HISTORIES ASUNDER
Chapter 3
Panic gripped Sam with strong, ice cold fingers. Blood pounded through his veins, forced by a hammering heart which knew the meaning of only one word - fear.
Fear for Frodo.
Sam scrutinised the area in front of the river and then jerked his head in the opposite direction. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck and down his spine. His eyes studied the ground, desperate for a clue as to Frodo's whereabouts and he was left heavy with disappointment when he found nothing. The dried leaves and grasses were not the type of surface upon which footprints would be left.
Sam's sense of panic grew with each passing minute. He feared desperately for Frodo's safety and would have given up his life at that moment in exchange for the knowledge that his master was safe and unharmed. He was bewildered and puzzled; it was so unlike Frodo to get up and wander off alone and this brought Sam abruptly back to the anger and bitterness which Frodo had displayed yesterday, before the light from the Phial had calmed him and led the two of them towards the river.
A muffled scraping sound alerted Sam; he was as vigilant as a wild animal as he stood there with his eyes and ears strained to the maximum. There it was - he heard it again, and this time he could tell where it was coming from. He was off within a split second, keeping his ears open so as not to lose the direction of the noise.
Sam soon came upon a narrow clearing and stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth dropped open at the sight which greeted him.
Frodo was there, and he was naked. He was busy filling in a hole in the ground which contained the clothes he had been wearing.
"Ah, there you are, Sam", said Frodo without looking up. He continued to kick earth on top of the clothes. His body was wet and glistening. "Couldn't stand them any more", he continued, pointing at the garments.
Sam stared at him in disbelief.
"These clothes hold too many bad memories for me", continued Frodo, acting as though burying clothes was the most normal thing in the world to do. "I'd rather walk around naked than wear them again. I woke up early and washed all the filth off myself in the river. Didn't want to wake you. Then I decided to get rid of these hideous garments".
Frodo finally finished his task and then sat down on the ground with his arms clasped around his knees.
"Don't look at me like that, Sam", said Frodo irritably, looking at Sam for the first time since he had arrived. "I know I must present a very ugly picture but there's no need to look so disapproving".
Sam almost choked as the words he wanted to say refused to find their way from the back of his dry throat onto his tongue. He shook his head and mouthed words which would not allow themselves to be spoken. Relief that Frodo was safe surged through him fiercely and he had to fight with every ounce of his strength against the longing to rush across to him.
"Now, there's no need for that kind of talk", he said, wishing that his voice did not sound so weak and faltering. "Your Sam was worried about you, that's all". His eyes moved to Frodo's bandaged right hand.
"Don't worry, I kept my hand dry whilst I was bathing, Sam", said Frodo, noticing Sam's worried frown. His face was mordant as he looked at his hand. "At least I think it's still a hand. But now that it has a piece missing I'm not so sure".
Sam swallowed again and tentatively made his way over to where Frodo - a small, unhappy figure - was sitting. His feet made little or no sound on the soft grass. A large, brightly-coloured insect hovered above Frodo's head, its wings catching the sunlight in a rainbow shimmer.
Sam sat down on the ground close to Frodo. The longing to hold Frodo was strong but he forced himself to look straight ahead.
"Of course it's still a hand", he said as firmly as he could. "And as soon as we get you some treatment it'll be as good as new".
Frodo laughed. It was a dry, harsh sound.
"Will it, Sam?" he asked. "Look, there's a space between this finger ..... and this", he pointed out. "And it feels strange, very strange indeed. I miss my finger, I really do. But my misfortunes are nothing compared to those of Gollum. He died, and it was all my fault. I should never have let it happen".
Frodo slumped forward and laid his head on his knees.
"He was a poor, wretched, miserable creature but he didn't deserve to die. I blame myself for it".
Frodo's last sentence was spoken so quietly that it was almost lost within the combined noises of the flowing of the river, the rustle of the trees and the chirping birdsong.
"It wasn't your fault", protested Sam. He laid his hand gently on Frodo's head. His dark hair was beginning to dry in the warm sunshine and had started to arrange itself into its usual curly state. "I don't mean to wish ill on nobody" continued Sam, biting his lip. "But ... well ... if you ask me that Gollum fellow got what he deserved. He wanted that Ring more than anything and he got it, hurting you badly in the process. He lived for the Ring and he died for it too. He wasn't a nice character".
"But he still didn't deserve death".
Sam stroked Frodo's hair, desperate to find a way to soothe him. He decided against pursuing the matter of Gollum's death for it would serve no purpose now and in any event his overwhelming concern was for Frodo. Sadness filled him as he saw the bones of Frodo's spine cruelly protruding through his flesh. He seemed to have shrunken away to almost nothing.
Sam was not surprised that Frodo had decided to cast off the garments they had taken from the orc-tower. Given the circumstances in which they had been found, and the events which had led up to their discovery, Frodo could hardly be expected to look upon them with affection. But he could not wander around in nowt but his skin and some kind of garment would have to be fashioned for him although Sam knew not what.
Master Gamgee felt unsure and uncertain of their next move. His absolute top priority was to get Frodo to a place where his injury could be treated and where he could recover from his trauma in peace and safety. But they seemed no closer to finding such a place than they had last night, notwithstanding the guidance they had received from the Phial. Sam pondered over the way the light had led them towards the river and then decided that it had done so for a reason.
"Look, why don't we follow the path of the river and see where it takes us", he suggested to Frodo. "We followed the beam from the Phial, after all, and there's got to be a reason why it led us here".
Frodo didn't respond immediately. Then he took a deep breath and sat upright.
"Of course we should follow that path", he concluded. "Where else is there to go?" Frodo scrambled to his feet and Sam immediately jumped up to join him.
"Do you know what my first thought was this morning when I woke up, Sam?" asked Frodo. His tone was grave as he faced Sam.
Sam shook his head hesitantly, unsure of what to expect.
"I thought we were dead".
Sam stared at him blankly. He had no response to that and his expression was a reflection of the joylessness that writhed around inside him.
"We were hovering above the Crack of Doom when Gollum fell into it with the Ring and then there was an explosion, that much I do remember", continued Frodo. He wrung his hands as he spoke and grew agitated. "The thought occurred to me that we had been killed in that explosion. I know it's not true, of course, I'm sure I wouldn't be feeling as bad as this if I had entered the afterlife, but given the extreme nature of events you have to admit that it's not totally unfeasible".
Sam took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. His wished he could free Frodo from the disquieting thoughts which haunted him.
"Maybe not", conceded Sam in as neutral a voice as he could manage. "But we're definitely alive, Mr. Frodo, and I think we should be making a move. Can you walk or would you like me to carry you?"
"I'm fine, Sam, I can walk", insisted Frodo. "And you are right, of course, we must be on our way, although I am not sure where our path will lead us. I confess that I am totally lost". Frodo sighed. "And I suppose I'd better find something to wear before we set off. Any ideas?" Frodo glanced around him.
Sam's gaze fell upon the leaves of a particularly large tree, the exact type of which he was unsure of.
"Look ... how about these", he began. He fingered the soft, thick leaves. "I could sew some of these together and make a tunic for you", he suggested. Sam's hazel eyes were filled with warmth as they regarded his beloved master. No task was too much trouble, not if it was for Frodo.
Frodo peered inquisitively at the leaves before looking at Sam, who was thrilled to see that Frodo appeared to have snapped out of his despondency.
"Good idea", said Frodo. "You do that and I'll go and fill our water bottles. I took a drink from the river earlier on and its water is good, Sam. Clear and cold and pure, far more pleasant than the water we found in Mordor".
Frodo wandered off and Sam, after gathering an armful of the large soft leaves out of which he planned to fashion a garment, followed him. He was not prepared to let Frodo out of his sight for longer than a few minutes.
They got the water bottles out of Sam's pack and Frodo wandered down to the water's edge with them. Sam, who had thought of literally everything when they had packed in readiness to leave the Shire long ago, miraculously had a needle and thread amongst his belongings and immediately set to work with the leaves. His skilled hands moved quickly and the leaves - soft and strong and unlike any he had ever seen before - were easy to work with.
Frodo wandered back and fastened the water bottles securely. He watched closely as Sam worked his needle and then began to laugh.
"I have never worn clothes made out of leaves before", he said. He wrinkled up his face against the sun's glare before treating Sam to a warm and wonderfully genuine smile. "You really are the most excellent of hobbits, Sam. I'm so glad you're here with me".
Frodo's expression of gratitude caught Sam off his guard. It warmed his heart to hear Frodo speak those words and that wide smile meant more to Sam than words could ever say. Sam was happier at that moment than he had been for a very long time. Frodo had always been generous in his appreciation of Sam's loyalty but his words had a greater impact upon Sam now than they'd had on any previous occasion. He fought back the tears as they pricked at his eyes and focussed his attention on his work.
Before long Sam had the tunic finished and he handed it to Frodo. It was not the most fashionable of garments, nor perhaps the most well fitting thing which Frodo had ever worn, but he was pleased with it nonetheless and it delighted Sam to see that Frodo's modesty would no longer have to be compromised.
It was a beautiful day as the hobbits set out along the banks of the river. The sun, climbing ever higher in the sky, shone brightly and the sky was as blue as the cornflowers which Sam lovingly tended in the gardens at Bag End.
Sam pushed aside memories of home. I don't want to be thinking of the Shire now, he chastised himself. I can't see that we'll be going home yet awhile and definitely not before Mr. Frodo's strong and healthy again. He glanced across at Frodo and was pleased to see that the other hobbit seemed to be taking a keen and lively interest in their surroundings.
They followed the path of the river as it lay to their left. Tall, densely-growing trees prevented them from seeing what lay to their right and all they could see on the other side of the river was forestland.
They were forced to eat such fruits and berries as they could lay their hands on, for there was no more food left in Sam's pack and there seemed little chance of coming across anything more substantial. Sam thought longingly of the stewed rabbit and herbs they'd eaten whilst on their long journey to Mordor. What he'd give for such a meal now. Not that there was any chance of that, of course, even if he'd been able to find and catch a rabbit he no longer had any means of cooking it.
The hobbits went on their way again as soon as they had eaten and Sam watched Frodo closely for signs of fatigue. Not for the first time, he was amazed to see how Frodo seemed to have the ability to call upon vast reserves of inner strength when he found himself in a predicament.
But neither of the hobbits were prepared for what happened at nightfall. It was Frodo who heard the sound first and Sam immediately picked up on his disquiet. They stared at each other with growing alarm as the faint noise grew more distinct. The hobbits had heard enough orc rampages in their time to know that one was headed in their direction and they also knew how fast orcs could travel.
"Quick, Sam, that tree", said Frodo, pointing at a huge sprawling oak with thick lower branches. "We can climb up there".
They made it to the tree but it was harder to climb than they'd imagined. Sam lifted Frodo onto his shoulders so he could get a grip on one of the lower branches but he could not reach. The orcs were drawing nearer.
Over and over again Sam tried to lift Frodo high enough to reach the lowest branch but each time he failed. Their hearts were pounding as the orcs drew nearer but still they could not find a way to get themselves to safety. Time was running out. They had a minute at most before the orcs would be upon them.
