Hello everyone! This is a quick little chapter of a new story I'm going to write about our favorite little hobbit Samwise Gamgee. I'm not sure how I came up with the idea for this story. Of course, with stories about Sam, I suppose my heart is the one that writes. *Puts hand over her heart and gets a far away look in her eyes*

Okay. For those of you who are following His Elanor, I apologize for writing this instead of that. *Gets a sheepish look in her eye* When the plot bunny bites, you have to follow its orders. I'll try to get the next chapter of His Elanor up soon, but with school starting an all, I'm not quite sure yet when I'm going to find the time to write besides Saturday mornings.

Alright! On with the story! Enjoy!




Go away.

Come again some other day.

"Go away." Whimpered a forlorn Samwise Gamgee, who lay huddled behind the bushes in the garden. Raindrops splashed against his cheeks and streamed down, becoming indistinguishable from the bitter tears that fell in like manner. He was getting soaked, but he didn't care. There was no way he was going back inside Bagshot Row. Not a chance. He would rather stay hidden back here behind the bushes and catch his death in the cold rain.

"Why can't the rain go away?" Whispered the little hobbit. It was when the rain came, that the trouble started. If only the rain went away, maybe everything would be all right. It would all be okay.

Rain was only tears. Tears from the sky. The sky that saw everything, and cried for the sorrows that were laid beneath it.

Why did it cry now?

"There's no reason for you to cry now!" Sam yelled suddenly, lifting his face to the sky. "She's not gone! She will never be! She'll be okay!" His expression became angry. "It was all because of you that she's dying in the first place! All because of you and your tears! If you hadn't started your crying while she was out there, my Momma would be just fine!" Another tear slid down his cheek. "It's all your fault. You made her sick, and now she's gonna die." He sobbed brokenly.

Exhausted, he finally drifted into sleep. In his dream, he looked back to a day only a couple months ago. His mother was tucking him into bed.

"Goodnight Samwise."

"'Night Momma."

He seemed to be already asleep, but when she leaned down to kiss him goodnight, he asked her hesitantly,

"Momma? Hamson says that I'm almost too big to be tucked in. Is that true?"

She smiled and brushed back the curls from his forehead. "Of course not sweetie. You're my little boy. You'll never be too big." She drew his quilt up to his chest.

"Really?" He whispered.

"Of course, my little Samwise." She looked down at him, and saw that his eyes were closed. She leaned down and kissed her son on the forehead. Even though she knew he probably couldn't hear her, she added softly,

"And I'll always love you."

Still sitting under the bushes in the garden, and now soaking wet, little Samwise murmured in his sleep, "I'll always love you too Momma."