Chuka-cha-KAH! *does crazy ninja moves* Whooo-hah! Huttah! Aieee! Weee-ooo—
Oh. Hello. I'm sorta half-awake-on-a-school-night. Just ignore the ninja stuff.
Reviewers: Alisa Joy= And poor Sam. Oh. Yes. Indeed. And… I like the sound of that… "Glorious". Mwuh-hah-hah. Breon Briarwood= Ooo! First-timer! Thank you. Blue Jedi Hobbit 009= There is nothing the Llama can do for him now… Samwise the Brave= Now, now. He's trying to get over it. Sort of.
Anywho!
I am here to tell you that… I have this new chapter! Now, lemme also tell you that, a long, long time ago, I could never have written this. But I decided to do what I did in the sake of… DRAMA! (drama-drama-drama…) What was it I did, silly-person-that-is-me?! I got Frodo to do something he could only do once, and Sam to say something I can only get him to say twice (the second time being in the next chapter). How intriguing. But EXACTLY WHAT IT IS is for you to find out… NOW!
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Sam was fast growing nervous. He could no longer think about the task he was meant to complete. Instead, all of his thoughts were on his master, and he eventually pried himself away from the withering gardens and snuck back inside. Before he did anything else, he retrieved his bouquet of poppies from off of Bilbo's desk. Now, they seemed uselessly cheerful.
The door to Frodo's room was shut. Timidly, Sam knocked.
"Mister Frodo?" he forced himself to say.
No reply. Sam waited a few tense moments, then slowly opened the door. At first, he couldn't see Mister Frodo anywhere in the room, but soon found him curled up against the wall with his head on his knees. He was holding a pipe in one of his hands.
At first, neither hobbit did anything. Now that he was in the room, Sam had not an idea of what to say or do, and it seemed like Frodo didn't even notice that he was in the room. Sam anxiously grasped and tugged at his sleeve, the flowers dangling in his other hand. His mouth was sealed tight against the torrent of words that had begun to build up in his mind.
Frodo did not stir. "…What?"
Sam almost leapt in surprise. "Oh!" He then instantly forgot everything he was going to say. There was a long, heavy pause.
It almost seemed like Frodo didn't want Sam to speak, but the little hobbitlad willed himself to anyway. "I… er, sir… I wanted to… to know how… you…" His words trickled out fruitlessly and disappeared into the air like smoke. Ominous silence came upon the room again.
Frodo's thin voice sounded grating against the weighty silence. "I have done something very terrible, Sam."
"…Sir…?"
"There is no hope for me now," Frodo continued after a slight pause. "So just leave me alone."
Sam frowned. "…Mister Frodo…" he whimpered. "Please don't say that."
Frodo lifted his face from his knees. His eyes were dark and narrow with cynicism. "This is not your problem. Don't trouble yourself with me anymore." His gaze rested on the bright red flowers in Sam's hand. To him, they bore no purpose, and he drew himself away from them.
"Why, Mister Frodo?" Sam inquired worriedly. "I-I don't know what you mean."
Frodo found himself growing weary of the conversation. "You're just a boy, Sam… It's better if you don't."
Sam was becoming frustrated. "Sir… Please… I don't know…"
"I am lost, Sam. There is nothing."
The last word of Frodo's sentence stung bitterly. Sam dug his fingers into the poppies' stems.
"Why, Mister Frodo? Why are you doing this?"
"Once living becomes nothing but pain, there is no way out of it."
The sullen mood hanging in the air was becoming too much for Sam to handle. It had settled uncomfortably on him, trying to wrap itself around his mind and bury its roots in deep. But he would not allow its darkness to pull him down.
"I don't understand, sir, why you're actin' like this." He frowned and his eyebrows knit together in desperate concern. "Don't you want to be happy?"
With that statement, Frodo peered up at the little gardener again with dull eyes. The pursuit for happiness was too difficult for him to even perceive anymore. It was easier for him to give up and let his shadows consume him.
"It's too late for me now."
"But Mister Frodo," Sam replied, "It's never too late to be happy!"
Frodo narrowed his eyes. "What would you know of it? Tell me, Sam… How would a little boy like you know of what I am going through?"
This stinging reply left helplessly Sam tongue-tied. There seemed no way to get to Frodo.
"I'm just tryin' to help," Sam stated, at a loss.
Frodo's eyes were burning. "You are not helping me."
Sam withered under Frodo's assail. "Oh, please, sir… Please, don't do this to me…" His voice was quivering. "There is nothin' else for me to do…"
"There is nothing you can do."
The little hobbitlad was getting desperate now. "There has got to be somethin' I can do! You…" He stepped forward and gathered all his courage. "You won't let me help you!"
"And what would you do?" Frodo suddenly snapped at Sam, practically yelling now. "What could you do?" He was glaring at Sam through his narrow slits of eyes as he slowly climbed to his feet. Terrified, Sam inched away, trying to keep himself from breaking the flower stems in half.
Frodo threw his arms up as he paced about, still gripping unconsciously at the pipe in his fist. "What is there? What can there possibly be anymore? From you… From Bilbo… From me?" He stopped and turned around sharply to face Sam. "Tell me!"
Frodo's eyes flared bright with a fierce intensity as he stared down upon Sam. Poor, little Sam was practically quaking with fear now, his wide, brown eyes fixed on Frodo's cruel, blue ones. He was backing away, but Frodo only seemed to coming closer and closer.
"You're nothing but a child, Samwise Gamgee," Frodo continued, nearly forcing Sam up against the wall. "So why? Why the hell do you think you can help me?"
Frodo's towering form blurred as Sam's eyes began to fill with tears. This all was too much for Sam to handle. His image of Frodo had already shattered, and now the hobbit that loomed over him was one he did not know.
"Tell me, Sam," Frodo growled darkly. "I want to know." No answer. Sam stared back, overwhelmingly horrified, with shining, wet eyes. "Tell me… Now!"
Sam flinched. "Mist' Frodo…" he whimpered pathetically. "P-Please… Don't do this t' me…"
For a moment, Frodo glared contemptuously at the hobbitlad, eyeing his cowering form as it clung helplessly to the wall. He sneered with intense disgust, and then, at last, he spoke, his voice a hate-filled rumble in his throat.
"There is nothing you can do."
With that, Sam completely collapsed against the wall behind him and openly wept. "N-No!" he cried. "N-No, M-Mist' Frodo!" He gasped and struggled to stay standing on his quaking legs. "Don't—Don't you get mad at me, Mist' Frodo…" His throat was choked tight with his tears. "This 's…This 's all your own fault!"
Wrath ripped through Frodo's mind like flames, and its fire consumed his piercing blue eyes.
"Damn you!"
Frodo's arm pulled back and he delivered a blinding slap across Sam's face. Without letting out so much as a single strangled squeak, he little hobbitlad instantly crumpled, utterly helpless, and skidded across the wooden floor like a rag doll. The poppies fell and spilled out all over. He was too traumatized to weep, and lied, soundless and motionless, upon the floor.
Then, Frodo effortlessly pulled Sam right back up. "Ignorant, little boy!" he yelled again, gripping at Sam's collar. Sam suddenly became very heavy, and slipped right out of Frodo's hands. He knelt and bowed over weakly, his head hanging low for he wished not to see Frodo anymore.
Frodo was frantically searching for something to say as he stood towering over Sam, but could draw up nothing. He hadn't expected what had happened to happen. It did, though, and he started to sense his insane anger slipping away. The small boy on the floor did not so much as move or whimper. Despite that, the pain of sorrow that emanated from him was so overwhelming that Frodo felt crushed by it.
It was then that Sam spoke, his voice thick with sorrow. "W-Who are you, Mist' Frodo?"
It felt as if Frodo was hit himself. Those words stung at him like poison, biting hard and deep, deep in his soul. He staggered backwards, away from Sam, away from his cloud of misery and the hurtful truth in his words. The two were at opposite ends of the room, each on different sides of a deeply-cloven rift.
Sam then slowly climbed to his feet. He stood up firm and tall with an unwavering confidence, and stared at Frodo. His boyish face was grim, but his cheek glowed dreadfully red. Tears flowed out of his otherwise shallow and emotionless eyes. And when he spoke again, he no longer sounded like a child.
"I hate you."
With that, he ran out of the room and left Frodo to cling against the wall in pure, stunned daze. Everything had fallen apart, shattered completely, and now Frodo felt as if he was standing on nothing. As he stood over the deepening darkness, Sam's words were still ringing in his ears.
He looked down at his hand and found his pipe still gripped tightly by his fingers. Intense fury suddenly built up. Taking the pipe with both hands, be bent it with all his might until it split into two with a splintery snap. Then, he rushed over to the window, threw it open, and whipped the pieces into the bushes. Suddenly, he peered over his shoulder at the floor, at the folded piece of paper lying next to the wall. An incredible flash of rage tore through his mind. Without any hesitation, he took the paper and held it out of the window, tearing it to tiny bits. Paper and dust floated away in the breeze.
As the wicked substance disappeared out of his life, he remembered about the flowers that were strewn about on the floor. Slowly, he stooped over and picked up one of the blossoms between his fingers. The color in it seemed to be draining away before his eyes, like his very presence caused it to retreat. Burned into his mind was the image of Sam's face and the tears that streamed out of his lifeless, almost disturbingly lifeless, eyes over his wounded cheek.
Then, without noticing, Frodo found himself squeezing the flower petals in his fist. When he realized what he was doing, he wrung at the blossom even harder, then with both of his hands. The plant twisted and died, leaving an oily, fragrant residue in his palms. He finished, opened his hands and stared at them. After a moment, he shut his eyes and wiped his hands on his pants.
He let out a tired sigh. "I must go and find him." Frodo then left his room.
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Chuka-cha-KAH! Hoot-hoot-hoot-moo-mah-mee-mo-moo! Chee-chee-koo-koo-kee!
Oh. Hello. Those weren't ninja moves. Just crazy noises.
Ah, yes. Hmm. How about that, uh, chapter? Oh, but don't go thanking me just yet! It gets better. But I just have to finish that chapter. Sigh. I don't know when I'll do that, though. Just give me some more time and it'll come.
Okay.
