Disclaimer: All of you who are reading this ought to know by now that I take no credit whatsoever for those of Middle-earth and neither am I gaining money from this fic or anything else of the kind. This is merely for my entertainment and I suppose for yours, too. So don't get upset at me if I don't write any more Disclaimers. They get terribly old after a while . . . .
*note: And, now, who enters the tale? Yup, our very own blue-eyed, soft-voiced, and too-shy hobbit, Frodo Baggins. ::sigh:: Though I must say, their reunion does not . . . well, you'll see.
Ch. 15
OF WATER, AIR, AND LIGHT
Samwise couldn't remember exactly how long ago they had arrived, but he thought it was a little over a week ago. Usually, the young Gamgee was a fairly decent chap at keeping the days in straight order but the last several weeks had been a terrible time and one that Sam didn't readily like to think about and so he had forced them from his thoughts and decided, quite firmly, that if anyone wanted to know the days of the week, well, then they'd just have to ask some other hobbit, for Samwise Gamgee didn't know, didn't want to know, nor did he care.
The hobbit forced a chuckle. Easy there, Sam, no need getting all upset over things that are past and through. Mister Frodo's well enough now. Everything's fine.
Everything was fine, too. What with the Black Rider's far from Rivendell, they were hard to bring back to mind. Well, at least in the light of the day. At night, though . . .
Sam shuddered. He'd found ways to keep dark thoughts away during the day and he supposed that would have to do for now. He'd learned to enjoy the sun a fair amount more than he ever had after the incident at Weathertop and that's saying a lot, for he was a gardener and what's more to a gardener than the glorious rays of the sun--the life source of all living things.
Even now, Sam walked the many gardens of the House of Elrond, enjoying the interwoven smells and sounds created by trees and wind and water and light. Yes, the sun had a smell, too, though few enough stopped to think about it. Sam did, though, and for reasons such as simple as those was why Frodo loved Sam as he did.
Sam sighed. Ah, Mister Frodo, I've seen the elves and now all I want is to go home. I've had enough adventure and I don't doubt you have, too.
Sam wasn't sure how long he had wandered the labyrinthine gardens before he spied the girl sitting next to the pool, but it couldn't have been so terribly long for the sun wasn't even halfway up the sky. Apryl sat alone near the water's edge, her dress pulled up around her knees and her feet dangling in the cold, crystalline waters. Sam approached hesitantly, curious at this odd spectacle, for autumn was at hand and winter well on its way.
What was a maiden doing with her feet dipped in ice cold water? Sam, being a fairly straightforward hobbit, deemed it only right that he ask, but as he was about to inquire of her odd behavior a twig snapped beneath his hairy feet and he cringed at the thunderous crack! it made in his hobbit ears.
The girl, startled, looked up, and Sam saw a hollow look in her eyes as she regarded him and then seemingly disinterested she turned back to look again at nothing. He was taken aback for a moment at the emptiness in her eyes and a swell of pity enveloped his chest, as it seemed to him that she looked as one who had just lost their best friend.
He regarded her silently for a moment before, "Is everything well, milady?" He supposed it was not his place to pry but, then again, one did not come across another who seemed lost and without hope and carry about their business as if nothing was amiss.
The ironic thing about Samwise's reasoning, though, was that was exactly what Apryl expected him to do--carry on down the path, pass beyond the corner, and never give her a second thought. Wasn't that what most people did? It never occurred to her that those of Middle-earth held a different moral standard than those of her own Earth.
She looked over at him, regarded him anew. "I'm fine," she said, knowing she lacked conviction but not really caring. If she gave him the answer he wanted to hear--or at least she thought he wanted to hear--than he would let her be and, though she knew this hobbit could be none other than Samwise Gamgee and her spirit cried out for joy her heart had other ideas and just wanted to be left alone.
Sam frowned; for it was obvious she was anything but well. Stepping forward, he made as if to protest (though the logic of telling another how they felt never really occurred to Sam but, then again, neither did lying when all he wanted was to offer help.)
The hobbit never saw the root, his eyes being too intent upon the girl, and afterwards he was unsure whether there had ever been one, but something caused him to trip.
Sam cried out as he fell, his arms flying out to stay the pain he knew must come but failed, for the rock caught him on the jaw and the darkness came.
Apryl eyes widened as he tripped and she got to her feet instinctively but with the sickening smack of Sam connecting with the rock she cried out in horror and leapt for him. His still body slipped from the rock and with a splash he fell beneath the clear water.
When Apryl had first found the pool, she hadn't thought it very deep, for it was so clear and she could see the bottom, but when Sam lost his balance and fell she saw she had been terribly mistaken. The water was clear, yes, but it was also very deep. Just how so, though, Apryl didn't realize until she ran to the edge, knelt, and reached for Sam. Not only did her fingers not touch the bottom but they didn't even brush the curls on the hobbit's head. Water could be a very deceptive thing.
More falling than diving, Apryl shoved herself off the bank and dove under the water. Her arms were ever outstretched so that she might grab Sam as deeper she chased the sinking hobbit but her gown tangled in an underwater root and not for the first time in her life Apryl cursed dresses as a whole and kicked and fought the thing that wished her to fail Sam. No matter her anger, though, the fabric was relentless and she could not fight it away. Panic seized her.
This is all wrong! First Pippin and now Sam. What have I done?!
Her lungs screamed for air and through the bright spots that flared in her skull she could see Sam--a trail of floating, dancing blood and water all that separated the two.
No! I'll not do to you what I did to Pippin!
With finger's that burned with the cold, Apryl fought her way from the entrapped clothing, ripping the fabric from her numb body. In naught but her undergarments, she caught Sam by his tunic and--slowly, difficultly--swam toward the light. She broke the surface in a coughing sputter, water running from her mouth and nose. Gasping, she hauled Sam to the bank, grasped a hanging branch in shaking fingers.
Even as she held the hobbit to her body and clung to the branch, Apryl pressed her cheek near his mouth, blood from his split lip smearing across her face, and prayed for the touch of soft breathing. There was nothing. Choking back a sob, the Istari tried to feel for a pulse but both her hold on the hobbit and the branch were precarious and she could not risk losing either.
Her body's warmth was being sapped from her even as she struggled to pull herself onto the bank, her arms shaking from the strain. At the last, her foot slipped and she fell back into the water with a splash, her grip tightening on the hobbit as they both tumbled back into the pool and nothing saving either save the branch that was still within her desperate grasp. She clung there, taking in great gulps of air.
"Sam--Sam, please, wake up--please," she sobbed, tears of frustration intermingling with droplets of water and blood. "I--I can't--" Again she struggled and fought for purchase on the bank but received nothing despite all her effort.
"I--I can't--" and she cried.
"I miss home, Mr. Frodo," Sam said mournfully, staring out into the night. The sky was alighted with stars. Standing beside Sam, Frodo nodded sadly.
"So do I, Sam," he agreed, however reluctant. "I didn't suppose I'd ever . . . but, well, I miss Bag End."
Sam nodded. "I, too, Mr. Frodo. And the garden."
Frodo looked at his friend. "Garden, Sam? But there is more garden then ever you will find at Bag End right here under your nose. Wonderful gardens," he said softly, for it was only too true. Though he'd had nothing more than a slight glimpse he'd seen from a distance that they were beautiful. Even at the eve of autumn.
Frodo smiled. "Tell you what, Sam. In the morning you and I shall have a good look at these Elvish gardens and then we shan't ever miss tired old Bag End again. What do you say, my friend?"
"Oh, don't say that, Mr. Frodo," Sam pleaded, frowning. "I shouldn't like to not miss Bag End, sir. It is your home."
Frodo's eyes clouded over. "No, not any more. You forget; I sold it to the Sackville-Bagginses. It's no longer my home." He looked to his friend and smiled a tired sort of smile. "I would just like the sting to hurt a little less is all."
Sam rested a hand on his master's shoulder, gave it a comforting squeeze. "I'd like to see these elf gardens," he said softly.
Frodo looked at his fellow hobbit, sighed, and smiled weakly. "Tomorrow, then?"
Sam nodded. "In the morn."
Frodo smiled down at his younger cousin who slept contently upon the elven bed, soft snores the only thing disturbing the silence. Carefully and as quietly as possible, Frodo crawled down from the bed and made his way outside, blinking in the rays that fell from the sky. The late morning sun twinkled gaily on droplets of water that lay sparkling on the green leaves, for the rain clouds had passed and the sun was out. He stepped out upon the wet grass and looked at all the beauty that presented itself.
I shan't miss Bag End. I shan't miss it.
Frodo followed a well-trodden path into the shade of several large trees, deciding he should walk a while before he met Sam and clear his head and rid his heart of the sadness that seemed to have taken up residence in his chest.
Frodo hadn't walked very far when he heard the faint sound of--
The hobbit strained his ears.
Screaming?
Frodo ran.
"Help!" Apryl yelled. Her left arm shook from fatigue and her right trembled from the cold--she fought to keep Sam close. "Somebody!" The knuckles of the hand that grasped the branch were white, almost blue. Her teeth chattered and for the first time she noticed the white mist coming from her mouth.
Sam's face was deathly pale and his lips were blue, and Apryl still couldn't tell if he lived but prayed it was so.
"Wake up, Sam, wake up," she begged. "Please, wake up." But as before, she received no response.
Apryl turned her face away, looked out into the woods and yelled, "Godammit, somebody help us! Please, help!"
Sound carries better than words, she realized suddenly and--taking a deep breath--screamed as loud and as high as her tired lungs would allow. Naught seconds later, she broke off in a fit of gasping and coughing when stars flared in her vision and darkness crept before her eyes.
No, no!
"Apryl?!"
Apryl forced her eyes open, realizing only afterwards that they had been closed and spied a hobbit racing down the path Sam had come from an eternity--or was it only moments?--before.
"Frodo!" The cry was filled with relief and joy and disbelief, and she fought again to free herself from the water's icy grip. "It's Sam! He's not breathing!"
Frodo's smooth features twisted into fear as he skidded to a halt at the water's edge. He reached down and, grasping his friend by the tunic, hauled him up and over the edge of the bank and laid him out upon the grass.
As Sam fell away from her grasp, Apryl reached out and grabbed the bank, her fingers clawing for purchase, for she had not the strength to pull herself out and only clung there, watching Frodo search for a pulse with eyes wide in desperate hope.
An eternity lived, then--was born and then died.
Do not die, Samwise, you cannot! Please! You mustn't!
"He's alive!" the hobbit cried out in triumph, his ear to Samwise's chest.
"H-he isn't b-b-breathing," she protested weakly, her teeth chattering from the cold.
Without a word, Frodo put his mouth over his Samwise's and breathed a breath of air.
Breathe, Sam.
Frodo pulled back, put an ear to Sam's mouth and listened.
Nothing.
Another breath.
Come back to me.
He listened.
Nothing.
"T-t-tilt his head back," Apryl sobbed, the tears streaming down her face, washing away the blood--Samwise's blood.
Frodo tilted the gardener's head back.
What did Mrs. Steven's say about CPR? What are the steps? What do you do? Apryl cursed bitterly, fear cold and hard lying heavy in her heart. It's been too long! I cannot remember!
Frodo leaned over Sam, placed his lips over his friend's mouth, and breathed for a third time.
Don't leave me, Sam.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, Frodo listened.
Nothing.
"Don't leave me," the hobbit sobbed, his voice cracking at the last.
Another breath.
My friend.
Nothing.
Frodo held his manservant, cried for his companion, and breathed life into his friend.
Please, Sam, I need you.
Nothing.
Apryl clawed at the grass, then, trying with all that was in her to go to Sam, for Frodo cried freely now and without care and she could see despair coming to his eyes. But her legs had long ago become numb and her arms weak, and the effort was too great.
Another breath.
Don't leave me . . . .
Samwise coughed. His body arched and water gushed forth from his blue lips, washing away the last traces of blood. Frodo cried out in surprise, then joy, for his Samwise lived, though death had danced nearby. He laughed through his tears and held his Sam, smiling brightly as the gardener's eyes fluttered open and looked about in confusion.
"M-mr. Frodo?" he asked weakly, his voice naught but a hoarse croak.
"Aye, Sam, 'tis me," Frodo said, and he took his friend's chill hand in his own and kissed it.
Sam looked around, though he moved not, for his limbs felt as heavy as lead. "W-what's happened?" he wondered and spied Apryl, who had laid her head against the bank in relief and closed her eyes.
Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
"Oh, dear," Sam gasped, struggling to sit up. Apryl opened her eyes as Frodo shoved his dear friend back.
"You lie still, Sam," Frodo told him. "Lie still."
"But the girl," he protested, weakly. His concern, though strong, was no match for his hurts. Apryl opened her eyes and, seeing the struggling Sam, shushed him with a reassuring smile.
"I'm fine, Sam," she said, nearly laughing at the absurdity of it all. Here he was concerned for her, and he was the one that had almost died.
Such is our Master Samwise.
"Are you alright?" she asked weakly.
Sam looked around in a dazed sort of manner. "It's all spinnin', Mr. Frodo, and my head hurts an awful lot." He grimaced, and then shivered. "It's c-c-cold," he chattered.
Apryl smiled a smile that held little humor. "Y-yes, it is."
Frodo stumbled to his feet, weak and weary, for the ordeal had sapped him terribly and he was nearly as pale as Sam. "Take my hand," he said, reaching out to her.
Her eyes widened slightly and she shook her head emphatically, never releasing her hold on either the branch or the bank. Her teeth chattered crazily and as Frodo took a step forward in confusion, she hunched in the water until its icy touch lapped at her chin. "D-d-don't," Apryl said and the hobbit stopped suddenly, confusion marring his smooth features. "I--m-my dress," she glanced down into the water, "It wouldn't--I c-c-couldn't--I had t-to t-t-take it off."
Frodo shook his head, dismissing the matter, and knelt before her. "You cannot stay in there. You'll freeze--are freezing. Take my hand," he reached out, placed a gentle hand upon her arm, "and I will help you."
She shied away from him, flinching at his touch, though at the same time relishing his warmth. Frodo forced himself not to pull away, for she needed him, whether she realized it or not.
"No, I c-can't," she protested.
"Sam and I won't look," he promised, but she only shook her head.
"Take Sam back to the House," she told him, for the hobbit was trembling horribly. She refused to note that she was in a similar state.
Frodo stared at her in disbelief. "I won't leave you here," he told her and his voice was unusually firm.
Apryl's features hardened. "I'm n-not g-g-getting out!" This is foolishness, she realized. But I won't--I can't. She would not have him see her. It frightened her beyond reason and she would sooner stay in the freezing pool then come out with not on but her undergarments. She would not let anyone see her.
"Sam is c-cold and he can't be well. I'll be alright," she assured him, her face softening at the look in his eyes. "When you leave, I'll try to unt-t-tangle the dress, and then I'll c-come. It's n-not so c-c-cold."
Frodo frowned. "You don't expect me to believe you," it wasn't even a question.
At this, Apryl didn't seem to know what to say. She couldn't explain this reasoning to him for, in truth, she didn't understand it herself. The hobbit seemed to sense this.
Frodo bit his bottom lip, then nodded slowly; agreed reluctantly. "I'll take Sam," he said, "then I'll come back for you."
She nodded, shivering, and Frodo stood up. "But don't go after the dress," he said. "I'll bring you a cloak or blanket or something. I will hurry."
Together, he and Sam--who trembled from head to furry feet--made their way down the path and Apryl watched them until they disappeared from sight.
Hurry.
*****
And so, Apryl meets our two Ring-bearers . . . . review, yes?
