Harvest
by Dandy
SR Sept 22
Sam stood in the exact spot he stopped every
year on this day. He held the red book almost reverently in his hands.
I will not lose you, Mr. Frodo. That is what he had been told when the
promise had been made. The skies were not quite so blue anymore. Sam
searched them. Nothing was as blue as the memory of those eyes. Sam
smelled again the wood smoke from fireplaces under one of the nearby
hobbit homes. Apple wood, surely that was. The old tree had split
during the summer thunderstorm. Frodo smelled of apples, he remembered,
like hot apple cider on a wintery day. But that was because of his
fondness for them.
I wonder if they have apples where he is at?
I will not lose you.
These were the thoughts that worked their way through Sam's head. And yet he had.
He missed Frodo. There was no denying that.
Each day was an eternity to wait. Yes, he had Rosie and the children.
But his heart ached when he thought about what Frodo and he had endured
together. They had both been taken apart and left shattered on the edge
of ruin. They each had sought healing in their own way. Seperately. But
in the end, there was no healing left in The Shire for either of the
ones who had saved it. At least, not seperately.
I will not lose you.
The cornfield was still a brilliant green.
Even though the last of the corn had been harvested and tomorrow would
come the day of the autumn feast. Even though the ones that they
celebrated for no longer resided in the Shire, still the younger
hobbits continued to celebrate their birthday. Sam had begun the
tradition much as Frodo had done for Bilbo. Drinking a toast at the end
of the day and wishing them both a happy birthday.
Sam smiled.
His hand absentmindedly stroked one of the
leaves of corn. He had thought that perhaps one day he would pass again
the furthest point from home. "I made a promise not to lose you, Mr
Frodo." he whispered. "And I still don't mean to.."
He took a step.
Forward.
