23~ Despair

Sam is coming home today. He wrote a few days ago and said he might be longer than expected, but I have a feeling he is on his way home at this very moment.

I awoke this morning feeling strange. I knew I wasn’t sick, it didn’t feel like that. I felt a heaviness and darkness on my soul. I did not, at the moment, recall the date, but I knew soon after what was wrong without looking at a calendar.

My hand would stray unwittingly towards the chain around my neck, and at the last moment, I would pull away, knowing that what my hand and my soul sought was no longer there.

My mind seems to play tricks on me. I know it is gone, but I keep haring it’s whisperings, feeling it’s pull on me until I think I shall go mad.

I stick to my room today. I don’t think I’ve eaten since supper last night, and it’s already nearly time for afternoon tea. My stomach is growling, but I do not desire to eat, I desire something I can no longer have, and I hate myself for it.

Shall I never be rid of it? I wish desperately to go back to the way I was before I even heard of the Ring, but that is impossible. My wounds are too deep, the scars too permanent.

I pray that Sam gets here soon. I long to throw myself into the arms of someone who understands, at least a little bit, and cry until I fall asleep. The feeling is so acute that it almost hurts physically.

I lie on my bed not moving, and feel Wanderer crawl up by my good shoulder. He knows something is wrong today as well, and is just content to sit by me, comforting me by his presence.

I hear the door open and click shut, and I sit up, hoping Sam won’t notice the state I’m in. He has enough to worry about already. But my hope is not granted. He comes to my doorway and stands there a moment, his eyes meeting mine, then he comes to sit beside me and wraps me in his arms. I notice that he hasn’t even taken off his cloak yet.

“Are you all right, dear?” he asks, wiping a lone tear from my face.

I shake my head and close my eyes, leaning against him. I lay in his arms, wishing he could fix everything for me just by holding me close, but he can’t.

Once again I feel my hand stray to my neck, but this time Sam grabs it, and kisses it, then lays it back in my lap. Gently he removes the jewel Arwen gave me from my neck and wraps my maimed hand about it. The heaviness on my heart recedes a little.

“Mrs. Cotton has tea ready,” Sam says a moment later. He doesn’t ask if I’ve eaten. Rosie probably told him I haven’t. “Do you want to eat something?” He looks as though he is going to stand up, and I grab his coat and shake my head.

He watches me carefully as I bury my face in his shirt. “What’s wrong, dear?” he questions when he realizes distracting me won’t work.

“It’s not working, Sam,” I whisper. “I’m not getting better.”

He strokes my hair gently and says, “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” I admit after a moment of silence. “I’ve tried not to, but I can’t help it.” I look down at my hand, gripping the jewel tightly. At the sight of my missing finger, I am once again overwhelmed by the guilt that’s been threatening to drown me all day. “I’m sorry Sam,” I say, bursting into tears. “I’m sorry.”

He holds me closer to him and says, “You needn’t apologize.”

I fall asleep in his arms a few moments later, and awake late in the night only remembering him saying, “I love you, Frodo,” before falling into darkness.

I feel his arms still around me, and I move closer to him, like a frightened child seeking refuge in a siblings embrace. He is still wearing his traveling clothes, though he took off his coat and his cloak.

I look up at him, and he smiles at me. “Are you feeling any better?” he asks, the smile fading.

I shake my head. I truly don’t, and I don’t know if I ever will. “I’m all alone,” I say softly.

Sam gives me a surprised look. 

“Please don’t leave me, Sam,” I beg, tears coming to my eyes again.

His arms tighten around me. I’m trembling now, and I’m not sure why.

“Now what gave you that idea?” he asks.

I shake my head and look away for a moment. He directs my eyes back to his. “I won’t ever leave you, Frodo. I may be gone for a little while, but I won’t leave you,” he explains. “You’re like my brother, I’d never desert you.”

I smile a little, and after a moment fall asleep again.

I find it unsettling that even in my guardian’s embrace I am still afraid; afraid of the darkness; afraid of the Ring; afraid he’ll leave, and afraid of myself. I fear that there is no escape in Middle-earth for me.