I feel like a lost kitten.
If you approach me with kindness,
I can't help but follow you. Meow
----
"This hellish land," Frodo mumbled. "First it pierces you, then it freezes you!"
Dropping his weapons and bag, he laid himself against a tree trunk and held his head up to get air. He couldn't feel any foul air anymore...everything to him lately was foul, and he seemed to adapt to it quite nicely. All of the long day had he been searching for Sam, or some sign of Sam. He could barely remember Sam's appearence as it was. It almost felt like he was losing it all, slipping away, forgetting everything that mattered to him.
Frodo closed his eyes and hung his head to his right. He couldn't help but fall into a deep abyss of dreams. At least, in dreams nothing could hurt him.
The Moon beamed down on Frodo, craddling him in Her arms, humming a soundless lullaby. The lullaby was singing to him in his mind...singing to him about the Grey Havens, and about being back home, and singing a tale of his adventure. It sung to him about Sam's will to go on with him to Mount Doom.
Star hung from moon to moon,
smiling, dressed in undying gold.
A chant, a quiver; don't worry I'm near.
And forever our paths will unfold.
Frodo sat up and looked about. That voice...it wasn't in his mind. Out of all the fear that gathered up inside him, he was comforted. He leaned against the tree once more and clasped his eyes shut.
Cold blades, piercing and turning an
eternity in flames...
Your courage and sword,
adorned with blue waves.
Frodo curled down to the ground, enchanted by the whispers in the dark that surrounded him. The tempo of the song stuck to his thoughts, and there tucked him into a deep sleep. The tune danced in his dreams and painted everything in a dim scene. It felt like shades curved and twirled about and tried to attract him. The dark pursued him and he fell forward. He felt air brush against his hair, and brushed his skin. He felt the shapes dance about him and at some points he thought he had made contact with them. It stung him and bruised him, making him sore. Frodo reached his hand out, trying to grab hold of anything he could, trying to save himself from the rocky floor he had predicted would be at the bottom. If there was even a bottom.
"What is going on?" he yelled. "Why do I feel as if I'm really falling, when this is all a dream?"
He opened his eyes to the rock and grass that passed before him. It was a race to the bottom, and he was so far winning.Frodo furiously waved his arms and tried to grab hold of anything. He dug his nails into the dirt and held tightly onto a weak root hanging out, and unfortunately he was still more than a league from the bottom. He could drop, dangerously attempt to climb back up, or stay there.
Frodo whimpered a bit, trying to stop thinking of his soon to be death. His shoulder twitched, and he wanted to feel the wound that he had gotten, but he was paralyzed and wouldn't dare move. How did he fall in the first place? Or the bruise? "Dancing figures," he mumbled. His clothes were torn, and it cried in blood. Frodo winced in pain, and his palms sweat, making holding onto the root more difficult.
"Damn it all!" he shut his eyes and let go. The rush flew from his feet to heart, and he shuddered. He closed his eyes and gripped his shoulder tightly, shielding it. The dim shapes of rocks and bushes became clearer through the rising mists of morning. Frodo's body hit hard through the tangled edges of branches and leaves. Dust aroused and claimed Frodo's motionless body.
Frodo's arms streched away from his body and his legs shook in different directions. He couldn't lift his sore body, or even think through all the pain he fell into it. He wanted to sleep more, but then where would he end up next?
I wonder how it was I ended up here, what had happened, who had done it. It's all so confusing, he squinted at the ground with recoil.I remember leaving Sam, and waking up on a fresh new day, on a completely unknown plain...and how I got there, I didn't know. And now, I'm hear in so much pain on a cold ground...and there isn't any sign telling me why.
Frodo recalled the soothing voice of the lullaby...and the words she sung. The words had a very strange meaning to them, of which he could relate. He rejected it all though, in his mind. He was imagining things, or the land really was evil. Some devilry, if anything. How could he ignore it though? The proof was him there on the ground wounded. Frodo's heart sank, feelings pouring like endless rain. It was one of those rainy days where nothing was right...where it poured so hard it hurt, and you couldn't even understand it's beat.
Frodo felt the ground vibrate though, and through his poor angle on the ground, he saw someone walking out from the misty aurora. The body's structure was so familiar to Frodo, he longed to cry out to the unknown person walking further for help. Hopefully they'd come by his way...but he was still afraid this person might not be trustworthy.
Soon enough...the figure came clear before Frodo. He gasped with whatever strength he had and the most joyous of feeling embraced his heart, and he felt reunited with his old self.
"Mr. Frodo?!" Sam shouted, half near tears and leaning down to help Frodo up. "Master Frodo, what has happened to you? My poor poor Mr. Frodo!" He sat Frodo up right gently and let him rest in his arms. "Your shoulder...it's caked in blood and colored blue...and you're so swollen."
Frodo shook, and hesitantly lifted his hand to Sam's cheek. "Samwise, this isn't a dream I hope..."
"Not at all Sir..."
Frodo's eyes teared up, and he said in a weak voice, "I'm so glad you came...I don't know why I ended up here...but I had been looking for you. And now I've found you...and I never wanted to part with you."
"Now, now...Don't talk so much Mr. Frodo...You're beaten, and I don't wish to see you waste you're last ounce of strength on me."
Frodo didn't reply. He was too involved examining the depths of Sam's eyes, for they didn't look right. They were't the eyes he knew. If anything, it almost didn't feel like Sam at all. He was called out of his reverie by Sam shaking him a bit again. "Master Frodo?"
Frodo didn't reply again, he just laid there. Sam or not, he was in the arms of something other than the cold hard ground. Maybe Frodo didn't think it was Sam because of all the discontent he had had for a while. He was so tired and weak, he would even accept a normal bed from even Sauron himself. But instead, he had longed to be supported by his companion. And here he was, still feeling discontent.
"Mr. Frodo? What's wrong? Am I doing anything?"
Frodo shook his head slowly and smiled, "Not at all! It's just..." Frodo wasn't about to say how he felt Sam wasn't Sam. "I just haven't seen you in so long, and the way I left...I would of thought meeting up again would be different..."
Sam blinked in confusion. Frodo had then realized Sam had no idea what he meant...and maybe didn't even remember how he left in such haste. Frodo made the decision that he had to be cautious. His thoughts trailed off though, when Sam began to hug him.
Frodo without much of an effort, hugged back. Sam didn't smile much, but did continue to speak. "You know Frodo...you've been acting very weird." His dialect changed and it wasn't the gardener he knew. "Do you really not trust me?"
Frodo glared at him and replied, "What're you saying?"
"No no, mustn't get mad!" Sam pushed Frodo away forcefully, and stood up.
Frodo coughed from the dust that flew when he fell. "What is wrong with you?!"
Frodo lowered his yell, and stared at Sam's changed face. It was so cruel, it brought tears to his eyes. Sam's eyes were no longer it's shining brown, but black. Blacker than any night, blacker than the depths of Middle-Earth, blacker than trickery the ring posessed.
Sam walked slowly towards Frodo and kicked his fragile body. Frodo screamed and grabbed hold the ground, wishing none of this had happened. He screamed again, and again, as Sam gave no sign as wanting to stop. Frodo cried and turned, and pleaded, as he had no hope of getting away, let alone even move.
"Lowly hobbit," Sam mumbled to himself. Frodo couldn't believe Sam's words. He felt like he would never be able to stand again, and that his doom was here, in the most unexpected place. When he left Sam, did he really leave this much pain for Sam to express? Yet...Sam seemed to not remember anything about him leaving. This Sam.
Frodo began to push himself up, trying to lift his small weight with his bleeding arms. It was a horrible torture, that came right after another. And it all began with a lullaby...
"And why are you even trying to get up? Will you run? Defend yourself?" Sam laughed and kicked Frodo back down.
Frodo wiped the blood from his nose and tried again. Sam looked at Frodo in disgust, kicking him twice as hard. But it didn't stop Frodo from rising again, and again. His tears didn't matter anymore, nor his aching heart. He paid no heed to the blood that gather under him, or his torn clothes, but only to bring himself back, and try to be Frodo again.
"You're an idiot! A coward! You might as well die here! I almost wish I'd give you pity," he said scornfully, pushing Frodo with his bare foot. "If you die, at least I can take that ring from you. I don't think you'll ever need it again anyway." He grinned.
Frodo looked up at him in hateful, tears. He felt something surge through his body so suddenly, a rush of hurt and smote pride. He stood before Sam with hands at sides, stained with blood and tears, clothes swaying with the dust sailing in the wind. Sam saw Frodo stand with wounds not effecting him. Almost like a matured light bounced off him.
Sam paid no attention to Frodo's attempt to talk. "Stupid Mr. Frodo!" he yelled. "You left me before!" He cried. "You left me, when that was the one thing I wished for last! As if you did not care how you're dear Sam felt!" Sam voice's altered, as if something was controlling him as he tried to let his heart pour out.
Frodo dropped to his knees and stared at Sam in awe. He shook his head and cried out, "Sam, why..." he reached out his hand but Sam only slapped it away.
"Samwise!" he yelled furiously. "Samwise Gamgee! I left you to protect you! Because I love you! Don't you understand?" Frodo felt so desperate and confused, before thinking, he had slipped himself into the arms of Sam.
Frodo felt content for a total of 3 seconds, and Sam screamed in such a rage, that it seemed too unreal. Frodo looked at Sam through frightened eyes as his eyes turned red and scratched at Frodo, and pushed him away madly. Frodo felt pains strike across his chest as he laid on the cold ground once again, thinking of his old Sam. "Samwise..." he mumbled, as Samwise continuedly stabbed at him without second thoughts. Sam scratched and cried until his body was consumed by some unknown dark creature, shapeless and red-eyed. In a clash of thunder, the horrid thing that invaded Frodo's mind had come and gone, and left Frodo behind in undying pain.
Frodo laid lifeless on the ground, eyes unsteady, and fingers twitching. The unwelcoming wind pushed him about, and he cried to himself, "Where are you, my Samwise?" The rest became forgotten in a lonely lullaby...and in Frodo's heart, he forbidded it to be remembered.