Hey-hey-hey! I'm back with a bit more. But I have to tell you something important… I've been really, really, really busy on my new Big O website, and I haven't been writing Jaded lately. ^___^ But I'll be trying for you!

Thank you to my two wonderful regulars, Blue Jedi Hobbit 009 and Samwise the Brave. But a special thank-you to my new reviewer, Alisa Joy! Because of you, I decided to post this chapter. You should feel very proud of yourself.

During my writing of this chapter, I had learned in my English class of the nifty Freudian theory of Id, Ego, and Super Ego. I have slipped its concept in (more specifically, the destruction of Ego and Super Ego by Id), while at the same time also portraying myself through Frodo! I was freaking out when I realized I had done that… I've always had this inkling that I unconsciously expressed my personality through him. Now, I am certain I do.

O____O

Hrmmm. But you can read now! Huzzah!

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The sun had risen, as it usually does, and was shining, though opaque, behind the thick mat of clouds that clung to the sky. The dreary atmosphere had kept everyone in bed longer than they knew. It wasn't until three hours after sunrise that Sam had been turned out to leave for Bag End.

         He looked up at the tense clouds. "Strange weather."

Feels like it's goin' to rain but just won't.

         Sam continued on to the smial to find all but one of the windows still closed with curtains drawn. This signaled that the Baggins' were still asleep. He snuck up to the one window that was still open; the one to Frodo's room. Once he looked inside, he found it to be unoccupied. This was odd.

         Feeling a bit bold, he decided to enter the room through the window. Cautiously and quietly, he slid in and over the desk. The door to the room was open and the bed was still made. His eyebrows knit in confusion. By the far wall, there was a pipe and a small piece of paper. He shivered and stepped out of the cold room, soundlessly closing the heavy door to his master's room. The living room was much warmer.

         He sat on the couch and waited. Waited and waited in the gray gloom of the room for someone to wake up and tell him what he should do. Taking one of the pillows in his arms, he flopped over and sighed silently.

         He felt sleep coming on. "Where's Mister Frodo?" He recalled the image of Frodo clinging to the fencepost, cradling his body in pain while cursing under his breath. Then, Sam fell asleep. All was still again.

         Had it been far less cloudy than it was, one could tell by the sun's position in the sky that is was close to about ten o'clock. By this time, Bilbo was awake and fully dressed. He couldn't recall whether Frodo had come home last night or not, but he was relieved to see the door to his room shut. Bilbo did not feel like bothering the hobbitlad at that time, but rather, he was seeking out Sam instead. He knew that his little gardener always came early and could be found outside, busy at work. Today, however, seemed a day not even a Gamgee would like being out in.

         Bilbo was surprised to find Sam asleep on the couch, a pillow held tight against his chest. Even though Bilbo hadn't made a noise, Sam's eyes shot open and he sat straight up.

         "S-Sorry, sir!" Sam squeaked, his face glowing red. "I didn't mean to—"

         Bilbo laughed. "No, no, Sam. It's quite alright, I assure you. I wouldn't expect you to be outside today, anyway."

         "Da says the weather's been really batty," Sam stated, his eyes fixed on the bushes outside the window. "It's been so dry, but he says there's goin' to be a big storm very soon." He added, with a tinge of sadness, "All of your plants are dyin'."

         "Yes, it is unfortunate, but that is why I have come to you now," Bilbo replied. "Why don't you go and see if you can save some of them, Sam? Some lovely blossoms would certainly help brighten up the place."

         Sam found this to be a capital idea; picking flowers was a far easier and much more enjoyable job than anything else he usually did. He eagerly left to do so, and Bilbo returned to his room. Again, the house fell silent.

         The door to the cellar slowly creaked open, and Frodo warily slinked out, clutching nervously at the bunched-up quilt in his arms. He had heard talking and prayed that it wasn't about him. To keep things safe, he snuck back to his bedroom. The weak sunlight that filtered into the smial was too powerful for Frodo. He winced and ache shot through his head as he reached blindly for the doorknob. Growling, he found the window to still be open, and he immediately closed it and drew the curtains. Regardless, feeble light glowed from behind the curtains. His eyes had become painful and wet with tears, and he found himself collapsed, kneeling with half his body sprawled out on his bed.

         Placing his cold, damp cheek against the bed sheets, he closed his eyes and just breathed, first through his nose, then through his mouth. Now, it was beginning to become hard for him to breathe. His entire waist had tensed up and he could feel it pressing into his body, choking off his lungs as he desperately drew air into them. The uneasy twinge of nausea bit and gnawed at his insides, but he was too exhausted to do anything about it. Sweat crept down his scalp and down his flushed face. His heavy breathing subsided as he grew more and more weary until sleep allowed him to escape from his dark sickness.

         Outside, Sam was cheerfully humming while he carefully rooted around through the flowerbeds. Many of the blooms were withered due to the recent, unusual drought. The typical harvest boon that was common to the Shire this time of year could not be expected this year. Still, Sam was glad to see some of the flowers still standing up. He tenderly cut their boughs and placed them in a basket.

         He looked around the garden. "What should I pick for Mister Frodo?" Standing up, he wandered around, trying to seek out the perfect present for his master. Then, he found it; the poppies were glowing brilliantly despite the overcast sky, their ethereal red blossoms seemingly untouched by the harsh weather.

         Sam grinned widely and dashed over to the flowers. He picked them especially carefully, minding each perfect petal and imagining the look on Mister Frodo's face when he finds this beautiful bouquet being presented to him. A smile grew on Sam's face again, and he took his precious find with him inside Bag End.

         Bilbo was in his study when he found Sam shuffling in.

          "Hello!" Bilbo stated as Sam stepped up next to the desk. "What's this?"

         Sam tried reaching for a scrap of paper on the desk. "Flowers… for Mister Frodo." He looked up at Bilbo beamingly. "I want to write him a tag, too."

         Bilbo smiled and handed Sam the paper, as well as the quill and ink. He watched Sam as he wrote "To: Mr. Frodo Baggins From: Sam Gamgee". It took Sam a few moments to fill it all out, for he was still relatively new to all this. When he finished, he grinned widely and gently blew on the ink to dry it.

          "Excellent work, Sam," Bilbo replied, patting the hobbitlad's shoulder. "I'm sure Frodo will be very pleased." He opened a drawer and drew out a small ribbon. "Here."

         "Thank you, sir!" Sam exclaimed as he tied the tag to the poppies. He held up the flowers for Bilbo to see. "Beautiful, aren't they, Mister Bilbo?"

         "You were with Frodo yesterday, correct?" Bilbo inquired. Sam's smile weakened a bit and he nodded. Bilbo continued, "I don't remember seeing him come in last night. I was wondering if you knew anything about this."

         By this time, Sam was looking very grave, but he said nothing.

         "Sam? What's the matter?" Bilbo grew worried. "Did something happen to Frodo?"

         Sam's mouth moved, but no words came out. "He… Uh…"

         "Do you know if he's in the house?" Bilbo asked quickly. Sam appeared terrified, but still could not say anything about how he last saw Frodo. Bilbo sensed this.

         "I must go find him!" he stated while rushing out of the room. Sam left his flowers on the desk and followed behind until they reached Frodo's bedroom. Bilbo all but threw open the door. There, he saw Frodo's body hunched over the bed, his face pressed against he bed sheets. Bilbo hastened over to his cousin's side. He carefully turned Frodo over and saw that his face was deep red. His eyes were closed, his dark eyelashes settled against his flushed cheeks. Even though he unconscious, he was trying desperately to breathe.

         "Frodo!" Bilbo cried. "Wake up!"

         "Mister Frodo!"

         Weakly, Frodo opened his eyes and drew in a deep breath. It seemed like he was going to say something, but was completely unable to. Instead, his eyes shined dully with dark emotion and he turned them to the ceiling, away from both Bilbo's and Sam's faces.

         "Frodo, my lad!" Bilbo exclaimed again. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

         "Mister Frodo…"

         With much effort, Frodo spoke, "Oh, Sam…" He turned his head away and closed his eyes again. "I'm sorry…" Sam frowned sorrowfully.

         Bilbo didn't know what was happening. "What's going on? Why weren't you home last night?"

         Frodo felt a pang of dread shoot through his mind. His eyes opened and he nervously pulled his face away from the bed sheets.  He first looked into Sam's sad, brown eyes, then at Bilbo's worry-filled ones. Something inside of Frodo wanted him desperately to tell the truth about what he had done, but he was too overwhelmed with shame and fear to speak.

         For many wrenching moments, Bilbo stared at Frodo, waiting impatiently for a response. "Frodo…"

         The tweenager was so terrified, he hadn't even noticed the tear that rolled down his sallow cheek. Bilbo's eyebrows knitted in confusion.

         "Frodo-lad…?" he stated slowly. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

         Again, Frodo said nothing as another tear flooded out of his eye. All the while, Sam was painfully watching this, and seemed close to tears himself. Frodo noticed this and a new sorrow swept him.

         Bilbo pried his attention away from Frodo. "Sam," he said, trying not to sound too harsh. "Why don't you go finish finding those flowers?"

         Obediently, Sam nodded his head and gulped. He then discreetly left the room. Bilbo watched and waited for Sam to shut the door before he could speak again. Looking back down at Frodo, he saw that Frodo was now crying, tears streaming freely down his cheeks. His face was frowning with pain and his chest was heaving with stifled sobs.

         "Frodo! Frodo!" Bilbo pleaded, fraught, watching Frodo as he broke down further and further. "Please! Tell me what's wrong!"

         Frodo only replied with even more powerful wailing. Bilbo could not believe what he was seeing.

         "My lad! You must tell me what happened yesterday!"

         "Oh, no, Bilbo!" Frodo wept, turning his entire body away. He cried into the mattress, "No…! No…!" Now, he was quaking uncontrollably. The bed sheets were bunched up in his fists and he practically ripped at them as he tried dreadfully to hide his face and smother his sobs.

         Bilbo felt powerless. "Calm down! Oh, Frodo! Please! Stop this! You're worrying me!"

         Still, Frodo kept crying, heedless to his cousin's desperate pleas. He was already feeling sick, but now, his head was blazing with pain and his eyes stung mercilessly. Every last bit of his self-control was slipping away and was being replaced with madness; an agonizing mixture of sadness, anger, terror, and guilt. The bindings of his mind and soul were being torn apart by an innate darkness.

          "Oh, god!" Frodo gasped painfully, barely able to breathe anymore. "Oh, god!" He could sense a part of himself separating and breaking away. Now, it seemed, his being was in two… one piece, feral, terrible, and unconscious… the other, isolated, powerless, and fully self-aware. That one side watched in pure horror as the other wreaked havoc upon Frodo's mind. In its desolation, it did nothing to halt this. It only continued to look on in sick awe, and strongly wished for some sort of an end to all this. The essence of Frodo's mind was being destructed and nothing inside of him did anything to stop it.

         Panic gripped at Bilbo as he struggled to reach Frodo. This was one of the few, rare moments in his life that he ever felt truly afraid. "Frodo! Will you please, for the love of God…" His hand hovered over Frodo's slouched and trembling shoulder, too scared to even touch him. "Stop all this madness…"

         Unbeknownst to neither Frodo nor Bilbo, Sam was outside the room, at the end of the hall. He could hear Bilbo's fearful pleas drowned out by Frodo's insane howling. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness washed over him as he listened to his beloved master crying out in pain. Soon, tears began falling down his own face, and he wept bitterly for Frodo.

          "Oh, Mister Frodo!" the small hobbitlad exclaimed. "Please stop this!"

         Suddenly, Bilbo had burst out into the hallway and stomped out into the kitchen, completely ignoring Sam as he passed by him. Sam was shocked to find him return promptly with the kettle clenched tight in his fists. Nervously, Sam followed behind Bilbo to see what he was going to do. He plunged into the bedroom again and stood over Frodo's bowed and shivering form. And then, without any hesitation, Bilbo removed the lid from the kettle, flipped it over, and emptied all the ice-cold water out, right onto Frodo's head. Almost instantly, Frodo's maddened lamentation was quelled, and he choked and sputtered for a few moments. As the water poured down his face, rinsing the tears and sweat, he could feel his pain wash away, as well. All was tensely silent, save for the hard sound of Frodo's panting.

         Sam was wide-eyed with astonishment. Not even a moment ago, it seemed like nothing could have brought Frodo back. Now, he was returned, all of his senses having crashed down upon him like an avalanche. He looked as shocked as Sam, if not more so. Water dripped off of his dark curls, over his flushed cheeks, off of his trembling lip. His wet shirt clung to his heaving chest. Deep in his breast, his heart was still pounding wildly.

         The kettle fell out of Bilbo's hands and it clattered loudly upon the wooden floor. Bilbo suddenly dropped to his knees besides Frodo and took the soaked hobbitlad into his arms. "Oh, Frodo-lad! You scared the life out of me! Don't you ever act like that again! Oh, Frodo-lad!"

         Frodo was still too traumatized to realize what was happening. His eyes were unknowingly fixed on the wall ahead of him. For many moments, he did nothing and said nothing while Bilbo held him. He only concentrated on his breathing and his heartbeat. Then, something caught his attention. His eyes flitted across the room to the door, where he saw Sam cowering against the far wall in the hallway. The hobbitlad was sniffling softly, anxious tears rolling down his face.

         Closing his eyes, Frodo frowned sorrowfully. His voice was scarcely a whisper. "Sam."

         Bilbo looked over his shoulder and saw Sam. "I thought I told you to leave," he stated.

         "S-Sorry, M-Mister Bilbo, sir," Sam replied, unable to keep his voice from quivering. With that, he timidly left, sniffling as he went. Bilbo watched Sam disappear from sight. He looked at Frodo's face, which was dark with shame and misery.

         "Frodo-lad…" Bilbo said firmly yet softly. Frodo opened his eyes, uneasy, but could not bring himself to look at his cousin.

         "I don't know about you," Bilbo continued. "But I think you hurt little Samwise just now."

         Frodo said nothing and lowered his face even further. He could no longer muster any more tears.

         "You should be ashamed of yourself," Bilbo went on. "It was a terrible thing for you to lose control of yourself like that. Not only did you hurt yourself, but in doing so, Sam was scared to see you like that." He lifted up Frodo's face by his chin, but the hobbitlad did not open his eyes. "You are like a brother to him… You're his best friend." He paused for a moment. "You're his only friend, Frodo."

         Frodo apprehensively opened his eyes.

         Bilbo continued. "You know this to be true. But there's also something else. There's something neither of you will tell me, concerning yesterday, why you didn't come home last night. I would much rather hear everything from you than our poor, little gardener." He paused to let Frodo respond, but no answer came. Frodo had tensed up. "Please, Frodo. I need you to tell me what happened."

         For a moment, Frodo grappled with his thoughts. He then chose his answer. "Sam had… nothing to do with it."

         "But he knows something," Bilbo retorted. "What is it, Frodo? Tell me."

         Frodo knew he had to, at least, prove Sam's innocence. "We were out walking, and—" He sighed, aggravated. "We were out walking… and…"

         Bilbo frowned concernedly. "And what?"

         Frodo clenched his eyes shut. "And I… got into a fight with Lotho…"

         Bilbo said nothing. He despised the Sackville-Bagginsess as much as Frodo did. He also assumed that Frodo did not win the fight.

         "Sam went home after that," Frodo stated.

         "But that still doesn't explain why you came home so late last night," Bilbo pointed out firmly.

         Frodo's voice dropped. "After that… I went to The Green Dragon. And I—" He paused. He could not bring himself to lie fully. "And I spent the rest of my money there… Then… I came home sick, and you were already in bed. I—" He stopped short.

         Bilbo was dreadfully silent. He had his head in his hand and his eyes were closed. Frodo was not going to tell Bilbo what else he had done, but now it was rendered impossible. He felt worse than wretched, to say the least.

         "What am I to do, Frodo?" Bilbo said after the wrenching silence, sounding very desponded. "You seemed to be doing so well here. I had thought that… if I brought you to live here instead of Brandy Hall, you could learn to repair yourself after so much heartbreak and tragedy." He paused and nervously allowed his eyes to pass over Frodo. "But just when it seemed everything was alright, you tell me about all this, and now it's not anymore. You've… disappointed me, Frodo. And I can't imagine how little Sam is feeling right now."

         Frodo curled up tight against himself and he sneered as hot tears started to roll down his cheeks again.

         "It saddens me to think you've let yourself become like this," Bilbo continued. "Because… it seems to me that you refuse to take responsibility for yourself. You'll find that it takes a special kind of strength to keep yourself in order. And others will expect you to do so. If you don't, you will set yourself up for disappointment after disappointment, whether you mean to or not."

         He stepped over to the door and opened it. "Please, Frodo… Don't do that. The worst thing you could possibly do is come to hate yourself… Because, in the end, you're the only thing you have."

         With that, Bilbo disappeared out of the room. The door quietly clicked shut. Frodo threw himself upon his bed and wept. This time, it was out of true sorrow; sorrow for Bilbo and for Sam. He no longer had any for himself.

         "B-But you see… the problem is…"

…I already hate myself.

         And what good is the love from others if you have none for yourself? Frodo thought of the angel from his dreams. Even if it was just a dream, the deep sense of love he had felt coming from it seemed real... so painfully real. Now, he was afraid he'd never be able to regain that feeling again. He was afraid to be robbed of it, and be left with a lonely coldness that could never be filled. And when the time would come for everything to be over, he would have nothing-- no hope, no love, no self, and no one other.

         He was tired, so tired of it all already. What was there for him now? The idea of nothing was too painful to think about, so he set it aside and cried until it became meaningless. Then, he found himself standing up and walking over to the far wall. He knelt down and took the wooden pipe into his hand. Staring at it for a moment, he turned it upside down. A few stray ashes floated out and settled onto the floor. For some reason, he felt his stomach turn, and he leaned up with his back against the wall, clutching tightly at the pipe in his fist.

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Awww… I have to do that, don't I? Ah, well.

I am going to really busy this month! I'll try and write more, if I can. I pray you'll stick with me.

TTFN.