Empty tears.

1. Flashes.

T: And this is my next big fic, with five chapters written and two more in the works. What is it about? Ahhh you shall just have to read and see won't you? LOTR not mine, if it were then I'd most likely have done something like this with ROTK. Warnings of ANGST, SPOILERS and maybe SLASH in the later chapters. Also there will be DIRECT QUOTES here that are not marked and deviation from cannon at a few key points. More importantly this is BOOK CANNON people and that means that this whole thing shall make no sense to those who have seen Return of the King and yes that is where I have been. What did I think of it? It's been over a week now and I'm still speechless (in a good way). Yeh let us continue on shall we?

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It was all there in his head as sharp flashes of Technicolor against the monochrome of the Before and the After. The black of the long tunnel and its rancid stench of decay and death. The flash of sudden pail yellow as his Master awoke the Ladies light. The vast pustule mass of mottled brown that was the Beasts body and the mockery of the Ladies reflected in those cruel eyes. The grey circle of the sky viewed and the flash of the ladies light against Sting as it cut through gossamer thin threads. The bright morning glory blue of his Master's eyes as he turns to him before he springs out into freedom like some wild thing. The streak of brown as the Beast appears between him and his Master and the cold clammy grey of Gollum's hand as it ceases around his neck.  The red mist of anger and the clear colourless liquid that flows from the Beasts stomach. The pail white of his Master's dead skin and the blackness of grief and despair.

Yet from that blackness a sudden certainty had ceased him and he knew that his fate was not to linger at his Master's side, but to take the Ring and continue on the path. Thus decided he had freed the thing from his Master's neck and then began on his road.

He had glanced behind him only one on those first led lined steps, to assure himself that his Master's form was still he had left it and then he had carried on his path, silent always and wishing in his heart of hearts that he could ask the Lady to let him come again to his Master's side once his task was done.

That had been half a day ago and his path had led him now into the great dark of Mordor. Yet there was no fear in his small heart, indeed there was nothing there now. For all that he had been bound tight into his own quest, nothing so grand or as important as that which his Master has taken, yet true enough to him. That quest had failed through his Master's kind heart and his own willingness to do as the Master has bid. For if he had only fought Frodo's decision to the trust the vile Thing, if only he had only talked of the over heard conversation, then perhaps things could have been another way and his Quest may not have failed.

And such thoughts, such cold hope in this desolate place, tugged at the emptiness of his heart and he fell to the floor and wept empty tears.

*

He has been tracking the Halflings since they had departed Emyn Arnen at the request of Captain Faramir. He had not questioned the order, though it had seemed as folly to him to send only one man as aid. Yet one man was all they could spare and the logic had been that one of the Larger folk keeping up the rear might give them the edge they needed.

He had been little help in their hardest moment though, for he had been lost within the complicated network of the Beasts tunnels and had immerged into the light only in time to see the faint form of the Ring bearer's companion disappearing into the distance. Frodo himself had been laid out in the road in the peaceful attitude of death, yet he knew that the spider's bite was not deadly, but merely acted as a sedative and that the Halfling lived still.

He thought for a moment to lift the Ring bearer into his arms and follow the other Halfling so that he might give him this news and this gift. But something within himself warned that the other was fare from reach now, that his path was sundered from the Ring bearer's for now at least. And so he brought the small thing into his arms and biding a silent prayer to the other turned and began to retrace his steps.

*

He had little knowledge of where he might turn in this dark land, for he had been assured that this path would be trodden also by his Master, who had spent his time gazing at maps in the peaceful quiet of Rivendale. He felt himself drawn, though, ever Northwards, though his goal was clear to the East as a light, pail in the shadow of the filth that the mountain was giving forth.

Travelling only by that draw his mind drifted to those he had left behind. It was the early morning of the fourteenth if March and had he the gift of foresight or perhaps even a plantír he would have seen Aragorn hard on the road to Pelagir, Merry sat listening to the drums of the wild men and Pippin sat with the lord Denethor and feared for the life of Faramir. No such comfort was his though and he imagined still that all the other members of the Fellowship were dead now and that he was the last and that all their hopes and wishes were set on his shoulders now as a burden

Having no wish to think on that anymore he tried to stir some hope into his heart by thought of his homeland. Yet what would his father say when he returned without his master at his side? What would he say to Merry's family and Pippin's? What would he do with his life when he completed this last task? What would be left for him now that his hope and heart was dead?

He stopped then and sank again to the floor, weary beyond the comprehension of the word, but he was afraid still to sleep, aware always of Gollum's presence like a shadow in his mind. He pulled his pack in front of him, therefore, and busied his mind with assessing how well his supplies were holding. He had enough for two, maybe three days hard trek and then the water would run low, another two days would see the end of his food and the slow decent into starvation.

`Ain't nothing for it but to hope I find something in this desolate place. ` He thought before he smiled to himself, a hard smile entirely devoid of humour or joy. For he smiled at the concept of having any hope in anything at this point, when hope had died to him and all that was left was his duty to his Master.

Thoughts of Frodo again led him to that moment of terrible choice and for the first time he considered that he might have chosen the wrong path. Yet how could he have gone in any other way? For Frodo was dead and he was the last chance now for an ending to this thing. Yet some small part of him believed that Frodo was still alive, that he should have stayed by his Master's side to see this truth.

Oddly his next thought was of a conversation he had had long ago with his father about instinct. It had been two springs ago when the whether had been particularly hard and drought had all but set in to the plants of the Shire. Yet his father had continued to water and tend the flowers at Bag End as though nothing had changed. When Sam, all but twenty at the time, pointed out that it might be best to let these plants die so that when the drought passed the soil would still be full of nutrients to begin again, the Gaffer's reply had been,

"T'aint no point in ripping things up when rain will come tomorrow."

"How do you know, dad?"

"Instinct, lad, with a little help from my bones."

"Aren't you afeared that what you're sensing ain't nothing but your hope that the rain will come?"

"Nay I ain't, lad, for I know that my gut would never see me wrong, not about something I truly cared for. If rain were not coming it would tell me as such even thought I would wish to hear otherwise." The rain had come and Sam had apologised for doubting his father, the Gaffer had smiled and said,

"Just recall this lesson, lad, and hold to it when the garden is yours to keep." Yet though the lesson had been learned well he found himself doubting it again, for his wishes and his hope could easily be playing with his instinct.

In this doubt and confusion he heard the song of the Ring, sharper now that it was close to the source of its power.  He lifted the object up to himself and stared at it for a moment before he began to speak to it:

"I hate you, that much I'm sure you know and yet ye still try to call me. Ye believe now that I'm alone ye'll tempt me to ye eventually. But I'll tell ye this for nothing, the only thing ye could offer me that I might take is the restoration of the Master so that he might destroy you in my stead.

"Ye see I may be lost but I'll finish what he started, I'll throw you into the pit so that they'll look up and think he did it. I'll kill you so that he can be recalled and remembered, so that he'll live on in tales.

"Ye ain't nothing but false hope and I shall not be called by ye." He released the object then and turned his eyes for a moment back towards the road he had travelled,

"Keep him safe, my lady." He said, uncertainty hard in his heart.

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T: And that's chapter one. Each chapter is going to be slightly larger than the last and chapters five and six are defiantly going to be the largest, so reason to stick around. A few notes I suppose are in order before I close this,

1.   There shall be a timeline at the end of this monster (in the form of chapter 8.)

2.   The main deviation in this chapter from the book cannon is obviously the lack of appearance of the orc horde while Sam is in Cirith Ungol. They did come, this I must stress. However, because Sam did not dally around at Frodo's side and as Frodo was taken away they found nothing and fought about being paranoid.

3. Yes the Ring will be having a little more `influence` later on. You'll have to read on to see how much.

Right that's it here I believe. R+R please as I'd like to know how this particular fic is received.