Yellowrose- nope... not a good day for 'ol Samwise... and I hate to say it, but today isn't going to be very different. We shall see exactly what dear old Mouth is up to, but I daresay you shan't like it very much... BTW, I have read every one of your fics, except for "Neither Friend nor Foe," which I hoping to get to this week.
Skye12- Thanks! I was hoping to do something to that effect, I just wasn't sure if I was going to pull it off... your words really encourage me! That was a very interesting analysis of EvilFrodo's mindset, but, unfortunately, it is not entirely right. You will get to understand exactly what is going on in this chapter, as will Samwise.
AouraMaiden- yes, I am very happy indeed! ::evil laugh!:: I hate to say it, but the others have bigger concerns than rescuing Sam... right now, they just want to get rid of Frodo, and if they can rescue Sam in the process, then it's an added bonus. But as of now, they are looking at the big picture, and are trying not to think about what's happening to Sam.
Oh yeah, are you going to be updating your stories soon??? I'm waiting with baited breath!
Breck: Thank you! ::hugs Breck:: You do not know how happy I am to get constructive criticism... I've been asking everyone to give me tips, and you are the first who has pointed out a mistake that wasn't grammar related... you made my day! You are very right about the first sentence... I have a bad habit of being too flowery and long-winded. As for the "arg," I too very much doubt that Sam would say this in a conversation tone. I was trying to make it funny, in a way, showing that Sam had no good response to Pippin's comment about his weight, so he answered him by growling menacingly... hmm, does that make sense? My mind works in strange ways... You know the song??? ::does happy dance:: Do you know where it came from? I am thoroughly mystified... (when are you getting back from vacation? I am longing for an update of your fic...)
Laurajslr: Thanks... I feel kinda bad, because in the beginning of the summer I said I'd update twice a week, but that hasn't happened... Yes, this fic is really getting depressing. I have realized, in my time here at , that, although I am better at writing angst, I very much enjoy writing humor, so it's relief for me to put in these fun flashbacks. There's going to be another one in this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it! Sam may yet be rescued, but it's (sadly) not on Aragorn's agenda. He's too busy saving the world. And, yes, I do have it all planned out in my head; it's just the putting of my ideas into words that is the problem.
Me: That is the understatement of the century, make no mistake.
Socrates399: Thank you very much! That was a great quote; it really made me happy. And it's so true, too! (no, it's best if you don't think of how it will end. I'll just say that there is a reason that I put this fic in the "tragedy" category.)
ElegantArrow64: ::evil laugh:: I'm glad I have succeeded in manipulating your emotions so very well! No, I do not feel the least bit guilty... ::hides her face so everyone cannot see her "guilty-face"::
Master- Indeed, Frodo has been a very naughty little boy... but will he be justly punished? Read and find out!
Forever Young: I'm glad you liked the flashback, because there's another one in this chapter... I just can't bear writing angst for too long.
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Chapter 10: Debates and Complications
Eventually, Sam slipped into the blissful nothingness of unconsciousness. He drifted through in and out of dreams; all were full of desperation and pain. Tortured screams split his ears and bloody images assailed his eyes. Again and again he saw the sword plunging into Pippin's chest. Innocent Pippin, who had done nothing but love Frodo until the last.
Waking, although a mere continuation of Sam's dreams of terror, was inevitable, and came upon him slowly. So alike were his nightmares and his reality that poor Sam could scarcely tell when he had truly awoken. He blinked his eyes slowly, trying to take in his surroundings, but found that his lashes had been crusted with dried blood. The hobbit attempted to wipe his eyes, but that too he found impossible, for his wrists, along with the rest of his body, had been bound securely too a cold stone table of some sort, so that he could scarcely twitch a muscle.
Blinking with fervor, Samwise managed to clear his eyes (somewhat) of the dreadful stuff. Still, his vision was terrible blurred. A dark shape was moving about the room, but Sam could perceive him as but a large storm cloud drifting on the horizon, so clouded was his vision. "Mr. Frodo?" he asked, his voice trembling and uncertain.
It was Castellan who answered, however, saying, "Terribly sorry as I am to do so, my dear halfling, it is my regretful duty to inform thee that thy master hath grown tired of thy pathetic groveling, and departed some time ago. Thou art a waste of his time, which he can ill afford. Thou wouldst find, if thou didst ever aspire to rule Middle Earth, that one is left with very little time for play, when one is shouldered with such hefty responsibilities. This turn of events is doubly unfortunate for thee, for now thou art at my mercy, of which I find I am at a much shorter supply than thy dear master."
Sam did not like the sound of this talk at all, although he scoffed inwardly at the idea that Mr. Frodo, in his current state, was merciful at all. His eyesight, to his relief, was beginning to clear, but when it did he was not so sure that that was a mercy either. To his left, there was a fireplace with a great bubbling cauldron set atop the flames. Whatever was in it was splashing and sizzling, sometimes spraying out and burning Sam's skin painfully. Adjacent to the fire were many metal tools, some sharp, and others resembling brands. To his right there was a table upon which lay an assortment of small knives, all sharpened and gleaming, some curving wickedly and others keen and whetted. The gardener quailed as he thought of what Castellan might be planning to do with these cruel objects.
For most of his life, Sam had thought very little of physical pain, finding that he could endure it if he willed it enough. But the pain that he was experiencing now was so terribly unbearable, so vivid and burning, like a brand to his flesh! The thought of having to go through all of the tortured agony again made Sam nearly delirious with fear. One thought pervaded his mind: to delay the pain as long as possible. The longer he could avoid the misery, the longer he could live. As he saw Castellan fingering one of the small daggers, he spoke the first thing that came to his mind; "Begging your pardon, but I don't see how Mr. Frodo is being merciful at all, Mr. Castellan."
For a moment, Castellan's hand hovered over the blade. Suddenly, to Sam's relief, he withdrew it, and began to laugh. "To thy simple mind it may seem so, halfling," he sneered, "but after I have my way with thee, thou wilst be begging for thy pathetic master. And, I might add, when thy dear Mr. Frodo is absent, I prefer to be called by my proper name: The Mouth of Sauron. Castellan, I shall admit, is quite an endearing name.
It means 'warlord' in an ancient tongue, and was quite an interesting choice. However, I prefer my true identity."
"But- but he's dead! Mr. Frodo said so! And he said that you were to be called 'Castellan,'" Sam stuttered in surprise, while still concentrating with all his will on keeping his tormentor's hand away from the knives.
"Are all halflings as foolish as thee and thy master?" asked The Mouth of Sauron casually, placing his right hand on Sam's left shoulder and looking down on the hobbit with amusement. "Didst thou truly believe that a wretched child such as thy master could contend with the will of Sauron? I shall say that he did succeed in briefly striking fear in his heart, and caused my master to take measures that he had long been trying to avoid. But whether or no, he shall indeed emerge victorious!"
Samwise was nonplussed, and painfully arranged his bruised face in what he hoped was a puzzled manner.
Sauron's servant struck the halfling hard across the face and shouted, "Dost thou truly need me to lay it out for thee in the simplest of terms?" He elicited no response from the terrified hobbit, who merely stared up at him with wide brown eyes. The Mouth of Sauron shook his head and said, "Allow me to make it quite clear for thee. Thou knowest, of course, that Sauron bound his life force to the ring, which is why he is able to survive as long as does his precious trinket. As of yesterday, he had also been gathering another means of power, and had manifested himself as the Great Eye. Of course, thy master came and saw fit to challenge him. Loath as I am to admit it, there are times when even the great Sauron can act rashly, due to panic. In the past days he had seen his great schemes crumble to dust. He had been made a fool by the heir of Isildur, whose line he had long thought to be broken. Sauron had also believed that the King of Gondor would wield his mighty weapon, so to find his carefully weaved tapestry so close to unraveling was quite unnerving, to say the least. My master sought a way to befuddle and bemuse his enemies, so he poured every last fiber of his will into his one ring, and overthrew thy dear 'Mr. Frodo's' mind. Thy master had long been of two minds, so part of the halfling acquiesced to him, easily swallowing the lies he had been fed. As would be expected, the untainted side of Frodo fought madly, but was no match for Sauron's will of iron. Now, the part of thy master that is weak and gullible still believes that what he is doing is for the best, but I expect that he will soon see his fatal error. Of course, by then, Sauron's hold on his mind will be too great, and all that is left of thy poor employer shall be driven into the darkest corner of his mind, where he shall eternally dwell in torment and lamentation for the companions he unwittingly betrayed. And thus he shall remain; an empty shell and helpless puppet for the Dark Lord to bend to his will, until this world comes unto its end."
Well, I am sure that it goes without saying that this discourse rendered Samwise quite speechless. His mouth hung agape with trepidation and awe. At first, Sam had been merely bewildered by the Mouth's talk of "being made a fool by the heir of Isildur" and "great tapestries unraveling" but when the dreary monologue turned to "Frodo's mind being overthrown" and "dwelling in eternal torment," Sam began to fearfully heed his words.
"Well, now that we have that matter out of the way, we can engage in some merrymaking," hissed The Mouth, with all the sugary sweetness of a lemon. Sam found himself at a loss for words. He could no longer delay the inevitable, so he tried with all of his will to prepare himself for the agony that awaited him.
The Mouth of Sauron picked up a small, curved blade and twirled it delicately in his long fingers, watching Sam's reaction with relish, and saying, "Long have I studied the science of torture, experimenting many times until I found the most painful methods. Through much trial and error I have discovered the places where one might be stabbed to exact the most suffering, without causing fatal injury. As I demonstrate my methods unto thee, I ask thee to appreciate the long hours that went into perfecting this art."
With a flash of silver, the Mouth plunged the knife into Sam's belly. He howled in pure agony and writhed futilely in his bonds, as Sauron's servant fingered another dagger. "Save me! Mr. Frodo! Pleeeeeeaase!" But no one was there to answer his pathetic cries.
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Sam's voice carried down many flights of stairs, filling Frodo's bedchamber with echoes of unspeakable agony and torment. Shaking violently, he crawled under the covers and pulled them over his head. That done, he proceeded to pull his knees to his chest, cover his ears, and weep. "Go away," he whimpered, "Please, just leave me be!"
"You did it for his own good, you know," another part of him answered back, "He shall regret his refusal to comply within a matter of hours, and he shall serve you once again."
"I do not want Sam to be a servant bound to my service by fear; I only want him to be a friend bound to me with love. This is now, of course, impossible. Why? Why must you torment him?"
"Why must I torment him? My dear, I believe you have failed to take note that I am a part of you. You are torturing him."
"Liar! You were never a part of me!"
"As you wish. It will soon become clear that I speak the truth, so there is no use in arguing with you."
Another scream ripped through the air, and Frodo shuddered violently beneath the covers. His eyes darted about the room in fear. It had been the grandest of Castellan's many rooms, and he had been quick to commandeer it, but to Frodo's hobbit eyes, it appeared menacing and unfriendly. Now, with cries echoing off the chamber walls, it was a very ghastly place indeed.
"No, no! Don't! Please!" Then there was another blood-curdling shriek. The air seemed to vibrate around Frodo, filled with a sense of pain that was almost palpable.
"What is Castellan doing to him?" Frodo wondered aloud. "I thought I told him not to hurt Sam anymore today..."
"Did you actually think you could trust him? You fool! He is Sauron's servant, not yours! My poor Sam... how could I treat you so?"
The Mouth shall break him. I shall make Samwise mine, just as thou art mine. You will allow him to carry on. From nowhere this new voice seemed to rise, low and menacing. It rumbled, soft, and yet unbearably piercing.
"But... I don't think I want to..." Frodo whispered. Suddenly, a terrible fear began to rise within him, and at once he saw that he had made a series of fatal errors. "It wasn't supposed to be this way," he murmured quietly.
So be it.
Blinding pain crashed over Frodo in a violent wave. His very soul was wrenched from his body, and he felt as if his every limb was being stretched and torn. His body was on fire, and his every fiber was screaming in agony. And then, in the time he could have blinked... there was nothing.
Frodo was blind and deaf. A vast abyss lay out before him, and he felt as if he were both everywhere and nowhere all at once. He could not feel anything- not even those sensations he once had felt unconsciously; the feeling of his curls brushing against his face, his tongue resting against his teeth, or the clothing sitting on his back. Frodo was not blinking breathing, and yet he was aware. He could still think, worry, and mourn. He despaired for Sam, and yet no tears could he shed. Frodo let out a long and painful scream that echoed dimly within the chambers of his mind.
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Time did not exist in Frodo's world. He did not know if he had been exiled for minutes or eons. He found that he could pass his time, as it were, by holding debates with himself. He would both blame himself for what happened and defend himself against the charges. When he grew weary of this, Frodo would write poetry and songs with surprising ease. The words flowed easily through his mind, and he could memorize them in an instant.
These simple games were played only as a distraction from his darker thoughts. Where was Sam? Had he died, or was the innocent gardener still living in agony? "I wish I could see him again," he whispered, "I wish I could tell him that I am sorry."
One day (if you'll pardon the expression) Frodo made a delightful discovery. He had easy access to every corner of his mind that Sauron had no use for. This meant that he could easily step inside his childhood memories and relive them, as if he were really there. Frodo took great pleasure in this pastime, sometimes allowing himself to live days at a time before returning to his own darkened realm and brooding, wondering how it could have all gone so wrong.
Some of his favorite memories were with Sam; sunlit days spent lazily in the garden, with a jug of chilled tea and a cozy book to read. The little gardener would oftentimes crawl up beside him and ask him, blushing as red as his roses, what he was reading. Frodo, who had longed for companionship since he had left Buckland, would smile and translate it for him. In this way, they formed a tentative friendship.
One sunny afternoon, Sam ventured up to the door of Bag End and knocked hesitantly. "Yes, Sam?" said Frodo in a raspy voice as he opened the door and looked down on the small figure on the threshold.
Sam gazed up at Frodo, his brown eyes fairly popping from their sockets. His master was a terrible mess. His shirt, which was buttoned up quite untidily, was all wrinkled and dotted with stains. Frodo's chocolate curls were even more unruly than ever, and looked as if they had not seen a brush in centuries. Both his nose and his eyes were a sickly red, and his skin was a pallid white. "Mr. Frodo!" Sam yelped, "Why, begging your pardon, but whatever is the matter, sir?"
Frodo wrinkled his crimson nose and said, "I must be quite a sight! But, no matter how dreadful I look, I truly am fine. I've just been battling a troublesome case of the sniffles for the past few days, and I think I may have finally conquered them. Anyhow, what is it that you wanted Sam?"
Sam tried to stop goggling at his master and cleared his throat. "Well, me gaffer says that if you're not needing me, I could take my leave. Is that alright with you, sir?"
"Well, if you wish to leave, it is perfectly fine with me. But Sam-"(at this point his voice got very low and secretive, and he knelt down so he could whisper in his servant's ear) "have you ever been inside Bag End?"
Sam shook his head, wondering vaguely where this was going to lead.
"Would you like to see it?"
Sam's eyes darted about nervously, as if he was about to commit an unspeakable crime, and then he inclined his head slightly, in a manner barely perceptible, but to Frodo this clearly meant "yes."
Abruptly, Frodo stood up, brushed the dust from his knees, and said, in a manner that was all business, "Very well then, Samwise. Go tell your Gaffer that I need you to help me here in Bag End. And be quick about it."
Sam was very much befuddled. Was his master really going to make him clean up in Bag End? But, somehow, he didn't think that was the case. "But Mr. Frodo," he said timidly, "isn't that cheating?"
"Cheating? Cheating? Do you truly think so lowly of your master that you would see fit to accuse him of cheating? Trickery would be a much more appropriate term. We really must expand your vocabulary, Samwise." Frodo winked and walked away, shutting the lime door behind him.
A couple of minutes later, Sam was in Bag End, and was quite sure that he was going to die from giddy excitement and glee. He would have never guessed that a household could look so grand. Everything was so shiny and new, and very mysterious! Frodo watched the young gardener with amusement and a small degree of sympathy as he eyed all the glorious objects with awe. Sam was delighted with the simplest of things, like the glass jug of lemonade on the counter, or the intricate whicker basket full of fresh fruits. What was it like, Frodo wondered, to grow up as Sam did, with a house full of siblings that your parents could scarcely afford, and being only able to purchase the bare necessities for living? Of course, he noted, the Gamgees were much more well off than they were two years ago, for all of Sam's older brothers had moved out. No one in the Shire was what we would consider "needy." There was no risk of starvation or losing your home in that peaceful land. However, Frodo observed, one must be rather poor if he is impressed by a whicker basket.
Frodo's musings were interrupted as they entered his bedroom. "O, Master!" Sam cried in terror, "What have you done to this room? What a mess!"
Frodo raised an eyebrow and Sam added, "Begging your pardon, sir!"
"I, personally, do not care, but if it really bothers you so much I shall clean it. Why don't you run along to the kitchen and help yourself to some peach cobbler? It is quite delicious."
Sam shook his head fervently. "No sir," he said, "It'll go much faster with two than just one."
Frodo shrugged, eying his room with great distaste, "Suit yourself."
The pair had been cleaning for less than five minutes when Sam gave a great cry. Frodo stopped gathering used tissues and looked about the room for the gardener. He found Sam beneath a mountain of blankets. "Sam," he laughed, "What are you doing?"
"Well, sir, I found this-"(he held up a small, misshaped trinket) "-under a pile of tissues. I didn't rightly know what it was, but it didn't look very useful. When I clean my room, I always put the things I have no use for in my closet. So, Mr. Frodo, I opened up your closet, and all of these blankets fell on me!" He paused for breath and then continued, "But bless me, Mr. Frodo! You do have a lot of blankets--- and pillows! Why, master, with this many bed linens we could make the greatest pillow fort in Hobbiton!"
A grin spread across Frodo's face and he said, "My dearest Samwise, you are a marvel! What a splendid idea!" Sam blushed and stared intently at the ground, muttering something indiscernible. And so they set to work.
In what seemed to be many hours later, after much toil, they looked proudly upon their magnum opus. It was brilliant indeed--- a great catacomb of linens nearly spanning Frodo's entire bedroom. "Well, Samwise, would you like to have the honor of being the first to set foot inside?"
"But Mr. Frodo!" said Sam with indignation, "we can't go inside yet!"
"And, I pray, why ever not?"
"Because there has to be a reason for us to be there, sir!" said Sam, surprised that Mr. Frodo hadn't foreseen this. "We have to have some sort of game to play, if you understand me, or else we'll just be sitting and twiddling our thumbs, so to speak."
"Sam, you are much more brilliant than you give yourself credit for! Of course! Why did I not think of it? Here, Sam, I have a proposition. Why don't we pretend that we are Bilbo and Gandalf running from the goblins in the Mines of Moria? I'll be Gandalf and you be Bilbo, alright?"
"That's a fine idea, master, but what of the dwarves?"
Frodo gave an elaborate shrug, "We don't have nearly enough people to be the dwarves. Besides, they didn't do much of anything, did they?"
"No, sir, that they did not."
"It's settled then." Frodo paused and then added, "And then after a bit of that, you'll have to be separated from Gandalf and play the riddle game with Gollum. Too bad old Bilbo is out today! He does a nasty imitation of Gollum. Oh well, I suppose I'll have to be Gollum as well."
"Mr. Frodo, do we really have to do that part? That old Gollum gives me the shivers!"
"Of course, Sam! Gollum is an essential character!"
"If you say so, Mr. Frodo."
"I do. Now, come along, let's get on with it!"
The pair of small hobbits crawled beneath the canopy of blankets, and the game was afoot. "Watch yourself, Bilbo!" cried Frodo in a deep voice, "There is a hoard of goblins on your tail!" His fingers scampered up Sam's back, giving Sam the impression that there were a million spiders crawling along his spine. He squealed in delight and cried,
"Save me, Mr. Gandalf! The goblin chief is coming right for me!"
Frodo sighed and shook his head. "Time out," he indicated and then continued, "Sam-lad, you really must remember to stay in character. Bilbo would never call Gandalf 'Mr. Gandalf,' alright?" Sam nodded apologetically. "Time in."
The proceedings went like so for the better part of a half-hour. The hobbits soon grew tired of this sport, and Frodo said, "Alright Sam. Now you pretend to fall down, and I won't notice. Then you crawl around for a bit and then you find me in my boat. Then we play the riddle game, and then you run away with the ring, understand."
"Yes, sir," said Sam, with a great degree of trepidation. Suddenly, the stuffy darkness of the mines seemed to press in all about him, and he was shaking with dread. "Maybe it wouldn't be so scary if it wasn't so dark!" thought Sam, and he said aloud, "I'll be back in a minute, Mr. Frodo. I just need to get something!"
"Be quick about it!" said Frodo, "Bilbo might be coming back soon, and if he sees my room in such a state he shall have a fit!"
"Yes, sir," agreed Sam, and he scampered off.
Some minutes later, the small gardener returned, with a lighted candle in hand. He had wanted to get a lantern, but had been unable to find one. "O well," he thought, "this will have to do." He crawled beneath the blankets and sighed with relief. Everything looked much friendlier when bathed in the warm glow of his candle.
Suddenly, Frodo shouted, "Save us! Sam, Sam, quick! We've had a cave-in!" The small hobbit crawled to his master's side as quickly as possible, and the pair attempted to mend their masterwork. However, it was no easy thing. As soon as they had secured one blanket, another collapsed. And that, unfortunately, gave rise to a greater problem.
"Sam, do you smell smoke?"
"Bless me! Mr. Frodo, that sheet's caught fire! Ninny-hammer! What was I thinking?"
"Hush, Sam! Come on, we have to put it out! I'll go fetch some water--- you try to smother the flames. Take care you don't hurt yourself!"
Frodo ran like all the goblins of Moria were in close pursuit. He grabbed the jug of lemonade. Deciding that he did not have time to fill it with water, Frodo scampered back to his room, where Sam had put out the candle and managed to contain the flames to one small area. The poor thing was slapping them repeatedly, crying out "Ah! Ah! Ah!" in two-second intervals. Frodo hastily poured the lemonade over the sheet in question and he sighed with relief as the last of the flames went out.
"Come along, Sam-lad, no time to lose! We have to clean up this mess before Bilbo---"
---There came a rattling as someone fiddled with the doorknob and a creak as the door was slowly opened. Sam's eyes were filled with dread. "Mr. Frodo," he whispered, "I think we're in trouble." Frodo gulped and nodded, unable to exact any more of a response.
"Frodo? My goodness, what is that smell? Have you been trying to cook again, lad?"
A trembling Sam tightly hugged Frodo's arm as Bilbo made his way to Frodo's room. Bilbo peeked through the doorway and gasped. "What the blazes happened in here, Frodo? And you, Samwise Gamgee, what are you doing here?"
This was too much for poor Sam, who burst into feverish tears. "O, I'm sorry, Mr. Bilbo! I'll never do it again, sir! Please forgive me!"
Bilbo's angry scowl slowly lifted from his face. "Now, now, don't you fret, lad. My bark is worse than my bite. But really, what were you two thinking?" He looked from the burnt sheet to the candle to Sam's singed curls. "And whose bloody idea was it to bring that in here?"
Sam began to shake even worse, like a leaf in the rain. Maybe Mr. Bilbo was not angry with him now, but he would be furious when he learned that it was Sam's fault. He gulped and prepared to confess when Frodo said in a small voice, "It was my fault, Uncle." Sam looked up at his young master in wonder. Why was he doing this? What if Mr. Bilbo disowned him and sent him back to live with those strange folk in Buckland? He had to tell Mr. Bilbo the truth; nothing could be worse than Frodo being sent away!
However, Bilbo was already leaving. He said, "I'm glad you owned up to the truth, lad. That was very brave of you. Very brave indeed. Now, you clean up this room, and I'll not say anything else about this incident. Sam, you can run along home and fix up your hair before your Gaffer sees it." And to Sam's surprise, he chuckled.
Little Sam was quite abashed, but he managed to say, "If it's no trouble to you sir, I'd like to stay and help Frodo clean up."
Bilbo nodded and said, "That's perfectly fine with me. Thank you, Samwise." And with that, he left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Finally, the two lads allowed themselves a sigh of relief. "I thought we were dead," admitted Sam easily. He then looked up at his master with questioning eyes. "Why'd you do that, Mr. Frodo? You know, take the blame and all."
Frodo shrugged. "Well, it really was my fault, you know. I am twelve years older than you, and I should have known better than to allow you to bring that candle in there. I knew better, but you didn't."
Sam nodded. This made sense, but he still had more to say. "But sir, what if Bilbo sent you back to Buckland?"
"Well, Sam-lad, I thought that there was more of a chance of you getting fired than me getting disowned."
"That's true, sir."
They worked silently for some minutes, but Sam broke the calm. "Mr. Frodo?"
"Yes, Sam?"
"You're the best and kindest person I ever met, and that's the truth."
Frodo did not know what to say. No one had ever complimented him so sweetly and sincerely before. To his great astonishment, Sam hugged him tightly and said, "You're the best friend I ever had." Frodo felt very awkward, and did not quite know what to do. He knelt down and hugged the little gardener back, getting a face full of golden curls. Frodo breathed in and coughed.
"My goodness, Sam! You're hair is full of ashes! We had better get you cleaned up; your Gaffer would have throw a hissy-fit if I sent you home in such a state."
Samwise giggled, and they carried on with their chores. But from that point on, he cared for his master like a brother, making sure Frodo was always under his watchful eye. As he got older, Frodo grew less inclined to spend his time with his younger servant, as he made older friends. But he always had the gardener's undying admiration, and he would later cringe to remember how he took Sam's devotion for granted.
Frodo was brought back to his painful reality. In the past months, he had truly begun to appreciate everything Sam had sacrificed for him, and he had sworn to himself that when he was able, he would compensate for everything Samwise had given.
"Is this how I paid him back?" lamented Frodo aloud, "With agony and misery? My dear Sam, what have I done to you? What have I become? Sam, Sam, please forgive me! Forgive me!" But Sam could not hear his pleas, and even if he could, Frodo doubted he would heed them. Sam was going to die; he might have been dead already, but when he did pass beyond the circles of the world, he would harbor nothing but hatred for his master.
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Woohoo! Another long chapter! I hope you all liked it!
Important Notice: For those of you who don't get an email alert when I update, I'm going to be changing the main characters of this story from just Frodo and Sam to everyone. This means that when you look for updates, it will no longer be on the page for Frodo and Sam, but on the main page, which means that it will be rather hard to find. So I suggest you either get a story alert or keep your eyes peeled. I know that most of you are Sam or Frodo fans, and you probably want to know why I'm changing the classification. Don't worry... the two lovable hobbits are still the main characters, but we're going to be seeing a lot more of everybody else in the upcoming chapters, so I want to make sure I'm getting as many readers as I possibly can. If, after I post chapter 11, it was too difficult for you to find, just tell me and I'll switch it back.
That is all! Please review!
Toodles!
