Title: The Choice
Summary:
Shortly after his stabbing at Weathertop,
Frodo finds himself
wondering if he should hold on to
his life, or himself slip into
darkness. As he
considers this, he remembers an incident in his
past
that helps him make the decision.
Disclaimer:
I own nothing and receive no payment for
this writing, other than
the feedback of its readers.
Pain.
That was the last thing Frodo remembered
clearly. The terrifying
figure of the Witch King
standing over him, his face dead white
and ravished
by decay had almost paralyzed him with fear.
Almost,
but not quite. Many thoughts flashed through Frodo's
mind
at that moment, but what really struck him was
what would happen
to his friends if he were killed.
The Nazgul would take the Ring,
and then probably go
after them too. Frodo knew he couldn't let
this
happen.
As the Witch King drew his Mordor knife,
Frodo's
fingers tightened around his sword and he lunged
forward
as the Nazgul struck at his heart. This
unexpected resistance had
no doubt saved him from
being killed instantly, but Frodo almost
regretted
that as the knife plunged into his shoulder.
The
freezing, burning pain was worse than anything he
could
have imagined and grew worse every second.
Frodo was certain he
could never forget it.
Amazingly, however, he did seem to be forgetting it.
A short
time after his stabbing, he found himself reflecting
on
the attack with a curious detachment, like a
nightmare after
waking. He had done the right thing
in resisting the Nazgul, but
now that Strider the
Ranger had driven them off, he felt
reasonably certain
his friends were safe and all he needed to do
was hold
on to his own life.
Your life is over, a voice
seemed to whisper in the
dark. Give it up now and be at peace for
all
eternity.
Frodo was startled. Was it true? Had the
Witch King
killed him after all? No, he realized somehow that
his
life was still in his own hands. For how long he
had no idea, but
at this point the decision was his.
It was a strange feeling,
having the choice of life
and death before him. As Frodo
considered this, he
began to get the strangest feeling that this
had
happened to him before. Of course, that was
impossible. Or
was it? At that moment, an incident
from the past came to his
mind. Memories of pain and
terror, albeit for an important reason,
and finally
the choice between consciousness and shock, leading
to
possible death.
Frodo and Bilbo had
just finished preparing for a big
Yule celebration.
They had spend
the whole day
cooking,
baking and decorating Bag End, but
now
everything
seemed ready for their guests. The holiday
roast
was
cooking, the cakes had been frosted and
trays of candied
fruit, cheese, crackers and spreads
were prepared, ready
to be
placed on the small tables
in the sitting room.
"Would
you like me to take these in now?" Frodo asked,
pointing to
the refreshments.
"No, Frodo, you've done enough,"
Bilbo told him. "You
can sit down and rest."
Accordingly,
Frodo went into the sitting room to rest
until the first of their
visitors arrived. He smiled
as he looked around; everything seemed
perfect. A
large fire was blazing in the fire place, making
the
room bright and comfortable and a copper top filled
with
tea gleamed on a small wood stove. Sparkling
peppermint scented
candles burned on the mantles, the
pine boughs that decorated the
walls filled the room
with their fragrance and the bright red and
gold
ribbons they were tied with made the room look very
festive.
There was a knock on the door, however,
before Frodo had much time
to admire everything.
Smiling, he went out to see the
guests.
"Fwodo, Fwodo!" a small voice cried
excitedly. Frodo
looked down and saw a sandy haired hobbit
toddler
running towards him.
"Well hello, Pippin! It's
so good to see you again!"
Frodo exclaimed, scooping Pippin
up and giving him a
kiss and a hug. After Pippin's family had
been
greeted and they all made their way into the sitting
room,
a large box of toys quickly caught Pippin's
attention.
"You
play with me?" Pippin asked, looking eagerly at
his cousin,
then at the toys.
"Maybe later, Pippin, I feel a bit
tired right now,"
Frodo told him, "but if you like I can
tell you some
stories."
"No. I play now,"
Pippin exclaimed, sliding off
Frodo's lap and proceeding to toss a
big red ball
around the room.
"He certainly is an
active child," Bilbo commented, as
they watched Pippin's high
spirited games.
"You have no idea!" his mother laughed.
Pippin dashed around the room after his
ball,
shrieking with excitement. Unfortunately, his game
brought
him closer to the wood stove before anyone
realized it. Another
toy on the other side of the
room caught Pippin's attention and
because of the
distraction, he lost his balance and fell
forward.
"Pippin! No!" Frodo cried, jumping up and
flinging
himself between his small cousin and hot stove.
Pippin
was knocked backwards, out of harm's way but
Frodo's clothes got
singed instantly and then flared
up. Frodo stared in horrified
disbelief as Bilbo
doused him a large bucket water that was always
kept
as a precaution, even though no one thought it would
actually
be used.
Frodo fell to the ground and saw Pippin out the
corner
of his eye, badly frightened but otherwise
apparentally
unhurt. It was then that he became aware
of his own injuries. The
adrenalin coursing his body
had temporarily kept him from feeling
any pain, but
the burns on his right side and hip were now
becoming
so painful he thought he would pass out and at the
same
time, he wished he could. He clenched his teeth
together to keep
from screaming as Bilbo carried him
into a bedroom to tend to him
until a healer could be
found.
Frodo's vision seemed to
fade and he began to get
light-headed when Bilbo laid him on the
bed and
carefully began to cut the burned clothing off him.
He
could hear the sound of herbal tea being prepared
to ease his pain
and he felt Bilbo cover his burns
with a cool, wet sheet, but
somehow it no longer
seemed real to him. The pain was still there,
but
his reaction to it lessened. He wondered at that time
if he
was going to die. Dying might not be a bad
thing, he reasoned to
himself. The pain would be gone
for good and he wouldn't relive
this awful accident in
his memory.
As his will to live
began to slip, however, he became
aware of another presence in the
room and he heard
someone crying, faintly at first but now the
sound was
clear and unmistakable. Opening his eyes, he saw
Pippin,
who had slipped in unnoticed and was sitting
on the bed next to
him. Pippin was visibly
trembling, his face frightening pale with
tears
pouring from his eyes. Frodo's heart nearly broke at
the
sight of this and he realized he had to hold on,
for Pippin's sake
if nothing else. Forcing himself
to stay awake and smile, he
reached up and stroked
Pippin's face gently.
"Don't cry,
Pip," he whispered. "Everything is going
to be all
right."
Fortunately the healer had
arrived quickly and treated
Frodo's injuries to prevent infection
and scarring
didn't become excessive. Frodo thought about
this
every time he looked at his right hip and side. That
was
an awful experience and no mistake, but he would
do again it in a
heartbeat. He didn't dare think what
would have happened to Pippin
otherwise. Would he
have the strength to resist the Nazgul again,
he
wondered. Yes, he would find it although he had no
clear
idea where it would come from. For now however,
the question was
did he want to live. Yes, Frodo
decided, he did. He remembered how
devastating his
first injury was to his family and he certainly
didn't
want to put them through that again. Besides, Gandalf
had
him given a job to do. It was his responsibility
to take the One
Ring to Rivendell.
Suddenly, a rush of air filled his lungs
making him
gasp painfully. His eyes shot open. The first thing
he
saw was Strider kneeling beside him with both his
hands on Frodo's
chest. The next thing was Sam and
Merry falling to knees, their
expressions a mixed of
shock and relief.
"Mr. Frodo! You're alive!" he heard Sam cry.
"Thank goodness!"
Merry breathed. "We all thought we
lost you!"
"What
happened?" Frodo asked. This was a lot for his
mind to
process so quickly.
"Your heart stopped for over a
minute," Strider told
him. "I was able to re-start it by
breathing for you
and giving you chest compressions but frankly,
that
very seldom works. This is a miracle, no question
about
it."
"My heart stopped?" Frodo went limp with
horror. He
should be dead, he realized. Then he remembered, he
had
chosen life, and he was glad he as did looked up
at his friends
and saw the joy and relief on their
faces. As Strider unbuttoned
his shirt however, to
gently check his ribs and see if the
compressions had
damaged them, Frodo noticed something
alarming:
Pippin was no where to be seen.
"Where
is... ?" Frodo's eyes darted around anxiously
looking for
him, then he sighed with relief as Strider
brought Pippin to his
side.
"He was off by himself, a short distance from
the
fire," the Ranger explained. "This was all too
much
for him, no doubt."
Pippin was frighteningly pale
and visibly trembling
with tears pouring from his eyes. Frodo
seeing this,
smiled with feeling, reached up and stroked
Pippin's
face gently.
"Don't cry, Pip," he
whispered. "Everything is going
to be all right."