Another plotbunny. They're everywhere today ^_^ This is a bit of a sadder story than my others, but it was an idea that would not go away. I'm not too sure how many chapters this will turn into, but I doubt it will be more than five. Still, I hope you enjoy it ^_^ Reviews, comments, corrections, etc are welcome, as always.
Frodo trudged drearily along behind Aragorn, fighting his way through the waist-high snow in an attempt to show that he didn't need to be carried again. Aragorn's drink had warmed him briefly after their last stop, but now the cold had crept into his bones again and he shivered constantly. Behind him, he knew, Sam and his cousins were experiencing the same.
There was a faint rumbling sound that could be heard easily amidst the silence of the mountain.
"What was that?" Frodo asked.
"The mountain does not wish us to continue." Boromir stated, as he had several times that day. "I still think we should turn back."
"We can't turn back." Gandalf called back from the front of their troop.
Frodos feet were slowly going numb. He heard Pippin complain loudly and there was a pause as the young hobbit was lifted into Boromir's arms. However, it only made Frodo more determined not to be carried.
Sam sighed, as though reading his master's thoughts, but said nothing.
The rumbling sound grew louder.
"We should move faster, lads, I sense an avalanche on its way. We would be wise to be far from here when it falls." Gimli warned them from near the back.
Looking up, Frodo saw the tall figure of Gandalf look down at them all. "You are right. Everyone who can, pick up a hobbit. We need to move."
And, just like that, Frodo's determined plan was dashed. Gandalf himself came and gently picked him up, while Aragorn took Sam and Legolas, Merry. He couldn't deny that their going was faster without the four pairs of short legs slowing them down, but he did feel rather embarrassed.
The noise of the moving snow was now so loud that Frodo looked up, expecting the mountain to come crashing down on them as they walked. Everyone picked up the pace as best as they could, but the going was still slower than anyone would have liked. Nervousness twisted Frodo's stomach.
"Run!" Gimli yelled, having clearly spotted something. Everyone looked up and saw that, indeed, a huge mass of snow and ice was tumbling towards them down the steep side of the mountain.
Running didn't help, as it only made them trip, especially those with hobbits. Gandalf's long legs meant that he reached the safety of an overhanging area long before the rest, followed swiftly by Legolas and Boromir. Gimli, too, struggled towards them, using his axe to carve a pathway. The snow had already hit where they had all been standing mere moments ago. However, Aragorn and Sam had fallen into a hidden pit.
Frodo pushed himself from Gandalf's tight hold, intending to go and rescue them, but was grabbed back. Aragorn got to his feet and tried to pull Sam to his own, but was too late. The snow hit them.
"No!" Frodo screamed, hearing the others cry out as well.
The rush of snow seemed endless. It rolled and fell past them off the edge of the mountain, blocking any attempt to look for Sam or Aragorn.
Those few minutes were some of the longest in Frodo's life. He scarcely breathed. Then, eventually, it slowed…and stopped.
Aragorn stood up, covered in snow but otherwise unharmed, from behind a rock. He had been lucky to find shelter. Frodo breathed a sigh of relief and walked forth, ready to greet him and Sam, who must surely be about to get to his feet as well.
Aragorn met Frodo's eyes. There was sorrow in them, and guilt. Slowly, he shook his head.
To Frodo, it felt as though the world tipped upside down. He felt very cold, then very hot, then very dizzy. All he could do was stare, eyes wide with the shock, as Aragorn approached the Fellowship…no hobbit in tow.
Frodo's knees hit the ground. He refused to accept it. Sam couldn't be gone. He couldn't be. He must be buried under the snow somewhere.
But he couldn't find the will to get up and look.
Aragorn's voice reached his ears through a cloud; he struggled to make them out. "I tried to hold him, I really did, but the avalanche was too strong. It ripped him from my arms. I saw him go over the edge."
Frodo shook his head. "No…no!"
Aragorn's arms closed around him, but he was the last person Frodo wanted comforting from. Angrily, he pushed the arms away as feeling returned and got back up off the ground. "Legolas, go and see how far down it is. He might be injured, we might be able to reach him with some rope."
Legolas shot him a sad look, but did so. A moment later, he returned. "I can see another ledge further down, but it is nearly a thousand metres down. And all that I can see there is snow. I am sorry, little one, he is lost."
Frodo continued to deny it and spent the next hour getting everyone to search under the snow and even lowered one of them down towards the ledge, but their rope wasn't long enough. Finally, defeated, Frodo retreated as far into the overhanging area as he could, curled into a ball…and wept.
He wouldn't let anyone approach him for hours. Anyone who tried would be either snapped at, slapped away or greeted with Frodo curling in on himself even tighter. The tears had long since dried out, to be replaced with a blank nothingness that contained a dull, aching pain.
His best friend. Sam had been there from the start. Frodo had babysitted Sam during trips to Bag End, then once Bilbo had adopted him, the two had become fast friends. Sam, even as a toddler, had begun to look out for Frodo, which he always used to find amusing. When the two got older and Frodo entered more into the terrible tween years, Sam would often be found trailing after Frodo, keeping an eye out for him.
And since leaving the Shire, Sam – even more than Merry and Pippin – had been the rock, the connection with home. From his endless supply of recipes that produced wonderful meals with even the most meagre of rations, to his comforting voice whenever Frodo would slip into a daze of thoughts about the Ring, Sam had been there.
And now he was gone.
He knew the others were grieving as well. Merry and Pippin had been the most insistent to try and rouse him, but even for them, he could not move. And so the day drifted into night. Frodo felt no hunger, but soon the exhaustion that followed an emotional outburst fell over him. He turned towards the warmth of the small fire that Gandalf had lit, and gratefully slipped into dreamworld. At least there, Sam was still alive.
So sad, I know, and I apologise for any feels this may have conjured. I'm not sure when I'll publish chapter two. The urge to write could strike at any time, anywhere, so I'll have to wait and see :)
