The plotline
of "Third Wheel" is the intellectual property of Eljay
and her Padawan AngelinaDaisey
An extremely mild Sam/Frodo fanfiction- more
friendship than slash, really.
Disclaimer: This piece of fanfiction borrows
material from the movie The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers by Peter Jackson
and the book of the same name by J.R.R. Tolkien. It
is completely unauthorized to do so. We make no profit off this piece.
****
Third Wheel
I hate this place. There's nothing good that I can think to say of it,
except that Mr. Frodo is here with me.
I'm meant to be asleep. After all: "Must walk looooong
waaaaaay before the Eye stop watching us, Precioussssssss," or so says our slimy guide. Even so,
no sleep will come to me here. I shift to the side, trying to arrange myself so
that there isn't something digging into me, damn rocks. Oh, Shire! What
wouldn't I give for a mug of ale and a soft bed! All right, even half a mug. As long as I had me a nice bed, and a good pillow to rest my head
on.
Can't say that I've slept a proper sleep since Lothlórien, actually. Not that I'm complainin', mind you; I'd walk to the end of Middle Earth
for Mr. Frodo if he asked me to, and now he has.
Now that I think of it, if I'm cold, Mr. Frodo must be frozen. He hasn't been
sleeping neither, or eating. He's a lot skinnier now, and I'm worried about
him. I've been worried since we left the Fellowship. I reach over to him,
thinking that maybe we can snuggle up and keep a bit of heat between the two of
us, away from the dirty thievin' floor. Problem,
though-
- Mr. Frodo isn't there.
I sit up and clutch my Eleven Cloak, cold panic squeezing at my heart. What
if Faramir took him away, and has the Ring? I'm every
bit the fool my Gaffer tells me I am. "Stupid, stupid Sam, how could you
not notice him leaving?" I mutter, smacking my head with my open palm.
I stand up, pulling the cloak over my back. I'll find him; I'll swear my
sword to that.
I pad down the narrow corridor as quietly as I can, noticin'
still how loud my steps are in the gloom of the hallway. I'm not as light on my
feet as Mr. Frodo, but I'm not going to let that stop me. I hear a voice a
little further down, and it doesn't sound human to me. The voice laughs softly,
and there's no doubt left in my mind that it is Mr. Frodo.
I shuffle towards the noise as quickly and as silently as I can, which I
know is not very silent nor very quick. There's
another room here, and I look inside slowly, hoping that no one will send an
arrow flying through me head.
There he is. Oh, thank the Stars. He's safe.
Mr. Frodo is on the right side of the room, next to a crate of blankets. I
frown. We could've used those, why didn't Faramir
give us those blankets?
But wait- he's not alone. He's on his knees, his face away from me, and
behind him I can see the slimy creature Gollum. I feel like rushing in there
and tearin' him away from that vile creature, but
something tells me to stop. Gollum better not try to hurt him, though, or I'll
end his miserable life before he even gets time to scream, like Mr. Bilbo
should've done so many years ago.
Frodo's voice murmurs something, and I lean my head closer to the door to
hear him better.
"Sméagol, look at me. Look at Master," he whispers, and I can
picture the look on his face while he says it, too much care and too much love
for the likes of Gollum.
"No! Master betrays us! Master gives us to big people!"
"No, Sméagol, I haven't betrayed you. I didn't give you over to
anyone. I am sorry for how Faramir treated you, but I
tried to help. Don't you rem-"
"Stupid big person hate Sméagol, just like Fat Hobbit," the dirty
creature whimpers.
I should go over there and give him a good slap on the face, serve him
right. Fat Hobbit, indeed.
"Sméagol, what did Faramir do to you?"
asks Mr. Frodo. I wonder, why does he waste his
precious sleep-time on that nasty little beast?
"Big persons horrible to Sméagol, pushes him in here and tell him that
he filthy traitor." He looks up, and Mr. Frodo nods, urging him on.
"Sméagol's not a filthy traitor, no, Precious,
no! He follow Master here, good Master, nice Master.
Master needs Sméagol's help, thinks Sméagol. So Sméagol comes to Master, good
Sméagol, to help Master. And they push him in here, they pushes
Sméagol, and they punches him and hurts him and tells him that he a filthy
traitor!"
Gollum finishes howling and hunches back into his little corner, shivering
and making a horrible noise that sounds almost like sobbing. I scuffle over to
the other side of the wide doorway, here I can have a
better view of them. I can see Mr. Frodo's face now, but, unfortunately, some
of Slimer's as well.
He's talking again, and blast it, I can't move or he'll see me, but my
foot's going to go numb if I sit like this.
"You're not a traitor, Sméagol, thank you for coming to save me. I
know that you're not a traitor, and I'm trying to convince Faramir
of the same. That's what I was trying to do yesterday, Sméagol, when they took
you away. He wasn't listening to me, and his guards are everywhere." He
stopped, and pushed a piece of hair out of his eyes, which look to me
suspiciously like they're shimmerin' on tears, but it
can't be. It's the light.
It has to be the light.
"If I'd tried to save you, we'd both have been full of arrows faster
than you could blink. I'm sorry, I know it looked bad, but Master doesn't hate
you, nor did Master try to betray you." He pauses, and smiles, and I can
feel a lump of something cold and hard push its way into my heart like that Ringwraith's blade did into Mr. Frodo's shoulder. That's
the first time I've seen Mr. Frodo smile since we left the fellowship, and it's
for Gollum?
I edge closer, hoping that Mr. Frodo isn't looking. He's not.
"Master- Master no betray Sméagol?" says
Gollum, looking up. His eyes gleam in the light, and I can't
see nothin' in them, just the light, shinin' back. It's disturbing, that is. Reminds me of Rosie's kitten. Must be at a
different angle for Mr. Frodo, though, because he looks mighty pleased.
"No, Sméagol, Master did not betray you, nor does he plan to." He
leans over, and part of me wishes that it's to strangle him. I know we need
him, as a guide and such, but we can get on without him, right?
Of course, it was only a part of me; the rest of me noticed the kind words
and the smile and knew that it wasn't strangling he had on his mind.
His hand comes down on Gollum's shoulder, and I see Gollum stiffen as if
cursed. (I can only wish...) Same way I feel right about now, actually. Mr.
Frodo smiles again, and moves his hand in a small circle, and I can hear the
rasp of it from where I watch.
Gollum whimpers, and pulls away a little. (Not enough to shake off Mr.
Frodo's hand, though.) He looks back up at Mr. Frodo, and his eyes are worried.
"Why, Master?" he says, but it's obvious to even the dullest lad that
he doesn't care to know why. He's lettin' Mr. Frodo
touch him, and it don't look like he's hatin'
it.
"To show you that you can trust me, Sméagol.
I won't hurt you. I won't betray you, either. I know what it is that hunts you,
for it hunts me as well. The Ring is a horrible thing. I know what you feel.
It's called compassion; do you know what that means, Sméagol?"
The creature looks up from Mr. Frodo's hand into his face, and shakes his
head nay, looking back at Mr. Frodo's hand.
"It means that I know how you're feeling," whispers Mr. Frodo,
leaning in closer to Gollum. "And that ties us together, Sméagol, sure as
any rope could." He smiles again, a real smile this time, and I have to
close my eyes. Does Mr. Frodo know what he's doing? That he's trying to have a
conversation with Slimer?
"Do you understand, Sméagol?" he asks, and his voice is the same
as the one he uses to talk to a Hobbit-lad. The affection is wasted on Gollum,
of course, who cowers still. Stupid thing. He should
know by now that it's not Frodo he's got to worry about...
"Sméagol understands, Master. Sméagol thinks he understands what
Master speaks of."
Frodo squeezes Gollum's shoulder, and I wish that I'd kept my eyes shut.
How can he touch the nasty little cretin without pulling a face?
Why didn't Mr. Bilbo finish him off when he had the chance? It'd have done
Middle-Earth some good, not to mention me. It's plain that the stinkin' creature is out for no good, but as I seem to be
the only one who realises it, I'm going te' have to keep me mouth shut.
Remember your place, Gamgee. You're his gardener,
not his friend.
Voices reach me and I realise that in my
wonderings I've missed part of their conversation.
"Don't you see, Sméagol?" Frodo says, hope in his voice. Gollum
just looks at him, lookin' more like somethin' that I might recognize than I've ever seen him.
My foot continues to protest against the treatment I'm puttin'
it through, but, suddenly, there's a bigger pain burnin'
in my chest and my foot is ignored.
Frodo's hand hasn't left Slimer's shoulder. He
still holds it there, like they're joined or something, staring at each other. No, Mr. Frodo, no.
Once again, I force myself to keep from letting out a little gasp,
something that might give me away as I watch this very private exchange. It
occurs to me that every time we've bedded ourselves down in this past week, it
has been me that moves closer to him, me who reaches out my hand to hold his,
me who holds him at night.
I can't hold it in any longer and I let out a single dry sob, and I fall
back from the doorway. Terrified of being found, I scoot back, slump to the
floor and let it wash over me fully.
He must hate me, really hate me. I love him, and he would rather be with
that… slimy, revolting, twisted, fearsome *beast* than me.
I'm suddenly hit by the fear that I'll be discovered, and I scrabble to
stand on my dead foot, but to me utter surprise they haven't noticed me one
jot, they're still starin' at the other, like they
find something interestin' there that wasn't there
before.
Oh! And I see my Mr. Frodo standin' there, and he
seems so higher than Gollum, than me, than even Mr. Elrond back in Rivendell that it surprises me that he is a hobbit at all.
Finally, I see him pull his hand back from Slimer's
shoulder and smile again at him, those eyes that get him in (and out) of all
means of trouble sparkling just for that creature.
"Let's make a deal, Sméagol," he says, reasonably enough. "I
won't betray you again. I promise on the Precious."
Gollum looks back at him carefully, sniffin' his
nose as if looking for somethin' that's gone off in a
vegetable patch.
"If you trust me, I'll trust you," Mr. Frodo finishes,
his voice low and hitching on the last word.
"On Precious?"
"On Precious."
Gollum stretches his lips over his teeth in what I suppose could be a smile
and I feel like bein' sick all over my feet, but
Frodo seems to be encouraged by it and he smiles back broader, more like the
Hobbit I worked for back in the Shire. He used to smile that smile for me, standin' out there in his garden on a muggy mid-summer
afternoon.
I know that I'm nearly directly in both their lines of sight now, but
neither notice me, all wrapped up in one other as they are. I don't know what
Mr. Frodo's doing, bein' nice to that Slimer, but it's mighty brave of him. I wouldn't touch him
for all of the pipe-weed in the Shire, I wouldn't, and there's no doubt about
that.
"You see now, Sméagol, don't you?" Frodo asks. Eyes wide and
fixed on Mr. Frodo's, Gollum nods, skin gleamin' like
fish scales in the light. "We understand each other," There's a spark
in Mr. Frodo's eyes. "The other one won't hurt you, I won't let
him."
The other one? I used to have a name!
Since when have I stirred up all this anger in Mr. Frodo? He's putting it on,
isn't he? He's not angry with his old Sam, is he? What have I done wrong?
Oh, Mr. Frodo!
Gollum seems somewhat reassured, but he looks like a spooked Hobbit child
still. I have to smile at that. He's spooked by me, that's
good to know.
"Promise?" he asks, his voice tiny and with only a bit of his
slur sounding. Frodo tilts his head to one side and leans in closer to him to
murmur in a voice so sweet that even the Elves would be jealous should they
hear it, "Promise."
Gollum straightens slightly, but Frodo doesn't move away. The wicked thing
stutters once.
"Thank you for helping me," he whispers back, no trace of a slur
or any more hesitation in his voice. Not referring to himself in the third
person. No cries for his Precious. Nothing. Just a
thank you, normal as tea with Merry and Pippin, and I don't like it.
Mr. Frodo smiles again. This one's a different smile, one that I've not
seen before. "You're welcome, Sméagol," he murmurs back, and it
finally hits me which of his smiles that is, and by Elbereth,
it's hard to keep my dinner from jumping out of my mouth.
It's his love smile.
I've seen it before, once even for me. I've seen it plenty of times
actually, mostly for Bilbo back in the Shire, a few times for Gandalf. It warms
you better than a good dinner, it does. It's a big gift, to get one of those
smiles from Mr. Frodo, and he's giving it to Gollum? Slimer
doesn't know how to smile. He doesn't know how to feel. He doesn't worry about
whether or not Mr. Frodo is cold at night.
But he's not done, not even yet. I don't want to see this, but for some
reason I can't close my eyes to it. Not now, not having seen everythin' else.
He leans in even closer to Gollum, their faces are
about a hand's length apart. He looks at Gollum, who looks back, and there's
something new in his eyes, a different sort of shine. He's standing up
straighter than before, also.
I watch Mr. Frodo's other hand reach out for Slimer,
and I almost jump in there and swat it away from him. It lands on his neck, and
I notice again just how cold it is in here. I'm freezing, and I've dropped my
cloak in the hallway.
I swallow, and the noise is loud in my ears. Of course they don't notice.
I'd be surprised if they noticed me running around them naked as the day I was
born with a banner flying over me head. I'm watching Mr. Frodo's eyes, and
suddenly I'm not because they're closed, and they're not where they were a
moment ago, and his head has moved as well and-
The repulsive creature that tried to kill him not a week past, the slimy
little cretin that I'm sure would slit our throats in our sleep, is standing
right in front of me, and Mr. Frodo's got his mouth on its forehead. He's
kissing the nasty thing on the forehead, sweet and gentle as though Gollum were
a young lass.
The cold that I felt in my heart a little while ago is jumping about,
pushing and prodding and spreading t all through me. I want to run. I want to
scream. I want to rip the two of them apart.
Slimer's eyes are closed as well, and
he's shaking a wee bit. His mouth is open, and his breathing is so loud that
I'm not worried about Mr. Frodo hearing me. He makes a small sound, and I want
to walk up to him and throttle his neck until it snaps, to stop the damn noise,
for once and for all.
After an age and a half or so, Mr. Frodo pulls off Slimer
with a soft, wet noise that I can hear clearly even from where I stand.
His other arm is joining the first one around Gollum's shoulders, and Slimer is caught up against him now. He's pulling him
closer, and now I can't see either of their faces, because Slimer's
head mashed against Mr. Frodo's shoulder and Mr. Frodo's face is turned away
from me.
Mr. Frodo is hugging Gollum.
He sweet-talks him, kisses him, and now he's givin'
him a hug. I can't stay here- I've not the strength to see what he's going to
do to Slimer now.
I want to stop him. Blast, I know it's wrong, but I want to save him from
this.
You're his farmer, Gamgee. Just
his farmer. Gandalf asked you to keep an eye on him, and that you have, two eyes most of the time. He did not ask you to be
Mr. Frodo's friend. Elbereth knows he doesn't need
another friend... You're not his friend, Samwise Gamgee, you're everything but. This is none of your
business. Just go to bed, Sam, and forget about this, there's a lad.
I turn around, and it's the hardest thing I've ever done. I walk out of
that room as quietly as I know how, thinking about nothing except for my feet. One foot in front of the other.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Down the hallway. Oh! There's my cloak.
Bit of a slope now, turnin' towards the right.
And I stop. I don't know why, I'm tellin' my feet
to go, but they've stopped. I turn around again, and it's so much easier to do
it now than it was before. I can still see the doorway in which I know Mr.
Frodo is chummin' along with Slimer,
and I want to go back. To go back and rip Gollum away from
Mr. Frodo, to save him from that repulsive thing. It's not safe for him
there, that's it, not safe at all to leave him there all alone with that
creature.
A too-familiar laugh trills down to me and my heart is cold again. No, it's
perfectly safe. Mr. Frodo can hold his own in there. Nothing
there for me to save him from, lest it be himself. He's a wise enough
lad, he can hold his own.
But the real question is- Can I?
I continue down the hall, runnin' now, and I
notice the cold again. Forgotten to put on me cloak in all the brooding.
There's a draft in the room, coming from the window set high on the left wall,
and I shiver as it hits me, much colder than it should have been. I've got to
close my eyes against it; it's almost as bad as Caradhras.
It was then that I noticed that my cheeks were wet.
It wasn't until I tried to make up my sad sham of a bed that I noticed I
was sobbing.
But I made a promise to Mr Gandalf, so long ago
it seems. I won't leave him.
But, sometimes, it's hard…
****