You guys are so awesome! You are so supportive, you make me feel like someone appreciates my writing! I love you all! And so, I give you, Chapter four, even though I may not have 10 reviews, but because all of you are so supportive anyway. It makes me so happy! Thanks again!
Disclaimer: Last night I had a dream I owned Lord of the Rings. But guess what? It was just a dream. I am no closer to owning it than I was last update. Tolkien still owns it.
Warnings: Be prepared for surprise. No sex, slash, or profanity.
Characters: Frodo, Sam, Iona Aranthol, Merry, and Pippin. (You could be on this list if you revieeew me!)
Summary: Frodo falls dangerously ill on the way from Minas Tirith to the Shire. Post-quest.
Author's note: This is the surprise chapter! There may be good surprises, there may be bad surprises, you'll just have to read it and find out!
~CHAPTER FOUR~
It was the most beautiful day I had seen in a while. The sun was shining, and I was sitting by the creek back at home in the Shire. My feet were in the cool water, and I was sitting under the shade of a tree. Then, suddenly, I was in the water. I stood back up, and prepared to strike back, when I heard a familiar laugh. I whirled, and there stood Mr. Frodo.
"Sam!" he cried, "You didn't even hear me, did you?" He was looking at my shocked expression. But I was more shocked by him than by the cold water. He was standing there, right in front of me, looking about as well as could be. Last I had seen him, he was in a bad state. But he was fine now. His eyes sparkled as he laughed.
"Mr. Frodo!" I shouted in ecstasy. "Mr. Frodo, you're alright!" I ran up from the creek and wrapped my arms around him, so happy I was to see him. "I thought you were going to die!"
He returned the embrace. "I'm perfectly fine, Sam," he said, "And so glad to be home." He looked around him, a smile on his face as he took in the familiar surroundings.
I grinned. "It's the best place in Middle Earth," I agreed. Then I looked him over again. He had never looked better since we had left the Shire at the very beginning of all this. Now I was sure it would be just like it was before.
Then Mr. Frodo looked at me, the mirth gone from his eyes, but still joyful. "Sam..." he said softly. He put his hand in mine. "I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you stayed with me. Without you, we never would have come back."
We lay down under the tree for a while, and I could still hear him saying my name softly. We were home now. And we were together. And that was all that really mattered. The Ring was gone, Sauron was gone, and we were free to remain here. Just like it was before. "Sam..." Mr. Frodo's voice was like a breath of wind. So quiet.
"Sam... Samwise Gamgee!" I started awake. Iona Aranthol was bending over me. "Are you awake?" she asked.
I looked up. "Iona?" I asked. I sat up and realized that I had fallen asleep. And that we were not in the Shire. Where were we? Then, I remembered. "Mr. Frodo!" I cried, jumping to my feet. Iona looked down at me with a resigned expression.
This could only mean one thing. I could already feel hot tears coming down my cheeks. "He's... dead?" I asked, "Mr. Frodo's dead? No, he can't be dead. He can't be! You said you would help him! You said you would heal him! How could you let him die!" My voice rose to a shout. Then I lowered it again. "Mr. Frodo can't be dead. Not now."
Iona glanced toward the wagon. "He is not," she said simply, "Not yet. But I can do no more for him. His wound in not that which harms the body as much as it harms his soul." She put a hand on my shoulder. "Try to make him comfortable. Frodo may survive, but it does not seem very likely."
I could not hold back the tears. If Iona was a healer, and she couldn't do anything to help Mr. Frodo, then no one could help him. I thought about the events of the day before. I had been so sure Mr. Frodo would survive.
When Iona came to our little camp, and she thought she knew how to save him, I had felt so hopeful. All throughout that day, she and I had nursed him. We kept Merry and Pippin running errands for us. As afternoon drew near, Iona managed to get a small bit of a different medicine into him. I was overjoyed.
As evening fell, I was exhausted, not having slept all night. Mr. Frodo seemed less hot, and he shook less. He seemed to be improving greatly. "Have some sleep, Samwise," Iona had told me in her soft, mysterious, musical voice not unlike Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien's voice, "You look like you need it."
I had refused quite firmly, saying that I would stay up with Mr. Frodo. But by about nine, my eyelids were very heavy, and, even though I had tried to stay awake, I dozed off several times. At last, I told myself that Mr. Frodo would be alright, and instantly I fell into a deep sleep. Iona must have taken me outside after I had fallen asleep, and laid me in the tent where Merry and Pippin slept. And there I had had that wonderful dream, and I was so sure that Mr. Frodo would be alright while I slept.
Now, I felt more guilty than I had ever felt in my life. He was dying. Almost dead, the way it sounded. And I was sleeping, when I could have been staying with him, trying to help him. Tears flowed freely down my face as I entered the wagon.
I could barely recognize Mr. Frodo. He lay there very still now, and chalk-white. His mouth was slighly open, and his breath came hard and fast, but his chest barely rose. His cheeks were hollow, like they'd been since the attack on Weathertop, but even more so. He looked almost dead. I knelt on the floor beside his bed and put a hand on his forehead. It was cold and clammy. Not a temperature, but not good either.
His eyes opened rapidly, staring upward, then meeting my own. "Sam?" he asked very quietly. His lips barely moved as he spoke, as if even that was a great effort to do.
I took his hand. "I'm here, Mr. Frodo," I said. "You'll be alright, we're going to help you." I didn't want him to know that he was dying, and that he didn't have much longer. And it wasn't exactly lying. We were trying.
"Sam," Mr. Frodo said again, "I won't be alright," he looked at me, bringing a shaking hand up to wipe a tear off of my cheek. "You're crying. I'm going to die."
"No you're not, Mr. Frodo!" I cried, more tears coming, "Not while I have anything to say about it. How does your shoulder feel?"
Mr. Frodo winced, looking towards his left shoulder. "It hurts," he said, "Badly." Then he started coughing. I brought him into a seated position so he could cough more easily. When I laid him back down, he had coughed up a good deal of bloody fluid. It was a bad sign, a terrible sign. Mr. Frodo was going downhill very quickly. "Sam," his voice was now hoarse, "Sam, I'm not-" he coughed again, though not nearly as long or hard as before, "Sam, I'll miss you."
"No!" I cried, "No, Mr. Frodo. Don't talk like that. You're going to get better." I looked into his blue eyes desperately, crying now.
He only smiled sadly and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. But I'm not. I'm not strong enough." He looked very closely at me, his own eyes now full of tears. "Goodbye, Sam."
He launched into a coughing fit. Then, when he was finished, he closed his eyes, laid his head on the pillow, and spoke no more.
~To be Continued~
Wow! this was my longest chapter yet, I think.
I bet you're like, "No! you didn't kill Frodo!" Well, *the authoress smiles evilly.* The next chapter might lighten the mood a bit. But not entirely. Did I kill Frodo? Maybe. Probably. He seems dead, doesn't he? Now, before you stop reading, remember that I didn't say 'yes.' There might be a chance that he's not dead. But if he's dead, he's dead. I don't bring characters back to life.
On a lighter note, I have a character for the next chapter. So, no more names needed. But if you give me more names, I might find somewhere to include them. It'll be a surprise who got the part. So, keep reading, please!
And, tell me how I've done, please! Has my muse (Little Frodo action figure) served me well?