Alright. This is a . . . what is it called . . . "fanfiction to someone
else's fanfiction." In this case, the "someone" would be Skye, and the
"fanfiction" would be Just Don't Have the Heart to End It.
Here are Skye's exact words:
"I'm sorry if this disappoints you readers but "I have a better use for you" so to speak. I would very much like, instead of continuing it myself, to see your own takes on it. I would love to see you write about this topic to continue or perhaps go back to times I've mentioned. I suppose what I'm asking for are fanfictions to my fanfiction. I've seen it done before and I like the idea. Please anyone who desires to write about this DO JUST THAT!"
And now, I am attempting to "DO JUST THAT!"
I hope it will at least be close to the standards that Skye set with Just Don't have the Heart to End It, but I am going to do my best.
(By the way, ********* indicate going in or out of flashbacks. In some of my other stories, they just indicate changing scenes, but if I left it as meaning just that for this one, it might get a bit confusing.)
*************************************************
She approached him tentatively, "Papa?"
"Did he wake you up again, Elanor lass?" said Samwise, lifted his daughter into his arms.
"I don't mind, but it makes me sad."
"I know, it makes us all sad." Sam fell into silence and Elanor looked at him curiously.
"Is he alone in there?"
"Your mother is with him."
"When might I see him again? I miss him something awful."
Sam smiled sadly, "He misses you too, lass. Perhaps one day, when he is feeling well."
"He has been 'feeling well' less and less it seems, Papa."
Sam did not answer but Elanor saw the tears glisten down his cheeks. She rested her head in the crook of his neck and sobbed.
**************************************************
Elanor sighed, as she thought back to that day. She often did so.
That was back when Frodo's health first started declining rapidly. It used to be only on the anniversaries of Weathertop, Shelob, and the destruction of the ring. He would be ill for that day only, and the next day he was seemingly back to normal. The one day stretched into two . . . and then three . . . and then a week . . . a month . . . a year . . . until Frodo's life had shifted to one long endless nightmare. Elanor shuddered. It wasn't so much his condition, but that she had seen him before he had become like this. She had seen his deterioration. Gradually saw him weakening, his moments of lucidity growing fewer and farther between . . .
A soft moan disturbed Elanor's thoughts, turning her attention back to the prone figure on the bed. Leaning forward, she took the corners of the quilt and pulled them up, tucking them snugly around Frodo's shoulders. His face twitched a bit, and Elanor froze. She took a deep breath of relief when he settled back down.
She was glad he was unconscious. It hurt her when he was awake and suffering, and it actually hurt her even more when he lapsed back to sanity. He suffered then even more, because he could see what he had become. Unconsciousness was always welcome when the pain became too much for him and he became violent.
Violent . . .
When she was younger, she would have never been able to imagine "Uncle Frodo" being violent. But then, now she was not sure if she could really say he was the same person.
She thought back to earlier that day . . .
**************************************************
"NO! Let me go!"
Shrill screams rent the air as Frodo threw himself around his room, thankfully devoid of any sharp objects. But there was still the risk of him hurting himself, so Elanor and her father, Sam, frantically tried to grab him arms to keep them from thrashing, and calm him down if possible. Unfortunately, it was very rarely possible.
"You will not take it from me!" Frodo shrieked, as Elanor had finally gotten a hold on his wrists, but he twisted away causing her to lose her grip.
"Father, help me!" She called to Sam, but she saw it was useless. Though he had, at first, tried just as hard as she had to keep Frodo under control, she could now see that he was tiring. Not physically, but emotionally. His limbs now moved as if through water, and his sight was clouded by grief. As much as Elanor wanted to go and comfort him, she could not spare the time.
Frodo was now covered in bruises and small cuts. It was only by luck that he did not have any serious injuries, as this was a particularly bad spell. Sam had been sitting with him, when Frodo had suddenly mistaken Sam for an orc who was trying to kill him. Frodo had leapt from the bed with the intention of wrapping his hands around Sam's neck and strangling him. Thankfully, Sam had jumped away just in time, while calling frantically to anyone who might hear.
So Elanor hurried in quickly, shutting the door behind her, seeing the situation, and immediately deciding that their only course of action was to try and restrain him and hope beyond hope that this bout would not last long, and oblivion would soon carry Frodo mercifully away.
So here they were, and mercy seemed to be against them.
Suddenly, Frodo halted, exhausted and breathing heavily, his bloodshot eyes staring into nothing. Elanor saw her chance, and diving forward she grasped his arms, pulling them behind his back so he could not use them to harm either her or her father . . . or in this case he himself. However, as she did so, she began to wish she hadn't. Her abruptness seemed to cause him to fall further into insanity. His back arched, and he squirmed in her grip, all the while screaming incoherently.
Elanor looked to Sam for help, but seeing him standing there unmoving with a dazed and saddened look on his face, she knew that at the moment he would offer her no help.
Before she could react, Frodo yanked one of his arms free. She had only time to blink as he turned towards her with crazed madness. She saw one of his fists flailing towards her face . . .
. . . and then nothing.
************************************************
Dolefully, Elanor touched the bruise on her cheek lightly. That had been the first time he had ever actually physically injured anyone that much. Sure, they knew he was capable of it, but somehow they never thought it would be possible that he could render anyone, much less the people who took care of him (whether he knew it at the time or not), unconscious. Ironically, they had been the ones waiting for HIM to pass out.
What a bizarre turn of events.
************************************************
When Elanor's mind fluttered back to awareness, the first thing she realized was that she was still on the floor. The second thing she realized was that her head really hurt.
Then she saw both her father and Frodo staring, stunned, down at her.
Evidently she had not been out for very long, for everyone to still be in the same position, but the expression on Frodo's face was enough for her to wish she had not woken up.
He was gawking at her, unblinking. Suddenly his limbs began to tremble. Barely audibly, she heard him whisper, " . . . Elanor . . . ?"
The room was gripped by silence.
She tried to get up to her feet, but dizziness forced her to lie back down, groaning and holding her head. Sam hurried to her side, lifting her into a sitting position so she could lean against him.
Still, no one spoke.
The quiet was shattered by the creak of the door opening. Rose Gamgee, drawn by the sudden hush, peeked her head in. For a moment, she was clearly puzzled by the fact that Frodo, of all people, was the only one standing.
Suddenly, Frodo, seeing the open door, grasped his chance and bolted for it. Knocking Rosie aside, he dashed through, disappearing down the hall.
With a gasp, Rose turned and followed him as quickly as she could. After laying Elanor down gently, Sam did so too.
The sounds of running feet grew farther away, as Elanor lay there, wanting more than anything to go help her mother and father. So, she hauled herself to her feet, shaking the giddiness away. She found her father's cane by the door, and used it to aid her in hobbling out of the barren room.
She listened, and hearing shouts from the study, headed in that direction.
The sight that greeted her eyes when she reached the study was worse than whatever horrific scenarios she could ever imagine.
Papers and objects were strewn everywhere, every box and chest opened and emptied. Her parents, as well as pretty much the rest of the household who had been alerted by the noise, were standing rigid, as still as stone statues, fear etched in all of their eyes.
For backed into a corner of the room, stood Frodo holding Sting against his own throat.
He was trembling, with beads of sweat covering his face. The blade was pressed up against his skin, causing a small trickle of blood to drip down his neck.
Elanor froze in fear. She was afraid to speak, dreading that if she did, he would make the move and take his own life in his madness.
However, Sam, knowing that he had to save his one-time master despite the risk, began to speak softly. "Now . . . Frodo . . ."
"No!" Said Frodo loudly, but steadily. "Hush, Sam! This is the only way."
Elanor almost fell to her knees in shock.
This was not an act brought on by insanity.
This time, Elanor noted, even Sam was not able to push any words passed his lips.
Then, without warning and as if some other force, rivers of words rushed into Elanor's mind . . .
*************************************************
"P- please, give me something, anything. J-j-just make it- stop."
. . . . . . . . .
"When can I see the sun again? Didn't I love the sun?"
. . . . . . . . .
"It seems like forever... it's been years since I've seen the outside hasn't it?"
. . . . . . . . .
"Elanor, I know "No matter how dark the shadow is there is always a light and high beauty forever beyond its reach."
**************************************************
Elanor stumbled over to the window and threw open the curtains. It was dusk, and the sun was setting, throwing dashes of light over the darkening sky, made even more beautiful by the twinkling of the first few stars beginning to wink their way into appearance.
"Look!" She shouted to Frodo. "Look out there!" She waited as he shuffled ever so slowly, though still without removing Sting from its precarious position, closer to the window so he could peer out, and feel the evening breeze blowing in and caressing his cheeks.
"See!?" She added hopefully, and then recalled her father's words. "No matter how dark the shadow is, just know that there is always a light and high beauty forever beyond its reach."
Sting slid from his grasp, and fell on the floor with a clatter.
Frodo soon followed, collapsing in a faint.
************************************************** Elanor wiped away the single tear that was sliding down her cheek.
Before leaving to go to bed for the night, she threw one last glance at Frodo, sleeping peacefully in his bed, a smile, however faint, decorating his features for the first time in years.
Maybe his sleep was uplifted by pleasant dreams?
Elanor could only hope it was so.
Hope was all he had left.
The End.
Here are Skye's exact words:
"I'm sorry if this disappoints you readers but "I have a better use for you" so to speak. I would very much like, instead of continuing it myself, to see your own takes on it. I would love to see you write about this topic to continue or perhaps go back to times I've mentioned. I suppose what I'm asking for are fanfictions to my fanfiction. I've seen it done before and I like the idea. Please anyone who desires to write about this DO JUST THAT!"
And now, I am attempting to "DO JUST THAT!"
I hope it will at least be close to the standards that Skye set with Just Don't have the Heart to End It, but I am going to do my best.
(By the way, ********* indicate going in or out of flashbacks. In some of my other stories, they just indicate changing scenes, but if I left it as meaning just that for this one, it might get a bit confusing.)
*************************************************
She approached him tentatively, "Papa?"
"Did he wake you up again, Elanor lass?" said Samwise, lifted his daughter into his arms.
"I don't mind, but it makes me sad."
"I know, it makes us all sad." Sam fell into silence and Elanor looked at him curiously.
"Is he alone in there?"
"Your mother is with him."
"When might I see him again? I miss him something awful."
Sam smiled sadly, "He misses you too, lass. Perhaps one day, when he is feeling well."
"He has been 'feeling well' less and less it seems, Papa."
Sam did not answer but Elanor saw the tears glisten down his cheeks. She rested her head in the crook of his neck and sobbed.
**************************************************
Elanor sighed, as she thought back to that day. She often did so.
That was back when Frodo's health first started declining rapidly. It used to be only on the anniversaries of Weathertop, Shelob, and the destruction of the ring. He would be ill for that day only, and the next day he was seemingly back to normal. The one day stretched into two . . . and then three . . . and then a week . . . a month . . . a year . . . until Frodo's life had shifted to one long endless nightmare. Elanor shuddered. It wasn't so much his condition, but that she had seen him before he had become like this. She had seen his deterioration. Gradually saw him weakening, his moments of lucidity growing fewer and farther between . . .
A soft moan disturbed Elanor's thoughts, turning her attention back to the prone figure on the bed. Leaning forward, she took the corners of the quilt and pulled them up, tucking them snugly around Frodo's shoulders. His face twitched a bit, and Elanor froze. She took a deep breath of relief when he settled back down.
She was glad he was unconscious. It hurt her when he was awake and suffering, and it actually hurt her even more when he lapsed back to sanity. He suffered then even more, because he could see what he had become. Unconsciousness was always welcome when the pain became too much for him and he became violent.
Violent . . .
When she was younger, she would have never been able to imagine "Uncle Frodo" being violent. But then, now she was not sure if she could really say he was the same person.
She thought back to earlier that day . . .
**************************************************
"NO! Let me go!"
Shrill screams rent the air as Frodo threw himself around his room, thankfully devoid of any sharp objects. But there was still the risk of him hurting himself, so Elanor and her father, Sam, frantically tried to grab him arms to keep them from thrashing, and calm him down if possible. Unfortunately, it was very rarely possible.
"You will not take it from me!" Frodo shrieked, as Elanor had finally gotten a hold on his wrists, but he twisted away causing her to lose her grip.
"Father, help me!" She called to Sam, but she saw it was useless. Though he had, at first, tried just as hard as she had to keep Frodo under control, she could now see that he was tiring. Not physically, but emotionally. His limbs now moved as if through water, and his sight was clouded by grief. As much as Elanor wanted to go and comfort him, she could not spare the time.
Frodo was now covered in bruises and small cuts. It was only by luck that he did not have any serious injuries, as this was a particularly bad spell. Sam had been sitting with him, when Frodo had suddenly mistaken Sam for an orc who was trying to kill him. Frodo had leapt from the bed with the intention of wrapping his hands around Sam's neck and strangling him. Thankfully, Sam had jumped away just in time, while calling frantically to anyone who might hear.
So Elanor hurried in quickly, shutting the door behind her, seeing the situation, and immediately deciding that their only course of action was to try and restrain him and hope beyond hope that this bout would not last long, and oblivion would soon carry Frodo mercifully away.
So here they were, and mercy seemed to be against them.
Suddenly, Frodo halted, exhausted and breathing heavily, his bloodshot eyes staring into nothing. Elanor saw her chance, and diving forward she grasped his arms, pulling them behind his back so he could not use them to harm either her or her father . . . or in this case he himself. However, as she did so, she began to wish she hadn't. Her abruptness seemed to cause him to fall further into insanity. His back arched, and he squirmed in her grip, all the while screaming incoherently.
Elanor looked to Sam for help, but seeing him standing there unmoving with a dazed and saddened look on his face, she knew that at the moment he would offer her no help.
Before she could react, Frodo yanked one of his arms free. She had only time to blink as he turned towards her with crazed madness. She saw one of his fists flailing towards her face . . .
. . . and then nothing.
************************************************
Dolefully, Elanor touched the bruise on her cheek lightly. That had been the first time he had ever actually physically injured anyone that much. Sure, they knew he was capable of it, but somehow they never thought it would be possible that he could render anyone, much less the people who took care of him (whether he knew it at the time or not), unconscious. Ironically, they had been the ones waiting for HIM to pass out.
What a bizarre turn of events.
************************************************
When Elanor's mind fluttered back to awareness, the first thing she realized was that she was still on the floor. The second thing she realized was that her head really hurt.
Then she saw both her father and Frodo staring, stunned, down at her.
Evidently she had not been out for very long, for everyone to still be in the same position, but the expression on Frodo's face was enough for her to wish she had not woken up.
He was gawking at her, unblinking. Suddenly his limbs began to tremble. Barely audibly, she heard him whisper, " . . . Elanor . . . ?"
The room was gripped by silence.
She tried to get up to her feet, but dizziness forced her to lie back down, groaning and holding her head. Sam hurried to her side, lifting her into a sitting position so she could lean against him.
Still, no one spoke.
The quiet was shattered by the creak of the door opening. Rose Gamgee, drawn by the sudden hush, peeked her head in. For a moment, she was clearly puzzled by the fact that Frodo, of all people, was the only one standing.
Suddenly, Frodo, seeing the open door, grasped his chance and bolted for it. Knocking Rosie aside, he dashed through, disappearing down the hall.
With a gasp, Rose turned and followed him as quickly as she could. After laying Elanor down gently, Sam did so too.
The sounds of running feet grew farther away, as Elanor lay there, wanting more than anything to go help her mother and father. So, she hauled herself to her feet, shaking the giddiness away. She found her father's cane by the door, and used it to aid her in hobbling out of the barren room.
She listened, and hearing shouts from the study, headed in that direction.
The sight that greeted her eyes when she reached the study was worse than whatever horrific scenarios she could ever imagine.
Papers and objects were strewn everywhere, every box and chest opened and emptied. Her parents, as well as pretty much the rest of the household who had been alerted by the noise, were standing rigid, as still as stone statues, fear etched in all of their eyes.
For backed into a corner of the room, stood Frodo holding Sting against his own throat.
He was trembling, with beads of sweat covering his face. The blade was pressed up against his skin, causing a small trickle of blood to drip down his neck.
Elanor froze in fear. She was afraid to speak, dreading that if she did, he would make the move and take his own life in his madness.
However, Sam, knowing that he had to save his one-time master despite the risk, began to speak softly. "Now . . . Frodo . . ."
"No!" Said Frodo loudly, but steadily. "Hush, Sam! This is the only way."
Elanor almost fell to her knees in shock.
This was not an act brought on by insanity.
This time, Elanor noted, even Sam was not able to push any words passed his lips.
Then, without warning and as if some other force, rivers of words rushed into Elanor's mind . . .
*************************************************
"P- please, give me something, anything. J-j-just make it- stop."
. . . . . . . . .
"When can I see the sun again? Didn't I love the sun?"
. . . . . . . . .
"It seems like forever... it's been years since I've seen the outside hasn't it?"
. . . . . . . . .
"Elanor, I know "No matter how dark the shadow is there is always a light and high beauty forever beyond its reach."
**************************************************
Elanor stumbled over to the window and threw open the curtains. It was dusk, and the sun was setting, throwing dashes of light over the darkening sky, made even more beautiful by the twinkling of the first few stars beginning to wink their way into appearance.
"Look!" She shouted to Frodo. "Look out there!" She waited as he shuffled ever so slowly, though still without removing Sting from its precarious position, closer to the window so he could peer out, and feel the evening breeze blowing in and caressing his cheeks.
"See!?" She added hopefully, and then recalled her father's words. "No matter how dark the shadow is, just know that there is always a light and high beauty forever beyond its reach."
Sting slid from his grasp, and fell on the floor with a clatter.
Frodo soon followed, collapsing in a faint.
************************************************** Elanor wiped away the single tear that was sliding down her cheek.
Before leaving to go to bed for the night, she threw one last glance at Frodo, sleeping peacefully in his bed, a smile, however faint, decorating his features for the first time in years.
Maybe his sleep was uplifted by pleasant dreams?
Elanor could only hope it was so.
Hope was all he had left.
The End.