Judgment Reckoning
Chapter Three
Author: Kidders
Fandom: Lord Of The Rings, The Two Towers
Characters: Frodo, Sam, Captain Faramir and his men, Gollum
Pairings: None, no slash
Rating: PG-13 for violence and graphic medical description
Genre: Angst, drama, h/c
Disclaimers: See Chapter One
Setting: AU, movie-verse with a bit of book thrown in, Frodo and Sam are in the forced company of Faramir and his men, journeying to Henneth Annun
A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who continues to review. It means a lot to get such good feedback, especially since I'm still trying to get to know these characters. I don't know how many great stories I've read since last October, I've lost count, and haven't reviewed because of the sheer volume I've been catching up on. I mainly read Frodo stories, non-slash, and there are so many great ones out there, but I'll try to mention to those of you who wrote in how much I like your work! Hopefully, I have names and stories matched correctly, forgive me if there are any boo-boos.
Claudia: Are you the same one who wrote that yummy piece about Faramir and a hurt Frodo, plus a gaggle of other tales all at the same time? If you are, my hat's off to you. How you keep the plotlines straight is beyond me, but wow! I love Clear Shot, and I know there are a few others, I just can't recall the titles at the moment. Thanks for your comments, and I eagerly await more drabbles from your pen!
Shirebound: I am awed that you like my work, as I think from other A/N's you are considered one of the mavens of Frodo-angst. Glad you liked my wee bit of poor, ailing Frodo. He is my favorite character, in case you hadn't guessed g. And I dearly like your stories, as they are lighter and have more of the fellowship in them. I tend to write dark, so it is a nice climate change to read your tales. I loved the one where Legolas and Gimli were constantly arguing, and finally gave Frodo a harried meltdown! Thanks again.
Ariel: You already have heard my Sally Field yammer, 'You like me, you really, really like me!' But again, you are wonderful, and a much appreciated reader/reviewer. Glad you like this one, though it is movie- verse. Also, I very much liked your story, Thicker Than Blood. Weathertop stories were among the first I read. And yes, I do like torturing Frodo (ducking head but grinning from ear-to-ear).
LilyBaggins: Loved hearing from you, another talented writer whose work I admire. Really enjoyed The Pine-Woods Excursion. Poor Frodo, I definitely wouldn't want to be him! I loathed liquid meds so much that at age two, I learned to swallow a pill! Guess they made dosages low enough for someone that small, 'cause I got no more of the vile-tasting stuff. And I think.aren't you also the one writing A Little Affliction? Ohhhh, I have gotten hooked by that stinker too! Hope ya write more soon.
A Elbereth: Thanks for reviewing, and also for starting a new archive. I popped over there, and the authors you have posted so far, I've read them all! I know I have read something of yours as well, just can't come up with a title. Will have to think on it. I'm glad you like TTT Faramir, and what I'm doing with the characters.
Heidi Gamgee, Tathar, Rose Cotton, Kithara, Cynical Flame, Iorhael, LizzyTygrestick, and Zorra Reed: Most of your handles sound familiar, thank you so much for writing feedback! I appreciate it!
A question for you all: In the movie, I never have been able to place actors with the names of Faramir's men. Any idea who looks like who, especially for Mablung and Damrod? Also, any idea who the gray-haired guy is who says: Osgiliath is under attack, they call for reinforcements, and at the end, You know the laws of your father, if you let them go, your life will be forfeit? Just would like to put more movie-verse descriptions in, and I can't remember any of them being called by name.
On with the story! Spoilers for The Two Towers ahead!
Chapter Three POV: Sam
It's with a heavy heart I trudge back to the blanket where Frodo lies, my feet dragging with the burden of this errand Faramir has charged me to. In my head, I know 'tis necessary-Mr. Frodo's hurt bad, he needs tending. Only, the others, they don't understand what they're asking of my master. They don't realize what all he's been through, how the Black Riders and their Witch-King hunted him, how the snowy mountain and the spiteful Saruman brought a treacherous avalanche down upon us, how the trek through Moria took one of our own. Most of all, they don't know about the blasted Ring and the dreadful burden it puts upon him. That inexecrable scrap of metal, I wish Bilbo had never, ever found it!
I stop dead in my tracks, a cold shiver bristling goose-flesh down my arms as I suddenly cotton on to a notion of what's wrong: the Captain said Mr. Frodo's chest has to be bare. So he could better feel the bones and make the mending easier, especially since Frodo's so much smaller than the men he's used to treating. But the Ring, Faramir will see it if I do as he's asked. He'll see it, and want the answer to its secrets! O', save me, o' dear, what do I do? Mr. Frodo won't want me taking the Ring, but I can't leave it on the chain around his neck.
Grief-shot, I drop to my knees beside Frodo, wanting to numb myself to this unfair dole he should have to brave, knowing all the while it is hopeless. I would take his place, if I could, to spare my master what's coming. O' Gandalf, did you know what would befall Frodo when you let him take the Ring?
"Mr. Frodo?" I call softly. He startles fitfully, uncurling from the ball he has made himself into. His legs move without much effort, but everything else seems to hurt him. Even his head, with one cheek pillowed atop the bedroll, moves little.
"No, Sam." He lies completely still, eyes dull but spearing an urgent plea. "Please ask them to wait a while longer, so I can rest. I cannot go on as I am.please ask it of their leader. Just for awhile yet."
"We're not leavin' presently, Mr. Frodo. That's what I came to tell ya." I chew nervously on my lip. How do I tell this straight without making matters worse? "The Captain, 'e says.'e 'as to put yer arm back to the way it was."
If it were possible, I'd say Frodo's face goes even paler. His skin's ghostly white, like the snow on them mountains we passed over, and he's got that gasted look of travail he wore after Weathertop. He draws his knees closer to his chest, the fingers of his left hand drooping limply off the side of his hip. "Will it not heal on its own?" he implores in a whisper. "I can't bear for it to be touched. Even by my own hand, the pain is too great. It's too soon. Please don't let him near me, Sam."
My deliberate pause stretches on for longer than I intend. Frodo's gaze sharpens, crystal dots of sweat gathering about his upper lip and forehead. His big, blue eyes blink at me in suspicion and dread, until I finally unlock my voice and say with difficulty, "The muscles 'ave been sorely twisted for too long already. Faramir.'e says there are nerves an' tendons an' tubules goin' through the shoulder ta nourish the rest of yer arm. That arm will be crippled if we leave it like it is, Mr. Frodo. An' with the shoulder out o' commission, ya won't be able to travel, an' perform the duty ya pledged." I don't like landing the last blow, forced to grit the words out in a choked vein. "We'd 'ave to return to Rivendell."
Silence fetters the night air all around us. It seems to last a lifetime, while I hear the Captain and Mablung shifting their feet impatiently in the well-trodden ground, my own heart bellowing unwelcome accompaniment in my ears. And my master's breathing isn't easing, not by half.
Frodo stares at me long and hard, his tone is hesitant when he asks, "Is Faramir.is he a healer like Str.Aragorn?"
There is renewed hope in his voice, and I can't escape my sigh, the truth so much harder to carry than the pack I've hauled on my back. "No, Faramir's gests are noble, I'll wager, least to 'im. I hate to say, but 'e doesn't possess no 'ealin' skills compared to the likes of Strider."
I see his throat jump in a hurried swallow, a noisy breath following that sounds hacking and rough. Frodo makes an awful frown, like a lump just slid down his gullet. "So there will be nothing offered to dull my pain."
"Just yer loyal, persistent Sam, with a 'and-fast 'old an' all the encouragement a body could want." I try to make light of it, but my tone doesn't even come close. There's a load of worry in my voice I cannot hide, least of all from my gentle master.
"Sam, I.I never thought to be tested this way," Frodo murmurs, rubbing the back of his right hand over the blanket's trappings. "I don't know if I can trust myself to hold firm.I'm so tired. It's so heavy on me, and now there is the pain on top of everything e-else." Fraught with weakness, he shuts his eyes, wanting to hide from the paining toil which grinds at him without mercy. Then something prods him to lift his lids again. "It is too much, Sam. I don't think I shall be able to endure this hardship."
Frodo's look harrows me to the bone-tears water in his eyes like silver rain caught just as the sun's setting, clear as day under the amber glow of the torches. 'Tis a look that beseeches me not to put him through any more hurtful challenges. I have to work at it to go against his wishes, and the feeling makes me sick to my stomach.
"There's no other way, Frodo. Ya 'ave to do this, an' ya are strong enough, if ya don't mind me sayin'. You've got a strength in you that just won't give in, no matter what. It's kept ya goin' this far, it'll still be there with ya after we're done, too!" I blush, aware my voice is a shade too loud. "Think of the fortnight we spent travelin' to Rivendell. You were in an awful bad way, but ya made it, you survived. Beatin' all the odds. Beatin' even 'im, an' I'm certain that riled those hooded culprits! Like Strider said, yer made of stern stuff. More than ya realize, Mr. Frodo. We've all seen it." Even more, Gandalf and Lord Elrond saw it. The White Lady, as well. I do not say this aloud, but Frodo must glean what I'm thinking, for warmth sheds a bit of the gloom from his eyes. "What Faramir wants to do, it'll be a jaunt through Farmer Maggot's crops stood up against the hurt of a Morgul blade."
Frodo's lips twitch, forming the barest trace of a smile. It heartens me to see it, so I press myself to bring up the thing that's going to upset him most. "Let me 'elp ya to sit up, the Captain says I 'ave to remove yer tunic and waistcoat."
Eyes narrowing, a tiny frown springs up between Frodo's brows. "What do you mean?"
I try to hold my breath, but can't do that and talk at the same time. I sigh, glance up into the treetops, and sigh again. "Faramir needs to be able to feel the bones of yer shoulder, remember? So e'll know fer sure when they're set proper."
Frodo blinks at me wearily, like he wished the forest and everything in it would suddenly disappear. "All right, Sam," he eventually agrees, "if you must." I stay still, and the glaze comes back into his eyes as he says crossly, "I can't sit up on my own. You shall have to help me. The arm won't move. I can feel the pain, but little else."
"O' course I will 'elp ya, it's just." I lower my head until I'm nearly nose-to-nose with Frodo. I don't want the men to hear. "It's the Ring," I whisper, "Faramir will see. You 'ave to take it off."
Frodo's mouth drops open, and he greedily sucks air, eyes growing impossibly large, the blue in them dented with too much black. He looks stricken by such a shock, 'tis as if I asked him to cut off his arm.
"No, Sam, I will not!" he cries sharply, and I frantically push my hand across his mouth.
"Keep yer voice down!" I bade, cautiously lifting my fingers.
"You shan't have it!! It's mine!" he hisses, quaking so violently his teeth start to chattering.
I shake my head, scowling at the beck the trinket holds over him. "I don't want it!" I hiss right back. Bless me, we're too loud. The nervous glance I throw over one shoulder is met with stern, simmering disapproval. A fierce glare is all I can summon in return before I turn back to my master. "It's yer task, Mr. Frodo. But if the Captain sees it, 'e'll want to know about it. That Ring, as I understand, wants to get to Mordor. Our way so far 'as been slow an' ploddin', so if a man-and 'tis men who are so easily corrupted by its evil-were to pick it up and put it on, the Ring would abandon ya. Either way, it would be forever lost to ya, Mr. Frodo. Least with me, you'll get it back," I heave breathlessly. "Now let me roll ya on yer back, an' I'll get it. Put it safe in my pocket 'til their eyes aren't so fixed on ya."
Looking not to blink, Frodo catches his lip between his teeth to stop it from trembling, his gaze fearfully searching my face. The indecision I read there makes me almost flinch-that cursed Ring has made him afraid of me! "Frodo, I would never do nothin' ta 'urt you! Trust me, trust yer Sam!"
Blue eyes bore into me for a long, disturbing moment, until Frodo works his throat trying to speak, and I feel the unrestrained panting of his breath scald hot on the side of my cheek. "Sam, the.t-the Ring." The words are barely a croak. Since I can barely hear them, I rest assured the men around us can't. "I don't want to g-give it up. I know you m-mean well, but-" His voice strangles, a spasm of pain pinching his features into a shattered vision of rising despair. "Can I not still h-hold it? In m-my pocket, perhaps?"
I don't tell him, but truth be known, I'd just assume he not have to fight the wicked call of the Ring, have it wanting to drain his will while Faramir's fixing to remedy his shoulder. He'll tolerate the hurt better without its meddling interference. "Lyin' the way ya are, what if it falls out on the ground?"
He shivers, the thought of that mischance obviously troubling. Grunting softly, a reluctant acceptance settles over him. "All right, take it. Take it before I." Mouth clamping shut, he winces, and I gingerly stretch out my fingers and slip them beneath his tunic. Frodo makes a small whimper of distress when I ease the chain from its resting place and take the Ring. Cupping it in my palm, I stare a moment. Funny, I expected to feel some twisted yearning when I touched it, but the band feels ordinary, smooth and light.
Afraid Faramir will catch a glimpse of the silver's glitter, I don't dare place it about my own neck, stuffing it deep into the pocket of my breeches instead. My master's eyes are drawn to my every move, and I watch him track the Ring 'til it's completely out of sight. His jaw clenches, lids abruptly scrunching closed, a single dismayed sigh slipping from his throat before he sinks his front teeth into the dappled pinkness of his lips, bringing a drop of blood welling to the chapped surface. The want in his eyes is feverishly affected, cold desire burning for that thing he's been toting since we left the Shire. It might as well be an iron shackle, tied to it as he is.
Reaching carefully, I ply my hands to the middle of Frodo's back and help him to sit up. Curling my legs under and sitting on my haunches, I keep one arm around his waist for added support. After unfastening the Elven cloak, I slowly undo all the buttons on his waistcoat and ease it from his shoulders, copying the one-handed grip for the tunic, only the shirt buttons are smaller, and soon I'm silently cursing the variable tremble in my fingertips. By the time I finish, Frodo has his good hand wrapped in a fistful of my cloak and all the cloth underneath he can reach, and ain't letting go.
"Come on, Mr. Frodo. Let's get ya settled back on the bedroll."
"No!" The protest rings suddenly loud, full of fear and dread, and it takes a good deal of gentle prodding and maneuvering on my part to get him to lie down again. "No, Sam, don't." His eyes fall shut, and I hear the soft, sure-footed steps of Captain Faramir approaching us from behind.
"Don't fret, yer Sam will look after ya," I whisper kindly.
When the fell job is done, I'm not sure which was worse-the thunk that crooked bone makes as Faramir finally jolts it back into place, or the shrill scream that follows.
"Saaammm!" Frodo's voice cracks into another of those terribly pained cries, and he hiccups and sobs and convulses in a shudder before collapsing back to my breast with a reedy, choked-off sigh.
"'Tis all over, Mr. Frodo. It's done, my dear. That pain should start easin' up soon," I comfort, smoothing the dripping fringe off his brow, feeling the steady stream of tears burning down my cheeks. Frodo tries to retreat from my touch, but the pain and weakness prevents it, and his head flops like a limp rag and abuts my shoulder.
"But I w-was almost a-asleep," he rues, sniveling brokenly. "It's so h-hard to rest any-mo-more, you should h-have let m-me be. It h-hurts so, Sam, I n-need it." His labored desolation nearly breaks my heart, and I wonder how many more times during this wretched adventure I will hear him call for help, and be able to do nothing other than whisper meaningless drabble. "H-how m-much longer will y-you k-keep it?"
"Shh, not long." I glance up through watery eyes to see Faramir holding a folded strip of cloth.
"We need to bind the arm so the shoulder cannot be moved. He should not try to raise his arm for several days at least, that will allow the muscles to heal and the joint to re-stabilize."
Several days.weeks? Good gracious, how will we keep the Ring a secret for that long?
To Be Continued.
Chapter Three
Author: Kidders
Fandom: Lord Of The Rings, The Two Towers
Characters: Frodo, Sam, Captain Faramir and his men, Gollum
Pairings: None, no slash
Rating: PG-13 for violence and graphic medical description
Genre: Angst, drama, h/c
Disclaimers: See Chapter One
Setting: AU, movie-verse with a bit of book thrown in, Frodo and Sam are in the forced company of Faramir and his men, journeying to Henneth Annun
A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who continues to review. It means a lot to get such good feedback, especially since I'm still trying to get to know these characters. I don't know how many great stories I've read since last October, I've lost count, and haven't reviewed because of the sheer volume I've been catching up on. I mainly read Frodo stories, non-slash, and there are so many great ones out there, but I'll try to mention to those of you who wrote in how much I like your work! Hopefully, I have names and stories matched correctly, forgive me if there are any boo-boos.
Claudia: Are you the same one who wrote that yummy piece about Faramir and a hurt Frodo, plus a gaggle of other tales all at the same time? If you are, my hat's off to you. How you keep the plotlines straight is beyond me, but wow! I love Clear Shot, and I know there are a few others, I just can't recall the titles at the moment. Thanks for your comments, and I eagerly await more drabbles from your pen!
Shirebound: I am awed that you like my work, as I think from other A/N's you are considered one of the mavens of Frodo-angst. Glad you liked my wee bit of poor, ailing Frodo. He is my favorite character, in case you hadn't guessed g. And I dearly like your stories, as they are lighter and have more of the fellowship in them. I tend to write dark, so it is a nice climate change to read your tales. I loved the one where Legolas and Gimli were constantly arguing, and finally gave Frodo a harried meltdown! Thanks again.
Ariel: You already have heard my Sally Field yammer, 'You like me, you really, really like me!' But again, you are wonderful, and a much appreciated reader/reviewer. Glad you like this one, though it is movie- verse. Also, I very much liked your story, Thicker Than Blood. Weathertop stories were among the first I read. And yes, I do like torturing Frodo (ducking head but grinning from ear-to-ear).
LilyBaggins: Loved hearing from you, another talented writer whose work I admire. Really enjoyed The Pine-Woods Excursion. Poor Frodo, I definitely wouldn't want to be him! I loathed liquid meds so much that at age two, I learned to swallow a pill! Guess they made dosages low enough for someone that small, 'cause I got no more of the vile-tasting stuff. And I think.aren't you also the one writing A Little Affliction? Ohhhh, I have gotten hooked by that stinker too! Hope ya write more soon.
A Elbereth: Thanks for reviewing, and also for starting a new archive. I popped over there, and the authors you have posted so far, I've read them all! I know I have read something of yours as well, just can't come up with a title. Will have to think on it. I'm glad you like TTT Faramir, and what I'm doing with the characters.
Heidi Gamgee, Tathar, Rose Cotton, Kithara, Cynical Flame, Iorhael, LizzyTygrestick, and Zorra Reed: Most of your handles sound familiar, thank you so much for writing feedback! I appreciate it!
A question for you all: In the movie, I never have been able to place actors with the names of Faramir's men. Any idea who looks like who, especially for Mablung and Damrod? Also, any idea who the gray-haired guy is who says: Osgiliath is under attack, they call for reinforcements, and at the end, You know the laws of your father, if you let them go, your life will be forfeit? Just would like to put more movie-verse descriptions in, and I can't remember any of them being called by name.
On with the story! Spoilers for The Two Towers ahead!
Chapter Three POV: Sam
It's with a heavy heart I trudge back to the blanket where Frodo lies, my feet dragging with the burden of this errand Faramir has charged me to. In my head, I know 'tis necessary-Mr. Frodo's hurt bad, he needs tending. Only, the others, they don't understand what they're asking of my master. They don't realize what all he's been through, how the Black Riders and their Witch-King hunted him, how the snowy mountain and the spiteful Saruman brought a treacherous avalanche down upon us, how the trek through Moria took one of our own. Most of all, they don't know about the blasted Ring and the dreadful burden it puts upon him. That inexecrable scrap of metal, I wish Bilbo had never, ever found it!
I stop dead in my tracks, a cold shiver bristling goose-flesh down my arms as I suddenly cotton on to a notion of what's wrong: the Captain said Mr. Frodo's chest has to be bare. So he could better feel the bones and make the mending easier, especially since Frodo's so much smaller than the men he's used to treating. But the Ring, Faramir will see it if I do as he's asked. He'll see it, and want the answer to its secrets! O', save me, o' dear, what do I do? Mr. Frodo won't want me taking the Ring, but I can't leave it on the chain around his neck.
Grief-shot, I drop to my knees beside Frodo, wanting to numb myself to this unfair dole he should have to brave, knowing all the while it is hopeless. I would take his place, if I could, to spare my master what's coming. O' Gandalf, did you know what would befall Frodo when you let him take the Ring?
"Mr. Frodo?" I call softly. He startles fitfully, uncurling from the ball he has made himself into. His legs move without much effort, but everything else seems to hurt him. Even his head, with one cheek pillowed atop the bedroll, moves little.
"No, Sam." He lies completely still, eyes dull but spearing an urgent plea. "Please ask them to wait a while longer, so I can rest. I cannot go on as I am.please ask it of their leader. Just for awhile yet."
"We're not leavin' presently, Mr. Frodo. That's what I came to tell ya." I chew nervously on my lip. How do I tell this straight without making matters worse? "The Captain, 'e says.'e 'as to put yer arm back to the way it was."
If it were possible, I'd say Frodo's face goes even paler. His skin's ghostly white, like the snow on them mountains we passed over, and he's got that gasted look of travail he wore after Weathertop. He draws his knees closer to his chest, the fingers of his left hand drooping limply off the side of his hip. "Will it not heal on its own?" he implores in a whisper. "I can't bear for it to be touched. Even by my own hand, the pain is too great. It's too soon. Please don't let him near me, Sam."
My deliberate pause stretches on for longer than I intend. Frodo's gaze sharpens, crystal dots of sweat gathering about his upper lip and forehead. His big, blue eyes blink at me in suspicion and dread, until I finally unlock my voice and say with difficulty, "The muscles 'ave been sorely twisted for too long already. Faramir.'e says there are nerves an' tendons an' tubules goin' through the shoulder ta nourish the rest of yer arm. That arm will be crippled if we leave it like it is, Mr. Frodo. An' with the shoulder out o' commission, ya won't be able to travel, an' perform the duty ya pledged." I don't like landing the last blow, forced to grit the words out in a choked vein. "We'd 'ave to return to Rivendell."
Silence fetters the night air all around us. It seems to last a lifetime, while I hear the Captain and Mablung shifting their feet impatiently in the well-trodden ground, my own heart bellowing unwelcome accompaniment in my ears. And my master's breathing isn't easing, not by half.
Frodo stares at me long and hard, his tone is hesitant when he asks, "Is Faramir.is he a healer like Str.Aragorn?"
There is renewed hope in his voice, and I can't escape my sigh, the truth so much harder to carry than the pack I've hauled on my back. "No, Faramir's gests are noble, I'll wager, least to 'im. I hate to say, but 'e doesn't possess no 'ealin' skills compared to the likes of Strider."
I see his throat jump in a hurried swallow, a noisy breath following that sounds hacking and rough. Frodo makes an awful frown, like a lump just slid down his gullet. "So there will be nothing offered to dull my pain."
"Just yer loyal, persistent Sam, with a 'and-fast 'old an' all the encouragement a body could want." I try to make light of it, but my tone doesn't even come close. There's a load of worry in my voice I cannot hide, least of all from my gentle master.
"Sam, I.I never thought to be tested this way," Frodo murmurs, rubbing the back of his right hand over the blanket's trappings. "I don't know if I can trust myself to hold firm.I'm so tired. It's so heavy on me, and now there is the pain on top of everything e-else." Fraught with weakness, he shuts his eyes, wanting to hide from the paining toil which grinds at him without mercy. Then something prods him to lift his lids again. "It is too much, Sam. I don't think I shall be able to endure this hardship."
Frodo's look harrows me to the bone-tears water in his eyes like silver rain caught just as the sun's setting, clear as day under the amber glow of the torches. 'Tis a look that beseeches me not to put him through any more hurtful challenges. I have to work at it to go against his wishes, and the feeling makes me sick to my stomach.
"There's no other way, Frodo. Ya 'ave to do this, an' ya are strong enough, if ya don't mind me sayin'. You've got a strength in you that just won't give in, no matter what. It's kept ya goin' this far, it'll still be there with ya after we're done, too!" I blush, aware my voice is a shade too loud. "Think of the fortnight we spent travelin' to Rivendell. You were in an awful bad way, but ya made it, you survived. Beatin' all the odds. Beatin' even 'im, an' I'm certain that riled those hooded culprits! Like Strider said, yer made of stern stuff. More than ya realize, Mr. Frodo. We've all seen it." Even more, Gandalf and Lord Elrond saw it. The White Lady, as well. I do not say this aloud, but Frodo must glean what I'm thinking, for warmth sheds a bit of the gloom from his eyes. "What Faramir wants to do, it'll be a jaunt through Farmer Maggot's crops stood up against the hurt of a Morgul blade."
Frodo's lips twitch, forming the barest trace of a smile. It heartens me to see it, so I press myself to bring up the thing that's going to upset him most. "Let me 'elp ya to sit up, the Captain says I 'ave to remove yer tunic and waistcoat."
Eyes narrowing, a tiny frown springs up between Frodo's brows. "What do you mean?"
I try to hold my breath, but can't do that and talk at the same time. I sigh, glance up into the treetops, and sigh again. "Faramir needs to be able to feel the bones of yer shoulder, remember? So e'll know fer sure when they're set proper."
Frodo blinks at me wearily, like he wished the forest and everything in it would suddenly disappear. "All right, Sam," he eventually agrees, "if you must." I stay still, and the glaze comes back into his eyes as he says crossly, "I can't sit up on my own. You shall have to help me. The arm won't move. I can feel the pain, but little else."
"O' course I will 'elp ya, it's just." I lower my head until I'm nearly nose-to-nose with Frodo. I don't want the men to hear. "It's the Ring," I whisper, "Faramir will see. You 'ave to take it off."
Frodo's mouth drops open, and he greedily sucks air, eyes growing impossibly large, the blue in them dented with too much black. He looks stricken by such a shock, 'tis as if I asked him to cut off his arm.
"No, Sam, I will not!" he cries sharply, and I frantically push my hand across his mouth.
"Keep yer voice down!" I bade, cautiously lifting my fingers.
"You shan't have it!! It's mine!" he hisses, quaking so violently his teeth start to chattering.
I shake my head, scowling at the beck the trinket holds over him. "I don't want it!" I hiss right back. Bless me, we're too loud. The nervous glance I throw over one shoulder is met with stern, simmering disapproval. A fierce glare is all I can summon in return before I turn back to my master. "It's yer task, Mr. Frodo. But if the Captain sees it, 'e'll want to know about it. That Ring, as I understand, wants to get to Mordor. Our way so far 'as been slow an' ploddin', so if a man-and 'tis men who are so easily corrupted by its evil-were to pick it up and put it on, the Ring would abandon ya. Either way, it would be forever lost to ya, Mr. Frodo. Least with me, you'll get it back," I heave breathlessly. "Now let me roll ya on yer back, an' I'll get it. Put it safe in my pocket 'til their eyes aren't so fixed on ya."
Looking not to blink, Frodo catches his lip between his teeth to stop it from trembling, his gaze fearfully searching my face. The indecision I read there makes me almost flinch-that cursed Ring has made him afraid of me! "Frodo, I would never do nothin' ta 'urt you! Trust me, trust yer Sam!"
Blue eyes bore into me for a long, disturbing moment, until Frodo works his throat trying to speak, and I feel the unrestrained panting of his breath scald hot on the side of my cheek. "Sam, the.t-the Ring." The words are barely a croak. Since I can barely hear them, I rest assured the men around us can't. "I don't want to g-give it up. I know you m-mean well, but-" His voice strangles, a spasm of pain pinching his features into a shattered vision of rising despair. "Can I not still h-hold it? In m-my pocket, perhaps?"
I don't tell him, but truth be known, I'd just assume he not have to fight the wicked call of the Ring, have it wanting to drain his will while Faramir's fixing to remedy his shoulder. He'll tolerate the hurt better without its meddling interference. "Lyin' the way ya are, what if it falls out on the ground?"
He shivers, the thought of that mischance obviously troubling. Grunting softly, a reluctant acceptance settles over him. "All right, take it. Take it before I." Mouth clamping shut, he winces, and I gingerly stretch out my fingers and slip them beneath his tunic. Frodo makes a small whimper of distress when I ease the chain from its resting place and take the Ring. Cupping it in my palm, I stare a moment. Funny, I expected to feel some twisted yearning when I touched it, but the band feels ordinary, smooth and light.
Afraid Faramir will catch a glimpse of the silver's glitter, I don't dare place it about my own neck, stuffing it deep into the pocket of my breeches instead. My master's eyes are drawn to my every move, and I watch him track the Ring 'til it's completely out of sight. His jaw clenches, lids abruptly scrunching closed, a single dismayed sigh slipping from his throat before he sinks his front teeth into the dappled pinkness of his lips, bringing a drop of blood welling to the chapped surface. The want in his eyes is feverishly affected, cold desire burning for that thing he's been toting since we left the Shire. It might as well be an iron shackle, tied to it as he is.
Reaching carefully, I ply my hands to the middle of Frodo's back and help him to sit up. Curling my legs under and sitting on my haunches, I keep one arm around his waist for added support. After unfastening the Elven cloak, I slowly undo all the buttons on his waistcoat and ease it from his shoulders, copying the one-handed grip for the tunic, only the shirt buttons are smaller, and soon I'm silently cursing the variable tremble in my fingertips. By the time I finish, Frodo has his good hand wrapped in a fistful of my cloak and all the cloth underneath he can reach, and ain't letting go.
"Come on, Mr. Frodo. Let's get ya settled back on the bedroll."
"No!" The protest rings suddenly loud, full of fear and dread, and it takes a good deal of gentle prodding and maneuvering on my part to get him to lie down again. "No, Sam, don't." His eyes fall shut, and I hear the soft, sure-footed steps of Captain Faramir approaching us from behind.
"Don't fret, yer Sam will look after ya," I whisper kindly.
When the fell job is done, I'm not sure which was worse-the thunk that crooked bone makes as Faramir finally jolts it back into place, or the shrill scream that follows.
"Saaammm!" Frodo's voice cracks into another of those terribly pained cries, and he hiccups and sobs and convulses in a shudder before collapsing back to my breast with a reedy, choked-off sigh.
"'Tis all over, Mr. Frodo. It's done, my dear. That pain should start easin' up soon," I comfort, smoothing the dripping fringe off his brow, feeling the steady stream of tears burning down my cheeks. Frodo tries to retreat from my touch, but the pain and weakness prevents it, and his head flops like a limp rag and abuts my shoulder.
"But I w-was almost a-asleep," he rues, sniveling brokenly. "It's so h-hard to rest any-mo-more, you should h-have let m-me be. It h-hurts so, Sam, I n-need it." His labored desolation nearly breaks my heart, and I wonder how many more times during this wretched adventure I will hear him call for help, and be able to do nothing other than whisper meaningless drabble. "H-how m-much longer will y-you k-keep it?"
"Shh, not long." I glance up through watery eyes to see Faramir holding a folded strip of cloth.
"We need to bind the arm so the shoulder cannot be moved. He should not try to raise his arm for several days at least, that will allow the muscles to heal and the joint to re-stabilize."
Several days.weeks? Good gracious, how will we keep the Ring a secret for that long?
To Be Continued.