Disclaimer is the same as in chapter one.
Author's note at the end.
"Hostile Takeover"—Chapter Nine: Fog on the Morning After
Sally shut the door to her room and threw herself upon the bed. All the grief and all the weariness pored out of her in deep, heaving sobs.
Although she couldn't hear him, she knew Frodo stood outside her door. If she let him in he might have words of comfort, some statement of logic that would show her they did the right thing. He might say nothing and simply let her cry, but even that was more comfort than she wanted. She only wanted to let the tears fall.
She didn't want to feel better. She didn't want the truth. She had already had enough of that. She wanted to delude herself again with pleasant fantasies that all was well but she couldn't shut out the image she had seen.
They did not know her true name but the world knew Enaiowen's fate. News of the fashion model's tragic death had circuited the globe to grace newspapers and television screens alike. Sally and Frodo learned of her death from a British news report as they arrived at a bed and breakfast in Andalsnes. Sally watched in stunned silence as a news reporter described it as a 'freak accident'. A fire in a trash bin grew out of control before emergency workers could reach the scene. No one knew why she was in the fire. Only that it claimed her life.
Sally knew and the secret tore at her with grievous guilt. She thought of nothing else until her tears dragged her into a fitful, restless sleep.
* * *
Grigor Grigorovitch Kaplik sat in the Shire Publishing company car watching the revolving door of the apartment building where he had dropped off his charge the previous evening. He glanced down at his watch and took a long drink of hot coffee from a Styrofoam cup. The time was 8:42 a.m. Mr. Baggins never made him wait this long.
Ten years previous, Grigor had just reached detective rank in NYPD. He was at the prime of his career. Each time someone he had arrested was convicted and sentenced he made a notch in the wooden molding around his bedroom door.
One day he came home and found he had no space left to make another notch. He sat on his bed and stared at his mutilated doorframe, trying to find meaning in his milestone.
There was none. He didn't even know why he kept count. He felt almost like he had been competing with someone, a face he couldn't quite remember but he saw often in his dreams. Nothing real.
The big man mourned over the futility of his life. He had wanted to believe he fought the good fight but he only perpetuated a contest with a phantom. The notches in the wood meant nothing. An evil overshadowed his effort and his fight against it resembled a man trying to hold back the tide. Nothing he could do would ever make a difference.
This feeling of uselessness tore at him for a year and a half, eating away his stomach lining and placing a weight on his mind that made his head hurt.
During a routine security detail he looked into the face of Mr. Baggins, a man he had the responsibility to protect. Somewhere behind his clear blue eyes he saw his purpose. The pain in his body turned to an ache. If the good fight existed, its fate would be decided in Mr. Baggins keeping. He could not leave him. He protected him from that night forward, knowing that on this path his life would one day make a difference.
He never found his work menial. He simply bided his time. Over the years that he watched over Mr. Baggins he felt the battle grow closer and closer. Yesterday he saw the first signs that it had begun. The enemy had shown his face and Mr. Baggins readied himself for the attack. The true battle between good and evil had begun.
But Grigor had been left behind and the familiar feeling of uselessness threatened to return to him. Watching over a chatty punker with black and blue hair was not how he'd planned to meet his destiny.
As his thought mulled over his new responsibility, she emerged from the apartment building. She had screwed her face into an ugly, angry frown as she stumbled towards the car on feet that had not yet woken up.
Without a word, Grigor came around the car and greeted her with an open door to the backseat. The sun cut through the morning fog to shine on a frown that would not leave her. She looked up at him with sullen eyes, the same sort of eyes he hid behind dark glasses. "What are you doing here?" she asked grumpily.
No temper, no matter how ill would cause him to waver over his duties. He gestured formally towards the open door reminding her that she should get in. "Mr. Baggins instructed me to escort you until his return," he stated.
The growing brightness caused Piper to squint as she looked up at the stoic giant. She reached into her bag to blindly look for her sunglasses. "That's not what I meant," she replied. She couldn't feel the familiar shape of the glasses case readily enough and gave up her search. She wouldn't need them inside the car. She climbed in and Grigor shut the door after her.
"I don't live here," she continued once he sat behind the wheel. "Why are you here?"
"This is where I dropped you off yesterday evening," he answered without looking at her. "This morning I inquired with the doorman if you had departed. He told me you hadn't so I assumed you were still here."
Piper's eyes widened at the effort he had taken. If her lips had not been so dry she would have whistled. "How would he have known?" she asked. "He's only been on duty since seven."
"Correction, ma'am," he replied, "that would be six. I spoke with the previous doorman before the shift change."
"Geez," Piper said incredulously, "that's taking your job seriously. I hope he's paying you well enough."
"Where to, ma'am?" Grigor asked ignoring her comment about his employer. His wound was too fresh.
Piper didn't answer him. She looked out the tinted window at the building she had just left. She felt betrayed, abandoned by her best friend. She knew this was no game. This wasn't supposed to be fun but they were supposed to be there for each other.
She couldn't even be sure if she would see either of them again. If she couldn't go with Merrick, she would follow him like a hound. "You're supposed to take me wherever I want to go, right?" she asked in a voice that had grown suddenly thick.
He looked up at her through the mirror. She wasn't talking about another shopping trip. "Yes, ma'am."
Piper met his eyes, catching a glimpse of them behind his mirrored lenses. "Does it have to be in this city?"
* * *
Frodo leaned into the door to Sally's room, trying to catch any sound within. He hoped the silence he heard meant that she was sleeping. Enaiowen's death struck her hard as it did him. Her tears did not surprise him but her keeping them to herself did. The loss was one they shared; the mourning should be as well.
He raised his hand to the door to knock softly. The door came open by itself.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the fabric of the curtains in the window illuminating Sally's sleeping form. From the open doorway Frodo could hear her breathing. The sound made his brow crease with worry. Instead of a soft intake of air, she moaned raspily with each breath. She struggled to pull air into the strangled network of tubes that were her lungs. He remembered seeing her use an inhaler but for some reason he never connected that with her being unwell. He had assumed he knew everything about her. What he knew was only half of who she was.
He listened intently to the soft rattling in her chest each time she breathed in. Hoping that it could be corrected with her waking, he reached out slowly to gently shake her shoulder.
"Master Frodo?" she called softly.
Frodo bent down closely to her. He pulled his hand back before he would begin to tremble. The voice was hers. The words were not. Sally was still asleep.
"What happened to you?" she asked in the same distant voice.
Frodo closed his eyes to keep the tears at bay. "Sally…?"
"You look dark," she said. She sounded wounded and lost, groping for something familiar in the darkness. "Where is my dear master of the sweet days in the Shire?"
"Oh, Sam," he said softly. He wanted to take her hand, to touch her cheek, to make some contact but he feared he would break the spell and Sam would disappear once again to the recesses of Sally's mind. How Sam must see him through her eyes! Frodo's heart rended in misery at the thought. So long he had been alone, so long had he missed his dearest Sam, he could not remember that faint image of himself in those days of innocence, those days before—
"Was it the Ring that's done this to you?" The question came, echoing his thoughts. Even though her eyes remained closed in sleep, Frodo felt that Sam could see him now, his burden heavy, his soul weary, exposed. If only it were that simple.
"No…" he whispered, "no, Sam." He had carried the Ring for so long it had truly become a part of him. The Ring had expelled its darkness to accept him as its true master, as its Lord. The changes that had marred him were not its doing entirely. The source of his darkness came from something that could not simply be cast into the fires and be undone.
"It was the world."
A stillness followed his statement. Such quiet that Frodo almost thought he had said nothing at all, that Sam still waited for his answer.
Sally began to stir. Her raspy breathing brought a flurry of coughs that she could not resist. Her sleepy eyes opened wider in surprise when she saw she was not alone. "Frodo?"
He smiled weakly in response, embarrassed at being discovered so close to her. "I'm sorry, Sally," he said, "I didn't mean to wake you."
She squeezed her eyes shut as she stretched her arms out in front of her. Her sleep had refreshed her somewhat. Her tears though not forgotten, were not at the forefront of her thoughts. "That's alright," she said. She opened her eyes and looked at him with curiosity. "Did you need something?"
Frodo shook his head. So much time had passed since he first came in that he had almost forgotten why he had come. "I just thought you should have something to eat."
Sally followed him to the white painted stairs that led down to the kitchen. Her thoughts were vague, about her sleep, about the comfort of a real bed with pillows and blankets, about her dreams. She couldn't recall any specific place or event, only a feeling, warm, loved and needed. Whatever she dreamt brought her the solace she needed.
As she reached the first step, something behind her caught her arm. She turned to see an elderly woman in a pink flannel bathrobe, with white hair in delicate braids around her face. The woman held Sally's hand and smiled at her. Sally smiled back but the woman did not release her. She began to speak but Sally could not understand her. She spoke only Nynorsk.
"Frodo?" Sally called out in a calmer tone than she had expected. "What's she saying?"
Frodo was several steps ahead of her down the stairs but he had turned the moment he had heard the old woman speak. Her voice and manner were muted for the moment but he heard her clearly. He smiled warmly. "She says her lover is coming tonight," he told Sally.
Sally worked hard within herself to not let her discomfort show. She nodded and held her smile. "Okay," she said uneasily.
The old woman continued. She spoke with such sudden passion and with a wonder in her eyes that could only be matched by a child seeing snow for the first time. She held Sally's hand close to her chest, speaking only for Sally's benefit. Her words came to her indirectly through Frodo's soft, warm voice. "When the moon is full and the wind rushes towards the mountain, he appears in a storm."
Frodo grew quiet as the old woman became more intense. Tears appeared in her eyes as she reached up to stroke Sally's cheek. Sally needed little translation here. She saw the old woman longed for days of her youth.
"She caught his favor long ago," Frodo said quietly. He stood behind her now, looking intently at the old woman. "Ever since she has waited for him."
Sally gently took the woman's hand from her face and held it for a moment in the shelter of her own. Sally felt great sympathy for her. "She must have waited a long time," she replied softly.
"I suppose so," Frodo said. The both of them nodded respectfully to the woman as he gently led Sally away.
As Sally descended the stairs, she looked back to find the old woman watching her thoughtfully. She smiled again and raised her hand in farewell.
Frodo's thoughts dwelled on the woman as well but they were much more grave. She spoke of matters that he did not pass on to Sally. She did not simply relate a tale of long lost love. She gave them a warning.
This love of hers resembled a spirit, mysterious and distant. She said that he would come that night but not for her. He planned to claim Sally for his own.
Frodo wanted to dismiss her words as the ramblings of a woman whose mind had weakened with age. But he sensed something familiar in her story. He needed to keep Sally close to him if his feelings proved true. At this point in their journey, he had to take greater care. The night would reveal if he worried needlessly.
* * *
Sally laid awake in the darkness of her room trying to will herself to sleep. She felt safe in the cozy, homelike inn but she knew her sense of security was merely wishful thinking. The Nazgul still hunted them and with their timely appearance at the airport they were only a step behind. They had run out of protectors. Throwing a shoe at them only worked once.
A plan began to form in her head, something sinister. She heard below the faint sounds of the innkeeper clearing away the dishes from dinner. She quietly climbed out of bed. She didn't want Frodo to hear her from the adjacent room. She didn't want him to know. As she passed his door she paused, making sure that she had escaped her employer's detection. She crept away to make a request of their host. A request that came from a darkness within her that she was not willing to acknowledge. She descended the stairs in silence with Piper's credit card clutched in her hand.
* * *
Sleep came to Sally more easily after her conversation with the innkeeper but it lacked the peacefulness it had brought to her earlier. She dreamt of clashing swords, angry fighting in a dark tower and a great weight around her neck.
A loud sound yanked her from her sleep. She sat up in bed and tried to orient herself in the pitch darkness. A flash of lightning lit up her room and revealed Frodo standing in her doorway.
The lightning diminished, casting the room back in blackness again. A boom of thunder followed, awakening childhood fears. "Frodo?" she called timidly, hoping her eyes had not deceived her.
"Are you alright, Sally?" he asked with concern.
"Yeah," she sighed, making her relief apparent. "What's going on?"
Frodo walked over to her window. She barely made out his silhouette in the scarce amount of light that emanated from outside. "The storm has knocked the power out," he told her.
Sally's thoughts drew back to the old woman and her telling of her lover coming in a storm. Frodo had said she believed he would come that night. "Maybe the old lady was right," she mused aloud.
"She was," Frodo replied. He watched intently something outside, diverting almost all of his attention to the trees below them.
His tone was far too grave for Sally to dismiss. She pulled her feet out from the covers and placed them on the floor. "What's wrong?" she asked stepping towards him in the gloom. "What do you see?"
Sensing her near, Frodo raised his hand in warning. "Stay back, Sally," he said in a harsh whisper. He seemed to be afraid someone would hear him.
"Why?" she whispered back. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh in a room that was not very cold.
"Someone is outside," he replied.
Before Sally could react a great amount of clatter, followed by a voice howling in delight came from a room down the hall. Sally recognized the old woman's voice. She did not understand the words but their meaning was clear. 'He's here! He's here!'
Suddenly Sally's room filled with light. A dazzling brilliance so bright it blinded her into oblivion. She didn't feel her feet leave her or the bed catch her, only sweet dreamless sleep.
TBC
Author's note: Thank you for your continued support. You guys are the best! If it were not for fanfiction and the wonderful feedback you give me, I seriously doubt that I would have the desire to write as much as I do (which by some standards is not much). It's all for you (and a little for me).
Chapter Ten: "A Shortcut to Memories" : Sally finally starts asking questions but will Frodo give her answers? A familiar face makes an appearance and clears up a mystery and Merrick begins having a strange dream about a tree. See you here in about a week. Live well and write what's in your heart.
Author's note at the end.
"Hostile Takeover"—Chapter Nine: Fog on the Morning After
Sally shut the door to her room and threw herself upon the bed. All the grief and all the weariness pored out of her in deep, heaving sobs.
Although she couldn't hear him, she knew Frodo stood outside her door. If she let him in he might have words of comfort, some statement of logic that would show her they did the right thing. He might say nothing and simply let her cry, but even that was more comfort than she wanted. She only wanted to let the tears fall.
She didn't want to feel better. She didn't want the truth. She had already had enough of that. She wanted to delude herself again with pleasant fantasies that all was well but she couldn't shut out the image she had seen.
They did not know her true name but the world knew Enaiowen's fate. News of the fashion model's tragic death had circuited the globe to grace newspapers and television screens alike. Sally and Frodo learned of her death from a British news report as they arrived at a bed and breakfast in Andalsnes. Sally watched in stunned silence as a news reporter described it as a 'freak accident'. A fire in a trash bin grew out of control before emergency workers could reach the scene. No one knew why she was in the fire. Only that it claimed her life.
Sally knew and the secret tore at her with grievous guilt. She thought of nothing else until her tears dragged her into a fitful, restless sleep.
* * *
Grigor Grigorovitch Kaplik sat in the Shire Publishing company car watching the revolving door of the apartment building where he had dropped off his charge the previous evening. He glanced down at his watch and took a long drink of hot coffee from a Styrofoam cup. The time was 8:42 a.m. Mr. Baggins never made him wait this long.
Ten years previous, Grigor had just reached detective rank in NYPD. He was at the prime of his career. Each time someone he had arrested was convicted and sentenced he made a notch in the wooden molding around his bedroom door.
One day he came home and found he had no space left to make another notch. He sat on his bed and stared at his mutilated doorframe, trying to find meaning in his milestone.
There was none. He didn't even know why he kept count. He felt almost like he had been competing with someone, a face he couldn't quite remember but he saw often in his dreams. Nothing real.
The big man mourned over the futility of his life. He had wanted to believe he fought the good fight but he only perpetuated a contest with a phantom. The notches in the wood meant nothing. An evil overshadowed his effort and his fight against it resembled a man trying to hold back the tide. Nothing he could do would ever make a difference.
This feeling of uselessness tore at him for a year and a half, eating away his stomach lining and placing a weight on his mind that made his head hurt.
During a routine security detail he looked into the face of Mr. Baggins, a man he had the responsibility to protect. Somewhere behind his clear blue eyes he saw his purpose. The pain in his body turned to an ache. If the good fight existed, its fate would be decided in Mr. Baggins keeping. He could not leave him. He protected him from that night forward, knowing that on this path his life would one day make a difference.
He never found his work menial. He simply bided his time. Over the years that he watched over Mr. Baggins he felt the battle grow closer and closer. Yesterday he saw the first signs that it had begun. The enemy had shown his face and Mr. Baggins readied himself for the attack. The true battle between good and evil had begun.
But Grigor had been left behind and the familiar feeling of uselessness threatened to return to him. Watching over a chatty punker with black and blue hair was not how he'd planned to meet his destiny.
As his thought mulled over his new responsibility, she emerged from the apartment building. She had screwed her face into an ugly, angry frown as she stumbled towards the car on feet that had not yet woken up.
Without a word, Grigor came around the car and greeted her with an open door to the backseat. The sun cut through the morning fog to shine on a frown that would not leave her. She looked up at him with sullen eyes, the same sort of eyes he hid behind dark glasses. "What are you doing here?" she asked grumpily.
No temper, no matter how ill would cause him to waver over his duties. He gestured formally towards the open door reminding her that she should get in. "Mr. Baggins instructed me to escort you until his return," he stated.
The growing brightness caused Piper to squint as she looked up at the stoic giant. She reached into her bag to blindly look for her sunglasses. "That's not what I meant," she replied. She couldn't feel the familiar shape of the glasses case readily enough and gave up her search. She wouldn't need them inside the car. She climbed in and Grigor shut the door after her.
"I don't live here," she continued once he sat behind the wheel. "Why are you here?"
"This is where I dropped you off yesterday evening," he answered without looking at her. "This morning I inquired with the doorman if you had departed. He told me you hadn't so I assumed you were still here."
Piper's eyes widened at the effort he had taken. If her lips had not been so dry she would have whistled. "How would he have known?" she asked. "He's only been on duty since seven."
"Correction, ma'am," he replied, "that would be six. I spoke with the previous doorman before the shift change."
"Geez," Piper said incredulously, "that's taking your job seriously. I hope he's paying you well enough."
"Where to, ma'am?" Grigor asked ignoring her comment about his employer. His wound was too fresh.
Piper didn't answer him. She looked out the tinted window at the building she had just left. She felt betrayed, abandoned by her best friend. She knew this was no game. This wasn't supposed to be fun but they were supposed to be there for each other.
She couldn't even be sure if she would see either of them again. If she couldn't go with Merrick, she would follow him like a hound. "You're supposed to take me wherever I want to go, right?" she asked in a voice that had grown suddenly thick.
He looked up at her through the mirror. She wasn't talking about another shopping trip. "Yes, ma'am."
Piper met his eyes, catching a glimpse of them behind his mirrored lenses. "Does it have to be in this city?"
* * *
Frodo leaned into the door to Sally's room, trying to catch any sound within. He hoped the silence he heard meant that she was sleeping. Enaiowen's death struck her hard as it did him. Her tears did not surprise him but her keeping them to herself did. The loss was one they shared; the mourning should be as well.
He raised his hand to the door to knock softly. The door came open by itself.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the fabric of the curtains in the window illuminating Sally's sleeping form. From the open doorway Frodo could hear her breathing. The sound made his brow crease with worry. Instead of a soft intake of air, she moaned raspily with each breath. She struggled to pull air into the strangled network of tubes that were her lungs. He remembered seeing her use an inhaler but for some reason he never connected that with her being unwell. He had assumed he knew everything about her. What he knew was only half of who she was.
He listened intently to the soft rattling in her chest each time she breathed in. Hoping that it could be corrected with her waking, he reached out slowly to gently shake her shoulder.
"Master Frodo?" she called softly.
Frodo bent down closely to her. He pulled his hand back before he would begin to tremble. The voice was hers. The words were not. Sally was still asleep.
"What happened to you?" she asked in the same distant voice.
Frodo closed his eyes to keep the tears at bay. "Sally…?"
"You look dark," she said. She sounded wounded and lost, groping for something familiar in the darkness. "Where is my dear master of the sweet days in the Shire?"
"Oh, Sam," he said softly. He wanted to take her hand, to touch her cheek, to make some contact but he feared he would break the spell and Sam would disappear once again to the recesses of Sally's mind. How Sam must see him through her eyes! Frodo's heart rended in misery at the thought. So long he had been alone, so long had he missed his dearest Sam, he could not remember that faint image of himself in those days of innocence, those days before—
"Was it the Ring that's done this to you?" The question came, echoing his thoughts. Even though her eyes remained closed in sleep, Frodo felt that Sam could see him now, his burden heavy, his soul weary, exposed. If only it were that simple.
"No…" he whispered, "no, Sam." He had carried the Ring for so long it had truly become a part of him. The Ring had expelled its darkness to accept him as its true master, as its Lord. The changes that had marred him were not its doing entirely. The source of his darkness came from something that could not simply be cast into the fires and be undone.
"It was the world."
A stillness followed his statement. Such quiet that Frodo almost thought he had said nothing at all, that Sam still waited for his answer.
Sally began to stir. Her raspy breathing brought a flurry of coughs that she could not resist. Her sleepy eyes opened wider in surprise when she saw she was not alone. "Frodo?"
He smiled weakly in response, embarrassed at being discovered so close to her. "I'm sorry, Sally," he said, "I didn't mean to wake you."
She squeezed her eyes shut as she stretched her arms out in front of her. Her sleep had refreshed her somewhat. Her tears though not forgotten, were not at the forefront of her thoughts. "That's alright," she said. She opened her eyes and looked at him with curiosity. "Did you need something?"
Frodo shook his head. So much time had passed since he first came in that he had almost forgotten why he had come. "I just thought you should have something to eat."
Sally followed him to the white painted stairs that led down to the kitchen. Her thoughts were vague, about her sleep, about the comfort of a real bed with pillows and blankets, about her dreams. She couldn't recall any specific place or event, only a feeling, warm, loved and needed. Whatever she dreamt brought her the solace she needed.
As she reached the first step, something behind her caught her arm. She turned to see an elderly woman in a pink flannel bathrobe, with white hair in delicate braids around her face. The woman held Sally's hand and smiled at her. Sally smiled back but the woman did not release her. She began to speak but Sally could not understand her. She spoke only Nynorsk.
"Frodo?" Sally called out in a calmer tone than she had expected. "What's she saying?"
Frodo was several steps ahead of her down the stairs but he had turned the moment he had heard the old woman speak. Her voice and manner were muted for the moment but he heard her clearly. He smiled warmly. "She says her lover is coming tonight," he told Sally.
Sally worked hard within herself to not let her discomfort show. She nodded and held her smile. "Okay," she said uneasily.
The old woman continued. She spoke with such sudden passion and with a wonder in her eyes that could only be matched by a child seeing snow for the first time. She held Sally's hand close to her chest, speaking only for Sally's benefit. Her words came to her indirectly through Frodo's soft, warm voice. "When the moon is full and the wind rushes towards the mountain, he appears in a storm."
Frodo grew quiet as the old woman became more intense. Tears appeared in her eyes as she reached up to stroke Sally's cheek. Sally needed little translation here. She saw the old woman longed for days of her youth.
"She caught his favor long ago," Frodo said quietly. He stood behind her now, looking intently at the old woman. "Ever since she has waited for him."
Sally gently took the woman's hand from her face and held it for a moment in the shelter of her own. Sally felt great sympathy for her. "She must have waited a long time," she replied softly.
"I suppose so," Frodo said. The both of them nodded respectfully to the woman as he gently led Sally away.
As Sally descended the stairs, she looked back to find the old woman watching her thoughtfully. She smiled again and raised her hand in farewell.
Frodo's thoughts dwelled on the woman as well but they were much more grave. She spoke of matters that he did not pass on to Sally. She did not simply relate a tale of long lost love. She gave them a warning.
This love of hers resembled a spirit, mysterious and distant. She said that he would come that night but not for her. He planned to claim Sally for his own.
Frodo wanted to dismiss her words as the ramblings of a woman whose mind had weakened with age. But he sensed something familiar in her story. He needed to keep Sally close to him if his feelings proved true. At this point in their journey, he had to take greater care. The night would reveal if he worried needlessly.
* * *
Sally laid awake in the darkness of her room trying to will herself to sleep. She felt safe in the cozy, homelike inn but she knew her sense of security was merely wishful thinking. The Nazgul still hunted them and with their timely appearance at the airport they were only a step behind. They had run out of protectors. Throwing a shoe at them only worked once.
A plan began to form in her head, something sinister. She heard below the faint sounds of the innkeeper clearing away the dishes from dinner. She quietly climbed out of bed. She didn't want Frodo to hear her from the adjacent room. She didn't want him to know. As she passed his door she paused, making sure that she had escaped her employer's detection. She crept away to make a request of their host. A request that came from a darkness within her that she was not willing to acknowledge. She descended the stairs in silence with Piper's credit card clutched in her hand.
* * *
Sleep came to Sally more easily after her conversation with the innkeeper but it lacked the peacefulness it had brought to her earlier. She dreamt of clashing swords, angry fighting in a dark tower and a great weight around her neck.
A loud sound yanked her from her sleep. She sat up in bed and tried to orient herself in the pitch darkness. A flash of lightning lit up her room and revealed Frodo standing in her doorway.
The lightning diminished, casting the room back in blackness again. A boom of thunder followed, awakening childhood fears. "Frodo?" she called timidly, hoping her eyes had not deceived her.
"Are you alright, Sally?" he asked with concern.
"Yeah," she sighed, making her relief apparent. "What's going on?"
Frodo walked over to her window. She barely made out his silhouette in the scarce amount of light that emanated from outside. "The storm has knocked the power out," he told her.
Sally's thoughts drew back to the old woman and her telling of her lover coming in a storm. Frodo had said she believed he would come that night. "Maybe the old lady was right," she mused aloud.
"She was," Frodo replied. He watched intently something outside, diverting almost all of his attention to the trees below them.
His tone was far too grave for Sally to dismiss. She pulled her feet out from the covers and placed them on the floor. "What's wrong?" she asked stepping towards him in the gloom. "What do you see?"
Sensing her near, Frodo raised his hand in warning. "Stay back, Sally," he said in a harsh whisper. He seemed to be afraid someone would hear him.
"Why?" she whispered back. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh in a room that was not very cold.
"Someone is outside," he replied.
Before Sally could react a great amount of clatter, followed by a voice howling in delight came from a room down the hall. Sally recognized the old woman's voice. She did not understand the words but their meaning was clear. 'He's here! He's here!'
Suddenly Sally's room filled with light. A dazzling brilliance so bright it blinded her into oblivion. She didn't feel her feet leave her or the bed catch her, only sweet dreamless sleep.
TBC
Author's note: Thank you for your continued support. You guys are the best! If it were not for fanfiction and the wonderful feedback you give me, I seriously doubt that I would have the desire to write as much as I do (which by some standards is not much). It's all for you (and a little for me).
Chapter Ten: "A Shortcut to Memories" : Sally finally starts asking questions but will Frodo give her answers? A familiar face makes an appearance and clears up a mystery and Merrick begins having a strange dream about a tree. See you here in about a week. Live well and write what's in your heart.