F :: "Night Watch"
Title : "Night Watch"
Chapter : 1/1
Genre : Fanfiction - LotR - angst/general
Characters : Frodo Baggins
Date Completed : August 10, 2003
Word Count : 1786
Rating : G
About : While taking his shift on watch one night in Wilderland, the Ring weighs heavy against Frodo's mind and his thoughts wonder to the members of the Fellowship. He knows he has to leave to save them, but can he really do it? No slash. This is this is both my first Frodo fic and my first attempt at writing in first person.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
A chilled breeze blows through the trees above me. I cannot see the branches moving, but I can hear the whistling of the wind as it passes through its leaves. All else is silent but for the rustling; the rest of the world sleeps as I take watch.
It’s cold. I wrap the blanket tighter around myself, but it doesn’t help. I’m always cold now, and nothing helps to lift the freeze; it’s the kind of cold one feels from the inside. I’ve felt it since Weathertop.
My legs ache and feel stiff from being kept in odd angles while in the Elvish boats. I stretch them out in front of me and lean back against the cool bark of a large tree behind me. The Ring rests heavily against my chest. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, trying to will my thoughts away from it. It feels hot against the coolness of my skin. At times it burns as if it’d just been lifted out of a great fire; other times it burns as though it’d been left in an ice box over night.
It grows heavier by the day; I can feel it. Every day it presses a bit harder against my chest and weighs heavier on my neck than it had the day before. Every day I think that if it were to get any heavier, I’d collapse, yet somehow the next day I always manage to stand it, just for one day longer.
Sometimes I think I can hear voices in my head. They’ve also grown louder and stronger as I’ve grown more tired and weak. They’ve been in my dreams mostly, but now they’ve started to haunt my conscious mind. I can’t understand what they’re saying; they whisper dark things in some dark and foreign language. I wish they would go away. Whenever they speak, I feel the full weight of the Ring upon my mind and I want to cry out in pain. That terrible, wonderful pain…
I look down at the chain that hangs like a noose around my neck. The band at the end gleams in the faint, moonless light. I feel breathless as I look at it; how could I hate something so awfully beautiful? My hand twitches on the ground beside me and I catch my quivering lip between my teeth. My hand slowly lifts from the ground and my eyes follow to watch it as if it were in another world. The fingers uncoil and begin shaking with want as they reach out to touch the smooth, golden surface…
No. I tightly close my eyes against the sight of the Ring and will the voices out of my head. The hand stops, reluctantly closes back into a fist, and slowly rests back against the hard floor. I can just now feel my heart racing and my fast breathing. Beads of sweat roll down my brow and I struggle to reclaim control over my body. This happens every day, and every day it becomes harder and takes longer to recover my composure. One day, I may not be able to recover, and the thought terrifies me.
Within a few moments, all returns to the uneventful silence of before. My throat feels dry and parched, but I don’t reach for the water; it wouldn’t do me any good. I shiver as the wave of cold once again washes over my body. I turn my eyes from the vacant space before me to look around the camp. The other members of the Fellowship lie sleeping before me. I count them silently and feel a familiar rush of grief; there are only seven of them. Not too long ago, I would have counted eight.
I once again wrap my thin blanket around me and pull my legs up to rest my chin on my knees. I let out a sigh as another emotion creeps into my mind: I’m lonely. I don’t mind this emotion quite so much; it’s more simple and pleasant compared to others. I know more about being lonely than I do about battling voices; I’ve spent most of my life feeling lonely. After my parents died, I managed to feel alone among the hoards of Brandybucks in Brandy Hall. However, it did improve when Bilbo took me in and I met Sam and played games with Merry, Pippin, and Fatty Bolger. But much as I tried to escape it, loneliness is a well known feeling to most inhabitants of Bag End.
But even the loneliness here is different than at home. Even when I’m with my closest friends, I feel separated from them. When they talk to me, their voices sound distorted and distant. When I look at them, I can almost see the Ring hanging between us, preventing anything from breaking the invisible barrier that’s encompassed me. I can now begin to understand the Lady of the Light when she told me that “to be a Ring bearer is to be alone”. It feels as though I can talk to no one, for no one would understand. If I told them what I’ve seen in even my least disturbing nightmares, they’d think I was crazy; they’d say I was cracked. I don’t mind when people I don’t care for think such things, but I couldn’t stand to see my own companions look at me as though I were insane. So it’s best just to keep everything to myself.
Maybe there’s a reason I should feel alone. Maybe I deserve to be alone. I look once again at the sleeping members of the Fellowship. They don’t deserve this, and they’ve already done too much for me. They’ve been walking, running, and hiding for the past several weeks, all because of me. They’ve feasted on stale bread and putrid meat (if any) and drank murky water, all to help me. They’re risking their life every day, just to guide me. Gandalf died because of me, and I’ll be damned if I let that happen again. Traveling with me is like a death sentence, and if anyone else is lost, I’ll never forgive myself. There’s only one thing I can do to ensure that doesn’t happen.
I let out a heavy sigh. It’s decided then: I have to leave to save them from the Ring. If I don’t leave now, it’ll claim them all until I really am alone, without a single friend to turn to, and I can’t let that happen. I stand on my shaking legs and draw a ragged breath. I pull my pack up from the ground, stuff the small blanket into it, and fit it on my back. I slowly begin picking my way forward, carefully stepping around the dark forms just barely visible in the dark night.
As I walk slowly through the camp, I only hope that they will understand in the morning. I pass by Aragorn’s motionless figure and feel a hint of relief; he’ll understand. If no one else does, at least he will. Maybe he’ll be able to explain it to the others.
I come to Merry and Pippin and force myself to move past them. I have to close my eyes and remind myself as I pass that I would much rather see them last as sleeping forms than as stiff bodies. As I walk by them, I open my eyes again and stop to stare down at the body before me.
Sam. Dear, sweet, loyal Sam. A knot begins to form in my throat. Would Sam understand? Would he know that I’m only leaving to save him from a terrible end? Would he know that I wished with all my heart to be able to take him along, but can’t allow myself to do it?
As I look down on the sleeping figure, another question rises in my mind: can I really bring myself to leave him? I have to, and I know it, but can I really do it? He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and he deserves a full and wonderful life, but I can’t seem to summon the courage to step around him.
I turn my eyes to the stretch of forest before me. ‘Wilderland’ Aragorn called it. Whatever it was called, I don’t like it. I’ve never seen blackness as deep as the one that is laid before me now. A great fear begins to inch into my mind. Can I really do this alone?
I shake my head to recover my wits and take a deep breath. It doesn’t matter whether or not I can do this alone, I simply have to. To allow anyone to come with me would be selfish. I close my eyes and take a step. I hold my breath and take another. I slowly begin inching away from the camp and the rest of the Fellowship.
I begin to quicken my pace and pull my foot lightly across the forest floor. My toe catches on something and I hold back a cry as I fall to the ground. I lie motionless for a great amount of time, mentally feeling around for any breaks or injuries. There was nothing worse than a cut on my knee. I gradually pull myself up to sit on the ground as I reach forward and pull the offender towards me to see what caused me to trip.
It was Sam’s pack. I smile despite myself; Sam managed to hold me back even in his sleep. I cautiously stand and walk back to Sam to put his pack beside him.
Before I can turn back to the dark forest, I catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. Legolas stirs slightly from the area where he’d been sitting in a trance during my watch. I look up to the faint light hidden in the clouds that is the moon. It’s past midnight by now; my turn is almost over. If I were to leave now, I wouldn’t get far enough before the Elf ‘woke up’ and found me again, especially not in this light. I only have my exceptionally sharp eyes to guide by; Legolas has both the eyes and ears of a hawk.
I let out a deep sigh and slowly begin making my way back to the tree I’d started my watch at. I sink down to the ground by its trunk and my heavy lids cover my dry eyes. I’ll just have to wait for another time to get away, without fear of being discovered too soon. Until that time came, however, I’ll have to sit patiently under the trees and listen as a cold wind whistles between their mighty branches…
Chapter : 1/1
Genre : Fanfiction - LotR - angst/general
Characters : Frodo Baggins
Date Completed : August 10, 2003
Word Count : 1786
Rating : G
About : While taking his shift on watch one night in Wilderland, the Ring weighs heavy against Frodo's mind and his thoughts wonder to the members of the Fellowship. He knows he has to leave to save them, but can he really do it? No slash. This is this is both my first Frodo fic and my first attempt at writing in first person.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
A chilled breeze blows through the trees above me. I cannot see the branches moving, but I can hear the whistling of the wind as it passes through its leaves. All else is silent but for the rustling; the rest of the world sleeps as I take watch.
It’s cold. I wrap the blanket tighter around myself, but it doesn’t help. I’m always cold now, and nothing helps to lift the freeze; it’s the kind of cold one feels from the inside. I’ve felt it since Weathertop.
My legs ache and feel stiff from being kept in odd angles while in the Elvish boats. I stretch them out in front of me and lean back against the cool bark of a large tree behind me. The Ring rests heavily against my chest. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, trying to will my thoughts away from it. It feels hot against the coolness of my skin. At times it burns as if it’d just been lifted out of a great fire; other times it burns as though it’d been left in an ice box over night.
It grows heavier by the day; I can feel it. Every day it presses a bit harder against my chest and weighs heavier on my neck than it had the day before. Every day I think that if it were to get any heavier, I’d collapse, yet somehow the next day I always manage to stand it, just for one day longer.
Sometimes I think I can hear voices in my head. They’ve also grown louder and stronger as I’ve grown more tired and weak. They’ve been in my dreams mostly, but now they’ve started to haunt my conscious mind. I can’t understand what they’re saying; they whisper dark things in some dark and foreign language. I wish they would go away. Whenever they speak, I feel the full weight of the Ring upon my mind and I want to cry out in pain. That terrible, wonderful pain…
I look down at the chain that hangs like a noose around my neck. The band at the end gleams in the faint, moonless light. I feel breathless as I look at it; how could I hate something so awfully beautiful? My hand twitches on the ground beside me and I catch my quivering lip between my teeth. My hand slowly lifts from the ground and my eyes follow to watch it as if it were in another world. The fingers uncoil and begin shaking with want as they reach out to touch the smooth, golden surface…
No. I tightly close my eyes against the sight of the Ring and will the voices out of my head. The hand stops, reluctantly closes back into a fist, and slowly rests back against the hard floor. I can just now feel my heart racing and my fast breathing. Beads of sweat roll down my brow and I struggle to reclaim control over my body. This happens every day, and every day it becomes harder and takes longer to recover my composure. One day, I may not be able to recover, and the thought terrifies me.
Within a few moments, all returns to the uneventful silence of before. My throat feels dry and parched, but I don’t reach for the water; it wouldn’t do me any good. I shiver as the wave of cold once again washes over my body. I turn my eyes from the vacant space before me to look around the camp. The other members of the Fellowship lie sleeping before me. I count them silently and feel a familiar rush of grief; there are only seven of them. Not too long ago, I would have counted eight.
I once again wrap my thin blanket around me and pull my legs up to rest my chin on my knees. I let out a sigh as another emotion creeps into my mind: I’m lonely. I don’t mind this emotion quite so much; it’s more simple and pleasant compared to others. I know more about being lonely than I do about battling voices; I’ve spent most of my life feeling lonely. After my parents died, I managed to feel alone among the hoards of Brandybucks in Brandy Hall. However, it did improve when Bilbo took me in and I met Sam and played games with Merry, Pippin, and Fatty Bolger. But much as I tried to escape it, loneliness is a well known feeling to most inhabitants of Bag End.
But even the loneliness here is different than at home. Even when I’m with my closest friends, I feel separated from them. When they talk to me, their voices sound distorted and distant. When I look at them, I can almost see the Ring hanging between us, preventing anything from breaking the invisible barrier that’s encompassed me. I can now begin to understand the Lady of the Light when she told me that “to be a Ring bearer is to be alone”. It feels as though I can talk to no one, for no one would understand. If I told them what I’ve seen in even my least disturbing nightmares, they’d think I was crazy; they’d say I was cracked. I don’t mind when people I don’t care for think such things, but I couldn’t stand to see my own companions look at me as though I were insane. So it’s best just to keep everything to myself.
Maybe there’s a reason I should feel alone. Maybe I deserve to be alone. I look once again at the sleeping members of the Fellowship. They don’t deserve this, and they’ve already done too much for me. They’ve been walking, running, and hiding for the past several weeks, all because of me. They’ve feasted on stale bread and putrid meat (if any) and drank murky water, all to help me. They’re risking their life every day, just to guide me. Gandalf died because of me, and I’ll be damned if I let that happen again. Traveling with me is like a death sentence, and if anyone else is lost, I’ll never forgive myself. There’s only one thing I can do to ensure that doesn’t happen.
I let out a heavy sigh. It’s decided then: I have to leave to save them from the Ring. If I don’t leave now, it’ll claim them all until I really am alone, without a single friend to turn to, and I can’t let that happen. I stand on my shaking legs and draw a ragged breath. I pull my pack up from the ground, stuff the small blanket into it, and fit it on my back. I slowly begin picking my way forward, carefully stepping around the dark forms just barely visible in the dark night.
As I walk slowly through the camp, I only hope that they will understand in the morning. I pass by Aragorn’s motionless figure and feel a hint of relief; he’ll understand. If no one else does, at least he will. Maybe he’ll be able to explain it to the others.
I come to Merry and Pippin and force myself to move past them. I have to close my eyes and remind myself as I pass that I would much rather see them last as sleeping forms than as stiff bodies. As I walk by them, I open my eyes again and stop to stare down at the body before me.
Sam. Dear, sweet, loyal Sam. A knot begins to form in my throat. Would Sam understand? Would he know that I’m only leaving to save him from a terrible end? Would he know that I wished with all my heart to be able to take him along, but can’t allow myself to do it?
As I look down on the sleeping figure, another question rises in my mind: can I really bring myself to leave him? I have to, and I know it, but can I really do it? He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and he deserves a full and wonderful life, but I can’t seem to summon the courage to step around him.
I turn my eyes to the stretch of forest before me. ‘Wilderland’ Aragorn called it. Whatever it was called, I don’t like it. I’ve never seen blackness as deep as the one that is laid before me now. A great fear begins to inch into my mind. Can I really do this alone?
I shake my head to recover my wits and take a deep breath. It doesn’t matter whether or not I can do this alone, I simply have to. To allow anyone to come with me would be selfish. I close my eyes and take a step. I hold my breath and take another. I slowly begin inching away from the camp and the rest of the Fellowship.
I begin to quicken my pace and pull my foot lightly across the forest floor. My toe catches on something and I hold back a cry as I fall to the ground. I lie motionless for a great amount of time, mentally feeling around for any breaks or injuries. There was nothing worse than a cut on my knee. I gradually pull myself up to sit on the ground as I reach forward and pull the offender towards me to see what caused me to trip.
It was Sam’s pack. I smile despite myself; Sam managed to hold me back even in his sleep. I cautiously stand and walk back to Sam to put his pack beside him.
Before I can turn back to the dark forest, I catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. Legolas stirs slightly from the area where he’d been sitting in a trance during my watch. I look up to the faint light hidden in the clouds that is the moon. It’s past midnight by now; my turn is almost over. If I were to leave now, I wouldn’t get far enough before the Elf ‘woke up’ and found me again, especially not in this light. I only have my exceptionally sharp eyes to guide by; Legolas has both the eyes and ears of a hawk.
I let out a deep sigh and slowly begin making my way back to the tree I’d started my watch at. I sink down to the ground by its trunk and my heavy lids cover my dry eyes. I’ll just have to wait for another time to get away, without fear of being discovered too soon. Until that time came, however, I’ll have to sit patiently under the trees and listen as a cold wind whistles between their mighty branches…