![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seraiTitle: At Last
Pairing: S/F
Rating: PG
Warning: This story is sad. Really sad. I mean, really, really sad. Got that?
Disclaimer: All credit for Middle Earth and its extraordinary characters, locations and situations go to the blessed Professor Tolkien. I don't make a dime off this, nor would I wish to.
Summary: Sam keeps watch at Frodo's bedside.
At Last
I have always loved you.
The near-mist of rain that blankets these hills turns the air soft grey. So much water here. Those falls, now - the sound of 'em runs through everything. The Elves have a story about how those falls got there. You told it to me once.
Your hand in mine is quiet and pale, and I run my thumb over the back of it, letting you know that I'm here, that I'll always be here. And how long will that be now, truly?
I've known this hand all my life, it seems. I were only a child when I first felt its touch, resting on my shoulder as you leaned down to introduce yourself. I knew you then, even though I'd no words for it, and wouldn't have for long years after.
Now and then as I grew up in your garden there were embraces, comfort when I wept over some childish hurt or from my Gaffer's strap. You told me long after that your kindness came of sympathy, for you knew what hurt felt like when one's young, and couldn’t bear to let me suffer alone. You were always able to soothe those hurts away, so perhaps it ain't so strange, the turn my heart took even then. When I was too young to think of more than the warmth of your arms and how you didn't laugh at my sorrows, but gently listened to every one.
And now, from remembering that first touch of your hand, it seems I'm feeling the last. I can't let go, not even for a moment, for there's no way to tell when you might slip away, and I can't bear the thought of you dying alone, without a loving touch to see you safely across. Oh, I know the folk here mean well, but it's not the same. So I keep my vigil, and now and then stroke your forehead, the pain in my heart flaring like the aching fingers that are my Gaffer's last legacy.
Deep in the night, the fire now embers, your hand comes to life with a faint tightening of your fingers, and I look up from my thoughts to see your eyes half open. It’s the first time I've seen them in days, and it's all I can do not to cry out, but the smallest tug of your hand stops me. Come closer.
I don't hesitate. Leaning towards you, I hold my breath the better to listen to yours and know if you’re in pain. Another tug, and then another. Closer I come at your bidding, until my ear is near enough to hear the whistle in your breath that comes from far down inside you and tells me better than any healer could, The moment's come, Sam Gamgee. There's no more time.
I fight to still myself as your voice, rusty and light, whispers my name. A flare of icy heat blossoms just under my heart, and I answer, "Yes, Mr. Frodo?" All the thinking on old times takes its toll, it seems. And oh glory, your lips that have been pallid and sleeping for so long stretch just a bit into the ghost of a smile. The sound of the rain, the waterfall, the sea, the Anduin, the Brandywine, the Water – every sound of water I've ever heard comes together in the tear that slides silently down your cheek. Your lips an inch away from mine, I hear you sigh my name, and I squeeze your hand so you'll know I'm here. Everything in me freezes, on the brink of a chasm too terrible to cross. "I'm here, master," I whisper back. "I'm here."
That faint smile again, then –
"Sam...
...love...you..."
Your head turns the barest fraction and your lips find mine. My heart slams in my chest at the touch of your mouth, the cold feverish silk of it, pain and pleasure and panic. All my life wishing, and only now… I fight the swoon that threatens me, tasting and gathering up this touch for the longed-for gift that it is.
The warm thread of your breath slips into my mouth, and I breathe it in, the pain rising in my heart. But all my pain can't buy another breath, and I feel you slip away, the light of your spirit receding from me like a candle carried swiftly down the darkened tunnels of Brandy Hall.
Silence. Though your lips are warm, I realize you’re no longer there, and for the first time in my life, I'm truly alone.
Not for long, though. Your eyes are still open when I look at you, and I know, much as I don't want to, that I should close them for you. But when I move to do it, the ache I've carried for three days flares white-hot and runs down my arm. I can't breathe, for it seems a hand armored in black iron grips my heart. Your face glows bright in the faint light, and I catch one last look before stepping after you into the darkness.
All my life I've followed you.
I'll not stop now.
Pairing: S/F
Rating: PG
Warning: This story is sad. Really sad. I mean, really, really sad. Got that?
Disclaimer: All credit for Middle Earth and its extraordinary characters, locations and situations go to the blessed Professor Tolkien. I don't make a dime off this, nor would I wish to.
Summary: Sam keeps watch at Frodo's bedside.
At Last
I have always loved you.
The near-mist of rain that blankets these hills turns the air soft grey. So much water here. Those falls, now - the sound of 'em runs through everything. The Elves have a story about how those falls got there. You told it to me once.
Your hand in mine is quiet and pale, and I run my thumb over the back of it, letting you know that I'm here, that I'll always be here. And how long will that be now, truly?
I've known this hand all my life, it seems. I were only a child when I first felt its touch, resting on my shoulder as you leaned down to introduce yourself. I knew you then, even though I'd no words for it, and wouldn't have for long years after.
Now and then as I grew up in your garden there were embraces, comfort when I wept over some childish hurt or from my Gaffer's strap. You told me long after that your kindness came of sympathy, for you knew what hurt felt like when one's young, and couldn’t bear to let me suffer alone. You were always able to soothe those hurts away, so perhaps it ain't so strange, the turn my heart took even then. When I was too young to think of more than the warmth of your arms and how you didn't laugh at my sorrows, but gently listened to every one.
And now, from remembering that first touch of your hand, it seems I'm feeling the last. I can't let go, not even for a moment, for there's no way to tell when you might slip away, and I can't bear the thought of you dying alone, without a loving touch to see you safely across. Oh, I know the folk here mean well, but it's not the same. So I keep my vigil, and now and then stroke your forehead, the pain in my heart flaring like the aching fingers that are my Gaffer's last legacy.
Deep in the night, the fire now embers, your hand comes to life with a faint tightening of your fingers, and I look up from my thoughts to see your eyes half open. It’s the first time I've seen them in days, and it's all I can do not to cry out, but the smallest tug of your hand stops me. Come closer.
I don't hesitate. Leaning towards you, I hold my breath the better to listen to yours and know if you’re in pain. Another tug, and then another. Closer I come at your bidding, until my ear is near enough to hear the whistle in your breath that comes from far down inside you and tells me better than any healer could, The moment's come, Sam Gamgee. There's no more time.
I fight to still myself as your voice, rusty and light, whispers my name. A flare of icy heat blossoms just under my heart, and I answer, "Yes, Mr. Frodo?" All the thinking on old times takes its toll, it seems. And oh glory, your lips that have been pallid and sleeping for so long stretch just a bit into the ghost of a smile. The sound of the rain, the waterfall, the sea, the Anduin, the Brandywine, the Water – every sound of water I've ever heard comes together in the tear that slides silently down your cheek. Your lips an inch away from mine, I hear you sigh my name, and I squeeze your hand so you'll know I'm here. Everything in me freezes, on the brink of a chasm too terrible to cross. "I'm here, master," I whisper back. "I'm here."
That faint smile again, then –
"Sam...
...love...you..."
Your head turns the barest fraction and your lips find mine. My heart slams in my chest at the touch of your mouth, the cold feverish silk of it, pain and pleasure and panic. All my life wishing, and only now… I fight the swoon that threatens me, tasting and gathering up this touch for the longed-for gift that it is.
The warm thread of your breath slips into my mouth, and I breathe it in, the pain rising in my heart. But all my pain can't buy another breath, and I feel you slip away, the light of your spirit receding from me like a candle carried swiftly down the darkened tunnels of Brandy Hall.
Silence. Though your lips are warm, I realize you’re no longer there, and for the first time in my life, I'm truly alone.
Not for long, though. Your eyes are still open when I look at you, and I know, much as I don't want to, that I should close them for you. But when I move to do it, the ache I've carried for three days flares white-hot and runs down my arm. I can't breathe, for it seems a hand armored in black iron grips my heart. Your face glows bright in the faint light, and I catch one last look before stepping after you into the darkness.
All my life I've followed you.
I'll not stop now.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: Tuesday, September 16th, 2003 10:51 pm (UTC)