Chapter 2
Frodo stared out across the wilderness. His thoughts kept going back to the bridge in Moria and Gandalf's last moments. He had thought of little else since they had escaped from the mines. He hadn't even noticed Sam falling behind. Sam. Frodo frowned. He felt there was something not quite right about Sam since they had left the mines, but there had been little time to think about it. He looked around and for the first time, noticed Sam was no where near him. Sam was always bustling about, making sure Frodo was cared for, and his absence felt oddly disconcerting. Frodo turned and peered about the campsite searching for his friend. Merry and Pippin were helping Gimli build a fire and prepare the evening meal. Legolas and the two Men continued to scan the perimeter for orcs. Where was Sam? Frodo walked back towards the fire and finally caught sight of Sam sitting in a small hollow, leaning against the rocks out of the circle of light..
"Sam?" Frodo looked down at his dear companion with concern. Sam didn't seem to hear him. Could he be asleep? Frodo knelt down and looked more closely. With great alarm, he saw the Sam's face had become very pale, his eyes sunken and shadowed. Frodo reached out his hand and felt Sam's burning forehead. Frodo sprang to his feet and ran to find Aragorn. If anyone could help Sam, it would be the Ranger. He found Aragorn walking back from the higher ground. "Aragorn!" cried Frodo desperately, "You must come at once! Something is wrong with Sam!'
Aragorn looked down at Frodo in surprise. "Where is he?" he asked shortly. Frodo led him to where Sam was lying, unmoving, among the rocks. The others, sensing something was amiss, followed close behind. Aragorn looked closely at the unconscious hobbit. He gently touched Sam's burning head. Frowning, he noticed a growing stain on the front of Sam's cloak. Aragorn gently pulled it open and softly gasped when he discovered Sam's blood-soaked shirt.
"Oh, Sam!" whispered Frodo, his eyes wide with alarm. "What has happened to him!?"
"Legolas, please give me some wet cloths" commanded Aragorn. With these, Aragorn deftly cleaned away the blood, discovering the ugly, jagged wound near the center of Sam's chest. Aragorn cursed under his breath. It was obvious what had happened. Somewhere in Moria, Sam had been wounded. All this time he had kept it secret, and now it might be too late to save him.
"Why does it keep bleeding?" asked Pippin, his face white. He had watched intently as Aragorn repeatedly pressed compresses against the oozing wound, to no avail.
Boromir shook his head sadly. "Orcs often poison their blades and arrows," he replied heavily, "One effect of this vile poison is to keep the blood from clotting. If the poison does not kill you, then you are just as likely to bleed to death."
"No, Sam!" cried Frodo, tears coursing down his face. "He shouldn't even be here! He should be safe at home in the Shire! This is all my fault!" Frodo buried his face in his hands, guilt overwhelming him.
Boromir placed a hand on the grieving hobbit's shoulder. "Do not blame yourself for this, Little One," he said gently. "I do not believe Sam would have allowed you leave him behind; he is that devoted to you. This is Sauron's doing, not yours."
Frodo turned and gave Boromir a brief, but grateful smile. He knew what Boromir said was true, but it hurt him so to see his dear friend suffering . He watched anxiously as Aragorn bathed the wound and applied a poultice of athelas leaves hoping it would help slow the course of the poison and stop the bleeding. Aragorn carefully bandaged the wound, although in short time, blood was already seeping through. He sighed in frustration. He knew that if they couldn't stop the bleeding, Sam would never make it to Lothlorien.
Sam was already somewhere else. He certainly didn't recognize this place. It looked something like the shire, but somehow brighter and more peaceful. There didn't seem to be anyone about and the place was oddly quiet. He was standing on a pathway that appeared to wind between low, grassy hills set against a brilliant blue sky. Brightly colored flowers lined the path and were sprinkled across the landscape. A slight breeze ruffled his curly hair. "This is right strange!" thought Sam to himself as he gazed about. "I seem to remember we were walkin' through some mountains, not these meadows! And where might Mister Frodo and the others be? Surely they wouldn't have left me?" He looked around anxiously, hoping to find some sign of his companions. Perhaps they had gone further on? He turned and started to walk down the path. He felt oddly reluctant to break the silence of this strange but tranquil place.. As he walked, he began to feel a sense of peace and contentment. This wouldn't be such a bad place to stay, now would it? The flowers were beautiful, the air was clean and fresh, and the sun warm. There were no orcs or Black Riders to be seen. He felt unusually relaxed. Lost in his thoughts, Sam didn't notice he was approaching a small figure lounging beneath a large oak tree, smoking on a curved pipe.
"Hullo there, Samwise m'lad!" the figure called out. Sam stopped in his tracks and turned to the caller. His eyes widened in amazement.
"Grandad!?" he breathed in shock. His grandfather, Hobson, had died many years ago when Sam was a small child.
"Yes! T'is me, m'boy!" the elderly hobbit smiled. He looked like a wizened apple – he had brown, rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes. A froth of white curls covered his round head. When he smiled, his entire face joined in. "I've been waitin' fer ye, Samwise," he said quietly as he puffed on his pipe, "It's about time ye got 'ere!"
Sam frowned. "Here?" he repeated in confusion, "Where exactly is here?"
His grandfather smiled again and got to his feet, brushing grass off his breeches. "Why, yer time has come, lad. This is where all good hobbits go when they pass on! We knew ye were comin', so I was sent t'meet ye and bring ye along!" With that, he laid his hand on his grandson's shoulder as if to guide him farther along the path. Sam pulled away in alarm, staring at his grandfather.
"No!" he cried out backing farther away, "No! I can't go now! Mister Frodo needs me! He has a long way t'go yet, an I promised I wouldn't leave 'im! Not while the task remains unfinished! I must go back! Please! Don't ye see how important this is! All o' Middle Earth could be destroyed by the Dark Lord if Frodo doesn't destroy that ring! If I'm not there t'help 'im, I know he won't make it. Please let me go back before it's too late!" Sam was desperate. He knew he couldn't leave his master to go onto Mordor alone. Oh, maybe the others would be there, but they wouldn't be there for Frodo. Sam knew he was the only one who could possibly provide the love and support that Frodo would need to complete his awful task. Sam stared pleadingly at his grandfather, trying to make him understand.
Grandad studied Sam's desperate face. Sam watched anxiously as the old hobbit closed his eyes and stood very still, as if listening to something far away. Finally, Granddad's eyes slid open and turned to Sam. "Alright Samwise, lad" he began slowly, "Ye'll get yer wish. Ye can go back and help yer Mister Frodo finish his task, but once the task is over, if all goes well, ye won't be returnin' to the Shire, if ye get my meanin'"
Sam understood perfectly. He would be given the chance to help Frodo destroy the Ring, but he wouldn't survive to return to the Shire. He felt a wave of sadness at knowing he would leave Frodo in the end, but the important thing was he would be there to help him.
Grandad was speaking again, "Ye'll go back now, but ye won't remember any of this in yer mind, just yer heart." He smiled his warm, comforting smile and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, "It won't be easy when ye return, Samwise, lad, ye might wish ye had just stayed 'ere with yer old grand-dad, but yer friends will glad to see ye again! Just know that I'll be awaitin' 'ere fer ye when ye come back! Good luck to ye, m'lad!"
With that, the lovely hills and flowers began to dissolve, darkness filled Sam's eyes and mind, but far away, he could hear his grandfather's words echoing in his heart.
Frodo stared out across the wilderness. His thoughts kept going back to the bridge in Moria and Gandalf's last moments. He had thought of little else since they had escaped from the mines. He hadn't even noticed Sam falling behind. Sam. Frodo frowned. He felt there was something not quite right about Sam since they had left the mines, but there had been little time to think about it. He looked around and for the first time, noticed Sam was no where near him. Sam was always bustling about, making sure Frodo was cared for, and his absence felt oddly disconcerting. Frodo turned and peered about the campsite searching for his friend. Merry and Pippin were helping Gimli build a fire and prepare the evening meal. Legolas and the two Men continued to scan the perimeter for orcs. Where was Sam? Frodo walked back towards the fire and finally caught sight of Sam sitting in a small hollow, leaning against the rocks out of the circle of light..
"Sam?" Frodo looked down at his dear companion with concern. Sam didn't seem to hear him. Could he be asleep? Frodo knelt down and looked more closely. With great alarm, he saw the Sam's face had become very pale, his eyes sunken and shadowed. Frodo reached out his hand and felt Sam's burning forehead. Frodo sprang to his feet and ran to find Aragorn. If anyone could help Sam, it would be the Ranger. He found Aragorn walking back from the higher ground. "Aragorn!" cried Frodo desperately, "You must come at once! Something is wrong with Sam!'
Aragorn looked down at Frodo in surprise. "Where is he?" he asked shortly. Frodo led him to where Sam was lying, unmoving, among the rocks. The others, sensing something was amiss, followed close behind. Aragorn looked closely at the unconscious hobbit. He gently touched Sam's burning head. Frowning, he noticed a growing stain on the front of Sam's cloak. Aragorn gently pulled it open and softly gasped when he discovered Sam's blood-soaked shirt.
"Oh, Sam!" whispered Frodo, his eyes wide with alarm. "What has happened to him!?"
"Legolas, please give me some wet cloths" commanded Aragorn. With these, Aragorn deftly cleaned away the blood, discovering the ugly, jagged wound near the center of Sam's chest. Aragorn cursed under his breath. It was obvious what had happened. Somewhere in Moria, Sam had been wounded. All this time he had kept it secret, and now it might be too late to save him.
"Why does it keep bleeding?" asked Pippin, his face white. He had watched intently as Aragorn repeatedly pressed compresses against the oozing wound, to no avail.
Boromir shook his head sadly. "Orcs often poison their blades and arrows," he replied heavily, "One effect of this vile poison is to keep the blood from clotting. If the poison does not kill you, then you are just as likely to bleed to death."
"No, Sam!" cried Frodo, tears coursing down his face. "He shouldn't even be here! He should be safe at home in the Shire! This is all my fault!" Frodo buried his face in his hands, guilt overwhelming him.
Boromir placed a hand on the grieving hobbit's shoulder. "Do not blame yourself for this, Little One," he said gently. "I do not believe Sam would have allowed you leave him behind; he is that devoted to you. This is Sauron's doing, not yours."
Frodo turned and gave Boromir a brief, but grateful smile. He knew what Boromir said was true, but it hurt him so to see his dear friend suffering . He watched anxiously as Aragorn bathed the wound and applied a poultice of athelas leaves hoping it would help slow the course of the poison and stop the bleeding. Aragorn carefully bandaged the wound, although in short time, blood was already seeping through. He sighed in frustration. He knew that if they couldn't stop the bleeding, Sam would never make it to Lothlorien.
Sam was already somewhere else. He certainly didn't recognize this place. It looked something like the shire, but somehow brighter and more peaceful. There didn't seem to be anyone about and the place was oddly quiet. He was standing on a pathway that appeared to wind between low, grassy hills set against a brilliant blue sky. Brightly colored flowers lined the path and were sprinkled across the landscape. A slight breeze ruffled his curly hair. "This is right strange!" thought Sam to himself as he gazed about. "I seem to remember we were walkin' through some mountains, not these meadows! And where might Mister Frodo and the others be? Surely they wouldn't have left me?" He looked around anxiously, hoping to find some sign of his companions. Perhaps they had gone further on? He turned and started to walk down the path. He felt oddly reluctant to break the silence of this strange but tranquil place.. As he walked, he began to feel a sense of peace and contentment. This wouldn't be such a bad place to stay, now would it? The flowers were beautiful, the air was clean and fresh, and the sun warm. There were no orcs or Black Riders to be seen. He felt unusually relaxed. Lost in his thoughts, Sam didn't notice he was approaching a small figure lounging beneath a large oak tree, smoking on a curved pipe.
"Hullo there, Samwise m'lad!" the figure called out. Sam stopped in his tracks and turned to the caller. His eyes widened in amazement.
"Grandad!?" he breathed in shock. His grandfather, Hobson, had died many years ago when Sam was a small child.
"Yes! T'is me, m'boy!" the elderly hobbit smiled. He looked like a wizened apple – he had brown, rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes. A froth of white curls covered his round head. When he smiled, his entire face joined in. "I've been waitin' fer ye, Samwise," he said quietly as he puffed on his pipe, "It's about time ye got 'ere!"
Sam frowned. "Here?" he repeated in confusion, "Where exactly is here?"
His grandfather smiled again and got to his feet, brushing grass off his breeches. "Why, yer time has come, lad. This is where all good hobbits go when they pass on! We knew ye were comin', so I was sent t'meet ye and bring ye along!" With that, he laid his hand on his grandson's shoulder as if to guide him farther along the path. Sam pulled away in alarm, staring at his grandfather.
"No!" he cried out backing farther away, "No! I can't go now! Mister Frodo needs me! He has a long way t'go yet, an I promised I wouldn't leave 'im! Not while the task remains unfinished! I must go back! Please! Don't ye see how important this is! All o' Middle Earth could be destroyed by the Dark Lord if Frodo doesn't destroy that ring! If I'm not there t'help 'im, I know he won't make it. Please let me go back before it's too late!" Sam was desperate. He knew he couldn't leave his master to go onto Mordor alone. Oh, maybe the others would be there, but they wouldn't be there for Frodo. Sam knew he was the only one who could possibly provide the love and support that Frodo would need to complete his awful task. Sam stared pleadingly at his grandfather, trying to make him understand.
Grandad studied Sam's desperate face. Sam watched anxiously as the old hobbit closed his eyes and stood very still, as if listening to something far away. Finally, Granddad's eyes slid open and turned to Sam. "Alright Samwise, lad" he began slowly, "Ye'll get yer wish. Ye can go back and help yer Mister Frodo finish his task, but once the task is over, if all goes well, ye won't be returnin' to the Shire, if ye get my meanin'"
Sam understood perfectly. He would be given the chance to help Frodo destroy the Ring, but he wouldn't survive to return to the Shire. He felt a wave of sadness at knowing he would leave Frodo in the end, but the important thing was he would be there to help him.
Grandad was speaking again, "Ye'll go back now, but ye won't remember any of this in yer mind, just yer heart." He smiled his warm, comforting smile and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, "It won't be easy when ye return, Samwise, lad, ye might wish ye had just stayed 'ere with yer old grand-dad, but yer friends will glad to see ye again! Just know that I'll be awaitin' 'ere fer ye when ye come back! Good luck to ye, m'lad!"
With that, the lovely hills and flowers began to dissolve, darkness filled Sam's eyes and mind, but far away, he could hear his grandfather's words echoing in his heart.