Sam stood still at the foot of the bed, observing silently his master's awakening and his effort to raise himself up to a sitting position. It felt as if thousands of needles were jarring into his heart from every direction, though at one time Sam also felt as if the wounds they caused were gushed down by a bucket full of cold water. Relief. Joy. His master was back! Frodo had returned.
And he was all right.
All right.
Safe.
A little weak, mayhap. But he would soon recover.
Wouldn't he?
The cold water gradually washed out, leaving the wounds in Sam's heart open, raw, and bleeding. The small consolation from knowing that Frodo had finally regained his consciousness left Sam exactly that – a consolation. Nothing more. And nothing to celebrate.
As he soon found out how empty Frodo's eyes were. Neither sorrow nor happiness.
Although previously, when Frodo opened his eyes for the first time, Sam could swear he saw a glimpse of surprised gladness in those eyes. But then it was replaced by doubts, and later, by fear.
Then nothing.
Frodo simply sat down, leaning with his back against headboard, hands clutching the blanket tightly, shuddering. Sam could see his whole body shaking.
Yet, he could also see that Frodo's eyes never left him. His master was completely ignoring the other beings present around him.
Ignoring the elves and Aragorn as well, Sam slid to one side of the bed, one hand passing lightly over Frodo's bed sheet.
"Mr. Frodo?" Sam could not help shaking, too. "Don't you remember? It's me, your Sam."
A sudden panting breath stopped Sam's movement. Frodo was glaring at him now, in horror. He pulled up the cover even higher, his lips open for a silent cry. Sam turned to Aragorn in despair and he saw an almost unrecognizable head shake from the ranger.
* * *
He had never regretted something as deeply as this.
He had awakened from a long, deep slumber and opened his eyes to find the sight of someone who dearly reminded him of the comfort and warmth of Bag End, Sam. He had almost jumped into the arms of the gardener if only he would not have felt so weak, and poured all the miseries he had gone through.
But then his memories all came back to him, like a hard rain in the first night of summer.
For that his heart lamented.
Why should he remember the time when all this nightmare begun? When he witnessed Pippin, of all people, had struck Sam so hard that the gentlest person he knew sprawled down to the ground and lay there motionless?
Even when later on he found that by some miracle Sam was not dead by the blow, he once again had to see his gardener lie unconscious. This time, he was sure, the blame was on the scruffy-looking ranger he had despised ever since.
Again Frodo wept inside. If only he had been allowed to disremember all those things, he would not have had to force himself to see the approaching figure as a ghost.
Yes. A ghost from the past, that had always been with him.
… amongst the thrashes of Merry's belt, delivered upon him because he was too stubborn to see the truth.
"Sam, oh Sam. I'm tired, Sam. Bring out of here. Please."
"Sam?!"
"I'm not Sam, Frodo! I'm Merry! M E R – R Y! MER – I – A – DOC!"
"Merry?"
"Yes, me! I'm the only friend you have, Frodo! Not that lowly gardener of yours who's been rotting in the ground for days. You have to accept that!"
Crack!
"No, Merry. Pleeaassee--"
"Who is your friend, Frodo?!"
Who is your friend!"
Frodo did not flinch anymore now though the memory of the pain was still as vivid as when the punishment was being executed. He understood it now, its aim and reason. Frodo did not feel anything, not even regret. His sound thoughts had successfully dispatched it.
Not even when the ghost was slowly approaching him.
But not when the ghost started to speak.
It was as if a soul had returned home, reoccupying the vacant shell once more.
Frodo grasped his blanket fast until his knuckles turned white. It spoke! Sam spoke!
"Mr. Frodo?
Frodo could not believe his ears. The ghost even knew his name. It mentioned his name!
"Don't you remember? It's me, your Sam."
No! NO! Frodo opened his mouth and he just… screamed at Sam's face.
Can't! A ghost can't speak, let alone remember names!
And he could not be mistaken. Sam had truly died. He could not be alive. Merry could NOT lie to him, telling that Sam was dead when actually was not.
Then, starting everyone in the room, Frodo bolted out of the blanket and dashed to a corner. Like a trapped animal, he planted himself there, both his palms pressing at the wall behind.
"Go away you evicted spirit! Don't you haunt me any more from your death realm! Go in peace and leave me!" Frodo's voice croaked from long disuse. And it got even hoarser when he continued screaming as Sam, frozen in his steps, kept on staring at Frodo.
"You are dead! Dead!" Frodo wailed in despair. And in his frustration for not being able to drive Sam away, he slid down the wall and perched himself on the floor. Frodo brought both hands to his face and started sobbing.
"Oh, Merry! Please. Help me."
* * *
Merry rolled over on his back. He neither heard Frodo's trembling cry for help nor felt it in his heart. He was still trapped inside the shadow – the shadow of the Ring that gladly engulfed whoever was weak and willing enough to submit to its dominion.
Nor did Merry understand why he was still treated kindly.
The two elves did nothing to harm him when they brought him to this room. Being stunned by Gandalf's sharp tongue and eyes, Merry had almost lost all the nerve he previously believed that he – had. His knees had weakened and he had hardly been able to stand for more rough handlings. But even without anyone saying it, the elves seemed to know what was in the depth of Merry's mind. They did not drag him along their way. They simply too Merry by the arms, almost gently, and led the way. Merry could almost even see the action as a kind of support for him.
And along their course, none had spoken a word. Especially Merry. He kept silent, almost paying no heed as to where they were going. His eyes did not see and his mind did not register anything as they went past the Hall of Fire, taking a right turn and going across the courtyard to find the entrance to another dwelling compound. The switch from light to dim surroundings inside the compound almost escaped Merry's mind as well, until finally they got to a room at the rear of the place and the elves kindly ushered Merry inside.
The hobbit vaguely heard them tell him what they had in the room – bed, drawers, and water in basin for Merry to clean himself. Merry just shrugged when they asked if he needed anything further. Having nothing else to do, the elves retreated and left Merry alone after carefully closing the door and locking it securely – the only sign that Merry was indeed a prisoner.
Huffing loudly, Merry eased himself to the bed and lay there quietly, arms folded behind his head. He could not understand those elves. He could not care less of what happened to Frodo. And he hardly thought of Gandalf anymore.
It was the Ring that he brooded about.
TBC
AN: I'm really sorry for the lateness. Blame it on the bunnies that keep on coming to my mind. Expect another new story from me! :) Again, thanks for EMMA for betaing this. (Emma, where is the continuation of RATM??)
And now for the reviews!
Celandine: Thank you for reading it! Again, I'm sooooo amazed to read your alternative chapter on RATM. So details, so intense. You should start your own fic!
endymion2: I'm glad you're still following it. And I always try to make it always interesting. It's hard, sometimes, but as long as I know there are still people out there to read it, I'll keep going!
altariel: I also like it that you like it! LOL. Well, it's not only Estel that takes care of the healing in the later chapters. Give more protagonism to Sam? I will!
FrodoBaggins87: He will return, but will he completely? I don't know myself. Thanks again for coming by!
Trust No One: Ah, thanks for reading it although you haven't read NH. That's what I'm afraid about sequels. Once you don't read the previous story, you won't read the sequel. But you're not like that, so thank you very much!
