AFTER ALL - Chapter One

This is my first attempt at anangst fic. It is horribly angsty and I was in two minds about posting it here but I know that some people have expressed an interest in reading it and I thought it would do no harm.... but don't let that put you off!

FIC: AFTER ALL
AUTHOR: Igraine
PAIRING: F/S (Post quest)
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY Frodo flees from the Grey Havens with Sam. But their newly awakened love is overshadowed by a greater threat from which there is no escape.
Disclaimer - These character belong to JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them and promise to return them safe and sound. I make no money from these stories.

WARNINGS : MAJOR angst and character death. :O


CHAPTER ONE
Mine is the Choice of Luthien, and as she so have I chosen, both the sweet and the bitter.
Return of the King – Chapter six.
Frodo lay half sleeping across Bill’s sturdy back, his arms draped around the rough mane, legs dangling free. He couldn’t fall, for Sam sat behind, one arm supporting and cradling Frodo’s waist close against his body whilst the other held the reins. They were plodding slowly across open moorland, the salt breeze at their back, biting and roaring in their ears, moaning as if in an agony of loss. Frodo had closed his eyes but Sam looked ahead, his face set, pale and determined. As they made their way into the sheltering hills of purple and grey, the sun slowly sank in the west, staining the sky with indigo and flame as it spilt its last light into the inky sea.
As they moved beneath the cover of the first high hills, Sam relaxed a little and began to hum softly beneath his breath, looking about them at the strange, rocky land into which they had stumbled. Heather grew thickly upon every mound and the ground rose and swayed into small mountains and gorges which trickled with tiny cold streams, sometimes cutting through the sheer face of rocks and falling in thin silver trails to the sodden, swollen scrub beneath. But water was a good sign. It might even keep them alive, for a time anyway. The way through the hills was becoming difficult to navigate, rocky and water logged, Bill’s hooves slipped and tripped upon the pebbles, his legs scrambling and his breath white in the chill air. Sam breathed in; yes, it was still there, the smell and the distant heave of the great sea. He shuddered and pulled his cloak more tightly around them both, trying to draw Frodo closer even though his arm was aching with the strain. The path was narrowing until it was little more than a thin stream of glistening pebbles cutting through a high gorge. The light was fading fast. He knew he had to find somewhere to rest soon or else it would grow too dark to see even his hand in front of his face. Frodo was already falling asleep and Bill was steadily tiring with every pace. But it wasn’t easy, white trails of damp cloud were wrapping the tops of the hills and slowly descending, drawn to the water, weaving through the darkness like restless ghosts, filling his belly with a hollow howl of fear. But he drew a deep breath and set his heels in, holding on to the thought that they had certainly been through worse than this. The only danger that pursued them now lived in his heart.
At last, the pass was broadening and the ground was a little easier under Bill’s skittering hooves. Sam reassured him in low, lulling tones, "Hush, now, easy there…" he said, patting his drooping neck, beaded now with mist and wintry breaths of moisture. As he spoke the words, it was almost as if he spoke them to himself, "Hush, don’t fail me now," he whispered, his heart beginning to protest.
They emerged on the side of a steep hill, pocketed with hillocks of heather and rocky outcrops where scrawny sheep cropped the grass. They can’t find much to eat up here, poor beasts, Sam thought to himself. At the sound of hoof beats, the sheep stopped scavenging and turned their heads in frozen surprise. Then, crying out in alarm, they tore up the rocky slopes in desperate haste, their thin legs trembling and wild as they fled into the white veil of mist. Bill neighed wearily and Sam urged him on a few steps further to where the rocks had formed a hollow in the side of the hill. The turf grew thick and bushy on the ground and the rock walls kept the sharp cold winds at bay. "Good boy, good boy," Sam said. "Come now, master, let’s get you down from there before you catch your death."
Carefully, Sam caught Frodo up in his arms and lowered them both to the ground. Bill whinnied wearily and staggered across to where the water was spilling down from the high places to drink from the icy seam. Sam carried Frodo to the hollow and, after feeling the ground firmly with his feet to check for dampness, he laid him down and wrapped his cloak tightly about his body. Kneeling over him, he tenderly brushed Frodo’s curls back from his face and stroked his cold cheeks. Frowning, he unclasped his own cloak and pulled it off. Although the night struck chill through his woollen shirt, he threw it over his master and tucked it securely around him. After making certain that Frodo was safely swaddled, he called Bill to him once more. Bill looked up, water droplets hanging on his chin. Sam called his name again, and Bill shook his head and trotted reluctantly across the heath. Sam stroked and praised him as he unlaced the heavy packs from his flanks. When he had pulled them to the ground, he settled Bill under the shelter of the rocks, and handed him a handful of feed from a pocket in one of the packs. Bill munched gratefully and then settled himself down to rest, his breath white and hot in the darkness. "Thank you," Sam murmured as he retreated back to tend to Frodo.
Sam laid the packs close against where they had made their shelter. They offered small protection from the cold but he found, after long search, a large blanket that would serve to warm them this night. There was no time to make a fire and no tinder dry enough to catch, so Sam threw the blanket on the ground and spread it wide. Then he lifted Frodo once more and laid him down upon it, wrapping it over and around until no chill could creep in and steal his warmth away. What little there was left to steal. He rummaged in the pack and found some dry biscuit and fruit which he ate slowly and methodically, taking little pleasure from the food but knowing how important it was to sustain your body at these times. When Frodo woke he would urge him to eat too, but for now he would let him sleep and that was probably best for him. Even the three-mile journey from the white towers had made Frodo grow weary and chill, then sleep had taken him and it was all Sam had been able to do to stop him slipping to the ground. As he looked down at him, a tender love blossomed in his heart and sent straining shoots of terrible devotion trembling through every vein. Sometimes it seemed that his love was almost an agony.
Shivering, he opened the blanket and laid himself down, pressing his body close against Frodo’s and drawing the warmth around them both, tight and secure. His master was breathing low and sweet against his cheek and he gathered up and eased him into his embrace. Frodo stirred a little, mumbling something in his sleep. Sam thought that it might be a fragment of elvish, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to think anymore, he’d done enough of that over the last few dreadful days. Now all he wanted was to hold his beloved Frodo and feel his presence bright as the desire that burned in his soul. He laid his hand over Frodo’s and grasped it tightly. Frodo’s eyes flickered and half-opened, the blue gaze beneath shadowy and lost as if it didn’t recognise Sam at all.
"Don’t you know me, Frodo?" he said, softly, stroking along his master’s cheek.
Frodo blinked twice and then fell back with a sigh, turning his face into Sam’s chest, close against the heavy pounding of his heart.
"I’m here. I’m not going to let you go." Sam rocked Frodo slowly like a child who has woken from a nightmare, watching the flickering of his eyes and the movement of his restless lips. He wanted to stay awake, to keep watch, but eventually the soothing rhythmic motion lulled him also into slumber and he soon fell into a sleep from which he felt sure he might never wake. Once more, somehow, it seemed like the ending of the world.
Frodo woke with a start and sat up, his eyes wide and wildly searching, panting into the dark and calling for Sam.
"It’s alright, I’m here. I’m here…" Sam woke at once and sat up beside Frodo, squinting at him through the shadows, which seemed slow to reveal their catch. "What is it, love?" he said, laying his arm around Frodo’s fragile shoulders. Frodo jumped a little at Sam’s touch and turned to stare at him as if in disbelief. "It’s me, it’s your Sam, come here, it’s all right," he murmured, easing Frodo into his arms once more and down beneath the shelter of the rocks. "It’s cold out there. Here, stay under this blanket. You must keep warm, you’re chilled to the bone."
Frodo sat rigid in Sam’s embrace, staring out into the darkness and breathing heavy and hard. "I saw it, Sam… the Undying Lands, the glory of Eressëa as it fell away from the sea. I dreamed of the elves on the harbour quay, watching and waiting, singing of welcome. But when the white ship came, their faces broke like glass and the song plummeted into grief. Gandalf was there. He told them that I had chosen the shadowed path and that he could see me no more. Then he raised his voice in the song and it spoke to me of guilt and sorrow and pain that has no resolution. The isle was so beautiful." Frodo stared as still as a block of stone.
"Well there’s no sense in that, Frodo, you’ve not chosen the shadowed path, you’ve chosen to walk a path you know to be safe." Sam stroked Frodo’s back gently, in rhythmic circles. "There is no safer way. It is still what you want, isn’t it, my love?"
Frodo nodded. "It is my choice," he said.
"You know that if you had chosen to board that ship, I would have let you go? You know that, don’t you?" Sam said.
"Yes, I know that. I made my choice and now that choice is over. It’s gone. It’s just, I didn’t expect to feel so changed."
"What do you mean, love?" Sam drew Frodo’s hesitant head down onto his shoulder and stroked the soft windblown curls with deep reverence.
"I felt the ship breaking the veil. I heard the sigh and the crack as it passed out of all knowledge. I felt the loss of Gandalf like a hole punched through my breast. Where there was comfort and guidance now lies emptiness and aching." Frodo paused and his hands moved to his breast. "I take comfort in the Queen’s jewel – her wisdom eases me."
"Oh, Frodo…" Sam grasped the curls tightly in his hand and rubbed his face into the smell of the salt wind.
"I feel the sea calling to me still. It is restless and unfulfilled. It longs to take me even now I am far away, it calls, yearning…"
Sam closed his eyes against the tears. "If it hadn’t been the sea yearning and breaking its heart, it would have been us and wouldn’t that have been worse?"
"It pounds against my heart!" Frodo cried out and buried his head against Sam once more, his breast heaving with terrible sobs.
"It’s alright, my love, it’s alright." Sam spoke softly and sang gentle childhood lullabies whilst his beloved succumbed to the grief that besieged him. Sam tried not to feel anger, but all his body and soul was secretly railing against the tyranny of fate. He could hear Gandalf’s voice, "What is meant to be, is meant to be, there is no turning it."
But what if you meddled with fate? What if you refused the gifts of the Ainur - would they ever allow him peace in this life before he travelled to the next? If only Gandalf were here. But Frodo had felt him pass beyond his sight and there would be no more words of wisdom.
"Come and lie down, my love, its late and we’ve travelled a long way," he said and settled Frodo once more upon the blanket. "There, that’s it, rest your head. In the morning we’ll talk about what’s to be done, but for now I’ll hold you through this long night and we’ll find the end of it together."
Frodo quieted and let the last of his tears run and splash onto Sam’s leather jerkin, which felt warm against his cheek and smelled comfortingly of pipe weed. Bag End…Home…
Sam knew that Frodo was dreaming of the sea. His body swayed as if with the movement of the waves and sometimes he would cry out joyfully at the sight of something miraculous and vivid. He looked pale, the star gem hanging loosely around his neck seeming to throb through his translucent skin. There was no doubting he was losing strength but Sam remained hopeful. Frodo had taken ill before and Sam and Rosie had nursed him back to health. Usually, the sickness came at marked times of the year, the anniversaries of great troubles, of blade, of sting, of fire. Sam would sit upon the bed and watch over him while he slept fitfully, calling to mind his own dark memories, walking through them alone and trembling in the gathering gloom. He had longed to climb into bed beside Frodo and curl up with him, so that they could tremble and weep together, but Rosie wouldn’t have understood. So he had sat and watched and waited, treading the dark remembered paths alone, knowing in his heart that if he hadn’t selfishly wed, he might have been free to heal Frodo’s wounds with the strength of his love. But it had seemed too late for that.
Perhaps, even now, it was all too late. The rains had come. It began at once heavy and insistent, thundering down on the rocks above their heads and dripping into the grass. Bill wandered to the hollow to take shelter and Sam tried to fix the blankets and cloaks over their heads to form a tent, but they offered little protection.

“It’s raining.” Frodo opened his eyes and huddled up against the rock. “I can taste the sea.”

Sam nodded but couldn’t speak.

“Will you hold me?” said Frodo, his eyes wide open and vulnerable.

Sam took him into his arms at once and clasped his thin body tightly, holding the dark head in his hand as it pressed against his neck, cool and damp. Frodo felt so light it made Sam weep as he trembled in Sam’s arms like a fragile leaf.

“I love you, Sam,” said Frodo, softly, his voice nearly lost beneath the thundering of the rain.


To be continued...