Chapter Three: Song From a Suffering Traveler
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Shire Reckoning: Depths of Mordor, March (Rethe) 1419 T.A.
The sun was rising steadily when Meriadoc strained his eyes to the window in the Houses of Healing, but to Sam and his master, the sun was swallowed by never-ending shadow and gloom. Pleasant sounds and memories were lost in the depths of their foreboding minds and all they smelled or saw in the Land of Shadow reminded them of their continuous struggle and dread.
Sam's eyes itched with dryness and whenever he closed them they stung horribly. He walked ahead but kept his eyes low to the ground, for the sight of Orodruin weighted his steps. The vast and ominous land was ridden with cliffs of rock and ancient stone, each one sharp and ridged. The earth under their sore feet was of biting stones and sand and frequently would the dead thorn bushes come out to catch and scratch their heels. Cracks in the parched ground would expel smoke and fumes; Sam's only comfort in the emptiness that throbbed in him was the company of his Master, slowly deteriorating before him.
He was struggling behind him, his back bent and his feet dragging. His thin face was bone-white and his bright eyes were dull and sad. The Ring that bore and ate away at his mind pulled at his craned neck; it tugged down vertically to the ground under his orc armor, all the while calling to its forger. Frodo lifted his hand and stroked the chain of the ring absentmindedly. Sam saw this and grimaced upon it , but said nothing.
A slight slope came to their way and Sam stepped up the rocks with his pack thumping on his back. Frodo gathered his strength and trudged up after him, but the Ring dragged and he looked up to Barad-dû r, where the Eye glowed and blazed, drawing the Ring to Him. His knees collapsed and he slid down and fell, his hands breaking his fall on the rocks. A raspy shrill moan came from his throat and Sam stumbled down the mount alarmed. Frodo twisted painfully on his back for a moment and fumbled for the Ring. The chain was no longer around his neck and Frodo cried, "The Ring! It's lost!"
Sam came down the slope and threw his pack down. Frodo crawled on his bleeding hands and dug at the ground. He searched madly until a glimmer of gold caught his eye and he grasped for it, breathing heavily. Sam's lip quivered and he blinked his tears away as he watched his Mr. Frodo crawl like a pitiful wretch. He couldn't help him, the ring had already taken his master and all he could do was hope he could come back someday. Then Frodo whimpered and Sam came to his side as Frodo fell on his back of his frail and shaking body.
"Come on, Mr. Frodo. We're finished our day for now," Sam said gently, not knowing whether if it was night or morning. He dragged his pack and carried his master under a cliff of rock which roofed them and hid their sight from the Dark Tower. Frodo held his hands out, side by side, and whispered, "My hands...they burn."
His callused and blistering hands were stabbed with bits of stone and dust and his cuts were of black dirt and clotted blood. Sad held his hands on his palms and tears of pain ran down Frodo's dusty face and Sam saw him for the first time in months. He seemed trapped and scared, just wanting to escape back home. His hands trembled in pain and he slumped in defeat. Sam gave a slight but shaky smile to comfort him, something that had not been seen in Mordor for many a time.
Sam took out their water they had collected just a day before and poured it over his bleeding hands. Red water dripped down and was swallowed up into the cursed land. Then, Sam took his own shirt and wiped away the dirt and blood; when the cuts were cleaned, he took out the pouch of dried fruit and meat Faramir had left for them and untied it. There was barely any food left and Sam took the cloth that wrapped around the scraps and tore it into strips. He wrapped and tied Frodo's hands and kissed his palms tenderly. "It's done, Mr. Frodo," Sam cooed, "The burning is gone."
No wind blew nor bird sang and the sky was nevertheless thick of smoke and dark clouds. Frodo sat still for many minutes as the blood seeped through the bandages. Then he wavered and collapsed and Sam caught his thin body. He laid Frodo's head on his lap and gave him water, which ran down his jaw. Sam took little of the meat and fruit for himself, but Frodo rejected his share. They still had two wafers of lembas left and Sam broke off a piece for Frodo.
"Come now, Master, try to eat the waybread," Sam urged and placed the lembas in his mouth. Frodo chewed and attempted to swallow when he sputtered and choked. Sam sat him up straight and Frodo coughed the waybread up. His tongue was parched and his throat was almost swollen shut and he whispered for the water. Sam helped him drink the water and after Frodo drank it dry, Sam made mental plans in his head to find the water source again for tomorrow.
Sam wearily took his pack and gathered everything back up and into his bag. His joints ached and his hands and knees were cramped. He sighed tiresomely and Frodo slumped over on his side and tried to ease into slumber. He switched sides, mumbled, and sat up shivering while Sam leaned against the cold stone wall. After Sam wrapped his elven cloak tight around him, he brought Frodo next to him and he rest Frodo's head on his shoulder. "Right by me, Mr. Frodo. Sam will stay up while you sleep. Think of your own bed with a soft mattress and a feather pillow and you'll be dreamin' soon," Sam said gently and Frodo laid on Sam's side.
"...sounds of something long ago..." Frodo murmured slowly and Sam turned to him worryingly, "It was, Mr. Frodo. You said it y'self. The day you sang me a song. Such a song it was. I suppose you don't remember..." Sam said and his voice trailed off in the end. Frodo lay silent and he said lastly, very quiet, "No. No, I don't remember...Sing to me, Sam. Sing me to sleep." Sam held Frodo with his supporting arm and he rest his head back, his neck craned back up towards the starless sky, singing mournfully:
Onto places we do not know,
through clear sunbeams and streams;
under places Sun does not show:
vivid dreams, sewn with seams.
Something I am bound to forget.
Tongues of fire lick the sky;
endless dark is where we lie.
Heavy is your bless'd head.
The silver stars start to die;
the faded moon rests there dead.
Our crying tears seep
into endless sleep;
Crawling into stone
to our very bone,
and love is why I'm here:
to help thee I hold dear.
Even now your Sam does not know,
beyond the Ring and stings,
what paths to take or where to go,
but now I try to sing:
Sweet melodies of lilac trees
of home and promised rain;
than where we be on our weak knees,
from agony and pain.
Of this will you forget?
"There's your song, Master. Save if we forget the happy times, I'll sing to you again," Sam whispered and he stroked Frodo's head until he heard him slip into a troubled sleep. Then Sam wept silent tears bitterly in despair into the deep of the still night. Hope was lost in his eyes.
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A/N: The last chapter should be up soon, before Wednesday! Yes! Very soon!