Judgment Reckoning
Chapter Five
Author: Kidders
Fandom: Lord Of The Rings, The Two Towers
Pairings: None, no slash
Rating PG-13 for violence and graphic medical description
Genre: Angst, drama, h/c
Disclaimers: None of it's mine, credit belongs to Tolkien, Peter Jackson and New Line Cinema, ad infinitum. Forgot last chapter, the rhyme Faramir quotes is also Tolkien's, though everyone probably knew that g.
Setting: Still on the way to Henneth Annun, and mostly movie-verse, slightly AU. PJ's version was my first taste of this great universe, as a result I am heavily influenced by the films. Though, like you Ariel, I am clinging to the hope that ROTK will be gut-wrenching and gritty and hard, and that Frodo definitely will get his chance to really shine and be the heart and undaunted soul of this wonderful epic.
A/N: Shirebound, your comments continue to be an inspiration, thank you so much. And I'm loving Quarantined! QTPie-2488, yes this will be mostly movie-verse, as said above. I picture all the characters as PJ cast them, even when reading the books (which I've only made it through once so far, without the appendices-I haven't tackled those yet!). I might bring in a thread or two from the book, there are scenes in this chapter that were in the book but I tried to write my own version, without referring back to Tolkien, just for variety. I also will use some brief dialogue from the movie, which I'm sure you'll recognize, in case I forget to credit those things. I enjoy hearing from you. A Elbereth, thanks for your continuing reviews. I am enjoying much your latest tale When Storms Break Loose, when I have time to read and peruse ff.net. I can't recall if I reviewed there yet or not, I included you in a general posting on the FH's group, though I realize WSBL won't be there. That last chapter had me really feeling for poor Frodo when he was in the bath shiver! Obelia medusa, glad you're enjoying it. Hopefully my next post won't take so long. Faramir was determined to stay stuck in my head, and Sam had to fight to get back in g. aelfgifu, there's definitely some ring glow on the way, maybe not this chapter, but in later ones. Glad you like it, and thanks for reviewing. Bookworm2000, be glad you've never really experienced pain, it is no fun at all, let me tell ya. I have had a chronic pain syndrome which causes spasms and constant aching in all of my muscles (medical term = fibromyalgia) and joints for the last three years, and since the doctors/researchers don't know the cause, all they can do is treat the symptoms. The only positive thing this disease has done for me, among all the many negatives, is it gives me good insight into what feeling pain really does feel like. They say write what you know, and I know medicine and I know pain, so I guess I'm stuck writing angst. Hehehe.it's sad, but it does give me some enjoyment, an outlet of sorts, and I love hearing from all of you. Feedback is wonderful. Shirebound, that's why your stories are like a day at the beach for me. The Frodo angst is there, but it's more a nice oboe or violin solo, rather than the entire horn section g. Lovely. For the FrodoHealers group, I want to thank Claudia, you've been reviewing regularly, and it's great to hear from you each chapter. You also clicked on the idea that much of Frodo's pain and fear is due to the Ring's influence, and his concussion, and once he heals a little and gets some of his strength back, he's not going to be so docile anymore. Tiggivon, always a faithful feedback issuer, I'm glad you are liking my newest attempt. Thank you! Elwen, Ancalime, and Slipstream, thanks for posting. I always enjoy hearing from new people. And last but not least, Ariel, you are my like my personal trainer (yeesh, wish I could afford one for real), it's your encouragement I hear when I'm down or have a bit of writer's block, that says keep going, you're actually putting out something good and worthy, that I show quality. Thank you, my friend, if I might humbly call you that.
On with the story! Spoilers for The Two Towers ahead!
Chapter Five POV: Sam
If I had my druthers, I'd gladly throttle that shifty Captain Faramir right about now. Give him a good tongue-lashing I would, if I was able, for what he did wasn't altogether proper. But the way Mr. Frodo's laid out, I don't feel I should move him anymore that's needed. 'Sides, hearing me blubber at the top of my lungs would only go and upset him more. 'Tis best he stays quiet and rests.
I accept the piece of cloth the Captain offers me, and begin the onerous task of making my master more presentable. Heaven forfend, none of the foul mess went to stain Frodo's clothes. Then we'd really be in a fix. No amount of sweet-talking would convince him to strip down, not with the Ring around his neck again. What with master's head and shoulders nestled snug in the crook of my arm, and his back pressed against my knees, Mr. Frodo shouldn't be moving much, not of his own accord. But he's quaking like he's caught his death of cold, and his eyes are barely slit open, just the whites are showing.
That hanky's soaked through in no time when I sponge off the heavy mask of sweat that's been springing up to drench his entire face. I can feel the steady flood of tiny rivulets slicking down his nape, wetting the dried crusts in his hair so they cling to the top of my arm like sticky apple jelly. From the last dry corner, I wipe off what's left of the nasty dribble caught on my master's chin and lips. Frodo's jaw's gone slack, teeth parted slightly; I can hear the frantic wheezes air is making as it passes through his throat. Even though he's collapsed, his body's still set on dragging out this awful sickness, seeing to it that he suffers. I wish now I'd never given the Ring back, only he was wanting it so badly, what else was I to do?
By all that's just, what if the thing's wicked influence is impelling his hurt to worsen? Dear me, I'm not cut out for such misadventures. 'Twould be much better if it were Mr. Frodo keeping a clear head. I suppose I'll have to make the best of what's happened, come what may. I made a promise, and more above, I intend to stand by it. "Lay quiet and get some sleep, Frodo. I'll watch over ya, an' make sure nothin' bad 'appens."
Wracked by a long spell of fierce shivering, Frodo cries out softly, the sound telling of his misery. He huddles against me, and I gather it's warmth he's wanting. I draw him as close as I dare, trying not to disturb that ailing shoulder of his, though I'm certain these dire chills must be paining him some. Our cloaks are out of reach, or I'd put them right to use.
Caught up in grim ponderings, I'm unprepared for the sudden blur of movement which skulks across my view. I startle, jostling my poor master so that he whimpers loudly in protest, only to have a fit of choking strangle what's left of his voice. He sniffles, having a hard time swallowing. No wonder, a rheumy purge running from his nose like it is. I sense Faramir above us, and try not to scowl. Even if Boromir is his brother, that don't excuse what the Captain did to Mr. Frodo-routing him like he was some scoundrel found lurching on the side of the road. I dab listlessly at the mess issuing from his nose, sorrow deepening the lonely wedge dammed tight behind my eyes.
Faramir breaks the silence. "There are a few hours left 'til dawn. Your master has earned his rest, I would say."
I refuse to look at him. Does he expect a reply? I wouldn't trust myself yet to utter any sort of pleasantry, so I stew and think foul thoughts about all men, except for maybe Strider. And it's then the Captain turns and does something I would never have guessed: he removes his woolen cloak and gently tucks it over my master. Throat parched dry as cotton still on the vine, my eyes dart up to meet his. I'm not sure I can speak, whether or not I know what to say in the first place.
The Captain sighs, perhaps 'tis a sad note, I can't rightly tell. "Keep him warm, Sam," he murmurs, then walks away, leaving me gaping in disbelief. What roguish plot is he conniving? I can't abide him being nicely courteous one minute, and prickly rude the next. I've half a mind to tell him so, except it would unduly burden Mr. Frodo. I can feel that awful tenseness in him beginning to unwind, letting him slowly relax in my arms. If my biting my tongue will give my master some well-deserved peace and quiet, I'm glad to do it.
Dawn comes too early for my liking, only near upon an hour it seems before most of Faramir's men return. Not long enough for Frodo to rest properly, by far. I stay put as much as possible, watching while torches are doused and the rest of our packs are gathered up. Frodo needs every wink of sleep he's able to get before I go and move him. His breathing slowed a lot from earlier, hitching only now and then, and it doesn't drag him from his slumber. Every so often, a sigh breaks from his lips and his face scrunches up, knuckles digging sharply into my ribs, and I wonder what demon it is he's fighting. 'Tis no surprise he's got great, dark smudges underneath his eyes. Whenever he manages to fall asleep, something always happens to disturb him-Gollum, Black Riders, this staunch Captain.
"Sam."
The call of my name carries clearly, what I've been dreading. I swallow my anger, and reluctantly raise my gaze to Faramir. "We must take our leave," he says, making it sound like a request, though we both know it's nothing but. Frodo doesn't stir, but when I look back, his mouth has tensed and his forehead is twitching, brows contorting into a pained frown.
"What about Mr. Frodo? Can't we stay a bit longer?" I plead.
"It is no longer safe. Some of the Easterlings have regrouped, and are joined by a new legion. They've been spotted on the road, some even venture into the woods. We must extend the distance between us." His gaze veers upward, and I follow its direction, half afraid of what I might see. "Moreover, the weather is changing. A storm is moving in, and I doubt a cold drenching would do your master any good."
He looks at me disarmingly, and I feel my temper bristle in defiance, this queasy knot rising in my belly. If Faramir thinks this slipshod nonsense will earn him any stretch of forgiveness for what he and his men did to Frodo, then he's got a thing or two to learn about hobbits. Continuing to hold my glance, a sigh eventually shakes loose from my chest. I hate to admit it, but he's right about the rain-the air is turning heavy and thick, and there's a towering bank of black, angry-looking clouds moving in from the southwest. I don't fancy a soaking, and it'd be especially taxing for Mr. Frodo. "No, it wouldn't do," I agree at last.
Faramir bends low. "Let me take him."
Grudgingly, I release my master to his care. Frodo's lashes quiver, blinking open to reveal a pair of sleep-dazed eyes. He recoils from the unfamiliar touch, hunching about himself and making a ragged sound, his sudden breath catching fearfully. "There ain't no cause for alarm," I assure him hastily, tucking the cloak in so he won't catch a chill. "It's just me. The Captain 'ere is goin' to carry ya awhile, so ya can save yer strength." His look stays confounded, and I don't know why I go and say what I do, but the words are out afore I can call them back. "Like Strider, it'll be like Strider. You can trust 'im to well tend ya."
Those striking eyes of his study me for another long moment, until he expresses a watery sigh and folds against the Captain's chest, crushing the cloak to his shoulders and balling his fist under his chin. Elbereth protect us, I hope I ain't just told him a lie.
*************************************************************
We wind out way through the forest. The thick groves of conifers start to thin considerably as our path turns ever steeper, the faint gurgle of running water growing louder and louder with every step we take. Soon, I've fallen behind again, unable to match the urgent pace of these Rangers. Hands on knees, I stoop to catch my breath, hanging my head and wheezing like a fat, old sow. My legs weren't cut out for such straining demand. Neither are Mr. Frodo's, for that matter. I'd hate to think what daunting trial he'd be enduring, had Faramir not carried him.
Several strides ahead of me, the Captain has stopped, and though he stands alone, I know his men are close at hand. We've walked in silence thus far, he's not let one whit slip about Boromir. I can see in his eyes the subject ain't put off, merely postponed. I stay keeled over, trying to ease the maddening stiffness lodged in my spine. Shifting my pack so it doesn't pull on my neck, the stitch in my side is just about gone when I straighten. There's a sudden gust of wind that stings my face, and it sets fallen leaves to swirling around my feet in a frenzy, kicking up dust and making me sneeze fitfully. I stumble, turning a bit. And spot the glint of bulbous eyes sneaking a look at me from behind a tree trunk not fifty feet from where I stand.
I gulp, blinking in shock. Gollum! I'd almost forgotten that corky rascal in all the uproar, but here he is, still in pursuit and avoiding the Rangers to boot. He's much too clever and slippery for his own good, and I'd like nothing better than to set that Damrod loose on him, insomuch as he deserves. But it would pose too many questions. Questions I don't want asked, much less answered.
By the time I blink again, he's vanished, and I scurry to rejoin Faramir and my master. I sense the man's gaze upon me while I wait for him to continue up the path, only he doesn't seem keen on moving. I eye him, and demand brusquely, "What?!" He merely cocks an eyebrow, a reprimand there's not a doubt. I lower my voice to something a tad more respectful, chewing the inside of my cheek. "How's Mr. Frodo?"
"No longer resting comfortably, I'm afraid." Tree limbs creak and groan under the wind's ferocity, the gale whipping leaves to and fro so that a keening whistle fills the air. A noise eerily echoed by my master's lips. "He seems troubled, whether by the approaching storm or his wounds, I know not."
I glance at the dark line of rain clouds marching our way, doing my best to take no notice of Frodo's mutterings. I can't make them out, but his tone is dismally anxious. "That approaching storm looks to mean trouble to me as well, an' I don't 'ave no pains. Unless you'd count my aching feet." Or aggravation and guilt over Frodo's plight, I think resentfully.
"Master Gamgee." Faramir's usual forbidding quality softens, and I feel my heart trip doubly fast, having seen this before, the man's generosity too often preceding some horrible event which only adds insult to Frodo's already heavy burden. I stare at him nervously, wetting my lips. He kneels, cradling Frodo with careful ease. "I am afraid I must impart a discourtesy upon you and Frodo. You are not allowed to see what path we will now take."
Suspicion runs a cold sweat down my back, and I choke back dread and the bitter taste brought up from a sour stomach. I hate my fear, the unshakable helplessness that grows like a suffocating weed, trampling my resolve into deadened ruin. So I glare balefully at the man, and snort, "What, do ya mean to clout us over the 'ead and sling our senseless bodies over yer shoulder?"
A stunned look passes over Faramir's face, and he frowns. "Nothing so severe. I only mean to cover your eyes, for none outside my company may glimpse the way to our refuge, not even valued friends of Rohan are permitted thusly."
I'm still feeling as cross as a plucked peacock, and goad, "Ya still think we're spies, an' don't trust us." The flicker of anger in his eyes gives me a moment of smug satisfaction.
He sighs, though doesn't raise his voice, other to be heard over the blustering wind. "It is not a matter of trust, it is a matter of principle. However, if you wish to debate further, I shall be happy to oblige. We have traveled nearly two leagues, it is safe to linger if need be." He smiles mirthlessly. "I am accustomed to adverse changes in the climate, as are my men. Have a seat, Samwise, and regale me with your arguments. Perhaps you will sway my mind."
A deafening clap of thunder booms over our heads, scaring the daylights out of me. Plenty loud to make Faramir jump, too. But Frodo's shrill scream scares me more. The long, undulating wail spills out of his open mouth, his voice driven high and thin, underscored by a pain that's as if he's suddenly been skewered right through.
"The clatter of hooves," he gasps, fingers crawling to his left shoulder. "I can hear them, their cries are near, so loud." Frodo's eyes glisten, and he stares unseeing, trapped by the Ring's veil of darkness. "Strider asked me if I was fr-frightened. I was, only not enough.I didn't know! If I had known, I never would have allowed Merry and Pippin to.to." He shudders, lids rolling down tight as a shutter, squeezing tears from the corners of his eyes. "I can't let them take me, Sam. They mustn't find me.if they find me, they will find you all.Gandalf didn't meet us. Why didn't he come, Sam?" His voice is a forlorn whisper. "I am so lost without h-him."
I swallow my own fright, and try to console him. "I know, Mr. Frodo. I know."
"Sam." He stares at me with dull eyes, blueness dampened to a stony gray, almost as dark as those thunderheads above us. I understand after a minute, what's going through his head: Frodo believes he deserves this fate. A scurril harm to flay him raw, because he was the one who decided we should go through the mine. Frodo's blaming himself for Gandalf's death. I knew he felt badly after it happened, we all did, but I never realized how much he'd lumped onto his own shoulders. Even us coming with him is a nagging worry that he's taken on. Looking into his tear-swollen eyes, I see the guilt twisted up inside him, festering, given no release and locked away with the other tainted shadows that blacken his heart and steal his hope.
"Does yer 'ead still ache?"
"Yes, Sam." He sounds desperately weary. Ten minutes of sleep here and there simply ain't enough. I take the water skin and moisten the silky band, pressing it to his forehead. "We'll cover yer eyes for awhile. You won't mind that, will ya, Mr. Frodo?"
His eyes struggle to focus, and I lean in so he can see me better, being that he can't turn his head much on the left. "We're goin' to 'ave ta 'urry, there's a storm brewin'." Even as I say that, the wind picks up and whips my hair against my cheek. Frodo keeps peering at me, his look drawn and puzzled.
There's another thundering rumble, and his eyes go wide. "Rain," he whispers shakily, "is that all it was?" Sighing, he blinks, the furrowed line easing from the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, Sam. I can't seem to hold a thought.everything hovers just beyond my reach, and nothing will remain still. I think I know where I am, then it changes, and I think.I think it might have all just been a b-bad dream. But I remember now, and it is worse." Another gasp and a sigh, Frodo looking like a willowy bough strained taut by the blowing gusts. "My sight is blurry, and I am very dizzy. My head is filled with noise, and my shoulder throbs each time I breathe. Also, I feel rather.ill."
I slip the cloth over his eyes, and he mumbles, "That feels very nice, Sam."
"Leave it there, an' I'll pull yer hood down so ya won't get wet. Faramir's carryin' ya, like before." I put my lips to his ear. "An' if ya need to vomit, I'm sure the Captain won't mind."
Frodo doesn't say anything, and Faramir keeps his silence, so I don't think he heard. But my master's mouth twitches, corners curving up to form the slightest of smiles. I pull his hood down to his nose, and cover my own eyes with a scarf given by a man I don't recognize. Strong hands guide my shoulders, and I take tentative steps before I realize I won't fall, and can lift my feet higher. I grin, the image of Frodo's brief smile lingering in my head. It is ample reward for this injustice. Though I don't wish for my master to be sick again, if Frodo has cause to puke on Faramir's jerkin, all the better is what I say.
To Be Continued.
A/N: This chapter was going to be so long, I decided to cut it here. The next may still be Sam's POV, I will have to see how it goes. Ariel, that last bit was inspired by you. Don't know what came over me. Frodo actually smiles, if you can believe that!
Chapter Five
Author: Kidders
Fandom: Lord Of The Rings, The Two Towers
Pairings: None, no slash
Rating PG-13 for violence and graphic medical description
Genre: Angst, drama, h/c
Disclaimers: None of it's mine, credit belongs to Tolkien, Peter Jackson and New Line Cinema, ad infinitum. Forgot last chapter, the rhyme Faramir quotes is also Tolkien's, though everyone probably knew that g.
Setting: Still on the way to Henneth Annun, and mostly movie-verse, slightly AU. PJ's version was my first taste of this great universe, as a result I am heavily influenced by the films. Though, like you Ariel, I am clinging to the hope that ROTK will be gut-wrenching and gritty and hard, and that Frodo definitely will get his chance to really shine and be the heart and undaunted soul of this wonderful epic.
A/N: Shirebound, your comments continue to be an inspiration, thank you so much. And I'm loving Quarantined! QTPie-2488, yes this will be mostly movie-verse, as said above. I picture all the characters as PJ cast them, even when reading the books (which I've only made it through once so far, without the appendices-I haven't tackled those yet!). I might bring in a thread or two from the book, there are scenes in this chapter that were in the book but I tried to write my own version, without referring back to Tolkien, just for variety. I also will use some brief dialogue from the movie, which I'm sure you'll recognize, in case I forget to credit those things. I enjoy hearing from you. A Elbereth, thanks for your continuing reviews. I am enjoying much your latest tale When Storms Break Loose, when I have time to read and peruse ff.net. I can't recall if I reviewed there yet or not, I included you in a general posting on the FH's group, though I realize WSBL won't be there. That last chapter had me really feeling for poor Frodo when he was in the bath shiver! Obelia medusa, glad you're enjoying it. Hopefully my next post won't take so long. Faramir was determined to stay stuck in my head, and Sam had to fight to get back in g. aelfgifu, there's definitely some ring glow on the way, maybe not this chapter, but in later ones. Glad you like it, and thanks for reviewing. Bookworm2000, be glad you've never really experienced pain, it is no fun at all, let me tell ya. I have had a chronic pain syndrome which causes spasms and constant aching in all of my muscles (medical term = fibromyalgia) and joints for the last three years, and since the doctors/researchers don't know the cause, all they can do is treat the symptoms. The only positive thing this disease has done for me, among all the many negatives, is it gives me good insight into what feeling pain really does feel like. They say write what you know, and I know medicine and I know pain, so I guess I'm stuck writing angst. Hehehe.it's sad, but it does give me some enjoyment, an outlet of sorts, and I love hearing from all of you. Feedback is wonderful. Shirebound, that's why your stories are like a day at the beach for me. The Frodo angst is there, but it's more a nice oboe or violin solo, rather than the entire horn section g. Lovely. For the FrodoHealers group, I want to thank Claudia, you've been reviewing regularly, and it's great to hear from you each chapter. You also clicked on the idea that much of Frodo's pain and fear is due to the Ring's influence, and his concussion, and once he heals a little and gets some of his strength back, he's not going to be so docile anymore. Tiggivon, always a faithful feedback issuer, I'm glad you are liking my newest attempt. Thank you! Elwen, Ancalime, and Slipstream, thanks for posting. I always enjoy hearing from new people. And last but not least, Ariel, you are my like my personal trainer (yeesh, wish I could afford one for real), it's your encouragement I hear when I'm down or have a bit of writer's block, that says keep going, you're actually putting out something good and worthy, that I show quality. Thank you, my friend, if I might humbly call you that.
On with the story! Spoilers for The Two Towers ahead!
Chapter Five POV: Sam
If I had my druthers, I'd gladly throttle that shifty Captain Faramir right about now. Give him a good tongue-lashing I would, if I was able, for what he did wasn't altogether proper. But the way Mr. Frodo's laid out, I don't feel I should move him anymore that's needed. 'Sides, hearing me blubber at the top of my lungs would only go and upset him more. 'Tis best he stays quiet and rests.
I accept the piece of cloth the Captain offers me, and begin the onerous task of making my master more presentable. Heaven forfend, none of the foul mess went to stain Frodo's clothes. Then we'd really be in a fix. No amount of sweet-talking would convince him to strip down, not with the Ring around his neck again. What with master's head and shoulders nestled snug in the crook of my arm, and his back pressed against my knees, Mr. Frodo shouldn't be moving much, not of his own accord. But he's quaking like he's caught his death of cold, and his eyes are barely slit open, just the whites are showing.
That hanky's soaked through in no time when I sponge off the heavy mask of sweat that's been springing up to drench his entire face. I can feel the steady flood of tiny rivulets slicking down his nape, wetting the dried crusts in his hair so they cling to the top of my arm like sticky apple jelly. From the last dry corner, I wipe off what's left of the nasty dribble caught on my master's chin and lips. Frodo's jaw's gone slack, teeth parted slightly; I can hear the frantic wheezes air is making as it passes through his throat. Even though he's collapsed, his body's still set on dragging out this awful sickness, seeing to it that he suffers. I wish now I'd never given the Ring back, only he was wanting it so badly, what else was I to do?
By all that's just, what if the thing's wicked influence is impelling his hurt to worsen? Dear me, I'm not cut out for such misadventures. 'Twould be much better if it were Mr. Frodo keeping a clear head. I suppose I'll have to make the best of what's happened, come what may. I made a promise, and more above, I intend to stand by it. "Lay quiet and get some sleep, Frodo. I'll watch over ya, an' make sure nothin' bad 'appens."
Wracked by a long spell of fierce shivering, Frodo cries out softly, the sound telling of his misery. He huddles against me, and I gather it's warmth he's wanting. I draw him as close as I dare, trying not to disturb that ailing shoulder of his, though I'm certain these dire chills must be paining him some. Our cloaks are out of reach, or I'd put them right to use.
Caught up in grim ponderings, I'm unprepared for the sudden blur of movement which skulks across my view. I startle, jostling my poor master so that he whimpers loudly in protest, only to have a fit of choking strangle what's left of his voice. He sniffles, having a hard time swallowing. No wonder, a rheumy purge running from his nose like it is. I sense Faramir above us, and try not to scowl. Even if Boromir is his brother, that don't excuse what the Captain did to Mr. Frodo-routing him like he was some scoundrel found lurching on the side of the road. I dab listlessly at the mess issuing from his nose, sorrow deepening the lonely wedge dammed tight behind my eyes.
Faramir breaks the silence. "There are a few hours left 'til dawn. Your master has earned his rest, I would say."
I refuse to look at him. Does he expect a reply? I wouldn't trust myself yet to utter any sort of pleasantry, so I stew and think foul thoughts about all men, except for maybe Strider. And it's then the Captain turns and does something I would never have guessed: he removes his woolen cloak and gently tucks it over my master. Throat parched dry as cotton still on the vine, my eyes dart up to meet his. I'm not sure I can speak, whether or not I know what to say in the first place.
The Captain sighs, perhaps 'tis a sad note, I can't rightly tell. "Keep him warm, Sam," he murmurs, then walks away, leaving me gaping in disbelief. What roguish plot is he conniving? I can't abide him being nicely courteous one minute, and prickly rude the next. I've half a mind to tell him so, except it would unduly burden Mr. Frodo. I can feel that awful tenseness in him beginning to unwind, letting him slowly relax in my arms. If my biting my tongue will give my master some well-deserved peace and quiet, I'm glad to do it.
Dawn comes too early for my liking, only near upon an hour it seems before most of Faramir's men return. Not long enough for Frodo to rest properly, by far. I stay put as much as possible, watching while torches are doused and the rest of our packs are gathered up. Frodo needs every wink of sleep he's able to get before I go and move him. His breathing slowed a lot from earlier, hitching only now and then, and it doesn't drag him from his slumber. Every so often, a sigh breaks from his lips and his face scrunches up, knuckles digging sharply into my ribs, and I wonder what demon it is he's fighting. 'Tis no surprise he's got great, dark smudges underneath his eyes. Whenever he manages to fall asleep, something always happens to disturb him-Gollum, Black Riders, this staunch Captain.
"Sam."
The call of my name carries clearly, what I've been dreading. I swallow my anger, and reluctantly raise my gaze to Faramir. "We must take our leave," he says, making it sound like a request, though we both know it's nothing but. Frodo doesn't stir, but when I look back, his mouth has tensed and his forehead is twitching, brows contorting into a pained frown.
"What about Mr. Frodo? Can't we stay a bit longer?" I plead.
"It is no longer safe. Some of the Easterlings have regrouped, and are joined by a new legion. They've been spotted on the road, some even venture into the woods. We must extend the distance between us." His gaze veers upward, and I follow its direction, half afraid of what I might see. "Moreover, the weather is changing. A storm is moving in, and I doubt a cold drenching would do your master any good."
He looks at me disarmingly, and I feel my temper bristle in defiance, this queasy knot rising in my belly. If Faramir thinks this slipshod nonsense will earn him any stretch of forgiveness for what he and his men did to Frodo, then he's got a thing or two to learn about hobbits. Continuing to hold my glance, a sigh eventually shakes loose from my chest. I hate to admit it, but he's right about the rain-the air is turning heavy and thick, and there's a towering bank of black, angry-looking clouds moving in from the southwest. I don't fancy a soaking, and it'd be especially taxing for Mr. Frodo. "No, it wouldn't do," I agree at last.
Faramir bends low. "Let me take him."
Grudgingly, I release my master to his care. Frodo's lashes quiver, blinking open to reveal a pair of sleep-dazed eyes. He recoils from the unfamiliar touch, hunching about himself and making a ragged sound, his sudden breath catching fearfully. "There ain't no cause for alarm," I assure him hastily, tucking the cloak in so he won't catch a chill. "It's just me. The Captain 'ere is goin' to carry ya awhile, so ya can save yer strength." His look stays confounded, and I don't know why I go and say what I do, but the words are out afore I can call them back. "Like Strider, it'll be like Strider. You can trust 'im to well tend ya."
Those striking eyes of his study me for another long moment, until he expresses a watery sigh and folds against the Captain's chest, crushing the cloak to his shoulders and balling his fist under his chin. Elbereth protect us, I hope I ain't just told him a lie.
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We wind out way through the forest. The thick groves of conifers start to thin considerably as our path turns ever steeper, the faint gurgle of running water growing louder and louder with every step we take. Soon, I've fallen behind again, unable to match the urgent pace of these Rangers. Hands on knees, I stoop to catch my breath, hanging my head and wheezing like a fat, old sow. My legs weren't cut out for such straining demand. Neither are Mr. Frodo's, for that matter. I'd hate to think what daunting trial he'd be enduring, had Faramir not carried him.
Several strides ahead of me, the Captain has stopped, and though he stands alone, I know his men are close at hand. We've walked in silence thus far, he's not let one whit slip about Boromir. I can see in his eyes the subject ain't put off, merely postponed. I stay keeled over, trying to ease the maddening stiffness lodged in my spine. Shifting my pack so it doesn't pull on my neck, the stitch in my side is just about gone when I straighten. There's a sudden gust of wind that stings my face, and it sets fallen leaves to swirling around my feet in a frenzy, kicking up dust and making me sneeze fitfully. I stumble, turning a bit. And spot the glint of bulbous eyes sneaking a look at me from behind a tree trunk not fifty feet from where I stand.
I gulp, blinking in shock. Gollum! I'd almost forgotten that corky rascal in all the uproar, but here he is, still in pursuit and avoiding the Rangers to boot. He's much too clever and slippery for his own good, and I'd like nothing better than to set that Damrod loose on him, insomuch as he deserves. But it would pose too many questions. Questions I don't want asked, much less answered.
By the time I blink again, he's vanished, and I scurry to rejoin Faramir and my master. I sense the man's gaze upon me while I wait for him to continue up the path, only he doesn't seem keen on moving. I eye him, and demand brusquely, "What?!" He merely cocks an eyebrow, a reprimand there's not a doubt. I lower my voice to something a tad more respectful, chewing the inside of my cheek. "How's Mr. Frodo?"
"No longer resting comfortably, I'm afraid." Tree limbs creak and groan under the wind's ferocity, the gale whipping leaves to and fro so that a keening whistle fills the air. A noise eerily echoed by my master's lips. "He seems troubled, whether by the approaching storm or his wounds, I know not."
I glance at the dark line of rain clouds marching our way, doing my best to take no notice of Frodo's mutterings. I can't make them out, but his tone is dismally anxious. "That approaching storm looks to mean trouble to me as well, an' I don't 'ave no pains. Unless you'd count my aching feet." Or aggravation and guilt over Frodo's plight, I think resentfully.
"Master Gamgee." Faramir's usual forbidding quality softens, and I feel my heart trip doubly fast, having seen this before, the man's generosity too often preceding some horrible event which only adds insult to Frodo's already heavy burden. I stare at him nervously, wetting my lips. He kneels, cradling Frodo with careful ease. "I am afraid I must impart a discourtesy upon you and Frodo. You are not allowed to see what path we will now take."
Suspicion runs a cold sweat down my back, and I choke back dread and the bitter taste brought up from a sour stomach. I hate my fear, the unshakable helplessness that grows like a suffocating weed, trampling my resolve into deadened ruin. So I glare balefully at the man, and snort, "What, do ya mean to clout us over the 'ead and sling our senseless bodies over yer shoulder?"
A stunned look passes over Faramir's face, and he frowns. "Nothing so severe. I only mean to cover your eyes, for none outside my company may glimpse the way to our refuge, not even valued friends of Rohan are permitted thusly."
I'm still feeling as cross as a plucked peacock, and goad, "Ya still think we're spies, an' don't trust us." The flicker of anger in his eyes gives me a moment of smug satisfaction.
He sighs, though doesn't raise his voice, other to be heard over the blustering wind. "It is not a matter of trust, it is a matter of principle. However, if you wish to debate further, I shall be happy to oblige. We have traveled nearly two leagues, it is safe to linger if need be." He smiles mirthlessly. "I am accustomed to adverse changes in the climate, as are my men. Have a seat, Samwise, and regale me with your arguments. Perhaps you will sway my mind."
A deafening clap of thunder booms over our heads, scaring the daylights out of me. Plenty loud to make Faramir jump, too. But Frodo's shrill scream scares me more. The long, undulating wail spills out of his open mouth, his voice driven high and thin, underscored by a pain that's as if he's suddenly been skewered right through.
"The clatter of hooves," he gasps, fingers crawling to his left shoulder. "I can hear them, their cries are near, so loud." Frodo's eyes glisten, and he stares unseeing, trapped by the Ring's veil of darkness. "Strider asked me if I was fr-frightened. I was, only not enough.I didn't know! If I had known, I never would have allowed Merry and Pippin to.to." He shudders, lids rolling down tight as a shutter, squeezing tears from the corners of his eyes. "I can't let them take me, Sam. They mustn't find me.if they find me, they will find you all.Gandalf didn't meet us. Why didn't he come, Sam?" His voice is a forlorn whisper. "I am so lost without h-him."
I swallow my own fright, and try to console him. "I know, Mr. Frodo. I know."
"Sam." He stares at me with dull eyes, blueness dampened to a stony gray, almost as dark as those thunderheads above us. I understand after a minute, what's going through his head: Frodo believes he deserves this fate. A scurril harm to flay him raw, because he was the one who decided we should go through the mine. Frodo's blaming himself for Gandalf's death. I knew he felt badly after it happened, we all did, but I never realized how much he'd lumped onto his own shoulders. Even us coming with him is a nagging worry that he's taken on. Looking into his tear-swollen eyes, I see the guilt twisted up inside him, festering, given no release and locked away with the other tainted shadows that blacken his heart and steal his hope.
"Does yer 'ead still ache?"
"Yes, Sam." He sounds desperately weary. Ten minutes of sleep here and there simply ain't enough. I take the water skin and moisten the silky band, pressing it to his forehead. "We'll cover yer eyes for awhile. You won't mind that, will ya, Mr. Frodo?"
His eyes struggle to focus, and I lean in so he can see me better, being that he can't turn his head much on the left. "We're goin' to 'ave ta 'urry, there's a storm brewin'." Even as I say that, the wind picks up and whips my hair against my cheek. Frodo keeps peering at me, his look drawn and puzzled.
There's another thundering rumble, and his eyes go wide. "Rain," he whispers shakily, "is that all it was?" Sighing, he blinks, the furrowed line easing from the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, Sam. I can't seem to hold a thought.everything hovers just beyond my reach, and nothing will remain still. I think I know where I am, then it changes, and I think.I think it might have all just been a b-bad dream. But I remember now, and it is worse." Another gasp and a sigh, Frodo looking like a willowy bough strained taut by the blowing gusts. "My sight is blurry, and I am very dizzy. My head is filled with noise, and my shoulder throbs each time I breathe. Also, I feel rather.ill."
I slip the cloth over his eyes, and he mumbles, "That feels very nice, Sam."
"Leave it there, an' I'll pull yer hood down so ya won't get wet. Faramir's carryin' ya, like before." I put my lips to his ear. "An' if ya need to vomit, I'm sure the Captain won't mind."
Frodo doesn't say anything, and Faramir keeps his silence, so I don't think he heard. But my master's mouth twitches, corners curving up to form the slightest of smiles. I pull his hood down to his nose, and cover my own eyes with a scarf given by a man I don't recognize. Strong hands guide my shoulders, and I take tentative steps before I realize I won't fall, and can lift my feet higher. I grin, the image of Frodo's brief smile lingering in my head. It is ample reward for this injustice. Though I don't wish for my master to be sick again, if Frodo has cause to puke on Faramir's jerkin, all the better is what I say.
To Be Continued.
A/N: This chapter was going to be so long, I decided to cut it here. The next may still be Sam's POV, I will have to see how it goes. Ariel, that last bit was inspired by you. Don't know what came over me. Frodo actually smiles, if you can believe that!