-------------------------------------------------------------------------
REFLECTIONS -- CHAPTER 4
"Icy Fingers"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Frodo did not know how long he lay there in the darkness, wrapped in the meager blanket. His bottom was terribly sore…he'd tried to go to the bathroom again, but it had hurt so much that the results had been less than he'd originally intended. The blisters had multiplied…and he had a feeling he was getting a rash…which wouldn't surprise him. His skin tendered to be pretty sensitive.
He was cold…hungry…thirsty…and miserable. He could hardly remember anything…his mind was so jumbled. Fleeting images had made their way to the surface here and there, but none of them explained his current situation….or what he was doing here. He shivered when a particularly cold wind found its way through a crack in the tower wall.
The chill wind bit into his flesh, moving clear through the blanket no matter how much he tried to defend himself against it. He huddled where he was, tears falling aimlessly from his bloodshot eyes. He'd never been so cold before….
No…no that wasn't true…
There was a time in the near past when he thought he would never be warm again…
* * * * *
He closed his eyes as he saw the figure before him…There was a white ghostly creature with a crown upon his head looming above him in the shadows. He discarded his long sword for something else…a smaller sharp blade that pulsed in the darkness. Frodo backed away, terrified. He looked down…and upon his finger was a glowing golden ring…so bright and beautiful that it held his attention completely despite his circumstance. It did not let him regain his senses until the White King reached for it. That was when warmth left the hobbit's body. The sharp blade penetrated his clothing…the pain was terrible…it was like having a thousand needles forced into your skin at the same time. He couldn't breathe…he fought for control of his senses…for everything began to swim around him and he was sure he was going to pass out…then…someone…lept to his rescue. A tall dark figure in the other world…The White King's blade was pulled out of Frodo's flesh and he felt such a release that he gasped…air rushing back into his lungs. With all the senses he had left, Frodo took off the ring and remembered crying out one name…"Strider!"
* * * * *
The Ring…The Ring…Frodo shivered uncontrollably….suddenly missing it so terribly that it nearly caused him to choke. The Ring…his ring…the Precious…precious…his own…
Frodo's head began to throb with pain. "Strider." he whimpered in the dark….finally the image of someone he remembered was coming to him…tall and dark…
* * * * *
He was shivering with cold…and it was difficult to see. He swayed on top of some kind of animal…a beast of burden….Bill?….He looked down and could hear someone nearby…but could not make out what they were saying. "S--so--so cold…"
The sun was beating down upon them from above and yet…yet he could barely feel his feet. Strider dragged him off of Bill and laid him down in the grass, putting a makeshift pillow underneath his head made up of the ranger's own coat.
He held a cloth to Frodo's head, wiping it gently as Frodo leant against him. Even the man's warmth was not enough to push away the chill. Frodo couldn't remember what it was like to be warm…even then. Was he dying?
"Hold on, Frodo." he felt Strider's fingers prod at his wound, putting something over it, some kind of salve. It hurt so badly he could not contain a cry of pain. He could hardly feel anything else but the pain in his shoulder.
He remembered feeling that the ranger was warm…warm and sweaty from the noon sun as should he to be…but for Frodo it was as if it was the dead of winter…and the ground was laced with ice, and the cold seemed to reach for him…seeking to hold him in a vice grip of death…
* * * * *
Tears streamed down Frodo's face as the memory haunted him again and again…Where was the Ring? Where was Strider now? Was he alive? Would he come to save Frodo? Why did he want the ring so badly…Why did it hurt so much that it was gone? Strider…
Were there people looking for him? Did anyone care?
He wasn't used to people caring…
* * * * *
A little bed…in a small room…winter…Brandy Hall…there was a crack in his window and no one had fixed it yet…no one had had any time…The thirteen year old hobbit huddled in his blankets while the rest of the hall slept soundly.
It was his first Yule…alone…
The thirteen year old had wished so hard for someone to come…to come to him and hold him in their arms and tell him everything would be okay.
If he had been alone…why? Where were his parents…he didn't remember…he couldn't remember…
* * * * *
There wasn't anyone looking for him…Everyone he loved was far away from him now…so far far away. They would never find him. He would die here in this tower…at the hands of the Orcs that were torturing him…trying to find the Precious. He didn't know where it was…he didn't understand why they wanted it so badly.
But here in the cell that he'd spent too long in the dark within…there was no one to hold him.
Would he ever be warm again?
He wished…he could remember. And even then…he wasn't sure he wanted to remember. The memories that came back to him made his heart hurt even more than it did now. Was that why he couldn't remember? Had he blocked everything out finally? Had it been too much to bear?
He wiped at his tears and then winced. His hands were so frozen that it pained him to use them.
He gazed desperately at the door hoping that someone…anyone would come through. At this point, he'd even welcome an Orc…at least then, they might take him somewhere warm…he could endure the pain as long as he was warm.
TBC
REFLECTIONS -- CHAPTER 4
"Icy Fingers"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Frodo did not know how long he lay there in the darkness, wrapped in the meager blanket. His bottom was terribly sore…he'd tried to go to the bathroom again, but it had hurt so much that the results had been less than he'd originally intended. The blisters had multiplied…and he had a feeling he was getting a rash…which wouldn't surprise him. His skin tendered to be pretty sensitive.
He was cold…hungry…thirsty…and miserable. He could hardly remember anything…his mind was so jumbled. Fleeting images had made their way to the surface here and there, but none of them explained his current situation….or what he was doing here. He shivered when a particularly cold wind found its way through a crack in the tower wall.
The chill wind bit into his flesh, moving clear through the blanket no matter how much he tried to defend himself against it. He huddled where he was, tears falling aimlessly from his bloodshot eyes. He'd never been so cold before….
No…no that wasn't true…
There was a time in the near past when he thought he would never be warm again…
* * * * *
He closed his eyes as he saw the figure before him…There was a white ghostly creature with a crown upon his head looming above him in the shadows. He discarded his long sword for something else…a smaller sharp blade that pulsed in the darkness. Frodo backed away, terrified. He looked down…and upon his finger was a glowing golden ring…so bright and beautiful that it held his attention completely despite his circumstance. It did not let him regain his senses until the White King reached for it. That was when warmth left the hobbit's body. The sharp blade penetrated his clothing…the pain was terrible…it was like having a thousand needles forced into your skin at the same time. He couldn't breathe…he fought for control of his senses…for everything began to swim around him and he was sure he was going to pass out…then…someone…lept to his rescue. A tall dark figure in the other world…The White King's blade was pulled out of Frodo's flesh and he felt such a release that he gasped…air rushing back into his lungs. With all the senses he had left, Frodo took off the ring and remembered crying out one name…"Strider!"
* * * * *
The Ring…The Ring…Frodo shivered uncontrollably….suddenly missing it so terribly that it nearly caused him to choke. The Ring…his ring…the Precious…precious…his own…
Frodo's head began to throb with pain. "Strider." he whimpered in the dark….finally the image of someone he remembered was coming to him…tall and dark…
* * * * *
He was shivering with cold…and it was difficult to see. He swayed on top of some kind of animal…a beast of burden….Bill?….He looked down and could hear someone nearby…but could not make out what they were saying. "S--so--so cold…"
The sun was beating down upon them from above and yet…yet he could barely feel his feet. Strider dragged him off of Bill and laid him down in the grass, putting a makeshift pillow underneath his head made up of the ranger's own coat.
He held a cloth to Frodo's head, wiping it gently as Frodo leant against him. Even the man's warmth was not enough to push away the chill. Frodo couldn't remember what it was like to be warm…even then. Was he dying?
"Hold on, Frodo." he felt Strider's fingers prod at his wound, putting something over it, some kind of salve. It hurt so badly he could not contain a cry of pain. He could hardly feel anything else but the pain in his shoulder.
He remembered feeling that the ranger was warm…warm and sweaty from the noon sun as should he to be…but for Frodo it was as if it was the dead of winter…and the ground was laced with ice, and the cold seemed to reach for him…seeking to hold him in a vice grip of death…
* * * * *
Tears streamed down Frodo's face as the memory haunted him again and again…Where was the Ring? Where was Strider now? Was he alive? Would he come to save Frodo? Why did he want the ring so badly…Why did it hurt so much that it was gone? Strider…
Were there people looking for him? Did anyone care?
He wasn't used to people caring…
* * * * *
A little bed…in a small room…winter…Brandy Hall…there was a crack in his window and no one had fixed it yet…no one had had any time…The thirteen year old hobbit huddled in his blankets while the rest of the hall slept soundly.
It was his first Yule…alone…
The thirteen year old had wished so hard for someone to come…to come to him and hold him in their arms and tell him everything would be okay.
If he had been alone…why? Where were his parents…he didn't remember…he couldn't remember…
* * * * *
There wasn't anyone looking for him…Everyone he loved was far away from him now…so far far away. They would never find him. He would die here in this tower…at the hands of the Orcs that were torturing him…trying to find the Precious. He didn't know where it was…he didn't understand why they wanted it so badly.
But here in the cell that he'd spent too long in the dark within…there was no one to hold him.
Would he ever be warm again?
He wished…he could remember. And even then…he wasn't sure he wanted to remember. The memories that came back to him made his heart hurt even more than it did now. Was that why he couldn't remember? Had he blocked everything out finally? Had it been too much to bear?
He wiped at his tears and then winced. His hands were so frozen that it pained him to use them.
He gazed desperately at the door hoping that someone…anyone would come through. At this point, he'd even welcome an Orc…at least then, they might take him somewhere warm…he could endure the pain as long as he was warm.
TBC