mistress-samwise: Hola, amigos! I return from another long fanfic break to give you the following fanfic! Huzzah. This is a lovely piece I like to call "Please Understand". This contains my third and final case of Frodo SI, and I think I deployed it beautifully. The only other better case was in "Jaded". Oh, man… I still love that one. So wicked, so fun.
Anywho, I got myself a nifty piece of technology called a "scanner", and I've been drawing stuff lately. But I really wanted to do a fic like this for a while. As you may notice, it is also in a slightly different context than usual. The POV does not involve Frodo's so much, and I thought that would be good since SI is the case. I wanted to imply that there SI, not necessarily go through the entire process like I did the last two cases. As usual, there are some cute Frodo/ Sam interactions. BUT THEY ARE NOT MEANT TO BE SLASHY. Amazing. One minute, I'm a slash whore, the other I'm a sane, respectable authoress. Funny how that works.
So, go and read now.
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It was hard to tell what time of day it was. The overcast sky had been present throughout the entire day and also the three previous. There was an impending sense of rain that clung heavily to the air. That, too, had been for the past three days, but never once turned into actual precipitation. These feelings of tension only made the slow, dragging drift down the Anduin seem even slower to the Fellowship.
After Gandalf's fall in Moria, Aragorn had quickly taken control of the Fellowship. He wanted to make sure the Ring traveled as safely and as secretly as possible. While in Lothlorien, he and the rest of the Fellowship decided that the River Anduin would prove to be a secure route up until the Rauros Falls. From there, they would then continue their quest on foot, and eventually reach Mordor.
Aragorn's face sternly stared at the currents ahead, his hands gripped tightly on the oar as he pushed it through the water. All the dreary weather was even beginning to take a toll on him. Behind him, Frodo and Sam huddled tightly, using each other to brace against the rapid that had begun to form in the river's water. Aragorn shouted something back to the other two boats about the rapids and then fell deathly silent again. His few words were the only ones exchanged since the morning.
Sam looked up at the gray sky. He couldn't see even the faintest sign of the sun behind the dense clouds.
Can't tell whether it's time for lunch or supper…
He reached for his knapsack and searched for something to eat. There were the lembas cakes, but then he remembered that Aragorn had told him to save them. Digging deeper, he found the last of the bread that he'd been keeping.
Now is a good time as ever.
He reluctantly pulled it out. With some effort, he broke it in half, realizing it was a little more stale than he had originally thought.
"Mister Frodo?" he inquired rather softly, as if disturbing the long-led silence was wrong to do. "Do you want somethin' to eat?"
Frodo did not stir. Sam tried rousing his master again, but it was to no avail. Sam then decided that he must have fallen asleep, but, when he looked at his face, Sam realized Frodo was still awake. He was peering blankly over at the water passing by the boat, his face grim and ashen. Sam frowned and nudged at Frodo's shoulder.
"Sir?" he asked again. Frodo had eaten almost nothing the past few days. "Are you any hungry, sir, if you don't mind my askin'?"
Frodo turned his head suddenly, having been broken from his trance. He stared at Sam for a moment, then lowered his head again.
"No thank you, Sam," he replied quietly. "I'm not hungry."
Frodo then turned his eyes back over the side of the boat and fell into his silent trance again. Sam frowned. He did not feel like arguing with his master. With a sigh he turned away from Frodo and nibbled morosely on the rock-hard crust of bread.
The hours passed indiscriminately into twilight. Aragorn ordered all boats to the shore. Beside the beach they landed on, there was a slight overhang topped with a small copse of trees. It was the perfect place for the Fellowship to make camp for the night.
While getting out of the boat, Sam looked over to see that Frodo hadn't even moved. He was still staring out over the water, seemingly hypnotized. Then, a moment later, he snapped back to reality. Gathering his knapsack, he quickly made it out of the boat. Sam silently followed behind.
Before night fell, a meager meal was prepared. While tending to it, Sam occasionally looked over at Frodo, who was sitting by himself. Even his own cousins had given up on trying to socialize with him. This was beginning to worry Sam.
"Mister Frodo." Sam sat down next to his master. "I really think you should try to eat somethin'." Frodo made no reply. "Please, sir."
"I'm sorry," Frodo stated. "I'm not very hungry right now."
Sam frowned slightly. "There's no need to be apologizin'." He then began trailing off. "I'm just worried, that's all…"
An uneasy silence settled in again, creating a breach in the already weak conversation. Sam gave up and walked away to tend to the food. Frodo dropped his chin to his chest as he heard Sam walk away.
Soon after the meal was finished, Sam followed Aragorn as he walked over to the edge of the camp to look down at the river rushing past below. It took a moment for him to realize that Sam was behind him.
"Yes, Sam?" Aragorn inquired. "Is there something you wanted to talk with me about?"
"Y-Yes, Mister Strider, sir," Sam stuttered. Aragorn always made him very nervous. "It's about Frodo."
Aragorn sat down on the grass. "Frodo?"
Sam sat down, too. "Yes." He frowned. "I hate to be talkin' behind his back like this." He paused. "You've noticed the way he's been actin', right?"
Aragorn nodded. "I have. I am growing concerned."
"He won't eat, not matter how much I ask him," Sam continued. "Not even you can get him to."
"He's the Ringbearer. I can't ask any more of him. None of us can."
Sam nodded his head reluctantly in agreement. There was truth in that. Frodo must have more to worry about than not eating. "But it's not just his lack of eatin' that worries me," Sam added. "He's been actin' really quiet. He won't speak to anyone. And it seems like his mind is elsewhere, if you follow me."
"I know of what you are saying," Aragorn replied. "Weather like this can affect people in strange ways. Perhaps it is depressing him." He paused. "And perhaps the fact that we are traveling in boats on a river is, too…"
Sam was surprised. "Y-You know about all that?"
"Yes. Gandalf told me about it. It was very tragic for him, wasn't it?"
"To tell you the truth, Mister Strider, I'm not wholly sure," Sam said while scratching his head. "He never really talks about it. But I get the feelin' he's still bothered by it." He thought about the scars on Frodo's wrist and how much hate there still must be.
"Poor Mister Frodo," he sighed. "And I bet that Ring isn't helpin' anythin', either."
"Maybe we all need to go a little easier on him," Aragorn suggested. "The farther we go, the more he forced to endure. If only Gandalf were still here, I know he would be able to help lift Frodo's spirits. But, for now, we all need to let him know that he is being supported."
Sam nodded in agreement. There was not much else they could do for Frodo.
"Now, Sam, I think it's time you got some sleep," Aragorn stated. "It'll be another long day tomorrow."
Aragorn stayed staring over the river as Sam walked back to the camp, pondering about the conversation he just had. When he retuned, he saw that Frodo had already gone to sleep. He was distanced from the others, of course, but only as far as a Ringbearer could be. Sam yawned and decided that he should let Frodo keep his space and sleep elsewhere tonight.
The night fast grew dark, so dark that the only one who could be on watch was Legolas. He was perched on top of a large rock, his legs folded beneath him and his senses sharpened. Behind him, the entire Fellowship laid sleeping, exhausted from another day's journey. A strong breeze suddenly blew in from in front of him and he narrowed his eyes against the wind. Nothing had happened ever since he'd taken up post. Even he was starting to feel a little tired himself.
Legolas breathed a small sigh and went back to staring out into the darkness. A few minutes later, he began to notice a strange scent on the air. He sniffed. It was weak, even to his Elvish senses. Shrugging it off, he turned his attentions back to his watch. The scent then grew more noticeable, and he couldn't ignore it any longer. Concentrating all his senses, he sniffed the air again, trying hard to identify the scent. Suddenly, his eyes widened in horror and his heart jumped.
Blood!
Immediately, he sprung down from the rock and bolted over to the camp, where the rest of the Fellowship was sleeping. Once there, the scent of blood hit him like a weight, and he frantically tried searching for the source. At the same time, he was attempting to find out how this could happen without him noticing. He heard no commotion, so it couldn't have been an attacker. But what could it be if it wasn't that?
Suddenly, he felt his stomach sink as he passed by Frodo. Here the scent was the strongest. Dread and terror swept over him despite his Elvish stoicalness. Not knowing what else to do, he rushed over to Aragorn to wake him up.
"Aragorn!" Legolas shook the ranger until he was fully awake. "Wake up now! You need to come see this!"
"What is the matter, Legolas?" Aragorn inquired, standing up.
"Blood," Legolas answered, his wide blue eyes flashing with fear. "From Frodo."
Aragorn felt overcome with dread. "Oh, no…" Instantly, he whirled around and tore across the camp to where Frodo was lying. Legolas followed behind, and they both stopped frozen once they were beside Frodo.
Aragorn and Legolas stood over the hobbit, hesitant. Even with his human senses, Aragorn could smell the strong scent of wet blood hanging in the now motionless air. He was paralyzed with fear.
"Frodo."
Sam snapped awake. "What?" He sat up and looked over to see Aragorn and Legolas standing over Frodo with deathly grim faces. "Mister Frodo!"
He leaped to his feet and sped to his maser, his heart pounding wildly in panic. Aragorn was now kneeling beside Frodo, nervously turning the hobbit over onto his back.
"Unconscious…" he stated, trying not to sound uncertain. Sam had tears in his eyes as he watched Aragorn check to see if Frodo was breathing.
"He's breathing," Aragorn announced, relieved. Sam collapsed to his knees, his body overwrought with tension from the situation. "He's barely breathing…" Delicately holding his fingers to Frodo's pale white throat, Aragorn felt for any signs of a pulse. "His pulse… It's weak…" He went to check Frodo's left wrist for a pulse, but suddenly pulled his hand back, as if he touched flames.
"Wha-What is it, Mister Strider?" Sam whimpered, his tears now overflowing out on his face. Aragorn said nothing. He stared at his fingers for a moment, then showed them to Sam and Legolas.
"Blood."
Sam's face drained of all color and Legolas recoiled in shock. Aragorn quickly removed Frodo's jacket and tossed it aside. He heard Sam let out a cry and looked over to see Frodo's shirtsleeve soaked with blood.
"How did this happen?" Aragorn cried in horror. Using his Lothlorien dagger, he cut away the sleeve from Frodo's arm, revealing a long, bloody gash what stretched halfway between his wrist and elbow. At the sight of this, Sam began weeping uncontrollably.
"No!" he sobbed as he hung his head and cried into his palms. "Mister Frodo!"
"How…?" Aragorn stared at the wound. "How could this have happened?" He reached over for Sting's hilt and tentatively drew it out of its scabbard. The blade's edge was still wet with blood.
"Oh, Mist' Frodo," Sam whimpered, taking Frodo's cool, right hand in his own. Sam was so stressed that he could no longer control his accent. "How could you do this to yourself…?"
Aragorn seemed very shocked to hear this. Had Frodo really done this to himself? Not knowing what to say, he carefully gathered Frodo in his arms.
"We need to get his wound cleaned and bandaged," he stated, sounding completely ignorant to what Sam had said. Legolas nodded and stood up to follow Aragorn down to the river. Sam quickly jumped up and followed, also. He had no intention of being separated from his master at a time like this.
"No, Sam," Aragorn told the hobbit. "Stay here." Other members of the Fellowship had begun waking up.
"I can't, sir," Sam replied resolutely. "I have to be with Mister Frodo."
"What's happening?" Boromir inquired, half-awake.
Pippin spotted Aragorn striding past with Frodo curled up in his arms. "Is something wrong with Frodo?" he asked timidly. Aragorn ignored both of them and continued down the slope that led to the riverside. Legolas stayed behind to keep anyone else from following, but Sam was too far ahead with Aragorn.
As they made their way to the river, Aragorn and Sam were very silent. Sam looked up at Aragorn's grim face. His gray eyes were shining coldly as he stared ahead, not even taking one glance at the hobbit that laid limp in his arms. Sam frowned.
"Are you angry, Mister Strider, sir?"
Aragorn peered down at Sam. "Yes, I am." He then scanned over Frodo's bloody arm. "I do not understand how he could have done something so dangerous… and so foolish." His last statement sounded especially hard.
Sam felt disheartened. He didn't understand why Aragorn was so mad at Frodo. Perhaps it was because he didn't know Frodo like Sam did.
While Aragorn was washing Frodo arm with the river water, Sam knelt over his master's comatose body. Now that he had lost so much blood, Frodo's face looked even more pale than usual. Sam placed his ear against Frodo's chest and listened to his heartbeat. There was a faint, irregular flutter, barely audible to Sam's ear. He could also hear Frodo's slow intake of breath with each feeble rise and fall of his chest. Tears pricked at the back of Sam's eyes. Taking Frodo's hand in his, he let his tears silently fall onto the back of his master's hand. Aragorn looked up at Sam and wasn't sure of what to say.
"He's lucky we found him when we did," Aragorn said while gently scrubbing around the deep cut on Frodo's arm. "If we were any later, he might have died."
Sam sniffled. "Please don't be mad at 'im, Mist' Aragorn," he mumbled softly, his accent thickening. Aragorn frowned.
"What he did was very dangerous, not only to himself but to the rest of the Fellowship. Orcs could have picked up on the scent of his blood from far away. Then there's the risk of ambush."
"But it's not 'is fault," Sam replied dejectedly. Aragorn looked up from bandaging Frodo's arm.
"Not his fault?"
Sam did not reply. He peered over at Frodo's left wrist, noticing the two pale scars that ran across it. Delicately, he placed his hand under Frodo's wrist and ran is thumb over the fine, white scars.
"For a long time," Sam continued. "Mist' Frodo has had trouble gettin' along with 'imself, if you follow me. There's a hate he keeps inside 'imself, an' for years 'e's been able to make it stay there. It's amazin' how 'e does that. Most of the time, 'e never seems bothered by it. But I can tell that 'e is. I can feel 'is pain an' I can feel 'is anger. Even right now, I can feel 'is sorrow." His voice began to crack as his eyes grew misty with tears. " 'E hates 'imself, Mist' Strider… 'E hates 'imself."
Aragorn stared speechlessly at Sam's brown, teary eyes. He couldn't help but notice the painful truth that shone in them. It was hard to believe that Frodo truly thought this way, and it hurt Aragorn to see Sam so wrought with grief.
Frodo may be trying to hurt himself, but his pain is nothing compared to the pain he's causing others.
"Please understand, Mist' Strider, sir," Sam whimpered as he lowered his head. "I'm beggin' you… Don't judge 'im for all this." He tightened his hand over Frodo's. "Mist' Frodo is a fine person, an' 'e aches with so much pain… The Ring an' 'imself both. All this must be such a burden."
"That may be, Sam," Aragorn pointed out. "But you mustn't lose sight of the fact that he endangered not only his life, but also the lives of the Fellowship. What he did is not easily condonable."
"I understand what you're sayin', sir," Sam replied, sounding very aggravated. "I know what 'e did wasn't right, an' I wish 'e did, too." He stared sadly at Frodo's bandaged arm. "For a long time, I've had the hope that, someday, 'e'll realize 'e doesn't need to be like this… Hatin' 'imself so much that 'e causes 'imself more pain." He paused for a moment. A shadow of painful sadness fell across his face. "An' 'e's hurtin' me, too."
Sam leaned forward on his hands, right over Frodo and, for a moment, looked ready to cry. He didn't. Rather, he stared intently at his master's face. "I jus' want 'im to know that… that I love 'im. An' maybe if 'e did, 'e wouldn't do these sort of things to 'imself anymore."
Heaving a long sigh, Sam slowly climbed to his feet and turned to face Aragorn. "I pray you understand what I'm tryin' to say, Mist' Strider, sir. It would mean a lot to me."
Aragorn smiled gently at the small hobbit standing in front of him. "I can tell how important this is to you, and I am very glad you told me all of this. It would not be fair to Frodo if I was to be upset with him." He scooped Frodo up in his arms and carefully stood up. "Thank you, Sam."
Sam followed Aragorn back to the camp. Both were silent. When they returned, they discovered the rest of the Fellowship anxiously waiting to see what happened.
"Will Frodo be alright?" Pippin asked Aragorn, looking very distressed. "Legolas told us what happened."
"He will be fine," Aragorn replied. "There is no need to worry anymore." He gently laid Frodo back onto the ground, next to the campfire. "We will all need to go a little easier on him from now on. The quest is stressful for us all, and him especially. He has more than just the Ring to bear."
The rest of the night passed without a problem. The boats were loaded and set off before the sunrise. Once on the river, silence beset the Fellowship once again. Sam sat in the back of the boat, holding the unconscious body of his master in his arms, trying to keep himself from falling asleep. The previous night had earned him no sleep whatsoever. The gentle rocking of the boat soon caused him to nod off into a much-desired sleep.
Frodo slowly and painfully opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered doing was soundlessly sliding Sting back into its scabbard and waiting for the shadows of nothingness to fall over him. Suddenly, he felt his stomach drop in dread. He quickly checked his arm and saw it was bandaged up. At first, he felt relieved, but he then turned his thoughts to how much trouble he must have caused to the rest of the Fellowship. A crushing sense of humility overwhelmed him.
Just then, he realized that he was being held by someone. He looked up to find that it was Sam, who was fast asleep. For a few minutes, he stared silently at Sam's peaceful face.
Poor Sam… Even after all this, he still refuses to leave my side. I can't imagine how much I must have hurt him…
Suddenly, Sam awoke with a start. He quickly looked down and saw Frodo staring back, looking very deep in thought.
"Oh!" Sam exclaimed. "Mister Frodo!" He hastily removed his arms from around Frodo's body. "S-Sorry, sir."
Frodo did not move. He tiredly closed his eyes and silently leaned against Sam. Meanwhile, Sam was rooting around in his knapsack and withdrew a wafer of lembas.
"Here, Mister Frodo," Sam stated. Frodo opened his eyes, looked at the lembas and then looked at Sam. He shyly lowered his face.
"I'm fine, Sam," Frodo replied weakly. Sam frowned.
"Mister Frodo," Sam said sternly. "You've lost blood."
At that statement, Frodo quickly glanced up again and caught sight of Sam eyes. They were deep and serious. Lowering his, he accepted the lembas and meekly took a bite out of it. For the next few minutes, nothing was said between the two as Frodo continued to eat. In front of them, Aragorn was idly pushing the oar through the water and had been silently listening to the two hobbits converse.
Soon, Frodo finished eating the lembas and went back to leaning against Sam. He found himself staring out at the water, lost deep in thought. There still was a twinge of pain left from the wound on his arm. Last night seemed like a faded dream to him. The belief that it even happened at all was hard to fathom.
At the same time, Sam was sadly staring at Frodo's injured wrist. Tenderly, he took Frodo's wrist into his hand, raised it to his lips, and softly kissed it. Frodo's eyes widened in surprise and he turned his head quickly to see Sam's lips still hovering over his wrist.
"Sam?" Frodo asked, concerned, as he peered at Sam's sad face.
Sam did not look up. "I'm sorry, sir," he muttered, his voice weak. "But your scars are filled with so much hate. I just wanted to put love in them, so they'll heal faster." He gently kissed his master's wrist again before finally letting go of it. His head was still hanging as Frodo silently pulled his hand back, his sandy-colored curls blocking view of his face.
"You said the same thing to me years ago," Frodo stated. "These scars are nothing but painful reminders to me. It is naïve to think anything otherwise. So why must you be so concerned about them?
"Please understand, Mister Frodo," Sam replied while raising his head to look at Frodo in the eyes. "I love you. And whether you like it or no, these scars are a part of you, and always will be. You must learn to accept your flaws and finally love yourself… because I will love you no matter what you say or do."
Frodo smiled helplessly as his eyes grew blurry with tears. "Oh, Sam…" He threw his arms around Sam and broke into joyful sobs. Sam clutched tightly at Frodo and immediately began crying himself. They both wept tears of happiness until they no longer had any left.
"Thank you, Sam," Frodo said while giving Sam one last squeeze. "Thank you for understanding me."
Sam smiled. "It's the least I could do, Mister Frodo." Frodo tiredly smiled back. He closed his eyes and leaned against Sam, who was also fast growing tired. Soon, Frodo fell into a peaceful sleep while leaning up next to his faithful servant, the only place that offered him true solace.
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mistress-samwise: Ending= total cop-out. Ah, well. What did you want me to do, make Frodo go on a murderous rampage or something equally as stupid? Like "No Regrets", it's not the ending you want, but it's the only one that fits… sort of.
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