The Dictionary Game
Author's Note/Introduction: Hello, and welcome to the wacky world that is my brain. You see, this is a game I play when I have writer's block. I take a dictionary and rifle through the pages without looking, then stop and point at one random word. Whatever word I choose, I write a short story based on that story. Every chapter I add will be its own individual story, totally unrelated to the others. Updates will be sporadic and usually rather short, but you never know, one of these ficlets may inspire me towards a longer story. It's just something fun to do while I wait for other inspiration to come along and I thought other people might enjoy it. So there you go, that's what this strange little story is all about! Please Note: There will be no slash whatsoever in this story (unless otherwise noted), but there will be deep friendships.
Chapter One: Possessive
Summary: Frodo is possessive. Sam is worried.
Possessive: 1. (adj) If someone is possessive, the person wants to keep someone or something for him/herself and does not want to share it.
2. (noun) The form of a noun or pronoun that shows that something belongs to the one being referred to.
For the purposes of this fic, I will be using the first definition. Definitions come from the Scholastic Children's Dictionary.
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all related
characters, settings, events, etc. belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. The
Scholastic Children's Dictionary, from which all words and definitions will be
taken, belongs to Scholastic. I make no money from this venture.
The land was rocky and bleak, everything being covered in filth and blanketed with evil. The whole land had an entirely unfriendly appearance. Every particle of dust, every rock from pebble to boulder, and every breath of hot air blown about the land seemed to scream at the two hobbits to leave now and never return. Indeed if they had their choice that is exactly what they would do, but they were bound to this Quest by a promise made long ago in a land so far away that each wondered if perhaps it had been an imaginary place.
Onward the hobbits trudged, one behind the other. They were quite nearly undistinguishable from the rocks they were surrounded by, due to the grey cloaks they wore and the coating of dust they wore from head to foot. The only difference was that the two hobbits were moving, while the rocks sat still and silent. Their movement was slow and they were hindered by exhaustion and despair. The path they took was long and dangerous, from the mountainsides they scaled to the sudden chasms that would appear underfoot, as well as the ever-present threat of being discovered by the Enemy.
The trailing hobbit was Samwise Gamgee, loyal and faithful servant to Frodo Baggins, the second hobbit who was leading them blindly towards the fiery mountain in the distance. Their guide, Gollum, had been lost days ago, or had it been weeks ago? Sam no longer kept track of the passing days, as they had no meaning. The one thing that had meaning anymore was currently on a chain around Frodo's neck.
Sam's thoughts were constantly occupied with naught but one thing. Frodo. He ignored his own aches and pains as he looked after his dear master, wanting him to be as comfortable as possible. In the beginning of their long journey, that job had been simple. Food was plentiful, water was easy to get, and they stopped for rest often. They were guided by people with experience, people who knew the way, not by a hobbit who had never been outside of Hobbiton.
Now that Frodo and Sam were in Mordor, nearing the end of their journey, making Frodo comfortable was getting near impossible.
Frodo's thoughts were constantly occupied with one thing. The Ring. Day by day, with each footstep, the Ring grew heavier and heavier and Sam's worry increased. Sam would watch Frodo as they walked or while they rested. His hands would twitch, his fingers would curl around an invisible object, and his eyes would close in pain until he gave in and reached for the Ring, just holding it loosely in his grasp until Sam would gently pull his hand away. Frodo never seemed to notice Sam; too lost was he in a world Sam could never reach.
Sam realized Frodo's lead had increased whilst he was lost in his thoughts. He quickened his pace until he came up even beside Frodo. The dark-haired hobbit made no acknowledgement that he knew Sam was there beside him. His hand was clutching the Ring, clawing at his chest and pulling on the chain. Frodo's normally vibrant blue eyes had clouded over with desire, making them appear dull and grey.
"Mister Frodo, maybe we should stop to rest," Sam suggested hesitantly. Frodo did not respond but continued to trudge in the direction of Mount Doom. Sam put his hand out, reaching toward the wrist of the hand that held the Ring.
With a sudden burst of strength Sam did not think Frodo possessed, the older hobbit smacked Sam's hand away, lunging at him suddenly. Frodo snarled and pushed the unprepared Sam to the ground, grabbing his hand and pinning it above his head.
"Mister Frodo!" Sam gasped, taken aback by this sudden display of viciousness. "Mister Frodo, it's me! It's Sam! I'm not gonna hurt you! I wasn't tryin' to take it! Please, Mister Frodo, don't you know that I just want to help you?"
The fierce, wild look in Frodo's eyes gradually faded away. Very slowly, he released his hold on Sam and rose to his feet. With his eyes shimmering with tears, he offered a hand and pulled his faithful servant to his feet, then enclosed him in a loose embrace.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. You must understand, it wasn't me who attacked you –it was the Ring."
"I know, Mister Frodo. I know," Sam replied, awkwardly stroking Frodo's hair in an attempt to comfort him. Frodo pulled out of his grasp, turning back towards the mountain of fire and restarting the slow, tedious pace.
"Mister Frodo, wouldn't you like to rest for a bit? You look so tired…" Sam trailed off, waiting for Frodo to respond. The despondent hobbit cast a long look at Sam, his eyes full of sadness and regret.
"I'm always tired, Sam. It's always weighing me down." Sam knew without asking what "it" was. He looked at the Ring with loathing, wishing that it had never come to Bag End and that he could still be a simple gardener back home in the Shire. Frodo continued, "Resting won't help me, but if you want to rest, we can. I'm sorry I brought you here, Sam. I'm so sorry I brought this upon you."
"Don't be sorry, Mister Frodo. It was my choice to come along with you, and I couldn't of made any other choice. I'll go with you to the end, until we haven't anywhere else to go. Wherever you lead me, I'll follow you." Sam came forward and put his arm around Frodo, marveling at how thin and frail he felt. As they took a few stumbling steps together, Sam eyed the Ring that glinted brightly in the dark and dreary environment. Frodo caught Sam's stare, and with a snarl his hand shot up the hold the Ring.
"It's mine, Sam! You can't have it!" Frodo announced, wrenching himself away from Sam's friendly arm and moving ahead. Sam stared after him, frozen for a moment in shock. His dear friend, his kind master, Master Frodo of Bag End, was unrecognizable now. He was blinded by the powers of the Ring, his judgment impaired to the point that he no longer recognized friend from foe. Sauron's evil was eating away at Frodo little by little, and there was nothing Sam could do to help.
With a long, heavy sigh, Sam collected himself and continued walking, following a few steps behind Frodo, whose hand was still clawing at his chest, the Ring enclosed in his dirty, grimy hand.
In the distance, the mountain rumbled, spewing fire into the air. Frodo muttered something, his other hand now coming up so he could hold the Ring between both palms. Sam's heart fell to the dirty, dusty ground, where it lay amongst the jagged rocks, weeping bitterly.