"Sam! Coming, don't be frightened!" Frodo remembered saying the same long
ago, what felt like an age ago. A small Samwise was frightened of imagined
demons at Bag-End one day. He had to protect little Sam then. He had to
help him now.
When he found Sam he was still lying against the rock wall but his eyes were clenched in pain. His back arched and his arms tight to his sides. "Oh please don't leave me!" he cried.
Frodo fell to his knees and put his hand to Sam's forehead, "Shh, it's just a dream. Shh."
Sam's eyes fluttered open and his body eased. He looked around wildly until his vision settled on his master. "Frodo?"
Frodo nodded holding in his tears, "I'm here, Sam."
"I dreamt they took you away."
"Who?"
Sam gulped and looked away, "Nuthin, sir. I was just dreamin' is all."
"I know, Sam, but tell me."
"It don't make no sense."
"Dreams never do," Frodo soothed tearing a piece of his sleeve and folding it into a long band. He soaked it in the water and wrapped it around Sam's burning forehead. Sam barely took notice to Frodo's ministrations, too frightened by the dream and delirious by the fever. Lack of water effected his wits as well as energy and sight, his mind clouding dreams and reality blurring.
"The elves."
Frodo tried to hide his surprise, "Why would they take me away from you?"
"I don't know," Sam turned away blushing at his own foolishness. "I told you it don't make no sense."
"Shh, not true, Sam. I'm sure the elves weren't trying to hurt me, or you."
"Course not," Sam was almost offended by the thought. "But they- they did, take you away that is. An' I was standin' alone on all this sand. It was like the end a' the world, sir, if you follow. Like there was nothin' beyond that but one big river. So very big. It was all water, just water. Out as far as the eye could see, that's how much water there was. An' that's where you went, an' I couldn't follow. You said I couldn't."
"Well hush now, don't think about it. You have a bit of a fever you know. Here have a drink." Frodo pulled out the canteen.
Sam's eyes widened. By his own memory there was only enough left in that canteen for one. He backed away. "No, sir. You can have it."
"Now, Sam," Frodo was growing agitated and very concerned. "You old fool, you haven't been drinking have you. All that time I was too weak to even notice. You know if I had any say in it, I would have never let you give it all to me."
"Yes sir, but you are carryin' that-" Sam stopped. "Well, it would still do me better to see you have it. Then I'll go refill it." Sam made to stand, unaware of his own weakness and fell back to his knees, the world reeling, his vision blurring again. Frodo darted to his side and eased Sam to the ground. He looked into those round eyes now clouded and unfocussed.
"Sam? Sam!"
Sam's head lolled and he looked about blindly.
"Can you see me, Sam! Can you hear me!"
Sam's hand gripped Frodo's shoulder deperately as if letting go would mean him falling into a dark abyss. "Mr. Frodo? You sound so far away. Where are you?"
This is what you get for not drinking you old fool! Frodo wanted to shout. Without water how did you expect to survive? But he kept stern ignoring his own strength draining. He pushed back Sam's curls in an effort to comfort the hobbit. "Shh. Here, Sam."
He set Sam down and lay himself down beside him. He clenched Sam's hand tightly showing him he was not about to leave him. Frodo wanted to stand and get the canteen. The only way to save Sam would be to nurse his strength back. But Frodo found that he had used more strength than possible in seeking the water and taking care of Sam. He did not let on how exhausted he was, how he felt his own very life draining out of him. Sam's grip loosened, he was calm, the world seemed to have stopped reeling for him but he looked about blindly.
"Frodo?"
"Shh. I'm still here, Sam."
"Tell me a story." Sam's voice was that of the young hobbit-lad that Frodo knew so long ago. That bounded into his room in Bag-End and bounced on the bed, sandy curls flailing about his head, bright sunny face beaming, asking questions about elves and magic.
"Alright, Sam. About elves?"
Sam shook his head. "Shire-" he rasped quietly.
Frodo thought for a long time. The Shire. Even the very name seemed strange and foreign to him. He couldn't remember the Shire. The woods, feilds, and streams seemed but a shadow in his memory. The perfume of Spring did not linger long in his mind and the crisp Autumn air was but a myth to him. There was no more warm sun, or humbling stars, or glowing moon, or sweet flowers. Just this darkness. Darkness and madness and forever torment in this web of doom. He could feel tightening round and round him. Like some demented spider with too much silk. Just spinning round and round, round and round. Blocking out all light, round and round. Blocking out all sound, round and round. Blocking out all fragrance all knowledge all sanity, round and round and round.
Frodo felt his head spin, darkness gathering in his mind. Inside of him he felt fragile glass and spinning wires. The glass stood so still, images that seemed now false of who Frodo Baggins once was. Just images, lies, mirrors. Not him, no never truly him. And wires, oh so many like the spider silk that strangled him. And they were wrapped dangerously round the glass, so close that a light breath could be destruction. And the wires tightened. They were pulled tighter and tighter, they twang in strain, and he writhed in pain. Pulling him this way, tearing him that way. Suddenly the maddening merry-go-round came to a mindsplitting halt.
"Sir?" Sam groped blindly about him till his hand came to rest on a trembling Frodo breaking him out of his maddening reverie.
Frodo sucked in his breath gathering his slowly dissipating mind and began as best he could. "Can you see Bag-End, Sam? The green grass, and the golden feilds behind. The bright blue sky and the warm sun. The birds are singing, it's bright early morning. And the gardens, Sam, can you see them? So bright and beautiful. Each flower treated like a precious jewel." Frodo groped around the small pieces of glass, the mirror images of what once was there. He looked on the place that was so distant to him now and he felt nothing. No warmth or longing to this place he had once loved so dearly. This place he was risking his very life to save. No, that was Frodo. Frodo lived there, loved that land, wanted to save it. 'And you old fool you died trying didn't you.' A voice in Frodo's mind whispered though whether it was the Ring or himself he knew not, nor did he care.
Sam smiled, "I can smell the flowers." His eyes were wide open but somewhat clouded and partially crossed as a blind man's. Frodo gazed at Sam coldly, emotion slowly filtering back into him like water through a small crack in a dam. He cupped Sam's gentle face and ran his fingers along his pale, parched skin. He gazed into Sam's eyes as they betrayed their master, one roving too far to the left the other twitching towards the sky. Frodo sighed, 'No control over muscles. I wonder if it'll last.' He felt tears welling up in his own eyes. 'Oh Sam! Look what you've done to yourself! And on my account! You could have lived, Sam! You had a chance! Why waste yourself on me? For I am already dead.' Tears ran down Frodo's ashen cheeks.
"What about the sun, Sam, can you remember that? Can you see it? Feel it?" He was hungry for this lost knowledge. Who was Frodo Baggins, did the sun once shine on him? What did it feel like?
Sam closed his eyes blissfully, "It's warm."
"And Bilbo?" Ah yes his dear uncle. His guardian, his father. He had taken him in, cared for him. Surely this was someone the former Frodo Baggins held dear.
Now Sam continued to paint the picture for Frodo. "Yes, I can see him through the window. He's sittin' at the study, writin' in his red book. Oh I'd like to read that book one day. He learned me my letters ya know. An' I can see his nephew. I can see 'im. He's sittin' in the garden, readin'. He always liked to read. He was always so wise, he was."
Frodo clenched his eyes shut tears running down his face. "No, I bet he was an old fool. Taking up too much for him. Bringing all sorts of harm onto those that loved him, how he probably wanted to live. Just live in the Shire, but he also wanted to save it. And in it all those that he loved most were the ones to be harmed. He was just an old fool that couldn't even gather his strength to get a canteen for a dying friend. Old fool."
Sam's body tensed, his grip tightened angrily, "No! No, he wasn't. He was the best hobbit in the Shire! Mr. Gandalf an' Mr. Bilbo think so too. He was not a fool! You take it back! Take it back, he was no fool!"
Frodo was quiet letting his tears fall silently and Sam drained his energy until sleep won him. Sleep never found Frodo, as exhausted as he was. His body would not comply with any movement, he lay very still, every breath a strain. His chest felt as if it were to be crushed under the weight of the world and he gasped a few times losing breath. His mind and body fell apart again, barely able to stay together in Sam's time of need. How could he help Sam now? He lie in utter misery and agony. He struggled to keep his mind from slipping away, to those dark thoughts, those dark dreams. Sam would not beable to drag him out. What would come of them both, if he let go? Frodo shiverred and dragged himself back to reality by biting mercilessly on his lip until the salty taste of blood filled his mouth. The pain in his mouth barely lessened that on his mind but it gave him the bitter sense of reality instead of the false promises of power whispering in his mind.
"Oh please, Sam. I can't hold on. All is lost without you," Frodo murmerred barely audible, or perhaps he did not say it at all, just in his mind, he could not recall.
He became aware of another voice in his mind. Smooth and venemous, like a snake's hiss in his ears. He grinned madly at the familiar, comforting sound of tantalizing dreams. Dreams of power, dreams of the Ring, and a soft voice coaxing him.
*Let go, Frodo, just let go. It hurts I know, oh how much it pains you. So needlessly do you suffer.*
"Yes- precious- so much pain-" Frodo stopped himself and frowned again, "N- no-"
*Yesss! Your body is giving up. Oh just give in or you will surely die. You don't want to die, do you Frodo?*
"No- don't want to die-"
*Look at you now, too weak to move, to breathe, to save your friend. You can't save him can you Frodo, hard as you try, until you use up every last drop of strength you have left in you, until there is none left, even to breathe. You have a good heart Frodo, you want to save him, you want him to live, don't you?*
"Of course!" Frodo cried.
*You cannot help him like this. If you fight it, you will both die, stop fighting, for Sam. Save him, Frodo! Save Sam! He'd do it for you! He'd save you! Why won't you even try to save him? Do you want him to die, Frodo? He's dying. He's dying now, Frodo. You can save him. You can.*
Frodo moaned.
*You don't want to save him. You want him to die. He's dying and you don't care.*
"I do! I do!"
*Then help him, Frodo! Give in! Save him!*
"I can't."
*You can! Put it on! Put on the Ring! Save him! You can! You can!*
"I can?"
*You can!*
"I will."
*For Sam.*
"For Sam"
When he found Sam he was still lying against the rock wall but his eyes were clenched in pain. His back arched and his arms tight to his sides. "Oh please don't leave me!" he cried.
Frodo fell to his knees and put his hand to Sam's forehead, "Shh, it's just a dream. Shh."
Sam's eyes fluttered open and his body eased. He looked around wildly until his vision settled on his master. "Frodo?"
Frodo nodded holding in his tears, "I'm here, Sam."
"I dreamt they took you away."
"Who?"
Sam gulped and looked away, "Nuthin, sir. I was just dreamin' is all."
"I know, Sam, but tell me."
"It don't make no sense."
"Dreams never do," Frodo soothed tearing a piece of his sleeve and folding it into a long band. He soaked it in the water and wrapped it around Sam's burning forehead. Sam barely took notice to Frodo's ministrations, too frightened by the dream and delirious by the fever. Lack of water effected his wits as well as energy and sight, his mind clouding dreams and reality blurring.
"The elves."
Frodo tried to hide his surprise, "Why would they take me away from you?"
"I don't know," Sam turned away blushing at his own foolishness. "I told you it don't make no sense."
"Shh, not true, Sam. I'm sure the elves weren't trying to hurt me, or you."
"Course not," Sam was almost offended by the thought. "But they- they did, take you away that is. An' I was standin' alone on all this sand. It was like the end a' the world, sir, if you follow. Like there was nothin' beyond that but one big river. So very big. It was all water, just water. Out as far as the eye could see, that's how much water there was. An' that's where you went, an' I couldn't follow. You said I couldn't."
"Well hush now, don't think about it. You have a bit of a fever you know. Here have a drink." Frodo pulled out the canteen.
Sam's eyes widened. By his own memory there was only enough left in that canteen for one. He backed away. "No, sir. You can have it."
"Now, Sam," Frodo was growing agitated and very concerned. "You old fool, you haven't been drinking have you. All that time I was too weak to even notice. You know if I had any say in it, I would have never let you give it all to me."
"Yes sir, but you are carryin' that-" Sam stopped. "Well, it would still do me better to see you have it. Then I'll go refill it." Sam made to stand, unaware of his own weakness and fell back to his knees, the world reeling, his vision blurring again. Frodo darted to his side and eased Sam to the ground. He looked into those round eyes now clouded and unfocussed.
"Sam? Sam!"
Sam's head lolled and he looked about blindly.
"Can you see me, Sam! Can you hear me!"
Sam's hand gripped Frodo's shoulder deperately as if letting go would mean him falling into a dark abyss. "Mr. Frodo? You sound so far away. Where are you?"
This is what you get for not drinking you old fool! Frodo wanted to shout. Without water how did you expect to survive? But he kept stern ignoring his own strength draining. He pushed back Sam's curls in an effort to comfort the hobbit. "Shh. Here, Sam."
He set Sam down and lay himself down beside him. He clenched Sam's hand tightly showing him he was not about to leave him. Frodo wanted to stand and get the canteen. The only way to save Sam would be to nurse his strength back. But Frodo found that he had used more strength than possible in seeking the water and taking care of Sam. He did not let on how exhausted he was, how he felt his own very life draining out of him. Sam's grip loosened, he was calm, the world seemed to have stopped reeling for him but he looked about blindly.
"Frodo?"
"Shh. I'm still here, Sam."
"Tell me a story." Sam's voice was that of the young hobbit-lad that Frodo knew so long ago. That bounded into his room in Bag-End and bounced on the bed, sandy curls flailing about his head, bright sunny face beaming, asking questions about elves and magic.
"Alright, Sam. About elves?"
Sam shook his head. "Shire-" he rasped quietly.
Frodo thought for a long time. The Shire. Even the very name seemed strange and foreign to him. He couldn't remember the Shire. The woods, feilds, and streams seemed but a shadow in his memory. The perfume of Spring did not linger long in his mind and the crisp Autumn air was but a myth to him. There was no more warm sun, or humbling stars, or glowing moon, or sweet flowers. Just this darkness. Darkness and madness and forever torment in this web of doom. He could feel tightening round and round him. Like some demented spider with too much silk. Just spinning round and round, round and round. Blocking out all light, round and round. Blocking out all sound, round and round. Blocking out all fragrance all knowledge all sanity, round and round and round.
Frodo felt his head spin, darkness gathering in his mind. Inside of him he felt fragile glass and spinning wires. The glass stood so still, images that seemed now false of who Frodo Baggins once was. Just images, lies, mirrors. Not him, no never truly him. And wires, oh so many like the spider silk that strangled him. And they were wrapped dangerously round the glass, so close that a light breath could be destruction. And the wires tightened. They were pulled tighter and tighter, they twang in strain, and he writhed in pain. Pulling him this way, tearing him that way. Suddenly the maddening merry-go-round came to a mindsplitting halt.
"Sir?" Sam groped blindly about him till his hand came to rest on a trembling Frodo breaking him out of his maddening reverie.
Frodo sucked in his breath gathering his slowly dissipating mind and began as best he could. "Can you see Bag-End, Sam? The green grass, and the golden feilds behind. The bright blue sky and the warm sun. The birds are singing, it's bright early morning. And the gardens, Sam, can you see them? So bright and beautiful. Each flower treated like a precious jewel." Frodo groped around the small pieces of glass, the mirror images of what once was there. He looked on the place that was so distant to him now and he felt nothing. No warmth or longing to this place he had once loved so dearly. This place he was risking his very life to save. No, that was Frodo. Frodo lived there, loved that land, wanted to save it. 'And you old fool you died trying didn't you.' A voice in Frodo's mind whispered though whether it was the Ring or himself he knew not, nor did he care.
Sam smiled, "I can smell the flowers." His eyes were wide open but somewhat clouded and partially crossed as a blind man's. Frodo gazed at Sam coldly, emotion slowly filtering back into him like water through a small crack in a dam. He cupped Sam's gentle face and ran his fingers along his pale, parched skin. He gazed into Sam's eyes as they betrayed their master, one roving too far to the left the other twitching towards the sky. Frodo sighed, 'No control over muscles. I wonder if it'll last.' He felt tears welling up in his own eyes. 'Oh Sam! Look what you've done to yourself! And on my account! You could have lived, Sam! You had a chance! Why waste yourself on me? For I am already dead.' Tears ran down Frodo's ashen cheeks.
"What about the sun, Sam, can you remember that? Can you see it? Feel it?" He was hungry for this lost knowledge. Who was Frodo Baggins, did the sun once shine on him? What did it feel like?
Sam closed his eyes blissfully, "It's warm."
"And Bilbo?" Ah yes his dear uncle. His guardian, his father. He had taken him in, cared for him. Surely this was someone the former Frodo Baggins held dear.
Now Sam continued to paint the picture for Frodo. "Yes, I can see him through the window. He's sittin' at the study, writin' in his red book. Oh I'd like to read that book one day. He learned me my letters ya know. An' I can see his nephew. I can see 'im. He's sittin' in the garden, readin'. He always liked to read. He was always so wise, he was."
Frodo clenched his eyes shut tears running down his face. "No, I bet he was an old fool. Taking up too much for him. Bringing all sorts of harm onto those that loved him, how he probably wanted to live. Just live in the Shire, but he also wanted to save it. And in it all those that he loved most were the ones to be harmed. He was just an old fool that couldn't even gather his strength to get a canteen for a dying friend. Old fool."
Sam's body tensed, his grip tightened angrily, "No! No, he wasn't. He was the best hobbit in the Shire! Mr. Gandalf an' Mr. Bilbo think so too. He was not a fool! You take it back! Take it back, he was no fool!"
Frodo was quiet letting his tears fall silently and Sam drained his energy until sleep won him. Sleep never found Frodo, as exhausted as he was. His body would not comply with any movement, he lay very still, every breath a strain. His chest felt as if it were to be crushed under the weight of the world and he gasped a few times losing breath. His mind and body fell apart again, barely able to stay together in Sam's time of need. How could he help Sam now? He lie in utter misery and agony. He struggled to keep his mind from slipping away, to those dark thoughts, those dark dreams. Sam would not beable to drag him out. What would come of them both, if he let go? Frodo shiverred and dragged himself back to reality by biting mercilessly on his lip until the salty taste of blood filled his mouth. The pain in his mouth barely lessened that on his mind but it gave him the bitter sense of reality instead of the false promises of power whispering in his mind.
"Oh please, Sam. I can't hold on. All is lost without you," Frodo murmerred barely audible, or perhaps he did not say it at all, just in his mind, he could not recall.
He became aware of another voice in his mind. Smooth and venemous, like a snake's hiss in his ears. He grinned madly at the familiar, comforting sound of tantalizing dreams. Dreams of power, dreams of the Ring, and a soft voice coaxing him.
*Let go, Frodo, just let go. It hurts I know, oh how much it pains you. So needlessly do you suffer.*
"Yes- precious- so much pain-" Frodo stopped himself and frowned again, "N- no-"
*Yesss! Your body is giving up. Oh just give in or you will surely die. You don't want to die, do you Frodo?*
"No- don't want to die-"
*Look at you now, too weak to move, to breathe, to save your friend. You can't save him can you Frodo, hard as you try, until you use up every last drop of strength you have left in you, until there is none left, even to breathe. You have a good heart Frodo, you want to save him, you want him to live, don't you?*
"Of course!" Frodo cried.
*You cannot help him like this. If you fight it, you will both die, stop fighting, for Sam. Save him, Frodo! Save Sam! He'd do it for you! He'd save you! Why won't you even try to save him? Do you want him to die, Frodo? He's dying. He's dying now, Frodo. You can save him. You can.*
Frodo moaned.
*You don't want to save him. You want him to die. He's dying and you don't care.*
"I do! I do!"
*Then help him, Frodo! Give in! Save him!*
"I can't."
*You can! Put it on! Put on the Ring! Save him! You can! You can!*
"I can?"
*You can!*
"I will."
*For Sam.*
"For Sam"