The sky opened up like a tear in black fabric above him. Gandalf felt a
whorl of angry winds overtake him and the great Eagle could barely fight
it. It turned them around, they spun like an old rag in a windstorm and
then regained their path. The Eagle never once questioned the wizard,
knowing well the meaning of this quest. Find the Ringbearer and bring him
to the light. Darker thoughts brewed in Gandalf's mind. He had resolved not
to tell Frodo he would forget and try to coax him to go on some other note.
If he knew he were to forget, he would never consent to going and the fool
would die with all the rest. Another senseless death, no, he could not
allow that. Frodo would live whether he liked it or not. How the ring had
gotten to Sauron, Gandalf only had a faint inkling. Something had overtaken
Frodo and Sam on their quest. Something had taken the ring from them and
left them..... somewhere. And Gollum still had his part, yet, to play,
perhaps, he played it. Gandalf cursed himself for being such a fool in
letting the creature live. He tried to push such senseless accusations from
his mind and scanned the ground which seemed to be crawling with orcs. Like
the many thousands of ants tramping off to war. The two small hobbits could
be easily found there, easily killed, but Frodo was alive, that the wizard
knew. They pressed forward, on into the storm, on into the darkness.
~~~
Frodo's eyes tore open to see the sky reeling above him. He let out a low cry but his voice was hoarse and hurt to use so harshly. He squeezed his eyes shut again wishing for the dark steady dreams. Nothing came and he made another try of opening his eyes. The world was a blur, endlessly swirling above him. He could see the smoke billowing in the sky, there was no sun, nor moon, nor stars. He could not tell if it was day or night but the world seemed so dark, as if in some monstrous troll's shadow. His eyes strayed, he could barely make out the tops of cliffs looming over him.
Where was he? This was not Bag-End. No, of course not. Not Bag-End. Mordor. Memories flooded Frodo's mind and he squeezed his eyes shut again and moaned. He could feel exhaustion weigh heavy on his limbs, effects of Shelob's poison. His neck ached and he did as best he could not to move. There was something else different about him. He felt something missing, some piece of him torn away. He groaned again, something was amiss. Along with the piece of him that he thought was falling away, into darkness, burning, or being wielded by some other power that pained him to feel, he felt something else. Something he could not explain, but the pain overwhelmed him again before he could pinpoint it and he jerked his head to the side. This only sent more surging pain rush through him like a burst of blood, flowing forcefully through all his body. Shots of white light pierced his vision, blackness ensued, his eyes clouded and the world continued to reel.
A few cries escaped his lips until he could bare the pain no longer and cried out, "Sam! Sam! The Ring! It's gone! Sam?" The world slowed in it's nauseating spin and Frodo felt his heart sink. Where was Sam?
Pieces of Frodo's dream floated back to him and he shot bolt upright. The sky spun into an endless whirl of blackness. He felt himself sway and whatever contents that resided in his empty stomach threaten to come back up with full force. He turned away and retched, no food came but the flavor was vile and dragged him back to reality gasping and weeping. He could make out nothing around him, even the dark looming cliffs melted into the smoky sky.
He groped around for something to grip onto and stop his swaying body. He trembled and his unsteady hands gripped the ground until he gave up and collapsed in a heap on the ground. He felt blind, nothing but darkness penetrated his vision, and he cried out for Sam once more not caring who heard him. The only answer was the menacing silence.
Frodo lay there for what seemed like an eternity in darkness. All sorts of terrible thoughts raced through his aching head.
*You will take the ring to Sauron, and you will beg for death before the end!*
Frodo cried out putting his hands to his ears and writhing on the ground. It only sent more painful waves surging through his body, weakening him with the remains of the poison, and made his head pound faster. Doom. Doom. Doom.
*Drums. Drums in the dark.*
Doom. Doom. Doom.
Endless shadow and flame swelling before him. Gandalf's voice. Gandalf was dead, he died for him, and now what had come of it? Frodo cried out again. Had he betrayed them? Taken the ring to Sauron, in his weakness, he had written the doom for all of Middle-Earth.
"No! No, it's not true!" Frodo wailed, but his self doubt began to consume him.
He waited for dark dreams, or death, preferably the ladder, but neither were granted to Frodo. His pounding head soon slowed and the thin haze cleared from his eyes. He lay very still, shaken and cold. The world swayed back into focus slowly like a pendulum coming to a stop. Minutes or years could have past, Frodo did not know, he constantly made pathetic attempts to crawl and find some hold on reality, some anchor, but nothing. He rose, slowly and crawled, then fell on his face and wept into the scorched and barren ground. Where was Sam? Frodo could not bear to think. It brought the contents of his stomach back into an uneasy swirl.
"What have I done?" He wept, "What have I done?"
He lifted his head again, trying to focus on something, anything in front of him. All he could see was the bleak landscape swirled with the shadowy sky in a grey mass, like a merciless ocean swallowing everything into its grasp. Frodo tried to focus and saw a form before him, not too far away from where he first woke up. He had staggered in the opposite direction for some time in what seemed like drunken zigzags and apparently gotten him nowhere. He reached out a hand but the distance fooled him and he could not reach the figure.
He coughed on the dust his face was buried in as his hand reached further and he dragged himself toward the figure. His eyes focused as the world took one last spin and settled into focus. It was a person. Back facing him, curled up in a deep sleep. Sam.
"Sam!" Frodo cried with joy. He received no answer as he waited in utter silence. He dragged himself further, blinded with joy and relief upon seeing his dear friend tears coursed down his cheeks. "Oh Sam I thought you had gone! I thought... I thought..." Frodo's cries came in sobs and slowed as a cold hand gripped his heart. "I thought-" he choked, "You were-" Frodo stopped midsentance.
"Sam?"
The form was as still as ever. Frodo gathered up his energy in one last strive to reach the figure but the well was dry and he collapsed on the ground with a cry. "Sam," he muttered sorrowfully, as that long wished for sleep overtook his exhausted limbs. The poison was still in him and he could no longer fight it and struggle in the dark lands at the same time. Frodo's mind began to slip away as last thoughts of his dear friend clung him to waking. He had to reach him. He had to see- just make sure- just know that he was still- Sleep won in the end.
~~~
Frodo's eyes tore open to see the sky reeling above him. He let out a low cry but his voice was hoarse and hurt to use so harshly. He squeezed his eyes shut again wishing for the dark steady dreams. Nothing came and he made another try of opening his eyes. The world was a blur, endlessly swirling above him. He could see the smoke billowing in the sky, there was no sun, nor moon, nor stars. He could not tell if it was day or night but the world seemed so dark, as if in some monstrous troll's shadow. His eyes strayed, he could barely make out the tops of cliffs looming over him.
Where was he? This was not Bag-End. No, of course not. Not Bag-End. Mordor. Memories flooded Frodo's mind and he squeezed his eyes shut again and moaned. He could feel exhaustion weigh heavy on his limbs, effects of Shelob's poison. His neck ached and he did as best he could not to move. There was something else different about him. He felt something missing, some piece of him torn away. He groaned again, something was amiss. Along with the piece of him that he thought was falling away, into darkness, burning, or being wielded by some other power that pained him to feel, he felt something else. Something he could not explain, but the pain overwhelmed him again before he could pinpoint it and he jerked his head to the side. This only sent more surging pain rush through him like a burst of blood, flowing forcefully through all his body. Shots of white light pierced his vision, blackness ensued, his eyes clouded and the world continued to reel.
A few cries escaped his lips until he could bare the pain no longer and cried out, "Sam! Sam! The Ring! It's gone! Sam?" The world slowed in it's nauseating spin and Frodo felt his heart sink. Where was Sam?
Pieces of Frodo's dream floated back to him and he shot bolt upright. The sky spun into an endless whirl of blackness. He felt himself sway and whatever contents that resided in his empty stomach threaten to come back up with full force. He turned away and retched, no food came but the flavor was vile and dragged him back to reality gasping and weeping. He could make out nothing around him, even the dark looming cliffs melted into the smoky sky.
He groped around for something to grip onto and stop his swaying body. He trembled and his unsteady hands gripped the ground until he gave up and collapsed in a heap on the ground. He felt blind, nothing but darkness penetrated his vision, and he cried out for Sam once more not caring who heard him. The only answer was the menacing silence.
Frodo lay there for what seemed like an eternity in darkness. All sorts of terrible thoughts raced through his aching head.
*You will take the ring to Sauron, and you will beg for death before the end!*
Frodo cried out putting his hands to his ears and writhing on the ground. It only sent more painful waves surging through his body, weakening him with the remains of the poison, and made his head pound faster. Doom. Doom. Doom.
*Drums. Drums in the dark.*
Doom. Doom. Doom.
Endless shadow and flame swelling before him. Gandalf's voice. Gandalf was dead, he died for him, and now what had come of it? Frodo cried out again. Had he betrayed them? Taken the ring to Sauron, in his weakness, he had written the doom for all of Middle-Earth.
"No! No, it's not true!" Frodo wailed, but his self doubt began to consume him.
He waited for dark dreams, or death, preferably the ladder, but neither were granted to Frodo. His pounding head soon slowed and the thin haze cleared from his eyes. He lay very still, shaken and cold. The world swayed back into focus slowly like a pendulum coming to a stop. Minutes or years could have past, Frodo did not know, he constantly made pathetic attempts to crawl and find some hold on reality, some anchor, but nothing. He rose, slowly and crawled, then fell on his face and wept into the scorched and barren ground. Where was Sam? Frodo could not bear to think. It brought the contents of his stomach back into an uneasy swirl.
"What have I done?" He wept, "What have I done?"
He lifted his head again, trying to focus on something, anything in front of him. All he could see was the bleak landscape swirled with the shadowy sky in a grey mass, like a merciless ocean swallowing everything into its grasp. Frodo tried to focus and saw a form before him, not too far away from where he first woke up. He had staggered in the opposite direction for some time in what seemed like drunken zigzags and apparently gotten him nowhere. He reached out a hand but the distance fooled him and he could not reach the figure.
He coughed on the dust his face was buried in as his hand reached further and he dragged himself toward the figure. His eyes focused as the world took one last spin and settled into focus. It was a person. Back facing him, curled up in a deep sleep. Sam.
"Sam!" Frodo cried with joy. He received no answer as he waited in utter silence. He dragged himself further, blinded with joy and relief upon seeing his dear friend tears coursed down his cheeks. "Oh Sam I thought you had gone! I thought... I thought..." Frodo's cries came in sobs and slowed as a cold hand gripped his heart. "I thought-" he choked, "You were-" Frodo stopped midsentance.
"Sam?"
The form was as still as ever. Frodo gathered up his energy in one last strive to reach the figure but the well was dry and he collapsed on the ground with a cry. "Sam," he muttered sorrowfully, as that long wished for sleep overtook his exhausted limbs. The poison was still in him and he could no longer fight it and struggle in the dark lands at the same time. Frodo's mind began to slip away as last thoughts of his dear friend clung him to waking. He had to reach him. He had to see- just make sure- just know that he was still- Sleep won in the end.