Notes from Author:

Jan. 29, 2002: Hullo!

Ah, this is my first fanfic, so please be gentle with me ^_^;; I must admit, that I'm not yet sure just where to story is headed, but I'm pretty sure it'll be Frodo/Sam related. It takes place after the end of the first book/movie. I've rated it PG for now though there isn't much PG situations in it… yet. Like I said, bear with me. Feedback would be nice :3 Enjoy.

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Give Me Strength

By Anna Michalska

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Chapter One: Such a Small Thing



"I know why it is you seek solitude," the taller man looked down upon Frodo. Boromir's eyes looked down at the Halfling, who was acting strangely distant and preserved. There was a look of fear and concern in the Man's eyes as he spoke to Frodo sternly. Frodo couldn't help but to feel somewhat frightened. Boromir clutched the dry sticks he'd gathered tightly.

"You suffer; I see it day by day, but be sure you do not suffer needlessly," Boromir inched his way closer to the Halfling, "there are other roads, other paths that we might take, Frodo."

The little one took a step back. He felt uncomfortable; uncomfortable because of the fact he had to be cautious around someone he thought he knew.

"It would seem like words of wisdom but for the warning of my heart," he spoke, trying to sound certain through his calm and quivered voice.

Boromir's eyes grew wide. "Warning?"

Frodo stiffened.

"I ask only for the strength to defend my people!"

Silence of words followed the sound of dry wood crumbling to the ground, shattering. The sound reflected in Frodo's mind, echoing, destroying his thoughts. He remembered the look on Boromir's face; it engraved itself into the back of his mind: hurt. Frodo couldn't help but focus on the pile of broken wood for he couldn't bear to look upon the Man's face.

His vision became blurry. Frodo gasped as he quickly blinked away the tears and brought his eyes back to focus, back to reality. No, he wasn't with Boromir. No, he wasn't trying to escape anymore.

"No…"

Frodo bent over and started to pick up the fallen wood. He didn't remember when the firewood fell from his arms, or why they crumbled to the ground. All he knew is what he felt, and that was pain, and not only from the slashes and bruises on his body. As his hand grabbed the last stick of wood, Frodo rose slowly and studied the landscape. The sun was setting over the dim mountains of Mordor, and the air became settled and cool. The ground below was mud-colored and rocky; he had to watch his step or he would fall to add more inevitable pain to his already battered body. The smoke from the fires in Mordor grew thicker as the day faded to night. Suddenly, Frodo felt strange in his all-too familiar settings. His hand reached around the top of his chest as he padded the fabric his clothes, as if trying to feel something. His eyes grew wide. Thoughts suddenly turned to fright as he scoured the ground beneath his feet to search for something he'd lost. He shuffled his feet and felt something underneath his skin. He looked under his foot.

"My ring…"

'My ring? My ring… Ring-bearer…' He studied the perfect object.

"Is it not a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt for so small a thing?" Boromir's voice strung low in Frodo's mind.

"So small a thing…"

A tear hit the ring inside the palm of the Ring-bearer.