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beautiful vision had been replaced by an inky blackness.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.
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.
