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Bed of Roses
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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1
Bed of Roses

Sleep remains elusive for me these days, though weariness colors my every thought with grey.

Oh, how I envy you, Sam, how I yearn for the peace you find in exhausted slumber your mind stilled from this consuming task – if even for a moment. You bear the very stones of Mordor as if they were a bed of roses, their touch no more troublesome than the pricking of a thorn to your callused hand.

Has you body grown as numb as your mind in this place? Have you grown as numb as the heart that struggles to beat within my breast?

I would have you lay down on a bed of fine make, my dear Sam, away from the evil of this place. I would have you covered in smooth linens and soft quilts; your body cradled in feather down and gentle arms; your lined brow touched with loving kisses.

You deserve to lie down on a bed of roses, yet tonight you sleep on a bed of stone. And in misery that finds no ease in sleep, I watch you but can no longer find tears to weep.

Roses…Rosie…

You whisper her name in your sleep and I smile for the brief touch of happiness on your face. What would I give to share even the barest moment of a dream that brings you so much joy in the darkness of this place? I can not now remember when last I dreamt a happy dream.

You exhale a sighing breath, hugging the elven cloak to your body as if it could shield you, hiding you somehow from the grim reality of this quest. You understand now, as I have all along, that neither of us will survive. You cling to your dreams, as doom approaches, knowing that soon they too must perish.

Do you hold her there, Sam, in your mind’s eye while the veil of sleep makes you forgetful of where we lay? Does she soothe your wounded heart with her embrace? Can the succulent taste of her kisses sustain you, soothing away the gnawing press of hunger from a belly too long without the pleasure of abundance?

And what price would I pay to have her drive away the evil of this place from your mind?

I would give all that I have, if the touch of her hand could heal your soul or the breathing of your name from her sweet lips could grant you peace. I would sacrifice everything and gift you to her, the finest mathom of my heart, if she could only save you from this fate I cannot escape. I would have her bring you back whole and alive, now that I can no longer hope to do so.

Can she, in the spell of this last dreaming, grant you life?

You smile now, but only for the span of a single heartbeat before your brow knits with the incessant press of creeping awareness. You will awaken soon and together we will start our final journey.

Yes, dear Samwise, I would have you sleep in a bed of Rose’s, while tonight the last of me dies on this bed of nails.

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