Disclaimer: AU Story. My third large LOTR fic. I can't stop! None of the
characters or settings are mine. They all belong to Tolkien. I wish I were
related to Tolkien, don't you? It would be so cool! Oh, and the plot here
is derived from my own imagination. Hope you enjoy.
Tiggivon: Thank you for all your wonderful comments- both here and for Trials of Lórien. I am so pleased that you liked the ending and that you are enjoying this.
Lotrmatrixstarwarsfan: Oh so true name! Glad you like this story!
Cookies and crème: Ah *knowing smile* You will find out why Frodo left soon enough.
~ Chapter Five ~
Mr Underhill gasped when he saw Ferdirand's hole. He took a step back and the farmer stopped.
"What's the matter?" he asked, "Ain't that bad is it?"
"No, not at all! Oh- it's beautiful!"
He ran forward along the path and pressed his hand to the door. It felt warm. It felt familiar. A cosy sort of familiarity that was almost part of him. Ferdirand joined him and knocked briskly on the door. It was opened at once and Mr Underhill nearly fell on his face.
"Well well," cried the hobbit lady that had come to greet them.
"Greetin's, my dear," the farmer said, giving his wife a kiss, "This here is Mr Underhill and he needs somewhere to stay."
"Are you sure that it-" Mr Underhill began but found himself wrenched inside by several pairs of hands. He stumbled and fell to the floor and heard a chorus of giggling start up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see three faces gazing at him.
"Look at his eyes, Mama!" they cried, lunging for him again. "Oh, can we keep him?"
"Get on with you, girls!" cried Ferdirand's wife, helping her guest to his feet. The daughters retreated backwards, hiding their faces behind their hands.
"Shall I show you to the spare room, Mr Underhill and will you be wantin' any food?"
"What?" the hobbit began, a little dazed, "Oh, thank you. Very kind of you."
They showed him to a small, brightly-coloured chamber.
"You're welcome to stay as long as you need," Ferdirand said proudly. Mr Underhill smiled wanly at him.
"Thank you- this is just wonderful."
He then found himself drawn back out and to the kitchen where the table was already being laid. The young hobbits glanced at each other but were silent. Mr Underhill and the Bumbleroot family seated themselves and then started onto the glorious food that had been retrieved from the oven. It was all piping hot and it tasted delicious. Mr Underhill ate very little but said that it had been the best meal he could remember ever eating. And he then retired to his bedroom. Giving a quick sigh of satisfaction, the hobbit closed the door behind him and began getting ready for bed.
He slipped under the warm covers and closed his eyes. He only remembered feeling cold and now he was warm and cosy as if buried under a thousand feathers. There were no worries or fears in his mind. Except that of remembering things. People, places, events that still brought strange feelings to his heart. But he refused to let himself dwell on them and soon fell into a deep sleep.
--
It was raining again. Sam had walked many miles before exhaustion had claimed him. Now he squatted under a large willow, gazing into a puddle at his feet. He shivered and pulled his cloak to his sides. Fat raindrops kept slithering down the back of his neck and under his shirt. He could not remember ever being so cold or wet in all his life. But, as determined as only Samwise Gamgee-Gardener could be, he got to his feet and marched on into the gathering darkness.
--
Mr Underhill woke up with a scream. He stared deliriously round at the gloom, hands reaching out blindly. When he realised that he was awake, he lay back heavily, breathing hard, a hand to his brow. He waited sometime and was relieved to find that he had not woken anyone. His thoughts were a blur, a mess. The things that he had seen behind his eyes! Terrible, mind- bending things that brought an avalanche of memories tumbling down, showering him with doubt.
"A d-dream," he murmured to himself. "No, no, it can't have been! But how-"
There was no answer. The nightmares had been in his head and yet, they were just, real. Solid. He could recall their sound and texture. The black stone under foot. Even the sound of the volcano erupting in the background. Volcano? A mountain of fire that belched flame and ash high into the sky. And a persistent voice in his head, a cry that echoed everywhere in his mind. So familiar that he feared that it would drive him insane. But there had been somewhere there with him. Someone dear to him. More than that. Someone almost part of him. And then the friend's voice had just gone, vanished, and he was falling through infinite blackness, screaming for aid but only receiving stinging blows.
In memory of this, Mr Underhill put a hand to his back. To his horror, his fingers found light ridges on the skin. He followed the line up along his back and found yet more. Long, cruel wounds that now throbbed dully. He had been whipped. It was a strong recollection. Of leering faces filled with hate. Of clawed hands that tore his clothes and lashed him. He flinched. How could even mere memories bring so much pain! And why could he remember so little? He put his head into his hands as the shadow of doubt slipped secretly back into his mind.
--
"I'm here. And it feels like I was here yesterday," said Sam. The odd serenity of the scene around was eerie to say the least. A whole day of walking, with little rest. A night to a night. The Grey Havens came as his refuge. But he would not- could not- find peace here. The memory was burning like fire now, like a flame that danced on the calm waters.
'You cannot always be torn in two..'
"I could have come with you," Sam said quietly, "But goodness knows where you are now. Happy, I should think. That's all I wanted, isn't it? To make you happy? And after all you went through, what else was there for you here? Always ill and in pain. And that cursed Ri-" He stopped himself. There was no point in yelling at the waves. They would carry no messages for him to his master. His master had gone. There was nothing he had to come back to. At this last crushing thought, the hobbit walked a few steps more and then lay down and curled up on the sand.
Tiggivon: Thank you for all your wonderful comments- both here and for Trials of Lórien. I am so pleased that you liked the ending and that you are enjoying this.
Lotrmatrixstarwarsfan: Oh so true name! Glad you like this story!
Cookies and crème: Ah *knowing smile* You will find out why Frodo left soon enough.
~ Chapter Five ~
Mr Underhill gasped when he saw Ferdirand's hole. He took a step back and the farmer stopped.
"What's the matter?" he asked, "Ain't that bad is it?"
"No, not at all! Oh- it's beautiful!"
He ran forward along the path and pressed his hand to the door. It felt warm. It felt familiar. A cosy sort of familiarity that was almost part of him. Ferdirand joined him and knocked briskly on the door. It was opened at once and Mr Underhill nearly fell on his face.
"Well well," cried the hobbit lady that had come to greet them.
"Greetin's, my dear," the farmer said, giving his wife a kiss, "This here is Mr Underhill and he needs somewhere to stay."
"Are you sure that it-" Mr Underhill began but found himself wrenched inside by several pairs of hands. He stumbled and fell to the floor and heard a chorus of giggling start up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see three faces gazing at him.
"Look at his eyes, Mama!" they cried, lunging for him again. "Oh, can we keep him?"
"Get on with you, girls!" cried Ferdirand's wife, helping her guest to his feet. The daughters retreated backwards, hiding their faces behind their hands.
"Shall I show you to the spare room, Mr Underhill and will you be wantin' any food?"
"What?" the hobbit began, a little dazed, "Oh, thank you. Very kind of you."
They showed him to a small, brightly-coloured chamber.
"You're welcome to stay as long as you need," Ferdirand said proudly. Mr Underhill smiled wanly at him.
"Thank you- this is just wonderful."
He then found himself drawn back out and to the kitchen where the table was already being laid. The young hobbits glanced at each other but were silent. Mr Underhill and the Bumbleroot family seated themselves and then started onto the glorious food that had been retrieved from the oven. It was all piping hot and it tasted delicious. Mr Underhill ate very little but said that it had been the best meal he could remember ever eating. And he then retired to his bedroom. Giving a quick sigh of satisfaction, the hobbit closed the door behind him and began getting ready for bed.
He slipped under the warm covers and closed his eyes. He only remembered feeling cold and now he was warm and cosy as if buried under a thousand feathers. There were no worries or fears in his mind. Except that of remembering things. People, places, events that still brought strange feelings to his heart. But he refused to let himself dwell on them and soon fell into a deep sleep.
--
It was raining again. Sam had walked many miles before exhaustion had claimed him. Now he squatted under a large willow, gazing into a puddle at his feet. He shivered and pulled his cloak to his sides. Fat raindrops kept slithering down the back of his neck and under his shirt. He could not remember ever being so cold or wet in all his life. But, as determined as only Samwise Gamgee-Gardener could be, he got to his feet and marched on into the gathering darkness.
--
Mr Underhill woke up with a scream. He stared deliriously round at the gloom, hands reaching out blindly. When he realised that he was awake, he lay back heavily, breathing hard, a hand to his brow. He waited sometime and was relieved to find that he had not woken anyone. His thoughts were a blur, a mess. The things that he had seen behind his eyes! Terrible, mind- bending things that brought an avalanche of memories tumbling down, showering him with doubt.
"A d-dream," he murmured to himself. "No, no, it can't have been! But how-"
There was no answer. The nightmares had been in his head and yet, they were just, real. Solid. He could recall their sound and texture. The black stone under foot. Even the sound of the volcano erupting in the background. Volcano? A mountain of fire that belched flame and ash high into the sky. And a persistent voice in his head, a cry that echoed everywhere in his mind. So familiar that he feared that it would drive him insane. But there had been somewhere there with him. Someone dear to him. More than that. Someone almost part of him. And then the friend's voice had just gone, vanished, and he was falling through infinite blackness, screaming for aid but only receiving stinging blows.
In memory of this, Mr Underhill put a hand to his back. To his horror, his fingers found light ridges on the skin. He followed the line up along his back and found yet more. Long, cruel wounds that now throbbed dully. He had been whipped. It was a strong recollection. Of leering faces filled with hate. Of clawed hands that tore his clothes and lashed him. He flinched. How could even mere memories bring so much pain! And why could he remember so little? He put his head into his hands as the shadow of doubt slipped secretly back into his mind.
--
"I'm here. And it feels like I was here yesterday," said Sam. The odd serenity of the scene around was eerie to say the least. A whole day of walking, with little rest. A night to a night. The Grey Havens came as his refuge. But he would not- could not- find peace here. The memory was burning like fire now, like a flame that danced on the calm waters.
'You cannot always be torn in two..'
"I could have come with you," Sam said quietly, "But goodness knows where you are now. Happy, I should think. That's all I wanted, isn't it? To make you happy? And after all you went through, what else was there for you here? Always ill and in pain. And that cursed Ri-" He stopped himself. There was no point in yelling at the waves. They would carry no messages for him to his master. His master had gone. There was nothing he had to come back to. At this last crushing thought, the hobbit walked a few steps more and then lay down and curled up on the sand.
