AN:
I'm so thankful for my beta, Emma, who is patiently reading all the things
I send her. LOL. I hope she doesn't feel burdened at all.
And to the reviewers, there will never be enough thanks to all of you for
all your effort to send me some words. Your reviews are the most important
fuel that keeps this story running. So, please keep reading and reviewing!
I would like to point out too that all the stories in ffnet are great and
some of them have become so dear to me. Those written by Emma, MBradford
(she is my beta, too, for my other stories), Krista, Aralithiel,
Budgielover are some to name. (endymion, why not writing your story and
post it? Come on! Join the club!)
And now for my lovely reviewers:
Mei: Thanks for reviewing and logging in first (I like to reply to emails now. LOL) Yeah, Frodo might not be in clear danger. But who knows?
Chloe Amethyst: Sam and Strider are on the way! Don't worry. But will they be useful? Let's find it out! Thanks to YOU for reading and reviewing, dear.
endymion: Please, I don't want you to crack down. I'm still in need of reviews! He he. And come back soon from Hungary. Oh, I would love to hear your story from your journey.
Krista: I know you were reading! A nasty cliffhanger from a nasty hobbit lass? LOL.
MBradford: You must be some kind of an oracle to show me a way for this story. Thank you, love. Throw me in some more hunches!
Chapter 58
Warning: AU, angst, violence
~ still flashback ~
Frodo was paralyzed in terror as the door banged open hard, hitting the wall behind it. Panic swiftly spread from his thumping heart to his entire body. His throat closed the airway to his lungs.
Twisting his head around, Frodo caught sight of the wide glass pane which was impossible to open since it was planted there and was not meant for passing through. It crossed his mind to smash the glass but the room lacked any equipment Frodo might need. He could have used his fist to shatter the glass into pieces had it not stood too high. There was a dresser for Frodo to climb onto that was high enough, but unfortunately it proudly stood in the far corner of the room, looking strongly built - and so awfully heavy. It was as if the thing was mocking Frodo for his inabilities to move it even an inch.
Desperately Frodo swept his gaze around again and catching a glimpse of the enormous bed behind him. Frodo choked a little as he realized something. The bed! Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it earlier? As good as its softness could swallow Frodo whole, the space beneath it was also spacious enough to hide him from the men's sight. Feeling the spirit rise in him again, Frodo catapulted toward the bed and slid smoothly under, stashing himself beneath it.
Frodo could not have done better, though, as he was already slowed down by his own previous hysteria. The men saw what he was doing and instantly burst through the door in an attempt to recapture him. But unlike Frodo's diminutive figure, the men's frames proved far too bulky to follow Frodo under the bed.
Curses filled the air as the leader of those men, the one whose warg had borne Frodo on its back, harshly spat on another.
"This is all your fault with your 'big' idea!" Hull, a henchman of Slater, that leader, bent his shoulders apprehensively.
"But Slater, it was you who told me to do something to make this more fun, so I released him from his bonds. I thought that could be fun." An ugly smirk decorated his even more hideous face. "A little hide and seek like this is your favorite, right?"
Slater snarled and pushed Hull down to fetch their object of this 'fun' activity. A desperate cry poured out of Frodo's mouth as he caught sight of Hull's wild eyes and leering smile. Frodo backed out, pressing himself to the wall behind him and fastening his arms around his folded legs.
Hull was trying his luck, lying as low as he could until his chest and belly pressed onto the floor, and creeping forward to reach Frodo.
"No!" screamed Frodo, feeling exactly like a trapped animal whose hunter was now giggling and extending his hands to seize his prey.
But soon Hull gave up. The stretch between the floor and the bed was still not enough for him and his body hurt all over. Breathing hard, Hull pulled back, swearing harshly.
More heads were appearing on the other side of the bed.
"Peek-a-boo!" cried one of them. Frodo gasped and thrashed his head wildly.
"You can't do this! YOU CAN'T!" He was near hysteria again and afraid that his mind would not stand any of these atrocities anymore. But Frodo could not let himself caught, suspecting what might happen to him if he did.
Hull reappeared, still with his repulsive smirk.
"Why not? What do you think we will do to you, huh? Nothing. We won't do you a thing! We're just going to have fun. Right, mates?" Hull threw a meaningful glance to the two others. They replied with clamors of laughter. Frodo quivered violently, his eyes moving crazily toward the three ruffians. It was such a fortune that his body was small enough he could still keep the men away from him.
They could go on forever like that. And as long as Frodo did not flail his arms, there was nothing the men could do to ensnare him.
Slater growled.
"I've had it up to here!" he gestured his right hand to his own chin. "Take him out now!"
The three men crouching on the floor looked up at him in fearful yet respectful gazes. But how were they supposed to do that?
"Master," called Hull shakily. "But the halfling's curling up like a cocoon. We simply can' t reach him."
"Fool!" blared Slater. "Then make him uncurl himself!" The man threw a small pouch to Hull, who then opened it and sneezed at the sharp smell of its contents.
"Don't smell it, idiot!" Slater's voice again. "It's a very strong powder that feels extremely hot to your senses. It's not lethal, though. A great work by Saruman himself."
Hull sneered, nodding off understandingly. Crouching down again, he took a fist of the dust and slowly crawled along the side of the bed to get him as close as possible to Frodo. Mouth gaping, Frodo could only stare questioningly at the man. A fist suddenly stretched out toward Frodo's trembling figure and as it unclenched jerkingly, dust burst forth toward Frodo's eyes.
"Aah!" Frodo cried out, fingers roving over his involuntarily close eyes, desperately trying to scrape off the intruding substance, but in vain. The dust had pierced deeply into Frodo's eyes, like hundreds of needles stabbing the soft tissue of his eyeballs. That alone was agonizing enough that Frodo was shrieking miserably for an entire passing moment. And when the pinpricks had subsided and left the hobbit with numbers of uncomfortable tickles, Frodo opened his eyes only to find out that he could not see a thing. Frodo gasped in shock.
"No, oh no!" Frodo whimpered in despair. His hands flew back to his eyes, making sure that they did open. They did - yet nothing came into sight. In desperation, Frodo flailed his hands, trying to find any supports around him.
That was exactly what the men were waiting for. Grinning with satisfaction, Hull reached for Frodo's left leg and pulled it hard. Frodo yelped and gave a powerful tug in the opposite direction. He forgot that there, prying arms were waiting. From Frodo's right side, one of the men successfully grabbed Frodo's wrist and started to drag him out.
Frodo yelped as he came to realize how degrading his position was right now - lying on his back with the right arm pulled to one end and his left leg yanked to another. But those cruel Isengarders needed to make up their minds as to which direction Frodo should be taken. Otherwise they would just stretch him mercilessly yet aimlessly.
Not knowing what the men were going to do next, Frodo's heart leapt with hope as the claws on his wrist unfastened. But as he scrambled up to a sitting position, a vise-like grip snatched around his other ankle and with a jerking tug, Frodo was dragged out from under the bed.
"Let me go!" Frodo wheezed in mounting panic and struggled backward. But Hull, unhindered by any of it, continued on pulling and in less than seconds, he had Frodo hauled out.
Still thrashing blindly at first, Frodo stilled when a stinging slap lashed across his face.
"That's better." Frodo heard someone grumble as rushing steps paced closer. A moment later he felt himself being lifted up by his arms which were then wrenched behind his back.
"Let go," Frodo panted weakly. He could not imagine how vulnerable his situation was. The dread in his heart caused tears to trickle down his cheeks from his unseeing eyes.
"There, there. Don't cry, little one." A voice was heard again, meaning to be a comfort but sounding more like a subtle menace to Frodo's ears.
"Why - why are you doing this?" Frodo whispered in between his sobs. His heart sank more deeply as nobody replied; they only laughed over and over.
Then something touched his lips, forcing its way into Frodo's mouth. It felt long, smooth, and thin. Frodo jerked, causing the men to tighten their grips on his arms. Frodo winced and sharply turned his face sideways to reject the intrusion. A hand entangled in Frodo's hair, forcing his face to keep still.
"Plea - th," begged Frodo unclearly as his tongue twirled around the thing.
"Don't worry, Frodo." The mention of his name froze the scared hobbit. "We're friends, aren't we?" A man, Slater, pulled out the pipe he had been inserting into Frodo's mouth and wagged it under the hobbit's nose.
"I believe you have smoked a pipe before. I heard all halflings do. So, why don't we puff our friendship pipe together?" Frodo heard Slater inhale deeply and blow out the smoke to his face, making him cough terribly. Frodo had never smelled this kind of scent before. Apparently some kind of weed only familiar to humans and not to hobbits.
"Please," Frodo shook his head. "That's not the thing I usually take. I'm afraid--"
But his words were cut off sharply as Slater thrust the pipe back between Frodo's small lips. His other hand that was nestled in the hobbit's curls moved to his jaw, pressing it painfully. Frodo whimpered but he was not inhaling.
"Breathe it in!" snarled Slater, and gave more pressure on Frodo's jaw when he kept being passive. Still Frodo resisted taking a puff.
Without the hobbit knowing it, Slater nodded to Hull, who gladly took the sign. Doubtlessly he swung his huge fist and planted it forcefully onto Frodo's stomach. Eyes widened with shock and pain, Frodo screeched piteously and would have doubled over if not for the restraining hand.
"Well?" prompted Slater calmly. Gasping desperately for air, Frodo nodded in despair as more tears flowed down his cheeks, chin and his bare chest.
"I'll smoke," his small voice sounded bleary and hollow, his eyes staring apprehensively to a spot where no one was standing. Eyes so blue yet so blind. "Don't hurt me again. Please."
Torments had almost been Frodo's loyal companion but he knew that he simply could not make himself get accustomed to them - save perhaps if his mind snapped. At that time Frodo might not feel the fear anymore.
Frodo sniffed the weed closing in under his nose again and started to inhale deeply with his mouth. Now perhaps his mind had really snapped as he let others do anything to him instead of fighting it. But smoking - the activity was something Frodo had always done. So, there was nothing to be afraid of. Was it?
Frodo's mind was wandering wildly as fog suddenly clouded over it.
"Dizzy," he mumbled incoherently. His head lolled to his chest, but a second later it was thrown far to the back again, making him look like a ragged doll that was being rocked back and forth. Slater kept forcing Frodo to inhale and puff out almost at the same time, never taking out the cask of Frodo's mouth even after seeing how the hobbit was coughing in an apparent agony.
"Dizzy," repeated Frodo, feeling more and more nauseous and beginning to feel light in his head. The world was floating around him and Frodo was insensible of everything that was happening in it. Never had he got high when he smoked, though. Must be a powerful kind of weed the men had here, a deeper part of Frodo's conscious mind tried to reason out. But the outer Frodo could not care less. *** "Dizzy."
And Frodo cast his eyes at a small hobbit plopping down before him. Merry. A very young Merry.
"I told you not to meddle in grown ups' affair!" Frodo reached down and snatched his pipe back from Merry. "This is nothing for babies."
"I'm not a baby!" cried Merry, pouting by thrusting out his thin lower lip.
"Oh yes, you are." Frodo could not hold himself from giving the apple-rose cheek one or two squeezes. Merry giggled cutely. Yes, that was was at that time. A cute Merry.
Frodo blinked back a tear. How he missed those times. How he missed Merry! A loving Merry. Yes, another side of his younger cousin had been shown to Frodo as he was carefully and lovingly bathed by the only friend he owned.
But Frodo also realized something. As a friend Merry could be very obsessive. A jealous Merry. Shuddering slightly, Frodo came to recall how Merry insistently compelled him to accept the fact that he was the only friend, guard, and protector of Frodo. Not Gandalf. Not his uncle Bilbo. And not even both of his parents that had long abandoned him. Sniffing silently, Frodo relived the moment when he finally saw the truth in Merry's words. Especially after witnessing what Merry did to Pippin after the smaller cousin tried to drown Frodo. A punishing Merry. That was punishment indeed that Merry granted his own cousin, and a harsh one, too. Frodo was thankful for what had been done on his behalf but could not help feeling sorry for Pippin.
Merry was everything to Frodo, no matter what his mood: infuriated, jubilant, disappointed, satisfied, troubled, tranquil, cautious, carefree.
* * * Frodo had long ceased inhaling the pipe held persistently by Slater. The man finally gave up noticing how Frodo's head was lolling down limply without any sign that it would toss back anytime soon.
TBC
AN (again?!): Hmm, I'm still dying to hear from some lurkers out there, if there is any---
Mei: Thanks for reviewing and logging in first (I like to reply to emails now. LOL) Yeah, Frodo might not be in clear danger. But who knows?
Chloe Amethyst: Sam and Strider are on the way! Don't worry. But will they be useful? Let's find it out! Thanks to YOU for reading and reviewing, dear.
endymion: Please, I don't want you to crack down. I'm still in need of reviews! He he. And come back soon from Hungary. Oh, I would love to hear your story from your journey.
Krista: I know you were reading! A nasty cliffhanger from a nasty hobbit lass? LOL.
MBradford: You must be some kind of an oracle to show me a way for this story. Thank you, love. Throw me in some more hunches!
Chapter 58
Warning: AU, angst, violence
~ still flashback ~
Frodo was paralyzed in terror as the door banged open hard, hitting the wall behind it. Panic swiftly spread from his thumping heart to his entire body. His throat closed the airway to his lungs.
Twisting his head around, Frodo caught sight of the wide glass pane which was impossible to open since it was planted there and was not meant for passing through. It crossed his mind to smash the glass but the room lacked any equipment Frodo might need. He could have used his fist to shatter the glass into pieces had it not stood too high. There was a dresser for Frodo to climb onto that was high enough, but unfortunately it proudly stood in the far corner of the room, looking strongly built - and so awfully heavy. It was as if the thing was mocking Frodo for his inabilities to move it even an inch.
Desperately Frodo swept his gaze around again and catching a glimpse of the enormous bed behind him. Frodo choked a little as he realized something. The bed! Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it earlier? As good as its softness could swallow Frodo whole, the space beneath it was also spacious enough to hide him from the men's sight. Feeling the spirit rise in him again, Frodo catapulted toward the bed and slid smoothly under, stashing himself beneath it.
Frodo could not have done better, though, as he was already slowed down by his own previous hysteria. The men saw what he was doing and instantly burst through the door in an attempt to recapture him. But unlike Frodo's diminutive figure, the men's frames proved far too bulky to follow Frodo under the bed.
Curses filled the air as the leader of those men, the one whose warg had borne Frodo on its back, harshly spat on another.
"This is all your fault with your 'big' idea!" Hull, a henchman of Slater, that leader, bent his shoulders apprehensively.
"But Slater, it was you who told me to do something to make this more fun, so I released him from his bonds. I thought that could be fun." An ugly smirk decorated his even more hideous face. "A little hide and seek like this is your favorite, right?"
Slater snarled and pushed Hull down to fetch their object of this 'fun' activity. A desperate cry poured out of Frodo's mouth as he caught sight of Hull's wild eyes and leering smile. Frodo backed out, pressing himself to the wall behind him and fastening his arms around his folded legs.
Hull was trying his luck, lying as low as he could until his chest and belly pressed onto the floor, and creeping forward to reach Frodo.
"No!" screamed Frodo, feeling exactly like a trapped animal whose hunter was now giggling and extending his hands to seize his prey.
But soon Hull gave up. The stretch between the floor and the bed was still not enough for him and his body hurt all over. Breathing hard, Hull pulled back, swearing harshly.
More heads were appearing on the other side of the bed.
"Peek-a-boo!" cried one of them. Frodo gasped and thrashed his head wildly.
"You can't do this! YOU CAN'T!" He was near hysteria again and afraid that his mind would not stand any of these atrocities anymore. But Frodo could not let himself caught, suspecting what might happen to him if he did.
Hull reappeared, still with his repulsive smirk.
"Why not? What do you think we will do to you, huh? Nothing. We won't do you a thing! We're just going to have fun. Right, mates?" Hull threw a meaningful glance to the two others. They replied with clamors of laughter. Frodo quivered violently, his eyes moving crazily toward the three ruffians. It was such a fortune that his body was small enough he could still keep the men away from him.
They could go on forever like that. And as long as Frodo did not flail his arms, there was nothing the men could do to ensnare him.
Slater growled.
"I've had it up to here!" he gestured his right hand to his own chin. "Take him out now!"
The three men crouching on the floor looked up at him in fearful yet respectful gazes. But how were they supposed to do that?
"Master," called Hull shakily. "But the halfling's curling up like a cocoon. We simply can' t reach him."
"Fool!" blared Slater. "Then make him uncurl himself!" The man threw a small pouch to Hull, who then opened it and sneezed at the sharp smell of its contents.
"Don't smell it, idiot!" Slater's voice again. "It's a very strong powder that feels extremely hot to your senses. It's not lethal, though. A great work by Saruman himself."
Hull sneered, nodding off understandingly. Crouching down again, he took a fist of the dust and slowly crawled along the side of the bed to get him as close as possible to Frodo. Mouth gaping, Frodo could only stare questioningly at the man. A fist suddenly stretched out toward Frodo's trembling figure and as it unclenched jerkingly, dust burst forth toward Frodo's eyes.
"Aah!" Frodo cried out, fingers roving over his involuntarily close eyes, desperately trying to scrape off the intruding substance, but in vain. The dust had pierced deeply into Frodo's eyes, like hundreds of needles stabbing the soft tissue of his eyeballs. That alone was agonizing enough that Frodo was shrieking miserably for an entire passing moment. And when the pinpricks had subsided and left the hobbit with numbers of uncomfortable tickles, Frodo opened his eyes only to find out that he could not see a thing. Frodo gasped in shock.
"No, oh no!" Frodo whimpered in despair. His hands flew back to his eyes, making sure that they did open. They did - yet nothing came into sight. In desperation, Frodo flailed his hands, trying to find any supports around him.
That was exactly what the men were waiting for. Grinning with satisfaction, Hull reached for Frodo's left leg and pulled it hard. Frodo yelped and gave a powerful tug in the opposite direction. He forgot that there, prying arms were waiting. From Frodo's right side, one of the men successfully grabbed Frodo's wrist and started to drag him out.
Frodo yelped as he came to realize how degrading his position was right now - lying on his back with the right arm pulled to one end and his left leg yanked to another. But those cruel Isengarders needed to make up their minds as to which direction Frodo should be taken. Otherwise they would just stretch him mercilessly yet aimlessly.
Not knowing what the men were going to do next, Frodo's heart leapt with hope as the claws on his wrist unfastened. But as he scrambled up to a sitting position, a vise-like grip snatched around his other ankle and with a jerking tug, Frodo was dragged out from under the bed.
"Let me go!" Frodo wheezed in mounting panic and struggled backward. But Hull, unhindered by any of it, continued on pulling and in less than seconds, he had Frodo hauled out.
Still thrashing blindly at first, Frodo stilled when a stinging slap lashed across his face.
"That's better." Frodo heard someone grumble as rushing steps paced closer. A moment later he felt himself being lifted up by his arms which were then wrenched behind his back.
"Let go," Frodo panted weakly. He could not imagine how vulnerable his situation was. The dread in his heart caused tears to trickle down his cheeks from his unseeing eyes.
"There, there. Don't cry, little one." A voice was heard again, meaning to be a comfort but sounding more like a subtle menace to Frodo's ears.
"Why - why are you doing this?" Frodo whispered in between his sobs. His heart sank more deeply as nobody replied; they only laughed over and over.
Then something touched his lips, forcing its way into Frodo's mouth. It felt long, smooth, and thin. Frodo jerked, causing the men to tighten their grips on his arms. Frodo winced and sharply turned his face sideways to reject the intrusion. A hand entangled in Frodo's hair, forcing his face to keep still.
"Plea - th," begged Frodo unclearly as his tongue twirled around the thing.
"Don't worry, Frodo." The mention of his name froze the scared hobbit. "We're friends, aren't we?" A man, Slater, pulled out the pipe he had been inserting into Frodo's mouth and wagged it under the hobbit's nose.
"I believe you have smoked a pipe before. I heard all halflings do. So, why don't we puff our friendship pipe together?" Frodo heard Slater inhale deeply and blow out the smoke to his face, making him cough terribly. Frodo had never smelled this kind of scent before. Apparently some kind of weed only familiar to humans and not to hobbits.
"Please," Frodo shook his head. "That's not the thing I usually take. I'm afraid--"
But his words were cut off sharply as Slater thrust the pipe back between Frodo's small lips. His other hand that was nestled in the hobbit's curls moved to his jaw, pressing it painfully. Frodo whimpered but he was not inhaling.
"Breathe it in!" snarled Slater, and gave more pressure on Frodo's jaw when he kept being passive. Still Frodo resisted taking a puff.
Without the hobbit knowing it, Slater nodded to Hull, who gladly took the sign. Doubtlessly he swung his huge fist and planted it forcefully onto Frodo's stomach. Eyes widened with shock and pain, Frodo screeched piteously and would have doubled over if not for the restraining hand.
"Well?" prompted Slater calmly. Gasping desperately for air, Frodo nodded in despair as more tears flowed down his cheeks, chin and his bare chest.
"I'll smoke," his small voice sounded bleary and hollow, his eyes staring apprehensively to a spot where no one was standing. Eyes so blue yet so blind. "Don't hurt me again. Please."
Torments had almost been Frodo's loyal companion but he knew that he simply could not make himself get accustomed to them - save perhaps if his mind snapped. At that time Frodo might not feel the fear anymore.
Frodo sniffed the weed closing in under his nose again and started to inhale deeply with his mouth. Now perhaps his mind had really snapped as he let others do anything to him instead of fighting it. But smoking - the activity was something Frodo had always done. So, there was nothing to be afraid of. Was it?
Frodo's mind was wandering wildly as fog suddenly clouded over it.
"Dizzy," he mumbled incoherently. His head lolled to his chest, but a second later it was thrown far to the back again, making him look like a ragged doll that was being rocked back and forth. Slater kept forcing Frodo to inhale and puff out almost at the same time, never taking out the cask of Frodo's mouth even after seeing how the hobbit was coughing in an apparent agony.
"Dizzy," repeated Frodo, feeling more and more nauseous and beginning to feel light in his head. The world was floating around him and Frodo was insensible of everything that was happening in it. Never had he got high when he smoked, though. Must be a powerful kind of weed the men had here, a deeper part of Frodo's conscious mind tried to reason out. But the outer Frodo could not care less. *** "Dizzy."
And Frodo cast his eyes at a small hobbit plopping down before him. Merry. A very young Merry.
"I told you not to meddle in grown ups' affair!" Frodo reached down and snatched his pipe back from Merry. "This is nothing for babies."
"I'm not a baby!" cried Merry, pouting by thrusting out his thin lower lip.
"Oh yes, you are." Frodo could not hold himself from giving the apple-rose cheek one or two squeezes. Merry giggled cutely. Yes, that was was at that time. A cute Merry.
Frodo blinked back a tear. How he missed those times. How he missed Merry! A loving Merry. Yes, another side of his younger cousin had been shown to Frodo as he was carefully and lovingly bathed by the only friend he owned.
But Frodo also realized something. As a friend Merry could be very obsessive. A jealous Merry. Shuddering slightly, Frodo came to recall how Merry insistently compelled him to accept the fact that he was the only friend, guard, and protector of Frodo. Not Gandalf. Not his uncle Bilbo. And not even both of his parents that had long abandoned him. Sniffing silently, Frodo relived the moment when he finally saw the truth in Merry's words. Especially after witnessing what Merry did to Pippin after the smaller cousin tried to drown Frodo. A punishing Merry. That was punishment indeed that Merry granted his own cousin, and a harsh one, too. Frodo was thankful for what had been done on his behalf but could not help feeling sorry for Pippin.
Merry was everything to Frodo, no matter what his mood: infuriated, jubilant, disappointed, satisfied, troubled, tranquil, cautious, carefree.
* * * Frodo had long ceased inhaling the pipe held persistently by Slater. The man finally gave up noticing how Frodo's head was lolling down limply without any sign that it would toss back anytime soon.
TBC
AN (again?!): Hmm, I'm still dying to hear from some lurkers out there, if there is any---
