A/N: Again I thank you all for the reviews! :) Nothing makes me happier than to know what other people think about my fics.
Tangelian: Thank you for reviewing! :) I also can't wait for the next chapter of HOAH, I love that story!
Amrunofthesummercountry: I'm glad you like the fic! I agree that the movie made Gollum too pitiable; I'm trying not to do that for this fic. Gollum is all for himself, and he's a deceitful creature too, IMO. And his actions at the end of TTT (book) are just unforgivable.
Chapter 4:
Sam approached Gollum with care. Strangely, he found that he felt more compassion towards this creature now that he was alone with him. His feelings were a mix of both fear and curiosity: he could still feel the place on his neck where Gollum's hands had gripped tightly; he didn't doubt that a bruise would result. And yet, how curious it was that Gollum had relented almost immediately upon being challenged by Frodo.
"So," Sam began cautiously, "You're that Stinker from Mr. Bilbo's stories." He accused the huddling creature.
Gollum made no response; he continued to crouch in the corner he had sunk into earlier.
Sam waited patiently before speaking again, "Well, since you tried to attack Mr. Frodo… an' you did attack me, I'm going to have to tie you up for the night." Said Sam, "I can't have you wanderin' round here pokin' your nose where it don't belong." He advanced with a piece of rope in hand. With surprising gentleness, he took Gollum's wrists and bound them.
Gollum immediately began fighting Sam, "The rope burns uss, preciouss! It burnsss us!" he wailed pathetically, "Nassty, cruel Elvess!" he continued, "Their rope is mean to uss!" he hissed.
Sam didn't for an instant believe Gollum. He'd heard enough from Bilbo's tales to know how treacherous the creature could be. "Hush your fuss, Gollum!" he threatened, "I'll not untie you until mornin' so you might as well settle yourself down for the night, burnin' rope or no!" he said, "An' if you cause a ruckus and wake up Mr. Frodo, then I'll put you outside and leave your sorry carcass for the Orcs to find!" he finished.
Gollum wept quietly for the remainder of the night. He wasn't being deceitful; the rope did burn him, yet he didn't dare challenge this cruel halfling. It seemed to him that the injured hobbit was much more sympathetic towards his cause.
For his part, Sam wasn't entirely heartless. He knew that this creature was just as far from home as he and Mr. Frodo, wherever home may be. He knew that, like his master, Gollum had been under the influence of the Ring. Suddenly he understood the pity Bilbo had felt for Gollum. He didn't like the look of this creature. But things, often as not, looked better in the light of day.
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The next morning Sam woke before Frodo. He stepped outside of their hiding place, but did not venture far for fear that his master would wake in his absence. Nor did he want to leave Frodo alone in the company of the slinking Gollum.
His hopes of finding healing herbs waned when he took in anew the sight of barren rock, forsaken by any green life years ago. Helplessness was what he felt, and shame. He felt helpless to aid his master, as well as ashamed for not tying a better knot.
Frodo woke regretfully, but to a familiar face at least. Sam sat by his master's side, stroking the dark curls soothingly as he waited for Frodo to open his eyes.
"Hullo, Sam…" Frodo whispered, "Is it morning already?" he asked.
"Good mornin', Mr. Frodo. Yes, it's been light for a few hours now."
Frodo nodded, sighing with regret, "I'm so tired, Sam. If we could but stay here for a few days…"
"We may be, Mr. Frodo. I expect we will, like as not." Sam replied, "I don't know what we're going to do about your poor leg," he said.
"I know," Frodo replied quietly, closing his eyes again, "It hurts so much." He gasped as he tried shifting it, "I can't walk like this."
Sam shook his head, "I know, master, I know. But I haven't worked out yet what we're going to do. I cannot set the bone, I've tried, and I doubt it'd be any easier this morning after it's had time to swell more."
Frodo swallowed hard as he remembered the unpleasant experience from the previous night. He said nothing.
A scuffling noise from the corner brought Sam back to awareness. Gollum was gnawing at the binds on his wrists, spitting out threads in disgust as he went. It was quite a sight to behold, and had it happened under any less stressful circumstances Sam probably would have laughed in spite of himself.
Frodo turned his head to the side, catching a glimpse of the action. A smile brightened his pale face briefly. He turned his attention then to Sam, "Let him go, Sam." He requested, "I wish to speak with him."
Sam glared in Gollum's direction, mistrustful as ever of the strange being. Yet it was his wont to do his master's bidding, and this was no exception. Quickly, he undid the knots that bound the rope to Gollum's wrists.
Gollum rubbed his arms gingerly, all the while glaring in Sam's direction.
"Gollum," Frodo called, his quiet voice contained an evident note of fatigue.
Gollum gave his attention to Frodo for the moment. Frodo: the master of his precious. He saw this as an opportunity to reclaim what was rightfully his, as long as he played along. All he needed to do was gain the hobbits trust, lull them into a false sense of security and soon the precious could once again be his.
Frodo continued then, "Last night, you said you knew these lands. Is that so, Smeagol?" he inquired.
Gollum flinched visibly at the mention of the name Smeagol. "Yess," Gollum answered, "We know thiss land, and secret ways and pathss through the mountains that Orcs have not found; no, preciouss, they have not found the pathss we take." The creature rambled, "But nice hobbitses mustn't go there! It is treacherous, precious. Orcses and ashes!" He groveled.
Frodo nodded curtly, ignoring Smeagol's pleas, "Then you will lead us into Mordor, Smeagol, since you know the way." He thought a moment before speaking aloud to no one in particular; "I understand Gandalf's words now that I see the creature." He mused, "I do pity him, and cannot harm him."
"Yess, yes!" Gollum chimed in, "We are miserable! Miserable and wretched, preciouss. Nice hobbits, be kind to poor old Smeagol!"
Sam was all but outraged, "How can you trust 'im Mr. Frodo?" he yelled, "After what he's done already! He'd kill us both in our sleep, and neither you nor I would be the wiser until it was too late!"
"I know, Sam," Frodo agreed, "Yet, I fear to let him roam free. At least if he is kept close by he can only work so much mischief." He rationalized.
Sam didn't find Frodo's comments very reassuring. It was common hobbit sense to keep danger away from ones self, not invite it along for the journey! But he did respect his master, and admitted that Frodo likely had a greater knowledge than did he on the matter. Sam resolved to drop the argument. Besides, it may take two sets of arms to carry Frodo to Mordor at this rate!
"He's mighty strong, this Gollum, Mr. Frodo." Sam pointed out, "Even though, I don't like the look of him… maybe he could set the bone back in your leg." Sam didn't at all trust Gollum to care for his master, yet it appeared as though the strength this creature possessed might be the only way to save Frodo's leg. Sam realized that there weren't any other options available.
Frodo grimaced at the thought. He hadn't forgotten about his injury, but hadn't realized the dire importance of having the bone set properly before much more time passed. The longer the wound was left open and bone exposed, the greater the risk of infection or lack of blood flow-- which could result in the loss of the limb.
Sam gently laid hands on the swollen leg, carefully searching it for any change in appearance. Already it felt overly warm to the touch, which certainly didn't bode well in Sam's eyes. "Poor Mr. Frodo." he muttered under his breath, "I'm so sorry, sir."
Frodo whimpered at having his leg touched, he felt nauseated at the realization that he would inevitably have to have the bone forced back into place, it was a matter of life or death. If only the circumstances had been different! Had he been forced to face this in the havens of Rivendell or Lothlorien with Strider or Elrond by his side, his spirits would have been much higher. But, out in the wild where there were no healers to be found and no way to properly clean the wound, the thought of having the leg set left him with feelings of foreboding and dread. Nonetheless, he nodded in answer to Sam's question; saying, "I suppose so, Sam. He could do it, perhaps."
"Gollum!" Sam practically shouted at the wretch cowering in the corner, "Come over 'ere, I need your help."
Being obedient as possible, Smeagol skulked over to where Frodo lay.
"You listen here now, Gollum" Sam began, "You see my master's leg?"
"Yess, we sees it, preciouss." Replied Gollum.
"Right. Now, that bone," he said, pointing the protruding matter, "it has to go back into its proper place. Do you understand?" Sam asked.
"Yess, good Smeagol… never tricksess nice hobbits! Always helping, Smeagol is!" he replied.
Sam moved to Frodo's head and stroked back the dark curls, "You tell me, Mr. Frodo, if he causes you to hurt any worse than you already do!"
Frodo chuckled grimly, "I'm sure he won't hurt me any more than anyone else would, Sam." Frodo was well aware that this would be painful, and doubted that having Smeagol set the bone would be any worse than if Sam had done it.
Gollum observed the injured limb for long moments before touching it. He had even less knowledge of healing than Sam had, the difference was that he, perhaps, was physically strong enough to be of some help.
"What'ss it going to do, preciouss?" Smeagol asked Sam, "Mustn't fight us, mustn't bite us, preciouss! Nice hobbit, Smeagol will not hurt nice hobbit if nice hobbit doesn't hurt Smeagol! Poor Smeagol!"
Sam nodded, understanding what the creature meant, "I'll see that he doesn't fight you. Just try to do this quickly, he's suffered long enough as it is. Go ahead now!" he directed, indicating to Smeagol that he was more than ready for this to be done.
Sam then took both of Frodo's hands in his and gave them a reassuring squeeze, "It'll be all right, Mr. Frodo, you'll see." He tried to smile, "Your Sam won't leave you. It'll be over as quick as it's started."
Frodo nodded vaguely. His face was deathly pale, and already beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow. His blue eyes, wide with trepidation and uncertainty, stared unseeingly into Sam's face, "Thank you, dearest Sam." He managed, giving the gardener's hands a firm squeeze in response, "I'll be glad once this is over."
Smeagol, who was growing nearly as nervous as the two hobbits, gingerly placed a hand over Frodo's bone where it protruded about two inches from his leg. He grimaced at the sight of it, and made a hissing sound as he sucked air in through closed teeth.
Frodo tightened his grip on Sam's hands and turned his face away, hoping not to see what was about to happen, and deeply regretting the fact that he would have to feel it, in full force.
Smeagol laid his other hand on the bruised, swollen flesh above the break in Frodo's leg, eliciting a low moan from the Ring-bearer, and in turn a clucking noise from Sam as he tried to sooth his master.
As carefully as he could manage, Smeagol began to attempt to push the bone back into the skin, quickly discovering that it was not as easy of a task as he had anticipated. He had to use a fair amount of pressure to get it to budge at all: the flesh around the bone's exit wound had swollen and the blood from the previous night had dried, creating a sort of seal around the exposed portion of the bone.
Frodo cried out and struggled to free his hands from Sam's grasp, "Stop!" he wailed, "Please, stop…" his voice dropped to a murmur, "Just leave it be!" Smeagol's ministrations revived afresh the torment he had felt when the accident first happened. Pain shot down his leg, to the very tip of his furry toes, and he could feel raw flesh and sinew ripping as the bone was forced violently back where it had come from, igniting a burning as it went. Frodo was too consumed with his own agony to care about what was best for him, at the moment he only wished for it all to stop. He groaned loudly and struggled to retain consciousness, all the while a feeling of nausea was building steadily in his chest. His breath came in short, shallow gasps.
Smeagol continued pushing the bone in as best he could, gripping tightly and pulling the bruised leg above the break to make room.
Sam was beside himself; his efforts to ease Frodo had long ago ceased to have any effect on his master. An animalistic light had come into Frodo's eyes, and he knew only that he was in pain, and wanted desperately for it to stop. Sam, too, wished it could be ended; but he knew that Frodo's only chance at survival now laid in whether or not the injury could be healed quickly, successfully, and without further incident.
Frodo arched his back and a scream tore it's way through his throat, "Sam!" he groaned, gasping to find breath, "Oh, Sam… please make it stop! Make him stop!" Frodo wailed, tears streaming down his face unabated.
"Shh, Mr. Frodo…" Sam tried, "Just you hold on now, a little while longer and it'll be over." He used his own sleeve to dab the perspiration away from his master's eyes. Frodo's dark curls were now heavy with sweat and plastered to his tear streaked face.
"I don't…don't want to wait… for it to b—be over," Frodo shot back.
"Easy now, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed. This was difficult for him to watch, as he hated to see his Frodo in pain. He didn't trust that Gollum was being as gentle as he ought to have been, but at least the creature was getting somewhere with his ventures. The bone was now almost back under Frodo's skin, almost returned to what could be considered its proper place.
The flesh around the break was dark with bruises and crusted with blood and dirt, despite Sam's best efforts to keep it clean. Frodo had begun thrashing about shortly after Smeagol began to work. All fresh blood leaking from the wound quickly became a magnet for the filth lying on the floor of their hiding place.
Frodo sucked in breath's rapidly through clenched teeth as he stared up into Sam's face through eyes blurry with tears. His small body trembled from pain.
Sam continued to hold his master's hands, although Frodo was doing most of the holding at this point, almost painfully so, Sam thought. Frodo squeezed Sam's hands for dear life as he tried to distract himself from the torment. The gardener bent down and planted a small kiss on Frodo's brow. His master's shoulders then came off of the ground involuntarily as he struggled to rid himself of the agony he was in, and a long and sharp cry was released by the Ring-bearer, it tore through the silence of their small hiding place.
At last, the bone disappeared beneath the skin on Frodo's calf, and Smeagol stepped back, wiping his bloody hands into the dusty earth. "Nice Smeagol! Always does what master asks!"
Sam nodded, grateful for Smeagol's help despite the fact that he didn't trust him. "There now, you see Mr. Frodo? I said it would be over soon." Said Sam.
Frodo released an exasperated sigh, which dwindled quickly into more of a whimper. "Yes…" he breathed, "Yes, I know, Sam. Thank you for helping me through it." He said, his voice weaker than before and somewhat rough from crying. Suddenly he felt the nausea that had been building in his chest begin to rise in his throat. "I—I'm going to be sick… Sam," he whimpered, rolling onto his side.
Sam rubbed his master's back soothingly through Frodo's damp cloak as he wretched, bringing up what little he had eaten. "Easy now, Mr. Frodo, let it all up now…" Sam spoke softly, "Don't worry about anythin'," He soothed.
TBC…