Shire Repost Month
This is the first LOTR fanfic I ever wrote-- about one month short of four years ago. Has the time really gone by so quickly? I remember feeling overawed and unworthy to even try to contribute anything to Tolkien's wonderful world. (I got over it, but I had to start somewhere!)
Anyway, this early fic seemed the most appropriate post I could make. Oh, the lovely memories! *hugs Middle-earth and flist* Enjoy!
Author: Mariole
Title: On the Cliff of Sammath Naur
Rating: PG
Characters: Frodo and Sam
Genre: Humor
Words: 900
Warnings: None
Summary: Sam has a confession to make, on the very Crack of Doom.
On the cliff of the Sammath Naur…
*deep pulsing sound of heartbeat*
“Mr. Frodo?”
“I’m here, Sam.”
“Right, coming! …Whew, that’s a long way down!”
*deep pulsing sound of heartbeat intensifies*
“Sir, I wondered if I might discuss something with you?”
“Now?”
“Yes, sir. Now.”
“Er, Sam, this possibly isn’t the best time. I’m standing here fighting the pull of evil with everything I’ve got. I don’t have quite the energy to spare for a chat.”
“Oh, this won’t take hardly but a moment, sir.”
“All right, Sam. Do try and hurry.”
“Yes, sir. What I mean to say is -”
“Sssssss! Wicked master, tricksey, false!”
“Not now, you old villain!” *boof*
“Prrrreeeeeeeccccccciiiiiooooooooouuuuusssss!”
“Now, what I meant ter say, Mr. Frodo -”
“You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what, sir?”
“Push Gollum off the edge just now.”
“Well, it weren’t like there was a lot of places for him to land, seeing as we’re perched on the edge of a cliff and all.”
“But Gandalf said he had a part yet to play.”
“I think he’s done playing, Mr. Frodo. I’m pretty sure I heard a splash.”
“And a sizzle. Yes, I heard it, too.”
“So, where was I? Oh, yes. Ahem. Coming upon you in this room just now, I felt that I had to speak. I’ve been tempted oftentimes before, but now, seeing you standing there, all lit up red and gold from the lava spurts -- well, I don’t know exactly how to say this. It put me in mind of one of those ancient pieces of art, like those Elvish sculptures we saw in Rivendell, that they done in bronze? Or, nearer still, like some of those old paintings they hung in the hall -- you remember, Mr. Frodo, in the room where the shards of Narsil was kept?”
“Sam, will you be much longer? I’m really finding my will starting to crumble, here.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. What I meant ter say is, you’re a rare kind of beauty. You could do with a good dose of lip balm, I’ll not deny. But even with your hair all mussed and your clothes in rags and dirt on your face, you’re a lovely sight, and I’m glad to have seen it.”
*heartbeat pulses on*
“That’s it?”
“That’s it, sir.”
“So I can get on with destroying the most evil artifact in all Middle-Earth now?”
“As it pleases you, sir. I wanted to get that piece spoke, though, as there’s no telling what will happen once you let that Ring go.”
“Thank you, Sam.”
“I mean, it would be right frustrating to be standing here beside you after you throws It in, and the fires leap up and the cliff crashes down, and there’s some really spectacular lighting on your face, but things is too loud and there’s too much commotion for me to be heard above it all. That would be a shame, now, wouldn’t it, sir?”
“I suppose…”
“Take Lothlorien.”
“Lothlorien?”
“You was all clean then, so it was a whole different kind of look, but you was just glowing when we set out down the River, with old Strider paddling us in the boat. Mayhap it were all those reflections from the water, lighting up your skin. Never thought I’d see anything as gobsmacking brilliant as you were that day, and that’s a fact.”
*heartbeat is getting twitchy*
“I just thought you might like to know, sir.”
“Well, thank you, Sam. I’m not really sure what to say. And I’m not convinced that it matters, as what you said about the destruction of the Ring is likely to come true at any moment, and we shall be burnt and crushed in the fall of the Sammath Naur.”
“No hobbit ever spoke truer, Mr. Frodo. We’ll be crispy fried and no mistake. But I’d regret it every minute on the way down if I didn’t find some way o’ sayin’ just how totally hot you look. To me, anyways, though there’s them as’ll argue -- the more fool them, says I.”
“Wicked hobbitses tries to kill us!”
“Ouch! Sam, he took the Ring! I thought you'd knocked him over the edge?”
“So I did, Mr. Frodo. He musta caught hold of a ledge as he fell, and that were just a rock we heard hitting the lava earlier.”
“Well, we can’t leave him here, holding the Ring and gloating, can we?”
“Right enough.” *boof*
“Oh, nicely done, Sam. … My, that is a long way down, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. He looks kinda graceful, don’t he, falling backwards in a nice curve, like.”
“He looks happy.”
“He do at that. … Ooh.”
“Ouch.”
“I reckon that didn’t feel too good.”
“For the Ring, either. It appears to be floating for the moment, though. … Did you mean it? What you said earlier?”
“Every word, sir.”
“Then do you mind terribly if I confess how your … sturdiness, has always appealed to me?”
“Well, there’s taste and then there’s taste. And you’re full o’ taste, if you get my meaning, Mr. Frodo.”
“Are you suggesting you wouldn’t mind … a little taste?”
“If you step a mite closer, you’ll find out what I’m suggesting.”
“Sam, oh!”
“Mmmm.”
*heartbeat soundtrack kicks into high gear*
(languorous sigh)
“I’m glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee. Here at the end of all things.”