A/N: RotK movie-verse; dialogue taken directly from the movie with the assistance of the subtitles. All else is of my creation.
Betrayed, part two
I am rudely awakened from the first real sleep I've had in I don't know how long by you roughly shaking me. "I'm sorry to wake you, Mr. Frodo. We have to be movin' on."
I push myself reluctantly up with the only reply I could find in my muddled head. "It's dark still."
"It's always dark here," you remind me testily. Yes, but that's not the point. You used to be so good at knowing what I really meant, whether or not I said it that way... what happened?
The sound of frantic shuffling got my attention, along with your cry of distress. "It's gone." I am still working on getting up -the stiffness of sleeping on rock makes me slow- but I pause to look over at you, uncomprehending. You explain with disbelief: "The Elven bread."
"What? That's all we have left." My empty stomach drops as I realize this means no food until...
But your attention is turned elsewhere. "He took it! He must have!" you accuse Smeagol and both of you turn to look at me, like a pair of quarreling children.
"Smeagol? No, no, not poor Smeagol. Smeagol hates nasty elf bread."
I can't decide who to believe as I stare at both of you, your expression bordering on desperation, Smeagol's exuding assurance.
"You're a lyin' rat!" you break in, "What did you do with it!"
I am tired, tired of this constant bickering between you and Smeagol, tired of you endlessly accusing him. "He doesn't eat it," I say in his defense, anger giving me the strength to finally stand. "He can't have taken it." So help me, whatever it takes to make you stop abusing him, I'll do it.
"Look," Smeagol says, drawing attention to your clothing, "What's this? Crumbs on his jacketses. He took it! He took it." He repeats his assertion with more force, and adds, "I seen him. He's always stuffing his face when Master's not looking."
I look at you in disgust. How could you? How could you betray us, betray our journey like this? How could you betray me? You, of course, deny it and again start attacking him, knocking him to the ground, beating him with all your strength.
I have seen quite enough. I call your name, trying to get you to stop, for your rage terrifies me, but you do not hear. Mustering up my strength, I throw myself at you, pushing you away from Smeagol. Even as I cry, "Sam! No!" I realize the effort was too much.
You are instantly concerned, your words tripping over themselves. "Oh, my- I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to go so far. I was just so- so angry. Here, just -let's just rest a bit."
"I'm all right," I assure you, wanting nothing more than for you to keep your tongue to yourself and stop this foolishness. Smeagol is in the same fix we are, so there's no point in driving him away when we need his help. But it seems you don't know when to be quiet.
"No. No, you're not all right. You're exhausted. It's that Gollum. It's this place. It's that thing around your neck!" I stiffen as you mention that which should not be mentioned. I drag my eyes up to look at you with suspicion and distrust. Why are you bringing this up now?
Your voice echoes dully in my head as you say, "I could help a bit. I could carry it for a while. Share the load..."
How dare you even think of taking it from me? It's mine. "Get away!" I shove you back, and you fall, more from surprise than any strength in my push.
"I don't want to keep it," you hurry to assure me. "I just want to 'elp."
But it is too late for such words, if ever there was a time for them at all. And now I finally see you for the foul little greedy creature you are, leering and pawing at my treasure. Smeagol even sees that. But you shall not have it!
I quell your further protests against Smeagol with "No, Sam. It's you." You look at me with confusion, and I feel I must at least briefly apologize. "I'm sorry, Sam."
"But he's a liar," you whine. "He's poisoned you against me."
I'm done with you, Sam. Done with your meddling, your accusations... done with you. "You can't help me anymore."
"You don't mean that."
But I do. "Go home, Sam." Leave me. Let me be.
I turn on my heel, stride past your sobbing huddle, and continue my journey. I can't bring myself to care what happens to you after this.
