Disclaimer: I own Lord of the Rings. * Author is hit in the back of the head by Tolkien's lawyer * Fine, I don't own Lord of the Rings, but the Precious is mine. * Author is decapitated by Sauron * Fine then! The Lord of the Rings belongs to Tolkien and the One Ring answers only to the Dark Lord Sauron. Happy now?
Author's Note: Hey everyone! This note is just to let people know that I haven't fallen off the face of Middle Earth, but I have been having so much to do with theater and final exams that I haven't been able to add to my other story (Welcome Home * looks innocent * Me? Advertise? Never.) and think of a plot. Sorry about that.
By the way, Tolkien gave all of his characters' names a meaning and Frodo and Samwise are "wise" and "simple minded."
Please read and review, no slash intended.
"A Light Where All Others Go Out"
Frodo closed his eyes slowly, trying to block out the sounds of Gollum's feet slapping the ground and Sam's concerned words. He couldn't listen to it anymore. One reminded him of how he used to be and the other was a glimpse of his future. Drifting almost lifelessly, he stumbled and hit the ground. Too tired to break the fall with his hands, he landed on his side and stayed in the tall weeds.
Can't I pretend, just for a little while, that these are the flowers growing outside Bag-End? That I can still hear Sam singing to himself while he works in his garden….and not resent him for it?
As he got up slowly, his formed his hand into a fist, until his bitten fingernails managed to draw blood from his palms; as punishment for ever thinking anything like that about his dear friend. He deserved pain for that, and he knew Sam would never be angry with him. Samwise would only take the resentment silently if he knew.
He had grown to hate the hope Sam held for their journey. How could he not understand that there could be no happy ending? How could anyone be so naïve? Tears of rage and self-pity came to his eyes and burned while he dug his nails deeper into his palms. Sam didn't deserve this.
Sometimes he almost wished Sam would become angry with him and his self-pity and just abandon him. He would deserve it. It was all he deserved. But Sam would never do that.
He was speaking now, in his cheerful voice. "Do you remember your fortieth birthday? Do you remember how Pippin got into the ale?"
Frodo gave a whispered yes as an answer and Sam continued. Frodo knew what his friend was trying to do; he was trying to ignore Gollum and the hatred he held for the pathetic creature. How many times had Sam warned him of the creature's trickery? Sometimes he wondered at their names; Frodo was so "wise" and Sam so "simple minded." They were so misplaced.
But Frodo didn't need anyone to tell him of Gollum's deceitfulness. He could hear the ancient hobbit behind them, muttering evil things to himself or to his Precious. He knew he had lost Gollum's trust when he had saved him from the human archers, when Gollum had guessed the fate of the Ring.
How old is Smeagol? Yes, that was his name once, wasn't it? It changed though…What will Sam call me when I finally bend to the will of the Ring?
He placed one pained foot in front of the other, looking at the small cuts on his tough feet, letting his mind go for a while, at least a part of him would be free of this place, when Sam grabbed his arm, snapping him back to reality.
"You have to sleep, Mr. Frodo," Sam said quietly. "I'll keep watch."
He allowed his friend to make him lie down, being reminded once again how helpless he was, when he didn't even remember how to sleep for himself.
But sleep was far from coming and he could hear the two arguing, now, and he fought and then lost against the desire to cover his ears, just to block out the sound of it.
Think of anything else. Just don't think of this. Remember the Shire, Frodo, and the library at Bag-End.
Frodo took a tour of his smial, feeling the weight of a book in his hand and his soft bed instead of the hard ground, all in his memory as he closed his eyes and was pulled away from the barren wastelands.
Frodo sat quietly in his room at Brandy Hall, reading when he heard feet scrambling down the hall. A young Samwise stood at the door, looking down at his feet. "What's wrong, Sam?" Frodo asked, laughing slightly at the small hobbit.
"I had a nightmare, Mr. Frodo," he said quietly. "There was something under my bed."
"Well, then come here, Sam. Now, there is nothing there," he said comfortingly. "There are no such things as monsters. So what was your dream about?"
Sam looked up at him slightly, with a tear stained face that was much older. Frodo touched his own face, still boyish.
"It's the Ring isn't it?" Sam asked. "You aren't a child anymore. We changed, why didn't you?"
He gazed up past Sam, to his old room, when he realized the small room of the smial had grown into a cave around them. He could hear splashing water and another voice. "You lied, Frodo," it said, "there are creatures in the night. So many, but you need not fear. You are just like them."
"Why didn't you, Mr. Frodo?" Sam persisted. "Are you changing now, Mr. Frodo? You are."
Then, he looked into Sam's eyes and instead of his own reflection saw one lidless, like fire and the other glass like and silver. "He. Will. Have. You."
Frodo screamed, opening his eyes to nothing but darkness. "Mr. Frodo, it was only a dream," Sam said comfortingly. "I'm here, Mr. Frodo, everything will be all right, and we'll be home again soon. I promise, Mr. Frodo." At his friend's touch all thoughts of resentment and anger melted away and tears of fear and guilt rolled freely down his cheeks, now, and he didn't wipe them away. This was his Sam. His hope.
His light where all others go out.