Faramir Fiction Archive

Gollum the Great (NC-17)

Written by Ithiliana

08 September 2006 | 6825 words | Work in Progress

Part Seven

He did not wish to wake, kept eyes closed. He was lying on softness, wrapped in warmth. He could breathe easily. A memory of pain lingered. He stretched, feeling clean linen against skin, then froze at the sound of a soft scrape, a cough, and smelt smoke.

“Frodo.”

The voice was low and soothing, seemed kind. He opened his eyes, seeing stone walls, a small room. A window opened on green and sunlight in the wall opposite his small bed and next to him sat a large figure, a bearded man, clad in white, smoking a pipe.

“How do you feel?” The man leaned forward, white teeth gleaming.

Cowering from the large body looming over him, he burrowed under the bedding, his heart racing. Something snarled in the back of his mind, waiting for him.

“Frodo!”

He shook his head. He would not answer. Could not.

Hands stripped away his cover, gripped his shoulders to pull him, twisting and clawing, into the light.

The thin cry startled him until he realized he was making it. A bitter odor, heavy in his throat, rose from where the pipe lay smoldering on the bed. He kicked, frantic, at the man who stood, easily holding him until, exhausted, he hung limp in the large hands.

Keen eyes underneath bushy brows watched him closely, seemed to strip him. He closed his eyes, wishing he was back in the cave with the man who had been kind.

He was lowered to the bed and sat, panting. After a moment he was released, but he did not move save to open his eyes.

The man stood within arm’s length, watching him. He staredat the hands that had held him, wary.

The man sighed, shook his head. “I had not realized how dire things are, that you do not know me. Can you even speak?” After a silence, he continued. “So you cannot even tell me what happened to Sam.”

Only one word touched him. He raised his head, dared to whisper. “Sam?”

The man smiled at him. “Yes, Sam. So you remember Sam. That heartens me. Can you tell me what happened, Frodo?”

He shook his head, not understanding.

The man stepped closer, picking up the pipe.

Wrapping his arms around his knees, he made himself as small as possible as the man reached out to touch his head.

“Sleep, sleep and heal, my friend.”

His eyes heavy, he felt his head fall, felt himself tumble forward, limbs loose. He could sleep safely here.

He woke suddenly, in the dark, heart pounding. He’d heard something, he did not know what. Perhaps a hiss. Perhaps leathery wings beating the air high above his head.

He was sweating, the bedding damp under and around him. He pushed back the blankets, slid out of the low bed. Slivers of light outlined a door. He walked as softly as he could across the room, stood by the door listening.

Quiet.

He fumbled across wood until he found the latch and pulled. The door opened a crack, and he peered out. More stone walls. Lamps high on the walls burned with steady flames. He closed his eyes, listening as hard as he could.

No sound.

He slipped through the door and into the passage, the stone striking cold up through his feet. He wrapped his arms around himself, holding the loose robe close. One way, the passage seemed to run into shadow. He looked the other way, could see moonlight on the floor. He turned to walk that way.

When he reached the patch of light, he saw it shone through an open door. He hesitated. As he stood, afraid to pass, he heard a rustle, a low mutter. He recognized the voice.

He was shivering but forced himself to step inside the room. His eyes adjusted to the silver light and he easily saw the dark shape in the bed. Even in the cool light, redgold hair gleamed.

Drawn to the side of the tall bed, he stood, feeling the pounding of his heart, the harsh rasp of his breath drowning out the quiet breathing of the sleeper. He could feel the warmth.

He would be safe here.

He folded the bedding back, climbed carefully up. His legs tangled in the too-large robe, and when he was sitting beside the warm shape, he tugged the damp cloth off, tossing it onto the floor. The air chilled against his skin, and he lay down, tugging the bedding back up over them.

Warmth soaked into him and he stretched, sliding closer, feeling the arm wrap around him, sliding his own arm across the broad chest. Wrapped in moonlight, feeling the heat from the large body next to him, he sighed.

Now he could sleep.

To Be Continued

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