A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews! :) I hope everyone is having a nice holiday and hopefully spending some time with family and friends.
Lotesse: Thank you for the review! Yep, Gollum is in this chapter, and will definitely be very important throughout the rest of this fic. :)
Daena Ness: A stab wound? Yikes! I've never had one of those, thankfully. I've never had a broken bone either. :) Sprains, yes, but nothing broken, thankfully.
Chapter 3:
Frodo was jolted from a light doze by a throbbing pain in his broken leg. He whimpered, and tossed his head to the side, seeking some sort of relief, but found none.
His discomfort turned to fear when he heard a hissing sound from just outside of the shallow cave where he and Sam had taken shelter for the night. Frodo forced his hands to work and he drew Sting, holding the light blade aloft with a shaking hand. He was relieved beyond measure to see that there was no blue tint to its blade. Though, he could only begin to guess what other foul creature roaming the desolate mountains could have been drawn to their hiding place by his cries.
"Yess, preciouss, nassty hobbitses sleeps here…we smells them, yess…" Came a hissing voice from outside the alcove. The drawn out words echoed in the hollow niche before giving way to eerie silence once more.
Frodo's eyes grew wide as he saw a skeletal hand feel it's way inside their hiding place. Soon, a slithery, slinking body followed the hand inside.
"Stay away!" Frodo called out, his voice sounding surprisingly pitiful in his own ears, and he struggled to back away. His heart beat wildly, yet he tried his best not to panic.
Moments of silence followed, and the gangly shadow shrank to the floor, lying in wait, or perhaps ambush.
Several minutes passed, and the shadow began to creep closer, eventually into a small shaft of moonlight.
Frodo knew instantly who this creature was. He had suspected as much from the thin, hissing voice alone, but after catching a glimpse of the pale, slimy skin and large, bulbous green eyes—reflecting light similarly to the eyes of a cat. This creature was, without a doubt, Gollum.
"Don't come any closer, or you'll meet your end!" Frodo threatened.
Gollum laughed, a sickly sound, "What'ss it going to do to uss, preciouss?" He paused to sniff the air, "We smells… we smellss blood, yess, yes we do. Hobbitses blood, my preciouss," And the creature continued to advance, "Nasssty hobbit is injured, we smellss it..."
Frodo could now feel the slimy creature's breath on his face, and smell the stench of old fish on Gollum's breath; it made him gag despite his best efforts not to. He held Sting aloft, ever higher, and continued to threaten, though it took all he had to keep up a brave façade.
The creature knelt, purposefully it seemed, onto Frodo's injured leg. The Ring-bearer faltered then, Sting trembled in his shaking hand and he lowered the blade. He focused on gripping a stone on the ground, and gripping Sting's hilt. Frodo breathed in sharply, prepared to strike at this foul, inconsiderate creature if it did not soon relent. He cried out in spite of himself when Gollum, reached down and twisted his left foot arbitrarily.
Sam started from sleep upon hearing Frodo's cry. Immediately, he was aware of another's presence, "Get back!" he cried, drawing his own sword and holding it against Gollum's throat.
Gollum reached out a cold and clammy, yet surprisingly strong, hand and pulled Sam closer to him. "What'ss it going to do to uss, preciouss? We only wantss…we only wantsss the preciouss!" he hissed angrily, bearing down on Sam mercilessly. "Give it to uss!"
The unsuspecting gardener dropped his sword in surprise, and yelped as Gollum pinned him to the ground and began gnawing at his neck with intent to kill. The wretched creature was surprisingly strong.
Frodo clenched his teeth, and with great effort he rose to his knees, though his leg ached in protest as he shifted it. He somehow managed to position Sting right against Gollum's throat. Black spots danced in front of his field of vision, and his head swam. The blood he had lost earlier that evening had begun to take its toll. Frodo summoned as threatening a voice as he was able and addressed Gollum, "Let him go!" he cried, "You've seen Sting before, and you'll feel its bite if you don't release him now!"
Gollum immediately relented, and scuttled to the farthest corner of the small cave. "Nice hobbitses, don't hurt uss. Mustn't hurt uss, no preciouss." He proceeded to hide his face behind his bony hands.
"Why shouldn't I?" Frodo demanded, he had now risen, and was standing with all of his weight on his left foot. It was terribly painful, but he was surprised at what he had been able to do when the need arose. "Why shouldn't I slit your throat right now?" he demanded again. He was beginning to sway from weariness now that the initial rush of anger and fear had passed. He broke out in a cold sweat as black spots danced in and out of his vision, and he nearly fell.
Gollum whimpered and sank lower into the corner he was in, "Nice hobbitses…" he hissed, and then fell silent.
"Why have you been following us?" Frodo managed, "And what do you want?" he added.
"We wantss," Gollum began in a threatening tone, "We wantsss the preciouss!"
Frodo moved in closer on Gollum, pressing Sting's tip firmly to the pale throat, "You know these lands, is that not so, Gollum?" he ventured.
The creature on the floor groveled, backing against the wall as though he would have liked to have melted into it. "Yess... we knows the pathss, we knows the ways through His landss too, preciousss." croaked Gollum.
Sam was growing tired of the demented creatures reverie, and Frodo was becoming less-menacing by the second. "I say we tie him up to a rock outside, and let whatever wild thing that comes along tonight eat 'im instead of us!" he suggested, gathering a fair length of rope as he approached Gollum's trembling form.
"No... Sam, no. We can't do that..." Frodo begged, "We..." he paused, beginning to sway.
Sam regained his composure and quickly eased Frodo to the ground. "Master, your leg… just look at it. It's bleedin' worse. You shouldn't have tried to stand. Just look at this now…"
Frodo winced; he hadn't realized it in the heat of the moment, but his leg was pouring fresh blood. He closed his eyes tightly, and bit his lip until he thought it would surely begin bleeding as well. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said faintly, his senses failing, "I… he was going to attack if I didn't do something."
"Nothin' to be sorry for, Mr. Frodo. Just you rest yourself now while Sam gets somethin' to clean you up." Sam busied himself in his pack. He soon pulled from the pack his last somewhat clean shirt, and tore another strip of cloth from his breeches-leg, soaking the fabric in water. "Hold on, Mr. Frodo. You've gotten the wound dirty, I've got to clean it."
Gollum peeked out from behind his hands in the corner, awed by the care the stout hobbit was displaying to his wounded companion. There hadn't been a time in his waking memory that he'd seen this unselfish kindness displayed to one being from another.
Frodo's sobs hitched in his throat as Sam carefully cleaned the injury. It wasn't helping, the blood continued to flow unchecked. Sam was finding it impossible to rid the wound of dirt, partially due to the fact that the fabric from his breeches was dirty from his travels through the Emyn Muil.
Frodo spontaneously felt extreme dislike towards Sam for inflicting such pain upon him; yet he felt extremely guilty for having such feelings at all. Sam was only trying to help. Dear Sam. "Where would I be without him?" Frodo asked himself, "You'd be lying drowned at the base of the cliff, or dead from your wounds-- whichever came first." he answered himself.
"There," said Sam, "That's finished. I don't want to mess with it no more." And he secured his shirt around Frodo's leg to provide support and protection from the dirt.
"You're so kind to me, Sam." Frodo muttered, "I'm so sorry to be such a bother."
"Now, Mr. Frodo, don't you go talkin' out 'o your head now." Sam replied, helping Frodo sit up so that he could take a bit of water.
Frodo gasped as his swollen leg shifted position, sending a new flare of pain up the affected limb, "Sam…" he whimpered.
"Easy there, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed, "Just take a bit to drink, and I'll leave you be…"
Frodo thought Samwise sounded surprisingly calm, but in fact Sam had taken great pains to school his voice so as not to frighten his master. He had certainly not forgotten about the slinking creature that had fallen suspiciously silent in the corner opposite the two hobbits.
"Thank you," said Frodo, his wide blue eyes held Sam's gaze, gratitude and trust reflected therein.
"No need to thank me," Sam answered, "Let's get you set for bed again,"
"But Sam—" Frodo protested.
"No 'buts' Mr. Frodo, you've got to rest." Sam chided. He could do no more for Frodo, at least not until morning. The wound would have to be cleansed with more water, and perhaps some sort of healing plant could be found and packed around it. Without care, infection would quickly set in. Sam didn't want to think about the possibilities; the presence of a severe infection would almost inevitably result in him having to cut his dear master's leg off at the knee… a likely fatal operation, as he had no way to stop the bleeding, nothing to prevent further infection, and nothing to give Frodo for pain.
Sam's heart battered against his chest in fear at the thought of losing his master. How could he go on without Frodo? What would become of the Ring? These dark thoughts made him more homesick than ever, and made the task they had to complete seem all the more impossible. Samwise couldn't see himself filling the role of Ring-bearer; he wasn't like Frodo. He didn't think himself strong enough, or worthy of, carrying on this quest alone. If the quest were a pony cart, then he saw himself as the pony, and Frodo as the cart. Without the cart what's the need for a pony? He knew he couldn't be both; he couldn't fill both roles.
"Sam, I… I can't sleep," Frodo whimpered. Though he was in fact very tired, the pain he felt removed any possibility of a decent rest.
"Oh please, Mr. Frodo, for your Sam. Please try… you must save your strength." Sam begged.
Frodo nodded, the action made his head swim again and blackness began narrowing his field of vision. He closed his eyes against the spinning, darkening world and dropped mercifully into a doze.
Sam now turned his attention to the slinking creature crouching in the corner.
TBC...