I Can See The Shire

A nineteenth fic by Iorhael

Summary: Frodo’s waking up in Ithilien

Rated: PG

“I’m glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Sam.”

Even as he said it, Frodo almost choked. The smoke was thick, mercilessly assaulting his nostrils and lungs. He had the urge to cough but when he opened his mouth, he felt the burning and suffocating fumes rush in.

“Sam…” A hoarse voice that he barely recognized as his own replaced the delayed cough. Frodo squinted at the hardly conscious gardener, his eyes now in great difficulty, watering in the toxic aftermath of his surroundings. The dark crimson sky was something he had never imagined before. The boiling lava sizzled around them, making Frodo feel like a helpless coney in a pot upon a hearth. It was absurd but Frodo could not help remembering the wretched fate of the rabbit Sam had cooked in Ithilien. On the spot, he decided he would never eat another coney again in his life…if there was still life in store for him.

Frodo reached out. His eyes got blurred and his mind was nowhere near consciousness. What was he reaching for? Life itself? But what he found was only Sam. Sam’s soiled face. Even then, Frodo drew a deep breath, regretting having done it. But still he was thankful there was someone with him in this dreadful place. And Frodo felt even more grateful knowing it was Sam.

If he had to die, he still had Sam by his side.

* * *

“Will you come?”

A determined voice sounded distant, as if from behind a fog. Frodo strained his heavy lids but they declined to open. Even his mind screamed at the force it took to wake up. Sleep, that was what he needed. Weariness had taken over him, now that he had fulfilled what he set out to do, whatever it was, Frodo felt his body rejecting any order to move or awaken.

“I am sorry to rouse you from sleep, but will you come?”

There it was again, more gentle this time but unwavering still.

Why? What else should he do or see? Frodo mumbled in his sleep but eventually his eyes complied and opened. Gazing blearily at the figure before him, Frodo immediately recognized it and shrank away. His muddled mind unknotted itself, sensing something had gone wrong--both at the sudden call and his being at this place itself.

“Faramir?” Frodo struggled to get the name, and looking around, became tense. He knew this place, a cave in Henneth Annun, where he and Sam were brought blindfolded by the Gondorian captain.

He was confused between the memory of casting the Ring into the gulf of Doom and his past conversations with this man, in which Sam had unwittingly revealed the secret of their mission. But the latter distressed Frodo most and he pulled back, out of Faramir’s reach.

“Don’t,” he had said, trembling as the memories flooded back. “We spoke about It, and I thought I heard you say you had no lure or desire to do other than you had done.”

“I did,” the fair-haired man had answered. “I did say that. There is nothing to fear. But now you must come with me. There’s something down in the pool and I suspect it's the gangrel creature that my men saw with you.”

Smeagol? he had thought. Yes, he would be clever enough to find his way to this place.

Frodo had tried to keep his face straight. After all, he had told Faramir it was just the two of them here. The man could not think Frodo was hiding something or he might change his mind about the Ring.

“I’ll come,” Frodo had said weakly, finally. But he was wearier than he had thought, for he swayed as he stood up and would have sagged back to the earthen floor had Faramir not been swift in catching him.

Faramir had started as the body in his hands grew heavier. Frodo had lost consciousness apparently, or he had just gone back to slumber.

* * *

“He called your name,” Gandalf said softly to a man standing beside him. Faramir nodded.

“I heard that. I’m sorry for what happened at that time, Mithrandir. But I had to follow orders. Strangers in our land were to be slain or taken for questioning.”

“So you took Frodo and Sam along with you for questioning. Had they been threatened or treated unjustly, for Frodo still seems upset, even now.”

“Of course not!” Faramir was taken aback, turning to Gandalf with hurt in his eyes. “I’m so sorry to have insisted on getting them to Henneth Annun, but that was because I saw they were tired and I knew resting would do them good. I won’t be sorry for anything I have not done!”

“Peace, Faramir!” Gandalf placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, sensing the tenseness loosening bit by bit. “It just troubles me to see Frodo tortured by nightmares of old pains and fears.”

Faramir went silent and gazed back at the form lying in bed. Frodo had still not awakened and it had been several days since the eagles had found him and Sam. They had been under a veil of choking fog, draped lifelessly on a mound of protruding rock amidst the threatening sea of fiery water. The healers had cleaned them up and treated the gashes on their faces and bodies, but the worst was yet to come. Frodo still looked pallid and dead. Faramir wondered what horrifying things he had had to endure in his perilous journey, but as time went on, the man began to realize what Gandalf felt for the hobbit.

* * *

Small whimpers. Then growls and scolds and jeers. A claw with long, sharp nails closed around a fragile chin, and forced it open, then another claw held an earthen mug of blackish brew and emptied its content into the small mouth. Spurts of liquid followed miserable-sounding coughs, and Frodo looked up, his eyes clouding with fear.

“It’s a dream,” he moaned as if in a swoon. “Everything is over. The Ring has been destroyed…”

But the horrible creature with its deformed face, clad in metal armor and a sadistic sneer, paid him no heed. “Strip him!” he howled his order, while grasping at Frodo’s wrists and starting to untie them.

Frodo yanked his hands back and cried out. Somehow the burning drink had cleared his head a bit.

“No!” He attempted to wrench away his trussed-up limbs from the orc’s clutches. “This has to be a dream. Mordor is shattered. Sauron is undone!”

“That so?” The orc leered at him and easily gathered back Frodo’s hands. “Then explain this!” A loud backhand across the hobbit’s face silenced him. Frodo plopped down, his mind reeling. He numbly let the orcs move about his body, unbuttoning his shirt and loosening the ties on the rest of his clothes. But half way through, realization returned to the hobbit’s mind and he started to struggle. There was something these things must not lay hands on. Something only Frodo could bear. Something that must be destroyed.

Something… that had been destroyed?

Frodo squirmed and shrieked in fury. And confusion.

“Tis a dream! You’ve done it once. I shan’t let you do this to me again!”

For a moment they all froze. The orcs holding Frodo’s arms to his sides exchanged baffled looks. The other two gripping his ankles almost dropped them in surprise. All glanced at each other and then turned to Frodo questioningly.

Frodo heard his breath quicken.

“Get off me – now! Leave me alone. Let me sleep again!”

It sounded so ridiculous to the orcs that they burst in mocking chortles.

“Ssshh!” hissed one of them. The others stopped short, turning to him. “He said we’ve done it once to him ! Anyone r’member?” He glanced at his companions, one by one, and was greeted with shaking heads and smirking faces. He smiled. “Then let’s do it again, boys! If not to remind us, then to check with him to see if the things we do feel the same!”

They roared with laughter and loosened their holds at the same time, sending Frodo landing hard on to the ground. A whistling of a whip in the air made Frodo turn around just in time to see it with full horror.

“N – no!” he squealed shakily. “Not again. P – please!”

The orc rewarded him with a cruel smile, the lifted whip high in the air.

Things that followed were like a haze in Frodo’s mind. He barely recognized it when the whip cut into his skin and when he howled in pain. Lash after lash ensued and Frodo could only pray for oblivion to take him.

* * *

“Oh, Mr. Frodo!” Sam held both his master’s hands in his own and watched appallingly at the terrible sight of Frodo, his eyes tightly closed, arching and thrashing on the bed. Sam rarely left his post by Frodo’s side anymore. He had witnessed everything that happened to his master in his unconscious state. He saw Frodo cry, heard names called out loud, cringed every time Frodo moved about, oftentimes frantically. Sam had tried to wake Frodo, but Gandalf told him that his master would awake when he was ready and not before.

Then Sam would eye the wizard critically, queer feelings stirring inside. What was the meaning of this? Why must his master suffer so? Why were all the others well and Frodo not?

Covering his face with both his hands, Sam groaned inwardly. Even he was wide-awake while his master was not!

Frodo had been a target ever since the beginning of their journey. Sam had lost count how many times Frodo had fought for his life--Not to mention the times when the Ring had tempted him to claim It--to Its own purpose. And now when he was supposed to be safe and to start to heal, those nightmarish dreams were still haunting him, gnawing at him like the leeches they met in the marshes.

Sam didn't know how much longer this small form could stand these torments. He looked up at nothing in particular, despair slowly eating him. W – what if Frodo's body decided that it had tried hard enough? What if it eventually gave up? Sam sobbed hard and fell on Frodo’s still body. The gardener could not hold back his tears anymore and he wept and wept, soaking Frodo’s nightshirt, realizing that it might be a lot better for his master if he just died. Then he would not suffer anymore.

“It’s so unfair. Unfair!” Sam leaned into Frodo’s chest weakly, burying his face. “What do you get from all this? Not a crown, not a great, happy life. You are wretched, Mr. Frodo, body and soul. And me…” Sam was silenced. What was he supposed to say? “Your Sam is as useless as those saucepans he brought to Mordor with nothing to cook! Your Sam just stood there with a droppin’ jaw when those orcs brought you away. Your Sam let that cursed Gollum bite off one o’ your fingers! Your Sam is good for nothing. And now your Sam can only sit here and weep while you slip out of this world. Help me, Mr. Frodo! Help me help you get back here again.”

Without Sam realizing it, Frodo’s body started to loosen its tenseness. His breaths eased off and the creases on his brow smoothened. He knew his Sam was not too far away.

* * *

“I can see the Shire.”

Frodo remembered the things he was saying once he and Sam were safely landed on a gigantic rock in the middle of the angry lava of Mordor. Yes, he could see the Shire again in his mind. For what seemed like an eternity, his sight had been veiled and all he knew was the burning light of the Eye. But now he could see his beloved homeland and other things were also returning to his memory: Bag End, the party tree, the fireworks.

But they were no longer memories now that he was truly home. Frodo slid out of his bed cover and strode to the window, swinging it open wide. Soft breezes greeted him, shifting the curly locks on his brow, turning his face rosy-colored with its freshness. Frodo inhaled deeply and sighed, tears welling on the rims of his eyes.

“I’m home,” came out of his trembling lips.

There was a rustling sound below and a gentle voice followed.

“Mr. Frodo?”

Sam.

“What are you doing up? You need more rest.”

Frodo smiled despite the tears cascading down his cheeks.

“Sam,” he replied gently. “I can rest later. I feel so much better now. I feel refreshed, and I want to enjoy the scenery. I miss the Shire so much, Sam.”

Sam had been planting some crocuses in the front yard of Bag End, but hearing Frodo’s words, he jumped up in surprise.

“Don’t, Mr. Frodo. You’re not home yet!”

Frodo tilted his head sideways, his hands tightening at the windowpanes. “What do you mean? I woke up in my bedroom at Bag End. Isn’t that home enough? Don’t be silly, Sam!”

“No, Mr. Frodo. You can’t just believe everything you see. You’re still dreaming. It’s all in your dream. Bag End, the garden, the window, me, you. We’re all in your dream.”

Frodo looked at Sam as if the other hobbit had lost his mind. How could that be? The air he was breathing. The things he touched. And Sam. They all seemed real – for him. Had Sam been right so far?

“How – how do you know this is just a dream? How do I know?” Frodo’s voice quivered. Part of him not wanting to accept Sam’s words but another part afraid that they were all true.

Sam stood up and walked toward Frodo. He reached for his master’s right hand.

“See this? Don’t you remember what happened? Gollum bit off your ring finger!” Sam threw out heartlessly. “But look here! You have all your fingers complete! If it’s not a dream then what is it? A miracle?”

Frodo jerked his hand off Sam’s, completely aghast – and furious. He staggered several steps backwards.

“Well it might be!” His eyes flared like a hurting animal. “How dare you! I’m really home! How can you deny that?”

Sam’s reaction was totally unpredictable. The formerly respectful gardener started to shriek and laugh at Frodo’s frustrated denial.

“This is all a dream, you complete fool! Don’t you see? You’ll never be home anymore – at least, not the whole of you!” And the laughter went on and on.

Frodo stared at him in disbelief, opening his mouth involuntarily. Instantly both hands covered his ears, trying to ward off Sam’s hurtful mockery and the sound of his own screams.

* * *

Eyeballs moved slightly beneath closely shut lids. Then the lashes stirred as those lids slowly fluttered open. There were gasps coming beside the still body. And the blue eyes glanced lifelessly to their left, cognizance filling them all at once.

“Sam…?”

The gasps turned to choked sounds. Sam gripped Frodo’s hands tightly, never wanting to let them go, ever.

“Mr. –“ Sam could not finish even saying the name, the name of a person he would die for.

Frodo felt his head whirling around as he turned a little to gaze at someone standing at the foot of the bed. And his mouth went dry.

A swift movement – and the gray wizard dove into the abyss. He would have gone all the way down had he not been able to reach the broken part of the Bridge of Khazad – Dum.

“Gandalf!” cried a horrified Frodo.

Everything went silent before those eyes – the gray eyes of the wizard – and they were gushed with sorrow and despair.

“Fly you fools!”

Frodo’s life had been shattered ever since.

He would welcome any sight of his beloved Gandalf, even though it was only in a dream. Like now.

“Gandalf?” Frodo struggled to sit up and heaved a big sigh as he threw his head back onto the headboard. He mumbles his thanks to Sam who had helped him. His eyes, however, never left Gandalf.

“Please, don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t, my lad,” smiled the wizard. “I’m so glad you’re awake now.”

Frodo shook his head. “No, I don’t wish to be awake. If I wake up, you will vanish from my sight. I don’t want that.”

Gandalf frowned and Sam did too.

“What are you saying, Frodo dear? Here you are, awake and sitting up. And you can still perceive me.”

The hobbit smiled sadly.

“Yes, of course. Because I have decided to stay in this dream--for as long as I can, even if I shall not be awakened to the real world ever again.”

“But Frodo,” Gandalf was bewildered. “This is not your dream. ‘It is reality and I’m really standing before you!”

Frodo began to get annoyed. Why did Gandalf have to make it so difficult?

“It must be a dream! You cannot be there. I cannot be seeing you if I’m truly awake. Not – since you are dead! You fell, Gandalf!”

Frodo’s face was flushed with flooding emotions and he sagged back into the bed, exhausted.

"Oh!" cried Gandalf as things cleared up for the wizard. With a big smile he started to explain. Everything. His eyes searched into the hobbit’s trying to find any confusion. Or misunderstanding. There was none. Frodo simply stared back at him with deep longing and inexplicable joy.

But Gandalf was mistaken if he thought he had changed Frodo’s mind about his dream-state. Gandalf walked closer and sat beside Frodo. He stroked the hobbit’s cheek and Frodo leant into the touch, closing his eyes.

“You still need to rest, Frodo. Go sleep now.”

And his eyes flew open with abject terror at the possibility of missing Gandalf again.

“No! I’m not going to rest and have you slip away again! I might lose this dream – it could turn to something else. Please, please let me be with you.” Frodo rubbed angrily at the tears that had dared to mist his eyes, obscuring his view of the wizard.

Alarmed, Sam took Frodo’s hands and kissed them.

“No, no, Mr. Frodo. What makes you think that? You’re not sleeping now. You’re here with Gandalf and your Sam.”

Frodo tore his hands away angrily.

“What do you know?” he spat. “This is my dream! No one but myself knows which is real and which not. And I know…this – is certainly not!”

Sam started to sob. He could not let this insanity continue any longer. He had to find something to prove that his master was wrong. Then his eyes fell to Frodo's bandaged hand.

Squealing with joy, Sam lifted it to Frodo’s eyes.

“Look, Mr. Frodo! It’s your hand. Gollum bit off one of your fingers! Do you remember that, Mr. Frodo? That was not a dream – and this is the proof. You can see it, Master. This means, you're AWAKE and Gandalf is here! He is not a dream either!”

The words sounded eerily too similar to the ones in his dream – the previous dream – and Frodo looked at his right hand in astonishment. This time it was maimed and of course, he remembered the stinging pain of Gollum's attack. He was thrown back to his vision above the flames of Mordor. So this must be real.

And then Frodo turned his gaze to Gandalf and tried to recall what the wizard had told him once about the possibility of returning as a White Wizard. Frodo’s lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he stopped. What proof did he have that Gandalf spoke the truth? The story was amazing and a bit difficult to believe. Of course the wizard had always been amazing. Still, Frodo’s heart clenched at the fact that he lacked things to trust here. He had been having dreams – mostly bad – and he dearly wanted this to be a reality. Yet even if this scenario was not real, Frodo could still accept it--for this was not bad. Frodo shut his eyes in despair, fingers clawing at the bed sheet, all nine fingers.

“Oh, Sam. Please… Gandalf…” he whimpered softly, his voice shaking with the fear of not being able to tell what was true and what was not. Gandalf and Sam looked at each other, not really realizing what was happening.

“Tell me the truth. I –" Frodo’s voice was strangled in the realization that he barely had anything to hold on to.

“This is all your fault.” He heard a voice from the back of his head. “If you had not let It sink into the fire, you would not have to experience all this.” Then the voice echoed to the entire room. Frodo gasped, staring everywhere in panic. “You have dared to defy Me, now you must bear your punishment! Live now in doubt-, hobbit, for the rest of your life.”

Frodo shrieked pitifully, hugging his knees close to his chest, and neither Gandalf nor Sam could soothe the petrified soul.

The End