Little Things

LITTLE THINGS: Warrior's La
by
by Janet Elizabeth

Dear Father,


I write to you in absence of any other to confide in and I know that my secret is safe with you on
the other side of death. I have a dilemma that I know not how to solve and I hope that perhaps
my thoughts will become clear as I lay them out in this letter.


For many years I have led a solitary life. I have not been without companionship, for I am never
alone so long as I have the remnants of our people, Elrond and his house and of course, the Lady
Arwen, whom I love above no other. But there has always been a space within me that is empty
and cold. Nothing seems to fill that space, not the love of my lady fair nor the loyalty and trust I
share with my fellow warriors. Not ethe the friendship of such great ones as Lord Elrond and
Gandalf the Grey has been ever able to fill that emptiness.

But then, a few years ago, a long time among other men but just a short while for those of us
men of the longer lived Numenorians, I was given the task of guarding the borders of the Shire.
You will know of the halflings, hobbits as they call themselves. We guard them not only out of
a desire to preserve a northern part of our once great kingdom, nor just to keep safe such a
peaceful way of life, but also to keep safe the bane of Isildur. And guard her borders I have, for
many long years in the reckoning of lesser men. I never met any of her denizens, for secrecy was
our greatest weapon, though I did become quite friendly with old Bilbo Baggins, whom I
consider to be more a hobbit of the whole of middle-earth than of just the Shire. I thought, for
the most part, that though precious as hobbits and their way of life are, that they were by and
large silly, simple creatures. That is I used to think this way. And then I met four of the Shire's
sons and have grown close to all.

But it is not just this unlikely friendship between the Dunedain and the little folk that unsettles
me, and let me make clear that this foursome brings me joy. There is one of them in particular
who seems to have fit himself into the empty space inside of me. He is an unassuming creature,
steadfast, loyal and true. His heart as stout as any warriors and yet he craves nothing more than
the peace of a pipe at sunset, a good meal and beauty of nature. His dedication to his master
makes him so appealing that I find myself wishing that I was bearer of that evil thing, so that
perhaps he would lavish his attentions upon me.


As it is, he mistrusted me at first and he is more dear to me for that. He was only protecting his
master and that is not fault. In fact, it was then that I began to watch him as much as Frodo. For
Samwise Gamgee, gardener's son is a source of joy and pain to me. I watch his every move.
They way he holds his head when he's thinking. His quickness to leap into the jaws of danger
when Frodo is in peril. His actions on Weathertop alone were enough to make him shine. And
in Rivendell, when Frodo lingered between this world and the wraith world, I could not help but
feel helpless in the face of Sam's devotion.


And now, here we are, on top of the mountain and being covered by this wretched snow. Sam
huddles with the others, his faithful pony Bill shielding him. But I can still see the top of his
head, his sunny curls caked with whiteness. I wish I could go to him, brush the snow from his
hair and run my fingers through the damp curls. I want to take him in my arms and give him
some of the comfort he tries to give Frodo. He is brave for one of his people, but even this can
make the strongest weak.


I only listen to half of what Gandalf says as I study the sturdy young gardener. I cannot help
myself. He fills my darkest places with light. He gives me hope where I have none. He is
stronger than all the rest of us in the face of his own hopes for his master's success. I long to see
his smile again and hear more of his 'poetry'. I wonder how it would feel to have his hand in
mine.

You can see my conflicted desires, father. I love my Arwen, but is there shame in loving this
dear hobbit? Is it wrong to want to give him a part of me? I know not. And this letter has done
nothing to clear my head. I am only more in love with Sam than I was before. If my death
comes before I achieve my end, whom will I call for? Oh father, would that I wish you were
here to give me your council in this most unusual situation.

Well, I am no nearer an answer. I will end here and hope that the light of truth shines upon me
sooner than late.


Your son,
Aragorn