He stood outside his home, facing the West and smoking a pipe, his countenance grim and fierce. He had come to terms with the sadness; now he was filled with anger and feelings of betrayal. He knew, of course, these feelings were entirely misplaced; the object of his emotions couldn't have foreseen this, and it was not at all his friend's fault. He knew this, logically; but his feelings did not come forth from rationality, but from a wellspring of love, loyalty.... and loss.
He was a person who had learned to hide his feelings well, from his friends and family. The only time he allowed himself to indulge in these traitorous thoughts were times like these: either now, when the sun was just starting to inch upward from the eastern horizon and his family was still abed, or during sunset, when he couldn't drag his eyes away from the western horizon. He'd lost count of how many days in a row he had done this. It felt like years, but it could only have been a few months. He wondered if he would spend the rest of his life seeking out these moments. He wondered if he would ever find peace.
He sighed as he took another puff from his pipe, and slowly exhaled, freeing the smoke to drift off into the air in the shape of a ship. He smiled to himself; he had learned that trick from Gandalf, on their return home from the adventure that no one thought they would survive, least of all himself. He rejoiced in the fact that all of them save one had escaped death. Well, Gandalf had fallen, yes, but he didn’t really count, since he had returned to them all whole and hale. And then… then there was the one who, in spite of being surrounded by family and friends who loved him deeply, could not find healing even in his beloved Shire.
Tears filled Sam’s eyes. It wasn’t fair, it truly wasn’t, that the savior of all of Middle-earth should be burdened with sorrows and hurts that never went away. Angrily, he dashed the tears away.
Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to him that made him gasp. He realized that he hadn’t been angry at Frodo; no indeed. Sam’s ire was directed at something - or someone – that was intangible and unreachable, something that he couldn’t confront and vent his anger towards.
Sam was angry at himself.
"If only I had convinced him to share the load with me; I should'a forced him to! I was the stronger one, I could have overpowered him. If I had, the damage to him would have been less. I would've gladly taken on part of the burden!"
Tears flowed down his cheeks as his self-recriminations assaulted him, one after the other. If only this, if only that.... if only. Then perhaps Frodo would still be with them.
Then Sam's plain hobbit sense caught up with him. Silly of me, Sam thought, to think that force ever solved anything. The burden had been Frodo's to bear; the Ring never would have allowed itself to be split in twain. Besides, Sam had such a gentle nature, he never could have forced himself on anyone, let alone his master.
Sam finally got a grip on himself and wiped his tears away. Rosie would be rising soon, and so would the little one. He needed to make himself presentable and ready for another busy day. Wallowing in self pity and idleness would never do, as he had been so aptly taught by his Gaffer. He turned and entered his home, schooling his features and sublimating his emotions. He gently closed the door, and prepared for the morning's errands.