A twenty-first fic by Iorhael

AN: Written for Marigold’s Challenge 3

Summary: Frodo and Sam were hiding from two orc scouts when Frodo made Sam tell him what happened and how Sam came to rescue him. But did Frodo really listen?

The big orc, spear in hand, leapt after him. But the tracker, springing behind a stone, put an arrow in his eye and he fell with a crash. The other ran off across the valley and disappeared.

Then silence.

Although welcomed by the two lurkers hiding behind a stunted bush, the silence choked the hobbits – only adding to the discomfort from the orc garments they were wearing. There was a rustle beside Frodo and a soft thump, and he snapped his head sharply and hissed in fear. They were barely twenty paces from where the two orcs had been scrapping.

“Quiet, Sam!”

Sam could see Frodo’s eyes glaring at him through the small holes in the orc helmet.

“Sorry, Mr. Frodo,” he whispered. “Just can’t stand squatting for a moment longer. Isn't it safer now?”

Frodo glanced anxiously at Sam’s legs, stretched out of the bush's protection.

“I don’t know, Sam, but the least you can do is keep hiding. There may be others waiting to grab us.”

Sam groaned. They had chosen just the right place to hide – a small group of shrubs. But without a word, he gathered his legs back and sat huddled next to his master’s unmoving form… only to find out that it was not completely unmoving. A shudder ran through Frodo’s body and Sam could feel it clearly through the thick orc chain mail.

“Mr. Frodo, me dear!” Sam cried in surprise, forgetting the need for them to stay silent, and he slung his arms around his master’s shoulders. Sam knew it was not the cold weather.

“Sam –" cried Frodo shakily, but his voice caught in his throat.

“Oh, Mr. Frodo. Don’t you be afraid anymore. You’re really safe now. Your Sam is here.” The gardener rocked Frodo’s body gently and felt tension slowly leaving the too-lean form.

“I – I am all right now, Sam,” murmured Frodo almost inaudibly as he drew himself out of Sam's embrace. Sam could sense it– because Frodo did not visibly move and he could discern what was in his master’s mind as he took his arms away. Frodo had been shaken by his captivity in the tower and Sam was mad at his own inability to comfort him.

“Tell me what to do now, Mr. Frodo. Just tell your slow Sam how to help you.” His voice was rough with frustration. Frodo reached out to Sam’s calloused hand and brought it to his breast, his eyes fluttering closed.

“You’ve done so much, Sam,” said Frodo wearily. “I’m so sorry to make you feel bad.”

Sam had opened his mouth to argue when he saw Frodo look at him squarely.

“Sam. It’s just an after shock. It hits me right here – " Frodo pounded on his chest with his hands, still with Sam’s in their grasp. “What would have happened had you not come to rescue me? I can’t imagine that, Sam.”

“Then don’t.” Sam grasped his hands back. “You won’t remember it if you stop thinking about it.”

A little smile appeared on Frodo’s clouded face. Innocent Sam! If only things were that simple.

“What?” Sam frowned suspiciously at the smile. “I’m serious, Mr. Frodo. My Gaffer once said –"

“Yes, Sam,” cut Frodo quickly. “I know you’re right and I’m sure your Gaffer is also right.” The hobbit chuckled lightly now, though tears brimming in his eyes. His beloved Sam always managed to alter his mind from bleak thoughts, though unfortunately not completely.

Sam was gazing at Frodo now, compassion and sheer joy filling his small brown eyes. The corner of his lips curved upward forming a peaceful smile. His heart almost leapt up out of his throat as he heard his master’s soft laugh, however sad it might sound.

“Shall we – shall we move now, Mr. Frodo?” Sam managed to croak the words out with great difficulty.

Frodo shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. We had better not move until dark. So now, you shall tell me everything that happened.”

Sam’s face hardened.

“Only if you promise to listen and not let your mind wander to other things!”

They sat facing each other with Sam grabbing onto the other hobbit’s upper arms. Frodo flinched at Sam’s determined voice, feeling as if he had been caught red-handed. For that was exactly what was happening – his mind kept going back to the dreadful experience in the Dark Tower.

“Come on, Sam –" Frodo struggled to convince his best friend – and himself. It was hard not to slip away now. Even the Ring started to hum again in his head, reaching at him, subduing him.

“Frodo!” A hard shake pulled Frodo back to reality.

“Oh, Sam,” gasped Frodo. “I’m sorry. I’m so tired. But I give you my word, I shall listen to whatever accounts you give me.”

Sam was overcome with despair, drawing his master close to him and laying the crouched figure down on his lap. To his horror, he noticed the shivers had returned.

“Oh, Mr. Frodo. Hang on. Please, hang on!”

“Just start telling, my dear Sam,” mumbled Frodo blearily, lids covering his eyes once more.

Telling, thought Sam, or rather, talking to him, to Frodo, he must say something or his master would drown again in his own reverie. Sam rested Frodo’s head on his chest and spoke into his master’s ear. Softly, softly. But still animatedly.

“Did you hear those orcs talking about Gollum, Mr. Frodo?” said Samwise after thinking for a while. Many things he wanted to tell his master but it was difficult to decide where to begin. “That Stinker’s still alive after all this time!”

“Why, has he ever been dead before?” asked Frodo faintly, not realizing how absurd his words sounded.

“No, Mr. Frodo. He was –" Then Sam told him the wicked creature’s tricksy deeds, all his plots to murder the hobbits and take the Ring – his preciousss – all for himself. Gollum could not fulfill these plans alone, however, so he snared a beastly creature and manipulated her in his own fashion, so she ended up helping him.

“A huge spider, Mr. Frodo. The one who owns the sticky web we saw in the cave. Shelob was her name –"

Sam was not sure if Frodo was still listening, but his master’s breaths were growing heavier now as if he was recognizing something.

And indeed he was.

Frodo knew how a spider could paralyze. It stung and left the victim weakened by poison, all the while wrapped by cords from the beast’s foul mouth. Was that what had happened to him? The stinging pain at the back of his neck…

The next thing he knew, Sam was stroking his face a bit violently. Frodo panted and strained against the wary hand. His eyes shot open.

“I’m still here, Sam! I’m listening to all that you say. Worry not, dear.”

He found Sam was full of tears, either from delight for having heard his master’s voice again or fear of nearly losing him. He realized he had been too long in silence.

“Don’t leave your Sam again, Mr. Frodo. Don’t fuddle him with this – this silence ever again. He might as well…” His hug tightened.

“Sam,” called Frodo with his normal voice, but Sam would not budge. “I was stung by the spider, was I not? But I did not die, although you might think I did. But Sam, thanks to you, I’m safe now.”

Sam was sobbing.

“I always knew not to trust my head. It’s not the best part of me. Oh. Oh! I did it once and I let you be taken by those orcs.”

Taken by those orcs.

Taken.

Without knowing what was happening and what was going to happen.

But Frodo could almost see it with his inner eyes now and he relived all the sensations. Shelob’s sting. The soreness in his neck. Then nothing, or feeling as if his body had disposed of all its bones and nerves. Empty. Simply nothing.

Yet as the poison wore off, consciousness began to flood into his senses. And before he was fully awake –

Visions.

Visions came like a vivid picture.

All the horrors came back, cruelly, as in a nightmare.

Meanwhile, there went Sam recounting the tale of him putting on the Ring and hiding behind the shadow.

But, no. What Ring? What shadow? They were not in his memories. They were not in his nightmare. There were only these orcs with their leering, red eyes, sharp claws, and foul breath coming from their mouths. And they pawed at him, jerked his head back, and poured that putrid smelling brew of filth down his throat.

And suddenly it was not a dream anymore.

Faintly, there was Sam again. He had decided he would not gain anything by hiding. He sprung forward with Sting in his hand, the invisible warrior, sticking the sword through the hideous enemy bodies. One, two, three. And they were dead. Or running away as Sam held the light aloft – the elven phial from Lady Galadriel herself.

But Frodo shook his head violently. No, the orcs were not dead! They were here – with him. They were closing in on his crouching, naked figure. They had stripped and searched him, but they had not found what they were looking for. And now these were not mere paws. Knives, too. And threats to use them on him. And – a whip!

“Those stairs were high and winding, Mr. Frodo, to the tower. Though not as high and winding as the ones leading to the beast’s den. But I was sure you were somewhere up there so I kept climbing. I was so happy I was right. Mr. Frodo? Frodo?”

Aaaarrgghhh – no! The whip. It licked him, hard and punishing. He couldn’t… He can’t – bear it – again –

But… there it was again. The song. He had heard it before, hadn't he?

In Western lands, beneath the Sun

the flowers may rise in Spring,

the trees may bud, the waters run

the merry finches sing.

Or there maybe ‘tis cloudless night

and swaying beeches bear

the Elven-stars as jewels white

amid their branching hair

Though here at journey’s end I lie

in darkness buried deep,

beyond all towers, strong and high

beyond all mountains steep,

above all shadows rides the Sun

and Stars for ever dwell

I will not say the Day is done

nor bid the Stars farewell.

Frodo stirred and blinked several times as someone who had just come from a deep slumber, gazing at Sam in a daze.

“Sam? You’ve come again. To save me.”

Sam rubbed his eyes, smiling amidst his tears.

“Aye, Mr. Frodo. Indeed I have.”

“But – you sang just now?”

“I called you, Mr. Frodo. I called and called. And I got scared, you know. You’re here but you’re not here, if you catch my meaning. But suddenly I remembered. Just like that. The song. I’ve got to sing it.” Sam trembled like a leaf.

“And so I sang it again, just like the first time. You see, Mr. Frodo. I’ve sung it two times, then and now. The first time was in the tower – and it wasn’t no dream neither. It was never a dream. You were safe after I came and you are safe now.”

Frodo bowed his head, unsure of his own feelings.

“It was terrible, Sam. Terrible. Not from my darkest nightmares have I dreamt of going through that.”

“But you’re here with your Sam now. Nothing can hurt you anymore.”

Frodo wound his arms around Sam’s body and clung to it tightly as if this was the only place he could feel safe and unharmed. He nuzzled closer and rested his weary head quietly.

His gardener, best friend, and savior did not mind that in the least. He could sit like that with his beloved, sweet master in his embrace for nights upon nights. It was absolute bliss and contentment.

The End

AN: Some lines and the song are taken from The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. Betaed by the lovely Celandine Goodbody.