Endymion - Thanks for being the first to review! Yes, Frodo and Sam do need
to talk. Right now the only "sounds" involved are the ones that either give
Frodo a start or let him know his Sam is nearby.
QTPie - 2488 - Poor Frodo is still a bit freaked out, perhaps more so than he's willing to admit to even his closest friends.
FrodoBaggins1982 - We need to get those two talking, don't we?
Misstook1420 - Lots of comfort and fluff? We can manage that, I think, eventually. To me, that fits in with the theme of "mild" slash. Let's just say I will leave something to the imagination rather than telling all!
Safjazz - What can Sam do to break through Frodo's barriers? We'll have to sit them down together and find out! At this point, Sam himself is unsure what to do.
ZoSo Gamgee - Baggins - "Let's hope we hear no more of that lumbering Uruk - Hai Bramblethorn". Another great epithet for a nasty villain! I'm getting a good collection of them, and he deserves them all! All that angst and those bottled up emotions! Workin' on getting Sam and Frodo a little time to settle things, certainly!
Aelfgifu - Yes, everyone should have their own Sam when things get rough.
Aratlithiel - Frodo needs Sam, but he's stubbornly trying to just 'deal with it.' Poor Sam doesn't want to pressure Frodo, so he's just waiting anxiously for Frodo to open up.
~*~
Author's note - Coming soon, two versions of Chapter 3! You can choose your chapter with a dash of slash, or lightly sweetened with extraordinary friendship and loyalty. Both will be posted at the same time and should appear with the slash version being Chapter 3 and the non - slash being Chapter 4. Enjoy!
~*~
Chapter 2 - Silence
Frodo stood, and closed his eyes. Bag End was quiet around him as he prepared to face the night. He straightened his shoulders and took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. Time to try again. He would sleep in his bedroom tonight, but he would allow himself the comfort of the candle on his nightstand.
He padded slowly down the hall, his heartbeat becoming more rapid as he approached the room. This time, he did not stop outside the door, but forced himself to step purposefully across the threshold immediately. It was almost too much, without the brief moment of preparation beforehand. The hand holding the candle was shaking slightly, as he placed it on the nightstand.
He pulled a nightshirt from the armoire and changed quickly, trying not to feel the fabric as it slid over his head and made contact with his chest, trying not to feel - anything. Memories of a touch, unloving and undesired, starting at the base of his throat and moving downward across his chest caused him to catch his breath. Moments later, he realized the muffled sob he had just heard had been his own.
He swallowed hard and tried to get a grip on himself. Pulling himself back with difficulty to the reality of his room and the light of the candle, he slipped beneath the covers and closed his eyes.
Silence. Bag End lay in stillness around him. The only sounds were the crickets chirping outside his window and - the window. He had forgotten to close it. He climbed out of bed and closed the window tightly, making sure the little latch that locked it fell solidly into place. The night air was so lovely, but an open window - no. Not yet.
He climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up snugly to his chin and tried to concentrate on the light of the candle as the yellow flame danced upon the wick. He must bring himself to close his eyes, but that would block out the light. The memory of darkness assailed him again as the silence of the night closed in around him. He remembered being bound and alone in that dark place, with no light and no hope.
Finally, when he could keep his eyes open no longer, Frodo gave in to sleep. It wasn't long before he was dreaming again, the same dream that invaded is nights with an awful regularity recently.
Darkness surrounded him and something or someone touched him, almost gently at first, but more roughly as he struggled. Hands clawed at him and struck him. A scream rose in his throat, but was swallowed up by the inky blackness around him as if it had never been. Laughter, cruel and derisive, filled his ears. If he could hear the laughter, why were his own cries inaudible?
~'You are alone, Frodo. Your gardener isn't here and he isn't coming.'~
The words rang loudly in the otherwise silent room, grim, horrifying and final. Unable to bear the future those words promised, Frodo cried out in desperation and misery. "NOOOOOOOOO!"
Sitting bolt upright, his eyes wide and his breathing labored, Frodo stared at the light of the little candle on the table and heard the echoes of his cry lingering in his room. The voice that was silenced in his dream was clearly back with him now, and he bowed his head, blinking away tears of frustration.
He lay down again, trying to focus on the candle, on thoughts of things that brought him peace. Every time he felt he was nearing a calmer state of mind, there would be something, an image of a haughty smirk or a suggestive leer, that would interrupt and the fear, shame and dread would return.
It was no use. Sleep remained unattainable, avoiding him utterly. Anxious and frustrated, Frodo grabbed the candle from the nightstand and climbed out of bed again, making for the kitchen. He grabbed the bottle of wine and a glass, and went back to his beloved armchair, in the comfort of the parlor.
~*~
It was getting to be about time to check on Mr. Frodo, Sam realized. Since the morning Frodo had disappeared, Sam had made it part of his daily routine to look in on Frodo every morning and wake him if need be. More often than not, he let Frodo sleep rather than risk startling him. And Mr. Frodo startled so easily lately, Sam thought sadly. He had been extra careful not to come up behind Frodo without making some sort of sound to announce his presence.
Sam leaned the hoe up against the wall of the shed and walked toward Bag End resolutely. He wouldn't necessarily startle Frodo if he didn't wake him. He had promised to stay close to his master and to watch over him. He wasn't going to let his apprehensiveness stop him from keeping such an important promise.
On the way to the front door, he stopped by the window of the master bedroom. Feeling foolish, and perhaps a little bit embarrassed at his boldness, he carefully peered in through the windowpane. Frodo was not there, but at least it looked as though he had been. Sam felt a little more relaxed as he continued on to the entrance of the smial.
He turned the knob, and found that the door was locked. That was good, he reflected, as he drew from his pocket the key Frodo had given him. He turned it in the lock and opened the door, poking his head in for a look around. His eyes roved over the room until they came to rest on Bilbo's armchair, and the back of Frodo's head, propped against the high chair back.
So he had fallen asleep in the parlor then. Sam shook his head. Mr. Frodo should be sleeping comfortably in his bed, not in a chair with his neck at such an odd angle. It would be sore later, or he was an oliphaunt!
He stepped carefully around to the front of the armchair, and then he saw it. The bottle of Old Winyards was more than two thirds empty, and sat beside an empty glass on the table next to the chair. Frodo was sound asleep, all right.
~You mean passed out, Samwise Gamgee, you fool,~ Sam silently berated himself. Was this how Mr. Frodo was easing the troubles from his mind at night? At least Frodo was not in any distress - not yet. It might be another story when he woke up. Being careful not to jostle his master too much, Sam eased his arm behind Frodo's back to support him and tucked his other arm under Frodo's knees, lifting him from the chair.
Sam padded softly down the hall with his burden, thinking how light Mr. Frodo seemed in his arms, as if he were more the stuff of dreams than a living, breathing reality. Frodo's terrifying ordeal had been harder on him than he would ever admit to Sam, but Sam didn't need to be told just how hard it had been. He could see it in the dark circles that still remained under Frodo's eyes, and he felt it now in the tightness of the muscles across his master's shoulders.
Damn Bramblethorn! Damn him to the fires below! Exile was too good for the wretch, Sam thought bitterly, as he carried Frodo into the bedroom and laid him gently upon the soft down comforter. Mr. Frodo deserved better than this lingering terror and anguish. He deserved good health and inner peace. Sam missed the musical laugh and quick, contagious smile, and prayed fervently that he would see them again one day when this storm cloud had passed.
Sam rinsed out a cloth in cold water in the basin, and drew a chair up to the bedside. He opened the window a little to allow a fresh breeze to enter the room, and laid the cloth gently across Frodo's forehead. He would hear it from his Gaffer about not finishing his chores in the garden, but he was sure his reason for abandoning them would be understood.
Mr. Frodo was going to wake up in a bad state, Sam was certain. He prepared himself for a long day's vigil. "Mr. Frodo, I wish you would tell me," he whispered. "Tell your Sam how to help you."
He reached out and took Frodo's pale hand in his own, and placed his other hand on the cloth at Frodo's forehead. "Your Sam's here, Mr.Frodo." And there he remained as the morning passed into afternoon, and the afternoon into evening.
~*~ To be continued~*~
QTPie - 2488 - Poor Frodo is still a bit freaked out, perhaps more so than he's willing to admit to even his closest friends.
FrodoBaggins1982 - We need to get those two talking, don't we?
Misstook1420 - Lots of comfort and fluff? We can manage that, I think, eventually. To me, that fits in with the theme of "mild" slash. Let's just say I will leave something to the imagination rather than telling all!
Safjazz - What can Sam do to break through Frodo's barriers? We'll have to sit them down together and find out! At this point, Sam himself is unsure what to do.
ZoSo Gamgee - Baggins - "Let's hope we hear no more of that lumbering Uruk - Hai Bramblethorn". Another great epithet for a nasty villain! I'm getting a good collection of them, and he deserves them all! All that angst and those bottled up emotions! Workin' on getting Sam and Frodo a little time to settle things, certainly!
Aelfgifu - Yes, everyone should have their own Sam when things get rough.
Aratlithiel - Frodo needs Sam, but he's stubbornly trying to just 'deal with it.' Poor Sam doesn't want to pressure Frodo, so he's just waiting anxiously for Frodo to open up.
~*~
Author's note - Coming soon, two versions of Chapter 3! You can choose your chapter with a dash of slash, or lightly sweetened with extraordinary friendship and loyalty. Both will be posted at the same time and should appear with the slash version being Chapter 3 and the non - slash being Chapter 4. Enjoy!
~*~
Chapter 2 - Silence
Frodo stood, and closed his eyes. Bag End was quiet around him as he prepared to face the night. He straightened his shoulders and took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. Time to try again. He would sleep in his bedroom tonight, but he would allow himself the comfort of the candle on his nightstand.
He padded slowly down the hall, his heartbeat becoming more rapid as he approached the room. This time, he did not stop outside the door, but forced himself to step purposefully across the threshold immediately. It was almost too much, without the brief moment of preparation beforehand. The hand holding the candle was shaking slightly, as he placed it on the nightstand.
He pulled a nightshirt from the armoire and changed quickly, trying not to feel the fabric as it slid over his head and made contact with his chest, trying not to feel - anything. Memories of a touch, unloving and undesired, starting at the base of his throat and moving downward across his chest caused him to catch his breath. Moments later, he realized the muffled sob he had just heard had been his own.
He swallowed hard and tried to get a grip on himself. Pulling himself back with difficulty to the reality of his room and the light of the candle, he slipped beneath the covers and closed his eyes.
Silence. Bag End lay in stillness around him. The only sounds were the crickets chirping outside his window and - the window. He had forgotten to close it. He climbed out of bed and closed the window tightly, making sure the little latch that locked it fell solidly into place. The night air was so lovely, but an open window - no. Not yet.
He climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up snugly to his chin and tried to concentrate on the light of the candle as the yellow flame danced upon the wick. He must bring himself to close his eyes, but that would block out the light. The memory of darkness assailed him again as the silence of the night closed in around him. He remembered being bound and alone in that dark place, with no light and no hope.
Finally, when he could keep his eyes open no longer, Frodo gave in to sleep. It wasn't long before he was dreaming again, the same dream that invaded is nights with an awful regularity recently.
Darkness surrounded him and something or someone touched him, almost gently at first, but more roughly as he struggled. Hands clawed at him and struck him. A scream rose in his throat, but was swallowed up by the inky blackness around him as if it had never been. Laughter, cruel and derisive, filled his ears. If he could hear the laughter, why were his own cries inaudible?
~'You are alone, Frodo. Your gardener isn't here and he isn't coming.'~
The words rang loudly in the otherwise silent room, grim, horrifying and final. Unable to bear the future those words promised, Frodo cried out in desperation and misery. "NOOOOOOOOO!"
Sitting bolt upright, his eyes wide and his breathing labored, Frodo stared at the light of the little candle on the table and heard the echoes of his cry lingering in his room. The voice that was silenced in his dream was clearly back with him now, and he bowed his head, blinking away tears of frustration.
He lay down again, trying to focus on the candle, on thoughts of things that brought him peace. Every time he felt he was nearing a calmer state of mind, there would be something, an image of a haughty smirk or a suggestive leer, that would interrupt and the fear, shame and dread would return.
It was no use. Sleep remained unattainable, avoiding him utterly. Anxious and frustrated, Frodo grabbed the candle from the nightstand and climbed out of bed again, making for the kitchen. He grabbed the bottle of wine and a glass, and went back to his beloved armchair, in the comfort of the parlor.
~*~
It was getting to be about time to check on Mr. Frodo, Sam realized. Since the morning Frodo had disappeared, Sam had made it part of his daily routine to look in on Frodo every morning and wake him if need be. More often than not, he let Frodo sleep rather than risk startling him. And Mr. Frodo startled so easily lately, Sam thought sadly. He had been extra careful not to come up behind Frodo without making some sort of sound to announce his presence.
Sam leaned the hoe up against the wall of the shed and walked toward Bag End resolutely. He wouldn't necessarily startle Frodo if he didn't wake him. He had promised to stay close to his master and to watch over him. He wasn't going to let his apprehensiveness stop him from keeping such an important promise.
On the way to the front door, he stopped by the window of the master bedroom. Feeling foolish, and perhaps a little bit embarrassed at his boldness, he carefully peered in through the windowpane. Frodo was not there, but at least it looked as though he had been. Sam felt a little more relaxed as he continued on to the entrance of the smial.
He turned the knob, and found that the door was locked. That was good, he reflected, as he drew from his pocket the key Frodo had given him. He turned it in the lock and opened the door, poking his head in for a look around. His eyes roved over the room until they came to rest on Bilbo's armchair, and the back of Frodo's head, propped against the high chair back.
So he had fallen asleep in the parlor then. Sam shook his head. Mr. Frodo should be sleeping comfortably in his bed, not in a chair with his neck at such an odd angle. It would be sore later, or he was an oliphaunt!
He stepped carefully around to the front of the armchair, and then he saw it. The bottle of Old Winyards was more than two thirds empty, and sat beside an empty glass on the table next to the chair. Frodo was sound asleep, all right.
~You mean passed out, Samwise Gamgee, you fool,~ Sam silently berated himself. Was this how Mr. Frodo was easing the troubles from his mind at night? At least Frodo was not in any distress - not yet. It might be another story when he woke up. Being careful not to jostle his master too much, Sam eased his arm behind Frodo's back to support him and tucked his other arm under Frodo's knees, lifting him from the chair.
Sam padded softly down the hall with his burden, thinking how light Mr. Frodo seemed in his arms, as if he were more the stuff of dreams than a living, breathing reality. Frodo's terrifying ordeal had been harder on him than he would ever admit to Sam, but Sam didn't need to be told just how hard it had been. He could see it in the dark circles that still remained under Frodo's eyes, and he felt it now in the tightness of the muscles across his master's shoulders.
Damn Bramblethorn! Damn him to the fires below! Exile was too good for the wretch, Sam thought bitterly, as he carried Frodo into the bedroom and laid him gently upon the soft down comforter. Mr. Frodo deserved better than this lingering terror and anguish. He deserved good health and inner peace. Sam missed the musical laugh and quick, contagious smile, and prayed fervently that he would see them again one day when this storm cloud had passed.
Sam rinsed out a cloth in cold water in the basin, and drew a chair up to the bedside. He opened the window a little to allow a fresh breeze to enter the room, and laid the cloth gently across Frodo's forehead. He would hear it from his Gaffer about not finishing his chores in the garden, but he was sure his reason for abandoning them would be understood.
Mr. Frodo was going to wake up in a bad state, Sam was certain. He prepared himself for a long day's vigil. "Mr. Frodo, I wish you would tell me," he whispered. "Tell your Sam how to help you."
He reached out and took Frodo's pale hand in his own, and placed his other hand on the cloth at Frodo's forehead. "Your Sam's here, Mr.Frodo." And there he remained as the morning passed into afternoon, and the afternoon into evening.
~*~ To be continued~*~