Disclaimers: All canon material from The Lord of the Rings trilogy belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, New Line Cinema, Warner Brothers and Turbine. All other canon material belongs to their respected owners. All original material belongs to me, the authoress of this fanfiction story.
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My second attempt at writing a Werewolf!Hobbit fanfic. Let's see how it turns out. :)
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It was a beautiful day in the Shire. Frodo Baggins had just finished reading one of his uncle's novels. It was about a young girl being bitten by a wolf, and having to spend the journey searching for the man she loved, the man who would cure her of the curse. It was an interesting read, but Frodo could hardly wake up. Instead, he lay asleep, leaning against a massive tree.
His eyes opened at the sound of a wolf howl. Frodo stretched his muscles, if only for a moment. He jumped at the sound of another wolf howl. No. He was surrounded by wolves… this was it… this was…
"AAAHHHH!" Frodo screamed in pain. He looked at his shoulder. There was a huge gash there. Warm blood dripped down his arm, staining his dress shirt. He couldn't move. The wolf bite was too powerful. His eyes met the gaze of a dark furred wolf, muscles readied and teeth barring. There was blood on the teeth. It was his blood. How could… he fell into a deep slumber, unable to wake up.
-.-.-
"His arm was bit pretty badly…"
"Maybe someone should take a look at it…"
"He'll be fine. Won't he?"
"He'd better be."
Frodo awoke with the itching to head outside. To howl at the moon. To chase chickens and eat them down whole. Yes. He wanted to do all those things. The transformation was upon him. There was a great stinging pain across his arm, especially on his right shoulder. The moon sounded so good right about now.
He peered up at the ceiling. The moonlight was upon him. He wanted to howl at the moon, be a part of it with the wolves. Yes, that would give him blissfulness.
Night turned to day. Frodo found himself awake again. His shoulder didn't pain him much right now. Enough that he could eat the food on his silver tray. Silver? He moved his hand to touch the silver tray.
"OUCH!" Frodo's hand retracted. That silver tray stung him. But no… the bowl was silver, too. He had to get up. But he was so weak. Maybe he could have the bowl of oatmeal and strawberries. "OUCH!" The spoon was silver. No. The room was all silver… he needed to get out of this dream at once…
"He's still awake, isn't he?"
There were voices in the air. His friends' voices. He knew he heard them before. He was coming to. Instead, there was a wooden tray filled with food. His breakfast. Good. He must have dreamt it all, and yet shoulder wound hurt so badly. The wolf bite was so powerful.
He was ravenous for food. In haste, he ate down as much meat as he could get his hands on. The sausage was too good, but then so was the bacon. He ate the eggs as well. It all tasted so mouthwatering.
"Frodo, you okay?" Merry asked, concerned.
"I've never felt better," Frodo said, still stuffing his mouth with food.
"You're eating like a wolf," Pippin said.
Frodo stopped eating. No. That's what bit him. He couldn't eat another bite. He had to tell his friends the truth… "A wolf bit me. I don't know how to cure it. I could become a…"
"A what, Mr. Frodo?" Samwise Gamgee asked, curious.
"A werewolf," Frodo said. In that moment, his friends laughed. Did he say something wrong? "Did I do something wrong?"
"I thought werewolves were a myth," Merry said.
"It's possible he could be a werewolf," Pippin said.
"Something bit me out there in the woods." Frodo said. "I fear if I don't stop this now. I'll become one of them."
"Then let's not waste time," Bilbo said. "We'll find you a cure."
Frodo's vision transitioned from breakfast to a healer checking up on him. He wasn't sick. He just needed to know if there was a cure for what he had. He feared what the answer would be.
"I'm afraid that young Frodo here will need bedrest," the healer said. "Let me know if his symptoms spread. The last thing we need is another wolf attack."
"Thank you," Bilbo said.
Frodo looked on at the sunset. Another full moon would come. And if it was true, what Merry said about werewolves a myth… no. Did they think he was crazy?
"Uncle," Frodo spoke to Bilbo, "can there be a cure for what I have?"
"You need to sleep." Bilbo said, handing to him some herbal tea. "If what you say is true, then we have bigger problems to worry about. For now, you must sleep."
"But what if I transform – become a werewolf?" Frodo asked him.
"We're trying to help you, Frodo," Bilbo said.
"No! The moon!" Frodo cried, staring at the last of the sunset's rays.
"Frodo, you need to rest," Bilbo said, trying to restrain him.
"NO!" Frodo jerked away, falling off the bed and onto the wood floor. "Ouch!"
"Frodo, get back to bed! Frodo—" Bilbo cried.
It was too late. The full moon had risen. The second one of the year. Frodo felt his limbs grow longer, his hands turning into paws, his body transforming into that of a wolf. It hurt so much, the pain and the transformation. He couldn't take it anymore. At top speed, he bolted out the front green door and into the woods.
He didn't stop until he found the familiar road. There was the forest of Woodhall. And there was a stream. He saw his reflection: a brown furred wolf with blue eyes. It was what he became…
"There he is!" the hobbits cried. They were searching for him. "Stop him! Stop the wolf!"
Frodo ran and ran. At last, he found his sleeping hobbit form. He needed to go. The mob was on top of him, staring him down. But his wolf form couldn't take it anymore. He reached his hobbit form and returned to it. The darkness was great, but he could feel his body return to normal form again.
He was home now.
-.-.-
Frodo rubbed his eyes. He checked his shoulder. There was no bite wound there, or blood rushing. He sighed in relief. It was just as dream. He looked down for a brief moment. The book about the girl and the werewolf, in his red leather binding, still rested on his chest. How long had he'd been asleep? And that dream was so real. But he wasn't alone. He bolted to a sitting position upon seeing a group of wolves walk by. There was a pack of them.
Would they attack him, like in the dream? Would they show decency to him? He didn't know what they would do? He locked eyes with the alpha, a grey wolf with dark fur in some places. But the way they looked at each other was one of understanding, knowing they wouldn't harm the other. The wolves walked away moments later. They weren't in any danger.
Frodo waited that long, too, before departing the woods and returning to civilization. When he reached the Great Smials, Frodo returned Bilbo's book back inside his pack. He would return it to Bilbo when he met him. For now…
"Fwodo, Fwodo!" It was Pippin. He was three years old. "Catch me! Catch me!" Frodo did just that, smiling in that moment. Moving Pippin onto his lap, Frodo asked the lad,
"Would you like to hear a story about werewolves?" Frodo asked.
"Frodo!" It was Eglantine, Pippin's mother, "You don't want to be filling Pippin's head with dangerous tales."
Frodo shrugged. "Oh well. How about wolves?"
"Go on," said Paladin, Pippin's father, "one good story about wolves wouldn't hurt."
"But we haven't seen a wolf," Eglantine said.
"It doesn't mean they're not out there," Paladin said.
"All right, Pippin." Frodo said, "here's a story about a young girl who met this very peculiar wolf…" And the story continued to be told, about strange encounters between hobbits and wolves. But as for this story, it is done.
The End.
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Thanks for reading. :)