Shadow of a Shade
A/n: I have for a long time wanted to write a Weathertop story. It's the mother lode of angst, and it draws me like a moth to a candle. But for what seemed like eternity, I couldn't find the focus that I needed to write it. Peter Jackson took care of that for me. I wrote this after seeing FotR for the last time, and came back to it after seeing FotR on DVD for the first time. If you happen to have the movie soundtrack nearby as you read this, this fist part was written to Track #7, the second to the beginning of Track #8. As always the slash is where you want it, present or not.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed "Burning Blood" and "What's Simple is True." You people are truly wonderful.
Disc: The story is Tolkien's. All events in the first half are taken from "A Knife in the Dark." The title, incongruously enough, comes from a Gilbert and Sullivan song from "The Mikado."
Sounds crashed eerily against Sam's ears as the dark shadows crept closer. He held his breath, his mind struggling against the fear that was battering at his heart. He drew closer to Frodo, whether to protect or to be protected he did not know. As their bodies touched Sam knew that something was very wrong indeed. He was sure he could feel the dreadful struggle in his master's mind, feel the pull of the Ring wearing away his last defenses. Then, to his complete and utter horror, Frodo vanished. Cold air rushed in to fill the space where he had been pressed up against Sam's body, and the little hobbit shivered as realization struck him.
"Mr. Frodo! NO!" Sam's shout rang out in desperation. It had all happened so quickly that he was only just beginning to gather his wits. The bottom dropped out of his stomach, leaving gaping emptiness. He knew that Frodo must have put on that accursed Ring. How could he help him if he couldn't see him? After all the times he'd swore not to abandon his master, in this last extremity he was the one who had been left behind. He checked the flood of hot anger that rose up in his heart at that thought, telling himself that Frodo surely didn't mean it that way, that it was only that horrible, twisting influence of the Ring that made him do such a thing. Sam's mind churned in confusion, torn between his love and his rage and his helplessness. One single thought bludgeoned his mind, a sentence so short and bleak that his vision blurred. Frodo was gone. He could do nothing. "Frodo," he called again, his voice low and despondent. He did not hoping for an answer.
Without warning the shadows that had surrounded him unnoticed coalesced into five black-shrouded figures. The Ringwraiths swooped down on them, bringing unreasoning terror in their wake, and Sam trembled as they passed. Then they were gone. Their intended prey was elsewhere. The night seemed to darken, filled with unspeakable horrors quickly encroaching on their camp. The circle of their fire grew smaller, its raggedly flickering edges tearing into fluttering tongues of fear. Sam's breath came in tiny hitches, unsure if the enemies were going to attack again or if, worse, they already had what they had come for. The entire night seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for some dolorous stroke. Then it fell! From oh, so far away came Frodo's voice, laden with fear and desperation, crying out, "A Elbereth! Gilthoniel!" A soul-chilling shriek clove the darkness. Sam lost all ability of reason, his trembling mind swamped with a wave of emotion. He was shaking so hard that his vision was blurring, but he could not do anything to stop it. He sank to the ground, held helpless by his fear, unconscious of the other two hobbits beside him, both in a like state.
His watery eyes were momentarily blinded when a curtain of fire bloomed before them. In the wake of the light he heard Strider's voice. "Merry, Pippin, Sam! Get up, get torches. We must drive them off!" Chaos reigned as Aragorn swept this torch before him, driving the Ringwraiths off. They vanished into the night, melting into the darkness like dream-figures. The horror in the air faded along with them. The clearing was once more silent, the atmosphere having been relieved of the ghastly tension. It was over.
Sam let out his breath in a great gasp of relief as the terror was lifted from his heart, but drew his sandy brows together in worry as memory returned to him. Where was Frodo? Did he even live? Sam called his name again and again, his hysteria-charged voice high with panic. Merry and Pippin took the cry, but Aragorn strode off across the hilltop, bending his gaze about him anxiously.
They searched for the remainder of the night, little hobbit voices calling out like plaintive birds, bright torches dancing like fireflies. When the sun rose it did not lighten their heart, despite the success of their search.
***
A weak, panicky whisper penetrated Sam's sleep, and he crawled over to where Frodo lay cocooned in blankets and cloaks. Creeping quietly over to him, Sam's heart constricted within him, giving him an uncomfortable knotted-up sort of feeling. Frodo's pale face was slicked with beads of sweat, his flesh ice-cold to the touch. He moaned, obviously in pain. Sam, unable to bear this, gathered his injured companion up and nestled him into his lap. "Frodo? Mr. Frodo, are you all right?"
Frodo woke, gasping and struggling against the phantasms that haunted his sleep. His eyes opened, but remained somehow distant, as if he saw things other than those before him. Sam murmured, "Easy now, Mr. Frodo quieted, relaxing into Sam with a sigh. Hesitantly, Sam asked, "Is...is there anything I can do Mr. Frodo? Any way I can help?"
With a great effort, Frodo whispered, "No Sam." His voice was cracked, and broke on Sam's name.
Sam's own voice came out choked with despair. "There never do seem to be anything useful I can do, does there? I couldn't protect you from those awful riders; I can't even keep my promise to Master Gandalf. I said I wouldn't lose you, but you're slipping away, I can tell. You're practically dying right here in my arms, and there's naught I can do!" He hid his face in Frodo's curls, miserable and helpless.
Frodo shifted in his arms, trying to get a look at his friend's face. When he saw the tears staining it, he sighed. "Sam, Sam, my dearest Sam, you've done more for me already than anyone else. You can do something useful, Sammie. You're just already doing it. Strider can swing a sword, but he can't keep me smiling through anything. He doesn't know exactly what I like best for supper, and he doesn't fuss over the weight of my pack. He doesn't love me the way you do, Sam. And I love you back, and I could never have gotten this far without you there right next to me."
"But just being your friend isn't enough anymore. My loving you won't keep you alive, Frodo!"
"No Sam, it won't. But it will keep me sane," said Frodo solemnly. "Sam. Believe me. You do more for me than anyone ever has. You've wound yourself 'round my heart and soul, and if I ever woke up to find that you weren't beside me any longer I wouldn't be able to carry on. You're my talisman and my shelter, and above all the best friend I have in the world."
Sam sniffled, wiping his eyes on his coarse sleeve. "I'm dreadfully sorry to burden you with all this, Master, especially when you're so sick."
"Please, Sam, don't. Don't apologize. Just...just stay here with me for a while, will you?"
"Of course, Frodo. I'll stay as long as you want."
Frodo lay quietly, wrapped in Sam's arms. He felt as safe and as protected as he ever had. After a time he whispered, "Sam...Sam, will you...talk to me? About th-the Shire...and the...Sun? I can't...can't see them...it all seems so dark."
"Oh Frodo...I wish we were back there. Then I'd tuck you away under a mountain of quilts and feed you mushroom soup till you were all better. D'you remember that time when you and I tramped across the Woody End, and I got such an awful cold? I was scared out of my wits, but you managed to get us back to Hobbiton somehow. I wish I could do the same for you, carry you back to somewhere safe. We're deep in the Wild now, sir, and I don't think much of it. If we can only make it to Rivendell!" Sam looked down, only to perceive that Frodo had fallen asleep. He shifted his master's dead weight, spooning himself around him. He would stay there all that night, giving Frodo the only thing he had-his love. Perhaps it really was all the he needed. Sam hoped so with all his being.
A/n: I have for a long time wanted to write a Weathertop story. It's the mother lode of angst, and it draws me like a moth to a candle. But for what seemed like eternity, I couldn't find the focus that I needed to write it. Peter Jackson took care of that for me. I wrote this after seeing FotR for the last time, and came back to it after seeing FotR on DVD for the first time. If you happen to have the movie soundtrack nearby as you read this, this fist part was written to Track #7, the second to the beginning of Track #8. As always the slash is where you want it, present or not.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed "Burning Blood" and "What's Simple is True." You people are truly wonderful.
Disc: The story is Tolkien's. All events in the first half are taken from "A Knife in the Dark." The title, incongruously enough, comes from a Gilbert and Sullivan song from "The Mikado."
Sounds crashed eerily against Sam's ears as the dark shadows crept closer. He held his breath, his mind struggling against the fear that was battering at his heart. He drew closer to Frodo, whether to protect or to be protected he did not know. As their bodies touched Sam knew that something was very wrong indeed. He was sure he could feel the dreadful struggle in his master's mind, feel the pull of the Ring wearing away his last defenses. Then, to his complete and utter horror, Frodo vanished. Cold air rushed in to fill the space where he had been pressed up against Sam's body, and the little hobbit shivered as realization struck him.
"Mr. Frodo! NO!" Sam's shout rang out in desperation. It had all happened so quickly that he was only just beginning to gather his wits. The bottom dropped out of his stomach, leaving gaping emptiness. He knew that Frodo must have put on that accursed Ring. How could he help him if he couldn't see him? After all the times he'd swore not to abandon his master, in this last extremity he was the one who had been left behind. He checked the flood of hot anger that rose up in his heart at that thought, telling himself that Frodo surely didn't mean it that way, that it was only that horrible, twisting influence of the Ring that made him do such a thing. Sam's mind churned in confusion, torn between his love and his rage and his helplessness. One single thought bludgeoned his mind, a sentence so short and bleak that his vision blurred. Frodo was gone. He could do nothing. "Frodo," he called again, his voice low and despondent. He did not hoping for an answer.
Without warning the shadows that had surrounded him unnoticed coalesced into five black-shrouded figures. The Ringwraiths swooped down on them, bringing unreasoning terror in their wake, and Sam trembled as they passed. Then they were gone. Their intended prey was elsewhere. The night seemed to darken, filled with unspeakable horrors quickly encroaching on their camp. The circle of their fire grew smaller, its raggedly flickering edges tearing into fluttering tongues of fear. Sam's breath came in tiny hitches, unsure if the enemies were going to attack again or if, worse, they already had what they had come for. The entire night seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for some dolorous stroke. Then it fell! From oh, so far away came Frodo's voice, laden with fear and desperation, crying out, "A Elbereth! Gilthoniel!" A soul-chilling shriek clove the darkness. Sam lost all ability of reason, his trembling mind swamped with a wave of emotion. He was shaking so hard that his vision was blurring, but he could not do anything to stop it. He sank to the ground, held helpless by his fear, unconscious of the other two hobbits beside him, both in a like state.
His watery eyes were momentarily blinded when a curtain of fire bloomed before them. In the wake of the light he heard Strider's voice. "Merry, Pippin, Sam! Get up, get torches. We must drive them off!" Chaos reigned as Aragorn swept this torch before him, driving the Ringwraiths off. They vanished into the night, melting into the darkness like dream-figures. The horror in the air faded along with them. The clearing was once more silent, the atmosphere having been relieved of the ghastly tension. It was over.
Sam let out his breath in a great gasp of relief as the terror was lifted from his heart, but drew his sandy brows together in worry as memory returned to him. Where was Frodo? Did he even live? Sam called his name again and again, his hysteria-charged voice high with panic. Merry and Pippin took the cry, but Aragorn strode off across the hilltop, bending his gaze about him anxiously.
They searched for the remainder of the night, little hobbit voices calling out like plaintive birds, bright torches dancing like fireflies. When the sun rose it did not lighten their heart, despite the success of their search.
***
A weak, panicky whisper penetrated Sam's sleep, and he crawled over to where Frodo lay cocooned in blankets and cloaks. Creeping quietly over to him, Sam's heart constricted within him, giving him an uncomfortable knotted-up sort of feeling. Frodo's pale face was slicked with beads of sweat, his flesh ice-cold to the touch. He moaned, obviously in pain. Sam, unable to bear this, gathered his injured companion up and nestled him into his lap. "Frodo? Mr. Frodo, are you all right?"
Frodo woke, gasping and struggling against the phantasms that haunted his sleep. His eyes opened, but remained somehow distant, as if he saw things other than those before him. Sam murmured, "Easy now, Mr. Frodo quieted, relaxing into Sam with a sigh. Hesitantly, Sam asked, "Is...is there anything I can do Mr. Frodo? Any way I can help?"
With a great effort, Frodo whispered, "No Sam." His voice was cracked, and broke on Sam's name.
Sam's own voice came out choked with despair. "There never do seem to be anything useful I can do, does there? I couldn't protect you from those awful riders; I can't even keep my promise to Master Gandalf. I said I wouldn't lose you, but you're slipping away, I can tell. You're practically dying right here in my arms, and there's naught I can do!" He hid his face in Frodo's curls, miserable and helpless.
Frodo shifted in his arms, trying to get a look at his friend's face. When he saw the tears staining it, he sighed. "Sam, Sam, my dearest Sam, you've done more for me already than anyone else. You can do something useful, Sammie. You're just already doing it. Strider can swing a sword, but he can't keep me smiling through anything. He doesn't know exactly what I like best for supper, and he doesn't fuss over the weight of my pack. He doesn't love me the way you do, Sam. And I love you back, and I could never have gotten this far without you there right next to me."
"But just being your friend isn't enough anymore. My loving you won't keep you alive, Frodo!"
"No Sam, it won't. But it will keep me sane," said Frodo solemnly. "Sam. Believe me. You do more for me than anyone ever has. You've wound yourself 'round my heart and soul, and if I ever woke up to find that you weren't beside me any longer I wouldn't be able to carry on. You're my talisman and my shelter, and above all the best friend I have in the world."
Sam sniffled, wiping his eyes on his coarse sleeve. "I'm dreadfully sorry to burden you with all this, Master, especially when you're so sick."
"Please, Sam, don't. Don't apologize. Just...just stay here with me for a while, will you?"
"Of course, Frodo. I'll stay as long as you want."
Frodo lay quietly, wrapped in Sam's arms. He felt as safe and as protected as he ever had. After a time he whispered, "Sam...Sam, will you...talk to me? About th-the Shire...and the...Sun? I can't...can't see them...it all seems so dark."
"Oh Frodo...I wish we were back there. Then I'd tuck you away under a mountain of quilts and feed you mushroom soup till you were all better. D'you remember that time when you and I tramped across the Woody End, and I got such an awful cold? I was scared out of my wits, but you managed to get us back to Hobbiton somehow. I wish I could do the same for you, carry you back to somewhere safe. We're deep in the Wild now, sir, and I don't think much of it. If we can only make it to Rivendell!" Sam looked down, only to perceive that Frodo had fallen asleep. He shifted his master's dead weight, spooning himself around him. He would stay there all that night, giving Frodo the only thing he had-his love. Perhaps it really was all the he needed. Sam hoped so with all his being.