a bedroom whose bed would never be slept in again. Almost more books than Sam could count would not be read again by the one who most loved them. Quill, ink and paper all waited to be used. The last pages are for you… It was too much.

Sometimes Sam just wanted to run out the front door and keep running until he reached the Havens and then beg for passage or start swimming on his own. Then Elanor would smile and crow at the sight of him, or Rosie would call for him, and he’d be grounded again and reminded that Frodo wanted him to be happy, to have a full life.

But that was hard! The first night back was the worst. He found himself automatically making Frodo’s nightly tea and then realized he didn’t have to. Rose had stopped him from throwing it out and told him to sip it himself until he felt a little better. Before retiring for the night, he had started going toward the study to see if Frodo was still up, to coax him to get to bed, but then stopped. His brother wasn’t there, nor was he in his bedroom, which Sam did not even visit that night. He had woken several times during the night as he had done for the last few years just to listen, to see if he was needed. He sat up in bed, ready to leave to check, then realized there was no longer anything more to listen for, no one to check on. Elanor was already sleeping through the night. He glanced at her in her cradle at his side and looked at her for a long time, before he settled down again. I know you want me to be happy, dear, he thought. And I hope you know how much I want you to be happy. But, how I wish you were still here!

I am, dearest, came a still voice through the open window. I haven’t left you.

Sam startled to hear that beloved voice so clearly. He stayed awake for a long time, almost breathlessly, straining to hear it again, but he did not. The wind through blew through though and gently caressed his cheek and he was able to sleep again.

The second night was no better. He did not do more than reach for the tea kettle before he realized his mistake and he had nearly burned his hand from holding it too long before returning it to its place. He had not visited the study that night but had the bedroom. He stood there for a long time, staring at the neatly made bed, then went to the wardrobe and brought the vests and shirts up to his face and breathed in the scent he wondered if he would ever breathe again. Course I will, he told himself fiercely.

He turned away and picked up the book that was on the nightstand, the one Frodo had been reading his last night. Tears blurred the writing before Sam read too far. Most of it was in his brother’s own elegant handwriting, stories and poems he and Sam had composed on their own, long before the Shadow grew over them. Some of it was Sam’s first lessons in writing that Frodo had given him, and the praise that his brother had written alongside. The younger hobbit saw his own childish drawings, one of an oliphaunt, one of a dragon like in Mr. Bilbo’s tales with two small hobbits fighting it; another of two hobbits, walking down a trail, hand-in-hand. The book was open to that page. Sam gazed at the two figures, drawn by Frodo’s skilful hand, both their faces radiantly happy. A song issued from one pair of lips, written in tiny print. Sam then noticed there was writing at the bottom, fresher than that decades-old drawing. I look forward to doing this again with you, my Sam. I love you, my brother, so very much.

Sam looked at the picture, remembering, until he could not see through his tears; then he reverently laid the book back down on the stand. Then he lay down on the bed and buried his face in the sheets, breathing deeply the scent lingering there, and sobbed as he never had before. He wrapped his arms around the pillow, a poor substitute for who he wished he was holding.

Rose came in later and found him asleep. She brushed at his curls, wiped at his tears and kissed his brow. She laid a blanket gently over him and then quietly left the room.

The next morning Sam woke to find himself still in Frodo’s bedroom. What was he doing there? Where was Frodo? Then he came to full wakefulness, and memory returned. Frodo was gone, gone away over the sea, never to return. With this thought came a flood of fresh tears and he could not even try to check them.

“Oh, Mr. Frodo, me dear, me dear!” he murmured into Frodo’s favourite pillow. “Why did you have to leave? If only you knew how much your Sam misses you!”

He lay quiet, hoping for an answer. He could almost hear the beloved, gentle voice saying softly, Oh, my Sam, I miss you, too.

At that moment there was a quiet tap at the door. In response to Sam’s soft, “Come in,” Rosie entered with a cup of tea. But on seeing Sam’s tear-streaked face, she set it on the bedside table and sat down on the bed and drew him close. She did not speak, only held him.

When the tears showed signs of stopping, she ventured to murmur, “I know, love, I know. We all feel it, even Ellie.” She held Sam’s head against her shoulder for a moment so that he would not see the tears that glistened in her own eyes.

When she had regained her own composure she let Sam go and pressed the teacup into his hands. “Drink up, and then come on in to elevenses,” she said, smiling bravely.

“Elevenses?” Sam repeated, stunned. “Rosie, don’t tell me I slept that late!”

“Aye, you did. Don’t worry, my Sam. You didn’t have a proper sleep last night, in fact you don’t look as if you’ve slept at all. But perhaps the tea will help revive you a bit…” At that moment Elanor began to cry, and Rose hurried off to attend to her.

Sam held the cup in his hands for a moment, staring into it. From it rose the distinct aroma of peppermint. That had always been Frodo’s favourite morning tea: peppermint with a bit of lemon and plenty of honey, Sam recalled with a pang and a sad smile. Oh, what he would give to go into the kitchen and make that tea this very minute, carry it to the study and know that there would be one there to receive it. But there would be no one. With a grieved sigh, Sam began to sip at the sweet, refreshing tea.

After elevenses Sam put on his work clothes and went out for his usual work in the garden. But he found, to his frustration, that he could not concentrate. When he came to tend the flowers that Mr. Frodo had so loved, his eyes filled again so that he could not see to work.

Finally, when he had pulled four potatoes by mistake and accidentally broken one of the tomato vines, he gave up and tramped back inside. Rosie looked at him questioningly as he entered the kitchen and poured himself a cup of cool water. “Can’t seem to concentrate, and I’ve been and ruined enough already,” he said in reply.

Rose nodded sympathetically. “Aye,” she said softly. “I went and burnt a whole pan of scones yesterday morning myself. Sam love, would you keep an eye on Ellie while I run to market? We need flour something fierce, after my mess yesterday, and eggs and milk too, and we could do with some butter and…” She stopped suddenly. She had been about to say, “and chamomile tea,” but had remembered just in time that it would not be needed so much any more.

“And what, Rosie?” asked Sam, completely unaware.

“Nothing. That’s all.”

“You go right along then, lass, and I’ll look after Ellie,” Sam said, forcing a cheerful smile.

In short order Rose had made a list and was out the door, her going-to-market basket on one arm. Sam settled down with Elanor in the rocking chair close by the fireplace in the little sitting room which Frodo had given to him and Rosie when they moved in. Elanor had wakened early from her morning nap and so was a little more fussy than usual.

“Oh, Ellie love,” Sam murmured into her hair. “I’m so glad I have you and your mum. I think I’d go mad if I didn’t. You…you won’t remember him, dearie. But he loved you…still does and always will. And all your brothers and sisters to come. He saw them, he did, and I know he saw clear.”

Sam fell silent, letting his thoughts drift for a while, and then he began to hum absently as he patted his baby daughter’s back. Suddenly he realized that he was humming a lullaby that Frodo had composed and often sung to Elanor, and he groped for the words.

“Hush, O hush, thou child of my heart,

And list while I sing unto thee.

My joy, my light, my treasure thou art,

A star in the sky over me.

Cradled safe in Eru’s arms,

Thou hast no cause for fear.

Now close thine eye, sleep till the morn,

My joy, my heart, my dear.

“Hush, O hush, my little one dear,

And list while I sing unto thee,

And in your blessed dreams thou wilt hear

The sweet sighing song of the sea.

Though far from hither shores I be,

I’ll aye be to thee near.

O sleep and dream the dreams of bliss,

My joy, my light, my dear.”

The beautiful, poignant words sounded quaint to his ears, not nearly as rich and flowing as they had seemed from Frodo’s lips, but he kept singing, for it seemed to bring his beloved brother nearer.

When Elanor was finally asleep, Sam rose carefully and laid her down in the cradle in the bedroom which the little family shared. What was he to do now? He was afraid of doing more damage to the garden and he couldn’t go out of hearing distance of his daughter.

Without thinking he wandered towards the study and pushed open the door. He felt a twinge of grief as his eyes fell upon the empty chair, but then he turned his attention to the desk. It was an absolute mess of papers and envelopes and the great red book. But at the very top of the pile was a clearly marked envelope. “To my dear Sam,” read the lettering on the front. Beside it was the familiar stationery box with its key resting on the lid.

Sam stared at that key for a long time. He was a little afraid of what was inside. He remembered when Mr. Bilbo had given the box to his nephew to write out his frustrations and fears. “You can’t keep things always bottled up, Frodo,” he had said. “It will eat your heart away, and you need your heart for loving things and people, not for being bothered.”

Sam knew the box had been well used as he had over the years heard his master and then brother scribble furiously and then lock what he wrote away. It seemed to Sam that he wrote more since he had returned from the Quest than in all the long years before it, but while it had always eased his heart before they had left, it hadn’t seem to have been so successful afterwards. Frodo had never shown his Sam what was inside the box, but here was the key now, waiting for him, inviting him. The gardener fingered it a bit, then left it be, not yet ready. He lifted up the letter instead, slid his thumb under the wax seal and unfolded the paper inside.

Dearest Sam,

I have made the choice; I have chosen to take the ship into the West. I must. What other choice do I have? I must either leave Middle-earth to perhaps find healing and some measure of peace, or remain here to die, weighed down by the burden of dark memories that lies so heavily on me. I cannot allow that, for your sake. I cannot let you, who gave so much for me, watch me die in an agony that nothing can ease.

But oh, dear Sam, my brother and most beloved of friends, how shall I tell you? How shall I tell you why I must leave? I know you will be grieved and to me that thought is unbearable. I would not have your heart broken by my actions yet again and I fear you will blame yourself. Oh, Sam, you must not! For it is not because of you, but for your sake, that I must go.

Sam, I am dying. Every day I must fight against the shadows that ever surround me, and every day I lose a little more ground and feel more sure that I will never gain it back. The Ring is gone, but it took a great part of my soul with it into the fire, and sometimes... sometimes I wish it had taken the whole. For I still want it, Sam; I long for it, and yet I hate it, hate the very desire of it. I cannot fight much longer. I have tried to be strong, indeed I have, for your sake more than for any other reason. But I am mortal. I feel my life and strength slowly, slowly ebbing away. The darkness is slowly taking me, as a wasting illness might take a hobbit who has long endured it. I fear that if I must stay here to endure another illness, the end will come, and the battle will be lost. I will lose my sanity, and my life as well, though perhaps not so swiftly. But I could not bear to have you see such a thing happen, could not bear to let you watch the darkness consume me at last.

Tears blurred Sam’s vision, making it hard to continue, but he wiped at his eyes and read on.

Even if I could live, I could not remain here to be a burden of anxiety on your heart. I know that you do not see it in that light, but I see what you do not: the care lines that too often furrow your brow, the worried look in your eyes amidst that tremendous love you have always given me. But you have begun to see that the Ring still has a hold on me, though it and its master are gone. You were meant to be one and whole for many years, Sam. You must stay here and be a father and husband without worrying about me.

‘But I want you here!’ Sam thought. ‘You weren’t a burden to me. I would have taken care of you the rest of your life. Oh, my dear, why did you have to leave? If you were to die, why couldn’t it be here, in my arms, surrounded by those who loved you? What if you die now without me? I couldn’t bear it!’

But how do I tell you? How can I tell you without breaking your heart? Shall I say, “Sam, I must leave because I am wounded, and even all that you’ve done is not enough”? No! I cannot! I can only go, and hope that you will understand and forgive me for what I must do.

‘Of course I forgive you.’

But will you then try to banish me from your thought and pretend I and our friendship never were? No, I cannot imagine that you are capable of such a thing; it is but an unreasoning fear. Don’t forget me, dearest Sam,

‘Forget you! How could I ever forget you?! Why would I ever want to?’

and don’t feel guilty, for this cannot be prevented. I go because I love you, because I cannot bear to cause you further pain. Oh, I see the sacrifices you daily make for me. How many nights have you come to comfort me when I woke screaming from tormented dreams, and then gone without rest so that I might know peace? How many other small things have you done to ease the struggle, leaving a light on the table and staying up to extinguish it when I can sleep at last, never failing to make the nightly cup of chamomile tea, sacrificing your own peace of mind in seeing that I don’t overwork myself?

‘Those weren’t sacrifices, my dear. I did them because I wanted to, because I could not bear to see you in pain, because I loved you more than my own life. I still love you. I always have and I always will. Oh, why couldn’t you stay so I could keep doing all those things? Or why couldn’t I have come with you?’

All these things bear witness to your love. Oh, how I wish that love was enough to heal the hurts that I might remain!

‘I wish that too. Oh, I wish that more than anything!’

I would have so liked to be here to see all your children come into the world, to hold them, tell them the tales Bilbo told, sing them the lullabies my parents sang to me, to teach them the best jokes and pranks, to be Uncle Frodo to them. But it is not to be. Kiss their heads for me and tell them to never doubt how much I love them, though I never knew them.

‘I will, me dear, my heart, my brother, I promise you I will. I will tell them everything about you, how wonderful and beautiful you are and everything you did to keep them safe.’

Do not think that your loving sacrifices and extra efforts have been in vain. I could not have borne up half so long if not for you. Why, I would have been dead before getting halfway to Mordor! I’ve been so blessed to have you, Sam, brother of my heart.

‘Oh, why did you have to leave!’

There is scarcely a drop of oil left in my lamp now, but I still have so much to write, to tell you while there is still time. We leave for the Grey Havens on the morrow, though you do not know it, and I am so weary, but I will not leave you with things unsaid, questions unanswered.

I’ve been told that grief is like a door. The only way to get to the other side is to walk through it. You can’t ignore it; you can’t go around it. You have to go through it, through the flames. And the pain doesn’t stop until you are through that door. I learned that after my parents died, you after your mum did. But, Sam, I feel as though I’ve walked forever this time and I’m still not through. I do not even see the end. And I am so sorry that you have to walk through the door yourself now because I left, but I hope you know this is only a physical parting. That is a sore enough trial for both of us and believe me, I did not make this decision lightly. I had long given up hope of ever returning home, but when we did, I let myself hope again. I never thought I would come back here and then discover I couldn’t return. But that is what has happened. I never left the fire, Sam, and the more time passed, I saw that it was inevitable that I would have to leave you and nearly all I hold dearest in my life. But this does not separate us in our hearts and souls, or at least I hope it has not, because I still wish to help you take this journey through the door since it was I who put your feet on this path. The door is more than wide enough, my brother, for both of us to walk through it together. I hope when you get through it, I am with you still.

I am leaving you the key to the box Bilbo gave me, my box of fears and tears. I hesitated whether I should or not, knowing it would only cause you further pain, which I was most loathe to do, but I feared even more that you would blame yourself for my leaving, that you would say to yourself that if only you had loved me more, done more, I would still be here with you. But you must not do that, my Sam. I am well acquainted with ‘if only’s and I will not let them torment you as they have tortured me. No one could have done more or loved me better than you, dearest heart of mine. You must not blame yourself, not one bit. This was something completely beyond your control to stop or change. I fought against it as fiercely as you did, but it has come to be. Perhaps you will understand why when you read the letters. Your heart I know will break when you see how full the box is and I cannot tell you how sorry I am for that, but you will learn inside that none of this is your fault and I have only ever held you in my highest regard and deepest love and gratitude for all you have done for me. I wish I could hold you as you read them as you have ever held me when my fears and griefs have been too much for me, but do not think I do not, even though I am now gone from your eye’s sight. You ever saw me clearest with your heart and I hope your vision there never dims as I hope you know mine never will for you.

When you are done reading the letters, then do what you will with them. I do not want you filled with all the pain that is inside that box. I want you to be filled with joy, but I do not want you to rush through your healing. That cannot be done and it will only make matters worse if you try. Perhaps, when you know you are ready to, you will burn the letters and when the last of the ash floats away, your heart will be free again and perhaps I will be blessed to know that you have healed. Or perhaps there will be another way you will know what to do. Your heart has ever led you correctly, my Sam. It will not fail you now.

Oh, dearest guardian of my heart and soul, there is so much more I want to say to you! But how can I? There are no words that can express my gratitude for all you’ve done for me, always being at my side when I have most needed you, even up to standing on the dock. When I took on the burden of carrying the Ring, I accepted an enormous task that would have been beyond all capacity of bearing had you not been there to strengthen me. Because of you, I did not have to carry alone what I could have never carried alone. You were there to protect me, to sustain me, to carry me. Your love, your faith and your hope accompanied me then and I know they will accompany me now on this journey I must take without you. But though it will start without you, dearheart , it will not end without you. I have the greatest hope that we will see each other again. It will sustain me until we do as I hope it will help you.

I am sorry that I never could make up to you all you so selflessly gave to me. I think I knew it was impossible. You’ve done so much. How could I ever do anywhere as much? From the first hour we met, you wrapped your heart around mine and soon found a permanent home in mine, moving very quickly from stranger, to friend, to brother. Thirty-two years, my Sam, you have been that. Thirty-two years I have been held in your heart’s embrace and you in mine. You have never ceased to care for me, to watch over me and I have no doubt, that even though we are parted now, you will not cease to do so.

‘No, dear, I will not stop. How can I?’

I have not told you often enough, dearheart, but it has been and is the greatest honor to be your friend and to count you as my friend. You have always been my light, shining so brightly on the clearest days and the darkest nights. I hope to be a beacon like that for you to follow when it is your turn to come over the Sea. I will be waiting for you, brother of my heart, best part of my heart and soul

I leave you this prayer that Gandalf taught me when I told him that I had lost any hope of recovering in the Shire, that the voice of the Ring was still so strong and my efforts against it were weakening me to the point of despair and self-destruction and that I wished to accept the gift that Arwen had longed to give me, but I had hoped I would not need to accept. It is my dearest wish that it gives you as much hope as it has given me. We are loved so greatly, Sam. You may be remember from the Elven tales about Iluvatar and the Elves being His children. We are His children too. It is this prayer that is giving me the hope that I can find healing with Him, even though I cannot find it here in the Shire or in your arms that I have so longed for. It is that hope that is giving me the strength to leave and it is from this that I have my hope that we will see each other again and when we do, it will be with joy surrounding us, not tears and grief.

‘Oh Iluvatar, I am so convinced that You keep watch over those who trust in You and that we can want for nothing when we look for all from You, that I am resolved in the future to live free from every care and to turn all my anxieties over to You. I may be deprived of possessions and of honor. Sickness may strip me of strength and the means of serving You. I may even lose Your grace by sin. But I shall never lose my hope. I shall keep it till the last moment of my life and at that moment all the powers of darkness shall strive to tear it from me in vain. I know only too well that I am weak and unstable. I know what temptation can do against the strongest virtue. But so long as I continue to hope, I shall be sheltered from misfortune and I am sure of hoping always, since I hope also for that. I am sure I cannot receive less than I hope for. So I hope You will hold me safe on the steepest slopes, that You will sustain me against the most furious assaults and that You will make my weakness triumph over my most fearful enemies. I hope that You will love me always and that I shall love You without ceasing.’

The tears continued to blur Sam’s vision, but he kept reading. He had to. He heard his brother’s voice behind each words. ‘I will hope, my dear.’

Ah, I hear you now. “Mr. Frodo,” you call softly from the hall outside the door. “’Bout ready to lay down the pen? We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Just another moment, Sam,” I reply just as softly.

There are no retreating footsteps and I know you intend to wait right there before the study door until I come out. So I will close this letter and lay it where I know you will find it. The oil has run out and I can only hope I have not made an illegible mess of this, writing in the near dark. I will come out and allow you to fuss over me as much as you wish, and I will not protest; for it will be the last time you can do so for a very long while. But remember, my beloved brother, that though the Sea lies between, it cannot sever the bonds of love and friendship that have long bound us together.

Namarie, my Sam, but only for now.

Ever yours,

Your brother, Frodo

Sam lay the letter aside and sat and wept long and hard for his brother’s pain, for his despair of healing, for all the unfairness that such a gentle, loving, beautiful spirit was broken by a burden too heavy for anyone to carry. So many nights he had stayed with him, guarding that seemingly fragile soul that was stronger than anyone or anything he knew and still the burden had been too much. The nightmares, the illnesses, the memories that never faded even in the bright daylight... I did everything I could for you, my dearest friend and brother, and it wasn’t enough. I tried to relieve your pain and your loneliness and... Oh, why couldn’t I have done more! I would have carried your burden, all of it, if you had allowed me.

You carried so much more than you know, my Sam, came the soft response. You carried me and not just up the mountain.

When Sam’s tears finally stilled, he looked back at the key and locked box. He didn’t think he was ready for that yet. He left the room, the box silently waiting for him.

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A/N: The stationery box is from Larner’s "For Eyes to See As Can" as is the quote of Bilbo’s about Frodo needing to write things out instead of having them eat his heart out. The analogy of grief being a door to be walked through is adapted from Parent’s Grief, Help and Understanding After the Death of a Baby, by Carol Parrott, RN. The part about not being able to carry the burden alone and being sustained by Sam’s love is adapted from part of the Installation Homily of Pope Benedict XVI. Frodo’s prayer is taken from "An Act of Confidence in God" composed by St. Claude la Colombiere, SJ.