Chapter 14

The sky was blue; the sun shone generously. There was no trace of

the rain that had poured cats and dogs the night before. Frodo gazed

up to the sky and to the tall trees. Birds were dancing and chirping

together on he treetops. Serenity pulsed through the hobbit's entire

being.

Frodo sighed, laying himself on the green grass with arms folded

behind his head. He was armed with a book, a very good one, but the

wind that was blowing gently made him want to just lie down and

close his eyes. Slowly he was dozing off. In no time he fell into a

deep and peaceful slumber.
He was still in the dreamland when a voice called to him, distant as

an echo, yet real as the summer sun.

"Frodo! Frodo!"

A hand touched his shoulder lightly. Lazily he opened his brilliant

blue eyes and a smile formed on his diminutive lips.

"Mama?"

"Frodo, it's lunch time already."

The eleven-year-old boy got up and hugged his mother tightly around

her waist.

"I love lunch time! I love meal times!"

His mother looked down, smiling. She cupped Frodo's chubby cheeks in

her palms.

"Come on, love."

At home, Primula had prepared her usual sumptuous meals. Her

specialty, blueberry pie with cream, was waiting at the other end of

the table. Frodo stared at the food with wide eyes. His mouth

started to water.

He sat down in his chair and reached out eagerly. To his surprise,

something unseen seemed to restrain his arms. No matter how hard

Frodo tried to pull his hands forward, he was not able to move

them. His confusion grew as he tumbled into disorientation and

darkness.

"Mama ---?" Little Frodo wailed miserably. He looked up, his eyes

searching frantically for his mother. But something strange

happened. His mother was no longer there! And all the food, now was

gone, too! In fact, Frodo couldn't see anything at all. His

beautiful vision had been replaced by an inky blackness.

Frodo jerked his head back and forth.

"Mama?" he moaned. Frodo's breaths grew rapid. Oh, Eru, it was only

a dream! His mother and all the food - just a dream. But they'd felt

so real he could have touched them.

A horrible truth slowly dawned on Frodo. He was not feasting on

blueberry pie in the loving presence of his mother. Instead he was

back in his chair - not in his family hole, but at the hateful Black

Stallion Inn. Thick ropes held him in place. Frodo knew why he

hadn't been able to pull his hands forward in the dream. His hands

had been secured behind the chair in knots so tight his wrists had

gone numb. And Frodo was blindfolded. His eyes felt warm with

tears that were soaked up by the dark-colored cloth over his eyes.

Frodo thrashed violently against the binds that confined him to the

chair. Consumed by anger and hopelessness, he struggled hard to free

himself. Merry and Pippin were not going to treat him nicely

anymore. What if they had never really intended to be kind? What

if they had planned to harm him from the very beginning? If so, how

stupid he was, Frodo thought, to fall so easily for their fake

compassion.

But the dream was so nice. Why couldn't he leave everything behind

and stay there forever with his mom?

NO! He couldn't lose hope now and give up. Frodo resumed his

effort. His chair began squeak and crack under his struggles.

"Mama!" screamed Frodo.

"Hey!" There was a shout. Merry.

If his cousin had been sleeping, he surely was not anymore.

"Be still, Frodo!"

But the bound hobbit did not obey. Frodo continued squirming, trying

to set himself free. Frodo gasped when a hand took his chin and

snatched it to his right. He felt warm breaths as Merry spoke an

inch from his own face.

"You disobeyed me, Beloved." whispered Merry with almost obscene

tenderness. "You forced my hand."

Frodo tried to pull his face away but the grip was stronger. Nails

dug into his skin.

"Please ---"

"Please what, Frodo?" Merry spoke directly into Frodo's ear, louder

now. Frodo winced. Merry exploded.

"You will stay in that chair UNTIL YOU TALK!" Merry spoke so loudly

it made Frodo's ears ring.

Frodo cried out in frustration. This time Frodo successfully jerked

his head away from his cousin's grasp. It was too much, though, as

he felt a sudden attack of dizziness come over him. But he willed

himself. Even though the situation gave him little chance to win, at

least later -- if there was a later, he could say that he had tried

and never given in.

***

Sam looked at Strider, despair shadowing his gaze. "No news yet?"

The man shook his head. "Nobody seems to know the woman. I've asked

several Breelanders around but they can't give useful information

about her. A bit queer because there's also nobody claiming to be

her family. Poor lass."

Sam groaned. He buried his face in his own hands. "I've failed.

Failed! Mr. Frodo is dead already. He must be!"

"Sam." A hand grasped his shoulder from the back. "You can't say

that. We'll find him. We won't let terrible things happen to him."

"But they've already happened," cut Sam. "And the promise I made, is

futile. How I wish -"

"I, too, am bound in a promise, Sam," stated Strider. "A promise to

Gandalf."

Strider knew exactly how to encourage Sam. The key word was Gandalf.

Sam smiled faintly. "I, too, made a promise to Gandalf. And I

intend to keep it"

***

Frodo had been tied down for two or three long hours, though he

began to lose track of the time. His muscles were knotting up and

his breathing stifled due to the tight blindfold that also covered

his nose. The sound of Frodo's labored breaths might have broken a

normal person's heart, but not his captor's.

Frodo bowed his head. Frustration and dread gripped his soul. He had

never liked darkness, even when he was sleeping. He'd always asked

his mother to leave at least a small candle that would flicker

through the night. And this cloth covering his eyes had lingered too

long. Frodo couldn't guess how much longer his cousins planned to

submerge him in darkness. He started to feel sick in the pit of his

stomach. Frodo began to lose his orientation of time and place.

An abrupt yank at Frodo's hair jerked his head backward. Elbereth!

Frodo caught his breath. If it wasn't from the pain in his head,

then it had to be from the whirling sensation that bathed his

senses. The nauseous feeling he was having doubled. Frodo felt that

he was going to be sick. Gasping for air, his parted lips let out a

cry.

"Gandalf!"

In Frodo's heart, he cursed the fact that he was Bilbo's heir. He

cursed the fact that he had inherited Bilbo's ring. Damn ring. Take

it! TAKE IT! He really wanted to shout those words to Merry, who

still gripped his hair. But part of Frodo's mind reminded him that

it was NOT the right thing to do. Gradually Frodo started to get

confused--confused over himself, confused over his surroundings, and

confused over everything about the ring.