Author's Note:
It's been forever since my last update. Wow, I'm so sorry about that. Things have been kind of hectic around these parts; college-like things, work, injuries and such. This is by far one of my favorite projects, and regardless of the fact that I have several other original writings I should be working on, I always seem drawn back to this one here. Gods know I've certainly been working on it lately; though truth be told, it's nothing that I would be able to post here on FFN yet since I've been writing this story out of order. I keep hopping to and fro from rewriting the beginning of the fic to getting down all my ideas for the end. This chapter was in a limbo of sorts for quite a while; most of it was written back a good year ago but I wasn't satisfied with what I had, so I found myself adding more and more onto it at odd times.
I realize that nothing can really ever make up for a nearly two-year lapse between updates… but nonetheless, I hope you guys enjoy this extra long chapter.
(Also, if you want to check out my latest revisions of the beginning chapters, I've been posting them over on LotR FanFic until I fix things up enough to move them over here. I'll be posting a link in my bio page, if any of you are interested.)
You're My Light in the Dark
Chapter 51
The bright morning sun gleamed off the surface of the Forbidden Pool. The water truly did look lovely in the morning light. It was a beautiful shade of a cerulean blue, and you could easily see all the fish swimming about, the very same fish Smeagol had been trying to catch earlier before he got shot. It seems as if my attempts to distract myself from my own thoughts were in vain, for being by the Pool reminded me of a creature that currently lay wounded and of what we are to face with him by our side in times to come. Although I know I have to contemplate things, they are things that I fear to think through. But I have avoided these contemplations for long enough, I'm afraid; they are decisions that I have ignored for too long, an act on my part that is long past due.
I sighed and hung my head, letting my hair fall into my face. As if by hiding myself under the shield my hair provided, I could somehow hide myself from the world… hide myself from my problems. If only one could do such a thing.
What am I supposed to do?
Never in my life have I ever felt like I was at such a crossroads. Do I continue on like I have, going with the flow of things, only stepping in when I feel it necessary? Or do I throw caution to the winds and warp the story I loved long ago into something unrecognizable?
Though this isn't just a story anymore, is it? Five years ago, somehow it's turned into a reality. And perhaps that's what I fear. Do I stray from the path of what I know is to happen? For if I do, I'm not just changing the story, not only am I risking my life and the lives of my friends, I'm also gambling with the fate of the world. Do I dare take that risk?
Samwise Gamgee heaved an agitated sigh, crossing his arms over his chest as he sent an unabashed fulminating glare in Smeagol's direction. The small, ratty and wounded guide lay on a cot on the other side of the room. The helping of food he had been given was now gracing a section of the wall not far from where Sam was leaning against it. Amazing, how such a pathetic creature had enough strength to throw it that far being as wounded as he was. Something about, 'We refuses to eat nasty fat hobbit food,' was what Smeagol had said at the time.
Now he was attempting to sit back up, most likely only to be able to take aim and spit in Sam's general direction. His attempts were in vain, however, as his wound prevented him from doing so a second time, and Smeagol was cursing up and down -- and after about ten minutes Sam could no longer distinguish what the hell the creature was raving on about.
Hands clutched at his sides, it took all of Sam's self control not to go over and strangle him. May the gods forgive him if he doesn't make it through the day without killing the little bastard.
"So you plan to make your way to the great Mountain of Fire," Faramir mused, almost to himself as he continued wrapping a wound on his arm that he had received during the attack earlier that morning. Not once did Faramir look up in his direction, so the Captain didn't end up seeing Frodo's nodded response. "How exactly do you plan on getting there, Master Hobbit, now that your, er, 'guide' is wounded?"
While Faramir's words were not unkind, Frodo didn't miss the slight barb directed toward Smeagol, either. "That I don't know," he replied softly. He glanced in the direction of the room in which he had left Smeagol in Sam's care, and hoped to the gods nothing too violent was taking place in his absence. Then again, Frodo supposed, if a fight was to occur, he would most likely know of it seeing as their arguments were known to get extremely loud. He wouldn't be entirely surprised if even hobbits all the way back home in the Shire were able to hear them in some of their better Battles of Words.
"I see," Faramir murmured. He finished wrapping the bandage, and Frodo leaned over to assist him in tying it in place. Task done, Frodo sat back as Faramir nodded his thanks. "And what of your other companions? Are they to make the journey with you?"
Not entirely understanding what the Captain of Gondor was getting at, Frodo replied, "Aye. That had been their intentions since the very beginning, a very adamant decision on their part, I might add."
"You do not wish for them to accompany you?" Faramir fixed him with a calculating gaze, one that made Frodo slightly uncomfortable. "Not that I would be able to say differently if I were to find myself in your position, Master Hobbit," he said before slipping his tunic back on. "Your journey has been a dangerous one thus far, I assume, from what stories you have told me of my brother and Mithrandir, and surely the perils you are to face are to only grow larger the closer you are to the Mountain of Fire. Surely you wish not to have your comrades near that sort of a horrible danger? That's especially so for your lady friend, is it not?"
Frodo felt his face flush a bit at the implication of his and Kate's relationship, though he made no move to deny it. Faramir continued on before Frodo could but into the conversation.
"My men and I are to return to Gondor in a short while. Your two comrades are welcome to accompany us, if you should so wish it." Faramir stood, tying his sword back to its place at his hip. And for a short moment, Frodo was shocked into silence at the man's words. "While I may not be able to guarantee their complete safety, for I offer not to be a bodyguard, surely it would be a much less dangerous path for them to take?"
Frodo couldn't help but feel that Faramir was only offering this because he thought Frodo's task to be an impossible one; a fool's errand, a journey from which he will never return. And while that may very well be true, it was a very disconcerting thing for Frodo to see those thoughts in the man's eyes. Was it pity? Perhaps it was, and Frodo didn't like it one bit. He was the one who offered to take the Ring; he brought this doom upon himself. He wanted no one's pity… though he wasn't about to disregard Faramir's offer, either.
"I'll await word of your decision, then?"
He glanced up at Faramir and nodded. The Captain of Gondor went on his way, leaving Frodo sitting there amongst the other wounded, the hobbit's thoughts plagued with how to move forward in his journey from there.
The Battle of Helm's Deep was finally over. The last of the orcs had either been slain or driven off, leaving the rock keep in a massive state of decay and ruin. Bodies both human and orc alike were strewn about. It was a mighty task indeed, going through and trying to decipher the survivors among the masses of dead that needed disposing of. What few were found in this way were sent into the care of the women; to the hall where all the injured were gathered to receive treatment for their wounds, and to eat up hearty stews to replenish their adrenaline and fear wearied bodies. It was in this very hall that the Shield Maiden of Rohan found herself, tending to the severely wounded.
"We may have won," Eowyn murmured, "But at such a cost! We have lost so many." She glanced down sadly at the little boy in her charge, slipped his now cold hands from her grasp in order to shut his eyes for the last time. Tears came forth, for this boy couldn't have been more than twelve years old. That fact pained her greatly; he was supposed to have his whole life ahead of him, yet instead it was stolen far too early, by circumstances no one could control. Gathering her wits and drying her tears, she asked for the assistance of a nearby woman, and the two of them moved the boy's remains to the section of the other deceased.
It was then that the heavy wooden doors serving as the entrance to the hall opened once again, revealing two men bringing in yet another fallen soldier. Eowyn immediately ran over, already started on assessing the injuries. Large colorful bruises marred the young man's face; his limbs jutted out at odd angles and were hanging limply. The men grunted with exertion as they draped him gently across one of the few empty cots. Most puzzling for her was the fact that no sword or arrow wound was strikingly apparent like so many of the other wounded.
"What happened to him?" she asked, already on the task of removing his chain mails and tunic. More bruises were to be found under the clothes, these even more nasty looking than the ones on his face. Ugly and painful looking black and blue blobs distorted the young man's skin, the occasional gash or slash mixed into this lovely display as they dribbled blood here and there. There was one gash in particular that was deeper than the others, forming a nice little circle in the muscle of his right shoulder – as if the tip of a blade entered and then was cruelly twisted in even further, carving the area right out…
She grimaced slightly, paling at how painful that must have been.
"That White Wizard Saruman displayed horrible new devilry, milady," one of the men started. "He somehow used fire to crumble our rock keep. Worked, too. This poor feller here got caught under in the debris from the explosion."
The other man nodded. "Aye, we somehow found 'im under heavy stones; couldn't believe it when the mangled boy was still breathin'."
Eowyn nodded slightly in understanding and said, "Thank you, I've got him from here," before turning back to the injured soldier in front of her. The most alarming out of all his injuries were how both his legs plus his left arm were going in abnormal directions. Because those would undoubtedly be the most painful, they would have to be dealt with first, before he woke up… if he ever woke up at all. She took a deep breath, and quickly went to work.
Sam glanced up as I walked into the room, flashing me a small smile. With a quick look around I noticed Frodo had left him and Smeagol by themselves, and that alone made me wonder how Sam could be the least bit happy. At my questioning look Sam explained, "Stinker's asleep… finally."
Sure enough, Smeagol was sprawled across the cot on the other side of the room, twitching every once in a while and muttering nonsense in his sleep. "So he is," I murmured, sitting myself down on the floor next to him. "I think that's the first time I've ever seen him sleep, even with all the time we've spent traveling with him."
Sam nodded in response. "What do you know; Stinker's actually a living thing after all. Do you think he'll starve if he doesn't eat?"
"Er, yeah, I would think so, Sam."
He let out an evil laugh of sorts, a very uncharacteristic thing coming from the sandy-haired hobbit. "Well, let's see how long he lasts without eating 'nasty fat hobbit food'," he said, imitating the sleeping guide and pointing to the lunch that now adorned the wall. He cackled to himself, and I then made a quick mental note not to leave him alone with Smeagol for a while, for it's obviously very bad for Sam's mental state.
That little Stinker is bad for all of our mental states, I mused, and felt the contemplative frown that's been marring my features so often lately fall back into place at the thought.
"Are you alright?" I heard Sam ask. I glanced back in his direction once more, shrugging a bit.
"I'm not too sure about anything anymore," I replied, feeling almost empty inside. At his concerned glance, I clarified, "Talking about things always kept me in perspective. But without Lauren around, I haven't been able to discuss future happenings in quite some time. And keeping everything bottled up… it's been making me go crazy with worry."
"Why's that?" he questioned softly.
"Because…" I trailed off, fumbling for the right words to explain it in a way that he might understand. "… Sometimes I need the reassurance that I'm doing the right thing. It's a comfort having someone there; to have someone have confidence in what you're doing, or to voice concerns, or to bring up other ideas I might not have come up with on my own."
He took my shaking hands within his own calloused ones, and I couldn't help but notice how our hands weren't much different in that latter respect. Only his were calloused from years of gardening, while mine were from a lifetime of swinging about on bars – and in later years, trees -- like a damn monkey.
"So," he began, a clarity of sorts palpable in his gaze and in his tone, "You seek guidance."
I heaved a sigh, relenting. "I suppose so."
Sam's grip on me was comforting; the pressure of his hands on my own helped to calm the tremors. It was then that I realized that Sam was like a steadfast rock in the middle of the vast, wild sea of uncertainty; sturdy, dependable, unyielding. And he held on to me, wouldn't let me get lost or pulled under by the choppy waves. Deep down, I knew that notion to be a true one, and almost against my will, I felt myself relaxing.
"I don't know much about guidance, Kat – Gandalf and Bilbo were always the experts on that. But seeing as they're not here and all, I'll always be willing to lend a listening ear." He gave me a little half smile, and I felt the proverbial mental walls I'd built around these important matters start to crumble.
Oh, was his offer tempting!
I slid my hands from his grasp reluctantly and shook my head. "I'm sorry Sam, but I can't." I made to get up and dash off again – I needed to be alone with my thoughts before I spilt them all onto Sam, which is something that I really can't allow to happen. But as I started to turn away, he did something I wasn't expecting in the least: he grabbed me by the wrist and wouldn't let me go.
"You can't… or you won't?" It was more of a statement than an actual question. "You've been running off a lot lately, whenever the conversation turns toward what may possibly happen."
"It's my duty to change-"
"But maybe it's not!"
"Then why was I sent here?" I asked bleakly. "For what purpose?"
"For Frodo perhaps? … For all of us? You're like a little sister to me, Kat. And I don't know where Lily would be without you and Lauren. Maybe you need no other purpose than that!" His tone was hoarse, desperate. As if he was afraid that the next words out of my mouth were to be that I wished I had never come here to Middle Earth. If that was indeed what he thought, he couldn't have been more wrong about that.
Silence hung about us for the next few moments, the only sound to be heard was Gollum's snoring. Surprisingly enough, we hadn't woken the little bugger with our raised voices. I felt a tear drift down my cheek and I wiped it away with the back of the hand that wasn't being held captive.
"Why do you think I'm doing this?" I questioned, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why do you think Lauren and I went on this horrendous journey in the first place?" I plowed on without giving time for him to answer, "From the moment that the lot of you became as good as family to us, we knew we had to do something, to try and make the whole ordeal as painless as possible. Especially for Frodo; what that poor hobbit had gone through… what he's still going through despite my efforts."
He raised his sandy-colored head up slowly – I'm not quite sure at what point during our fight that he began to look so utterly defeated – but when he lifted his chin and our eyes met, I saw a spark in him, a certainty that seemed to finally dawn on him. "Maybe… just maybe, you're not supposed to change things, Kat. Maybe you can't, even."
"We had always considered that as a possibility…. But Sam, we have changed some things. I'm just not sure if they'll make a difference in the long run. Gollum…" I trailed off, closing my eyes with a sigh, "Had seemed almost promising for a little while. Like he wasn't… going to do what he had originally done. Or perhaps that was just my wishful thinking. But after this…" I motioned to Smeagol sprawled out on the other side of the room, injured, "This whole incident with him getting shot… I don't have a very good feeling about it."
At the mention of Gollum, Sam's expression darkened considerably. "What's he going to do?"
"I dunno, Sam, I've already told you that when there's a change the future's effected. He wasn't supposed to get shot, so-"
He shook his head, cutting me off. "I know that, Kat! But I'm asking you to tell me what you know of what that Stinker was supposed to do," he ground out; the grim determination on his face at that point was almost frightening. "I'm going to help you with this even if it kills me, because I can't bear watching you worry yourself to death anymore! And you know as well as I that Mister Frodo will always trust that little bugger, regardless of what he knows to be true!"
His breathing was haggard, going in quick sharp gasps; and he released my wrist, now grabbing me by the shoulders in order to shake me a bit. Perhaps he wanted to shake sense into me, but it was unnecessary, really. I was already seeing sense, could practically hear the very essence of the word dripping from every utterance that came out of his mouth. After all, that last thought of his was one that I myself had contemplated many a times since Gollum had joined our little party.
And finally, my reluctance broke. Throwing caution to the winds, I said, "He was supposed to betray us; try and kill us."
He blinked owlishly at me for a moment, obviously not expecting an answer from me so quickly, nor put so bluntly. When he recovered, he muttered darkly, "I knew that Stinker would betray us."
"Thing is," I murmured, "That's what he did before, when he hadn't gotten shot. He blames us for that arrow wound, so god only knows what in the hell is going to happen now." I looked Sam in the eyes, feeling weary at the complicated situation. "And this betrayal of his, as bad as it was, it's the only way I can think of to get us into Mordor undetected."
Sam's confusion was apparent, right down to the frown on his lips and the furrowing of his eyebrows. "How is a murder attempt going to get us into Mordor? … Oh." He shot to his feet and threw a glare in Gollum's direction; and now it was my turn to grab him by the wrist, lest he get the idea of smothering Stinker in his sleep. I hardly blame him; it was certainly a very tempting idea, but it was hardly going to solve any of our problems. "He – it…" he trailed off, not really knowing where to even begin, it seemed, "It's that secret way into Mordor that Stinker's been talking about, right? It's not so secret, is it?"
"It's not a secret per se," I admitted, "However; it's a very rarely used path. I can't imagine that anyone would ever dare to use it, not even orcs."
"Then why are we?" he muttered, but then shook his head. "No, never mind that, you would never tell me about this if there was some other way." I smiled up at him a bit, extremely grateful that he understood my predicament. "Is it like those marshes we had to go through?"
I grimaced, knowing he wasn't going to like my answer. "Not exactly. It's going to be darker, more difficult… more dangerous of a path." It was a bit of an understatement, I'll admit, but I couldn't very well have him go crazy on me, could I? No, no I couldn't. And for the next twenty minutes the two of us went over what we were going to do, or rather, how we were going to go about things from then on out. He certainly didn't know the whole truth of things to come, only the extremely watered down version I told him, but it felt nice to have someone helping me make decisions again. It lessened the burden ever so slightly, and for the first time in long while, I didn't feel as if I was loosing my mind.
This would be our first and last time to really discuss (or half-discuss) future happenings, we both knew it. In the end, we came to a mutual decision: we would go the path fate intended, keeping a very close watch on Gollum; and if anything, anything at all, should seem the least bit amiss, those things would be dealt with swiftly and harshly – no matter what it would cost us. Some sacrifices will have to be made if it ever comes to that, we realize. Frodo's been very much attached to Gollum; he thinks he understands the creature since he too has been under the influence of the Ring. I only hope Frodo will see reason if Sam and I have to take matters into our own hands.
But… there's still this small part of me that's afraid, as if things are going to end very badly.
Lauren hiked her trousers up a bit higher, though it seemed like it was a futile task; no matter how high she pulled them up, they were still getting wet. She was simply too small and there was just too much water. It came up to right above her knees, and she was a bit envious of her two companions, seeing as the water was only ankle deep for them thanks to their new tree-wash endorsed heights.
"You know, Merry, you had been right about those ents getting scary," Pippin remarked, kicking his feet and splashing around a bit. He gestured up to the tower, to the balcony Saruman had been holding himself up in during the raid a couple of hours ago. "D'ya wager he'll be coming down any time soon?"
"Doubt it," Merry replied, "Too many angry ents around."
Lauren nodded in agreement. "Probably wouldn't be the smartest move. They'd probably smash him to bits and dance on the remains."
Pippin frowned, "What are you two on about? There's really only Treebeard that's still here. All the other ents left."
"Precisely the point, Pip. One's still too many," Lauren explained.
"Treebeard might seem calm now, but I'll bet if he got his hands on Saruman he would certainly have fun tearing him limb from limb," Merry said, and he came to an abrupt halt when a loud gurgling noise sounded. He and Lauren both looked over their shoulders back at Pippin behind them, and the Took flashed them a sheepish look.
"I'm starved," he said apologetically.
"I would hope so," Lauren quipped, "For a second there I was afraid some orc was rising from the dead." That comment prompted a couple of small grim grins, and then just a moment later Merry fell backwards into the water with a shout. Pippin and Lauren both were doused with water from the splash, and the Brandybuck came up spluttering.
"What the-" he muttered incredulously. "I just tripped over something-"
"Your enormous, clumsy feet maybe?" Pippin piped up helpfully, tossing his head about like a dog in an attempt to get the wetness out of his hair.
Merry sent a half-hearted glare in his cousin's direction – or then again, it might have only been his resemblance to a drowned rat that dulled the effects of it. "No, but thank you for the compliment, Pip." He bent over, peering more closely down within the somewhat shallow depths. "It looks like a crate."
"Crate of what?" Lauren asked, getting closer to have herself a look.
"Dunno," was the reply. His pack was then handed over to her for easier access to the mystery box, and he pulled it up with a grunt. "It's kind of heavy, though," and as he propped open the lid, his face immediately lit up.
At his cousin's excited reaction, Pippin came bounding over as fast as he could, splashing water all over the place with his stomped steps. "Is that some of our home brew?" he said disbelievingly, awed and oblivious to everything around him except the booze.
"Yes indeedy, you bet your arse it is."
"Ho-ho! What a find! I'm very thankful to your enormous feet."
"Shut up, Pip."
"Since he has some of the Shire's best ale, do you think…?"
They grinned widely at each other, happily drunk on just the mere idea of getting happily drunk. They spun around, intent on searching for some more wonderful finds. A few minutes passed and then Merry finally realized with a start… "Oi, where'd she go?"
"Awfully good question," Pippin shrugged nonchalantly in response, completely unfazed and uncaring of Lauren's disappearance. After all, alcohol was certainly more important at the moment. "She couldn't have gone far, though, so I wouldn't worry about it."
"She's got my pack. Where am I supposed to put the loot?"
"You shouldn't have given it to her in the first place," he reasoned.
"True. This probably wouldn't have fit inside it anyway, all my stuff is jammed in there enough already."
In his bent-over position, Pippin's nose was just barely hovering above the surface of the water, intent on finding more crates. As he hummed his agreement, he could've sworn he just saw a speck of green float past his right ear… and then another. He quickly stood back up straight and saw that the green speck was actually an apple.
"Hey Merry…" once he had the Brandybuck's attention, he gestured to the line of apples floating past. Just ahead there was a small alcove in the base of the tower that they hadn't noticed before, and the apples seemed to be coming from there. So the cousins followed the trail of fruit to the alcove, and once they got there, they found a door propped wide open. Inside the door was a room; what seemed to be a storage room, to be exact. And in this storage room were barrels upon barrels stacked atop of one another, plus crates piled high to the ceiling. It was in this room that they found Lauren, head-first in a barrel full of pipe-weed.
"The old coot has a few barrels of Old Toby," she said with a crazy grin as she hopped down. "He may be evil but that white wizarding bastard's got great taste."
"We should share it was Treebeard, right? He's probably never had any before."
Merry was already pulling out his old and trusty pipe from out of his pack, which Lauren had propped up against the foot of the barrel before climbing up into it. He paused for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, no, better not; dead plant and all that, you get me? I don't think he'd understand."
Pippin nodded in understanding. "Oh, I get it," and he then went on to tap his nose in a great imitation of the old ent, "Don't be hasty."
"Exactly," he replied with a puff of smoke, "Bar-hrum."
At that the three all collapsed into a mad fit of giggles, and then proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon smoking and drinking themselves silly. Treebeard popped in to check on them sometime later, and had to marvel at the curious natures of the little people of the world. He thinks he finally understands why Gandalf is so taken with these hobbit folks, though; they were the sort that never failed to surprise you.
