A/N: Hey everyone, I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting, especially after a cliffhanger. I've been very busy with other stuff. I hope you like it because the nasty writer's block returned but I managed to get past it and finish this. Please let me know what you think!
Perplexed, Frodo's hand inched carefully toward the knife. Grasping it in his hand, he watched it gleaming, almost evilly in the candlelight that shone upon it. Frightened, his thoughts raced.
How did this get here? I don't remember putting it there. And why should I? Is it possible I did it and don't remember? Is it?
Startled by a 'click' of the door creaking open.
Frodo's eyes leapt from the knife.
"Tansy..."
Chapter Four: Of Suspicion and Doubt
Frodo shoved the knife back under the pillow.
"Frodo?" said Tansy, puzzled about his frightened expression while shutting the door. Her floral, ruffled nightdress swung around her stout legs as she hurried to his side. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he answered quickly and unconvincingly. And then Frodo plopped onto the bed's edge.
Tansy sat beside him. "I know that look, Frodo. Something happened while I was gone."
Reluctantly, Frodo slipped his hand beneath the pillow and out came the knife.
Tansy gasped. Her eyes were wide with shock and fear. "Frodo, what—what are you doing with that knife?"
He gazed upon it, slowly shaking his head. "I found it under the pillow. I don't know how it got there." When he heard only silence from Tansy, Frodo's eyes shot up to meet hers. "I didn't put it there, at least I don't remember doing so."
Tansy's gaze dropped cautiously to the knife. "I'll take it back into the kitchen."
She took it carefully from his hand and as she was about to leave, Frodo touched her shoulder, turning her around to face him.
"Tansy, you believe me don't you?"
Unable to say anything at the moment, and unable to hide her frown of bewilderment, she only stared in deep thought at the knife.
Frodo grew ever more frustrated by her silence, and yet he understood why it would be difficult for her to answer. He could not comprehend it all himself.
"Go on," he said hastily, "Get it out of here."
Tansy nodded and left his side. As she closed the door, she peeked at him through the small opening, watching the back of him with sorrowful eyes while he remained on the bed's edge, hanging his head in shame or was it confusion? Tansy did not know what to think and when she left the door open just a little, she had gone into the kitchen. She opened the pantry door and carefully lay the silver knife along with the others. Concerned for her husband and fear of losing him again to the madness that stirred her heart racing. Though she tried with all her mental strength to silence the nagging voices of doubt, they grew louder and louder in her mind.
I want to believe you, Frodo. But...how did the knife get there? And what did you plan on doing with it?
Frodo undressed into his nightshirt. He buttoned it except for a few left undone at the collar. He looked up when Tansy returned to the room. No words were uttered to each other. Frodo climbed into bed. Tansy stood over the lantern, smothering the flame with one blow, and when they were suddenly plunged into darkness, Tansy slipped beneath the covers and snuggled behind him. Their faces barely noticeable in pale moonlight obscured by thin clouds.
"I know you don't believe me," Frodo whispered. His solemn blue eyes wandered up to the round window.
"Frodo--,"
"Shh," he said quietly, "I just want you to hold me."
Tansy slid her hand beneath Frodo's arm and hugged his waist.
Frodo let his fingers glide over her hand and squeezed it gently into his own. Sleep wanted to come but delayed by what he could not comprehend. And now his fears returned, assaulting him with confusion and doubt.
It can't be happening again. No. No.
A week since then, Rory awoke in the morning to see Sam sitting at his bedside.
"Good Morning!" said a cheery Sam Gamgee.
"Good Morning," Rory answered, not so cheerful like Sam's greeting. Still groggy from his deep slumber most of the night.
Sam hopped onto his feet and patted two wooden crutches that lay against the wall near Rory's bed. Rory wondered what Sam was patting and when he lifted his head a little to see what it was, his head fell back onto the pillow.
"Oh come now, Mr. Hortlebower," said Sam, "You can't stay in that bed forever. You have to start walking if you want that leg to mend properly. Even your doctor said so when he'd come see you in the evenings. And besides, we want you to join us when we have our picnics. What fun is it if you stay in that bed and never go out?"
Rory peeked at the crutches. And then the old Rory Hortlebower, the perky hobbit seemed to come alive again and rewarded Sam with a wide, grateful smile for his encouraging words. "You're right, Sam. I don't plan on staying in this bed forever. Hand me those crutches."
During the times Rory hobbled around and down the halls, the Bagginses and Gamgees wondered if he would ever walk properly. Especially when Rory frequently lost his balance and fall, but Rory never gave up. One day, after most of his strength returned, Rory stepped outside and hopped around to the back of the hobbit hole. Though the July sun blazed down upon him, he looked around at the lush greenlands of Hobbiton, cherishing what could easily be taken away from you in an unexpected second.
"Rory?"
Standing with both crutches tucked beneath his arms, he turned around and a wide grin lifted his dimples and brightened his face at the sight of Tansy coming toward him.
"What a beautiful day it is!" he cheered.
Halting in front of him in a bright yellow-floral dress, as if embraced in vibrant sunlight, she smiled warmly at the hobbit wearing an olive green shirt and dark breeches. "It's good to hear you say those words again."
"It's good to be outside, breathing the fresh Shire air, something I've missed greatly. Something I don't want to ever take for granted."
Tansy froze at hearing those words, reminding her of what Frodo surely felt when he was gone...missing the Shire. She tugged herself out of deep thought and could only give him a shy smile.
Rory often found himself admiring her smile, wishing he could tell her so.
"Rory?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry."
"You're sorry? For what?"
"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have broken your leg."
Taken a back by what she said, his thick brows scrunched above squinting green eyes. "What ever do you mean?"
"The necklace you found. You thought it was mine."
"Yes, but that isn't your fault." Rory sensed they weren't alone, not that anyone was around. And yet, he felt...eyes...watching from some place. And when he peered over Tansy's shoulder, Rory glimpsed the curious blue eyes of Frodo Baggins staring at them from the bedroom window. Rory's attention roved back to Mrs. Baggins. "Please, Tansy, don't blame yourself for what happened."
Tansy nodded, though she still felt terrible about his accident.
Uneasy about Frodo watching them, Rory said, "I'm going off to take a little walk."
Frodo stood at the window. His eyes followed Tansy as she walked back toward the front of the hole, and then they darted to Rory who hopped in the opposite direction. His attention so fixated on them that he had been unaware of Sam standing a few feet behind him.
"Mr. Frodo?"
As if startled out of a daydream, Frodo glanced at Sam who now stood beside him.
"Sam? I didn't hear you come in."
"I know," said Sam and very concerned about his beloved master. "Are you all right?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean?"
Frodo hated to tell Sam about the strange things that have been going on, but he could not keep it to himself any longer. "Sam," he began and crossed tense arms against his chest. "I should have told you before but I thought maybe it would go away."
Sam grew more and more alarmed at what he saw, fear in which Frodo clearly expressed. "What is it, Mr. Frodo?"
"A few weeks ago, I found a knife under my pillow."
"A knife?"
Frodo slowly nodded. "I didn't put it there, Sam. I don't understand how it got there. Since then, I would find it under my pillow, again and again."
"Does Tansy know?"
"She knows about the first time it happened, but not the other times. And I know she doesn't believe me when I told her I don't remember putting it there."
Baffled, the gardener frowned.
"Sam?" Frodo uttered softly, waiting for his loyal friend to say something.
"You think it's those night terrors again?"
Flustered, the gentle hobbit uncrossed his arms and slumped onto the bed. "I don't know what to think, Sam. It's possible I've walked in my sleep, but why would I--," Frodo's eyes flashed wide with dread that alarmed Sam even more. And when the gardener sat gingerly beside him, Frodo continued. "Oh no, Sam."
"Mr. Frodo?" said a very worried Sam Gamgee.
"What if I'm trying to hurt myself or Tansy?"
"I don't think that's what you're doing--,"
"Then what I'm I doing?" Frodo snapped. "Why do I find the knife under my pillow? For what reason other than wanting to hurt myself, Tansy or--."
Maybe even you, Sam or Rosie? Rory or... the children?
"No, Mr. Frodo, I don't believe it. I don't."
Flooded with emotions of suspicion...Frodo pondered about Tansy's friendship with Rory, thinking they seemed too close.
Of fear...feeling the madness return, taunting him again.
Of doubt...can he ever have a normal life, like he once had in the Shire?
Mentally exhausted, Frodo gently leaned his head onto Sam's shoulder. Sam lay his head against the smooth cushion of Frodo's curly hair. The gardener tried to convince himself that this too will pass. Just like all the other times when Frodo's anniversary illnesses came around, and the times when he had horrendous night terrors. But this was different. Frodo never talked about any knife hidden under his pillow. It frightened Sam. It frightened him very much.
That night, Sam sat inside the study. Tired from the heaviness that burdened his mind.
Mr. Frodo
His face lay upon the table, hidden in a cradle that were his arms.
"Sam?"
He peeked up from the table and stared into the beautiful face of Rosie Cotton Gamgee.
"Rosie?"
She sat across from him. "If you're tired, you should come to bed."
"I know," said Sam and straightened himself in the chair. "I just wanted to be alone for a while."
Rosie leaned over the table; the golden curls of her hair fell gracefully onto her shoulders. "You didn't seem yourself all day. Now I know when something's bothering you, Samwise Gamgee."
Sam breathed and then he stared sincerely into Rosie's eyes. "It's Mr. Frodo. He's having those night terrors again. But they seem worse than before."
"Worse?"
"Well," he hesitated and decided to go on. "He told me about a knife under his pillow and he doesn't know how it got there. It's not only once. It's happened many times."
Rosie gasped and slapped her hand against her lips. "No, Sam, I thought he was getting better?"
"He'll be all right, Rosie." His gaze fell timidly onto the desk.
Rosie slid her hand over his.
Sam peeked up again and saw concern evident on Rosie's face. And at the same time, aware of a danger he could not deny, recalling what Frodo said...
"For what reason other than wanting to hurt myself, Tansy or..."
Frodo never finished the rest of what he wanted to say, but Sam had a feeling his master feared hurting him and everyone he loved dearly.
Several more days passed and now it was Friday. Hot, but delightful. One can say, how can a hot day be delightful? Well, when the Bagginses and Gamgees had picnics, even on a hot day they were able to have a great time. Merry and Pippin didn't mind much either while they all sat in pleasant shade beneath a willow tree. Spread out on a powder blue crocheted blanket (which Tansy had made) was the usual buffet. But this time, it wasn't only Sam who cooked. Everyone shared in cooking the picnic meal—even Merry and Pippin.
Everyone ate heartily, joked and laughed. Then there were moments Frodo just listened and watched. His eyes sneakily roamed to Rory who seated himself against the tree. He examined the way Rory seemed to have a knack of entertaining Calla and Elanor—both girls sat in front of the perky hobbit, giggling while Rory babbled on with a fable about two hobbit girls. And when Tansy joined them, seemingly curious about Rory's story, Frodo slowly rose onto his feet and strolled away from the picnic. He could have dashed away, but that would only incite the others to worry about him.
Frodo meandered a few feet away to a tree stump and sat upon it. He always wondered what happened to the tree. All he knew was that it had been there before he left the Shire, and when he returned, it was gone. He stared down into the vibrant grass, as if that held his attention. Actually, something else weighed heavily on his mind, what he had to escape from only a few moments ago.
Footsteps shuffled through pebbles behind him.
"Frodo?"
He spun around and looked up into Tansy's pudgy face. Her soft red curls flowed from a vine of pink and white roses that entwined itself around the ponytail. Her hair Frodo always admired and the many dresses he bought. Among them, pink and white, which she had worn especially for the picnic.
"Aren't you having fun?" she asked and sat on the stump beside him.
Ignoring her question, he boldly asked one of his own. "Tansy, have you told me everything?"
"What do you mean?"
"About Rory, when you met him that day. You said he wanted to show you the hobbit-holes."
"Yes."
"And that is all?"
"Yes," Tansy answered softly and wondered if Frodo sensed her irritation at his question. And so she kept her voice as gentle as she could. "Nothing else happened between us," she assured him. "I'm telling you the truth, Frodo. I never saw him again until the day at the Market."
Frodo shook his head and smirked at his actions he thought ridiculous. "I'm sorry, Tansy. You know I haven't been well again. And when I'm not well, I utter foolish things."
"Daddeeee!" Calla screamed excitedly while skipping toward her parents.
Frodo jumped up from where he sat and whisked Calla into his arms.
"Come back to the picnic, daddy!" Little Calla pleaded.
"Yes," Tansy insisted with a warm, graceful smile. "We missed you, and...we love you."
We love you...those three words had momentarily calmed his fears and suspicions, and then he found himself, along with Calla, embraced lovingly in Tansy's arms.
In the middle of the night, Frodo's eyes snapped open. His ears perked. Outside, something rustling in the grass. Frodo sat up. He turned, glancing at Tansy sleeping peacefully.
The rustling again.
Frodo swung around at the window. His eyes wide with bewilderment, curiosity and fear. But curiosity had won, beckoning him to go out and investigate the mysterious rustling. Quietly as he could, Frodo quickly dressed into a shirt and breeches, yanking the suspenders onto his shoulders.
In the hall, he stepped out with a lantern that guided him. Slowly, cautiously, he headed toward the front door.
It's the Witch-king, Frodo. He's not dead. He's returned for you. Don't go out. He's there!
Frodo halted. His mouth suddenly dry. And the pain, he felt it again, stinging. The wound inflicted by the Witch-king. Though now a scar, to Frodo, it would always be like a fresh wound.
Wrestling with his fears and reminding himself that the Witch-king was dead, slaughtered by Eowyn and Merry, he marched onward and outside the hole. He scampered down the steps and out through the white gate. Footsteps came to an abrupt halt and started again. Frodo turned in the direction of where they seemed to echo from—the lane. The lane he traveled on with Sam when they left Bag End on that day in September...
When the madness began.
Cautiously, Frodo took small steps down the lane so menacing, so dark, that it seemed the lantern's light had been afraid, flickering timidly and not much of a guide. And then everything happened quickly, so fast that Frodo had no time to even utter a scream as he was plunged in pitch darkness.
TBC
A/N: I know, a short chapter and another cliffhanger, but...this time I promise I won't leave you waiting so long. Thank you for your patience. You guys are awesome!!!