A Message from Mordor by LadySunrope
Summary: Gandalf wasn't there at the time....
Suppose the Ringwraiths weren't the first strike by the Dark Lord?
Suppose Sauron had tried once before..........
With the help of a certain gardener........
Categories: FPS, FPS > Frodo/Sam, FPS > Sam/Frodo Characters: Frodo, Sam
Type: None
Warning: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 2887 Read: 1350 Published: March 20, 2009 Updated: March 20, 2009
Story Notes:
Who is to say when Gollum actually screamed out Shire ! Baggins!

1. Chapter 1 by LadySunrope

Chapter 1 by LadySunrope
Gandalf wasn't there at the time....
Suppose the Ringwraiths weren't the first strike by the Dark Lord?
Suppose Sauron had tried once before..........
With the help of a certain gardener........


The pedlar stands at the gate, admiring the garden. Sam is about to chase him away but notices the parcels. Shoots of green peep out enticingly. Sam is curious and wants to know more.

The pedlar can only tell him that these plants are special and so very different. Only careful hands will raise them. Only expert eyes will see their needs. Only a true gardener will reap the benefits of his labour. Sam has just tidied the garden and the empty spaces offend him. He longs for something different and the mysterious plants are too tempting.

He wastes no time finding them a home in the rich moist earth. Yet even his gardening skills cannot save two of them. They die in the rich Hobbiton soil and Sam cannot say why. The remaining one does not. It thrives. It grows. Cherished by Sam. His tender,loving care, gentle touches and sweet words of encouragement cause the plant to stretch out runners as if it needs to be touched. Or to touch something.

The garden at Bag End is impressive. And Sam is proud. He is proudest of all of his newest addition. It is strong and beautiful. Glossy, green leaves, full and succulent. It's runners cling,tendrils winding gently round an object within hours. It trembles, it shimmers. Sam does not know it's name but it has a place in his heart.

The other occupant of Sam's heart is also fascinated by the plant. It makes an excellent diversion from the worry of Bilbo leaving and Gandalf's strange behaviour regarding Bilbo's ring. Frodo is not smitten by the look of the plant. He likes the way it responds to Sam. He likes the happiness he sees in Sam's face as he tends it.

One day Frodo suggests that it would be a fine plant if only it could be trained to climb instead of spreading outwards. Sam takes up the challenge,makes a trellis outside one of the windows and moves the plant.

It is an inspired decision. The plant grows upwards and around the trellis. Creeping,curling,entering nooks and crannies. Anchoring itself to it's new home. The one Sam has made for it.

Sam wonders if it will blossom,but the plant shows no sign. He feeds it with a special mixture he has made himself. He talks to the plant. He tells it that this might work. A special mixture for a special plant. As he pours the mixture onto the roots the leaves tremble as if they might fall. Noticing they do not look as glossy as usual he sponges each leaf,laying each one gently on his palm. The whole plant shimmers its' thanks.

Frodo notices a curious thing. When the wind blows the plant is still. Unmoving as if carved from stone. Yet if Sam goes near each leaf trembles and vibrates in his presence. It makes Sam laugh when Frodo mentions it but afterwards, before he goes home he sees for himself the truth of Frodo's words. He whispers his thanks for the honour and asks for the blessings of flowers.

When he moves the garden seat Sam notices. Tight lemon buds like wrapped fingers,nestling amongst green leaves. Sam touches one with his finger. "Bless you" he whispers and hopes the plant understands. Within hours the tendrils have embraced the seat and all who see it say it looks as if it has been that way for years.

The next evening Frodo and Sam sit together on the seat,watching the sun go down. Their relationship is still new,still blossoming. Like the plant that overhangs them. "It's beautiful here,thanks to you, Sam" "I don't rightly know about that. It's just growing things. But you're right about the beauty here." Frodo laughs softly. "I'm not talking about the plants, Sam" Sam blushes but is equally insistent. "Neither am I, Mr Frodo."

There is silence and an unspoken decision made. Wordlessly they embrace and kiss. Tendrils tighten on the wood. Hands touch skin in wonder. Leaves tremble and curl. Gasps and moans at fire filled kisses. Buds clench in anger at each sound.

Frodo pulls Sam to his feet. "Will you stay with me tonight? And his voice like his face,is filled with longing. Sam looks behind him, through the window to Frodo's bedroom. His heart leaps with joy as his mind jangles with nervousness. "I would like that." Sam says shyly. And the plant shudders from root to tip.

For Frodo and Sam the night is one of joy and passion. Sharing thoughts and secrets,exploring hearts and bodies. Their world holds just the two of them,there is no room for more. They do not see the tendrils winding hard around the window ledge. They do not hear the leaves battering on the glass. Or the splintering of wood at the precise moment of Sam's joy when he calls out Frodo's name.

The next morning Sam wakes suddenly. He is convinced someone is calling him. Yet Frodo still sleeps. The room is bathed in a golden light and he dresses quickly to find its source. He goes outside and is overwhelmed by the beauty he sees,a far greater beauty than the one he has just left. Golden star blossoms shining with brightness. Yellow stamens thick with pollen. And a perfume that makes Sam's head swim. It is so glorious he gasps with joy. "My perfect one, my precious."

Frodo,ever observant,notices two things about the plant the next day. The blossoms only open in full when Sam is near. If he walks past, the blooms move to follow his path.

"You are it's sun" says Frodo jokingly "I don't want to be." says Sam feeling rather foolish.

"Then,perhaps you will be mine?" and the smile on Frodo's lips shows that the sun and Sam are one and the same to Frodo. "I'd rather be your Sam if it's all the same."

Sam's reply is rewarded by a shower of sweet kisses. The pollen laden stamens stiffen like daggers. A cloud of tiny yellow grains erupt into the air.

That afternoon in the hot and heavy stillness Frodo starts to sneeze. Again and again. Sam is not so concerned. He makes Frodo a herbal drink, tucks him up in bed and opens the window to allow fresh air into the room. The smell of flowers fills it.

Sam wonders if it is too much but Frodo likes the smell because Sam does. Poor Frodo. Sneezing constantly as he talks,nose and eyes red and running. Frodo is so tired,he needs some rest. The tendrils cling to the panes of glass and the nights of passion cease.

Looking after Bag End, Frodo and the garden is too much even for Sam. So the garden becomes neglected. The plant needs some water. Its leaves are dull and drooping. The pollen dries to hardness, a coating on the stamens, and Frodo stops sneezing.

Sam is still concerned. He hates to see Frodo suffer,and if truth were told, would sacrifice a thousand gardens for love of his master. Most of his time is spent making Frodo happy. He has no time to watch the fragrant blossoms quiver. The perfume makes no impression as only Frodo fills his thoughts. The coating on the stamens becomes blood red and an oozing stickiness drips from the blossom.

That night as Frodo opens his bedroom window he notices the flowers turn to face him. He smiles thinking of Sam and reaches out to touch. Like heavy rain,the sticky drops cascade upon his skin. He chuckles at the strange sensation and pulls back. He stares in wonder at the dryness of his hands that seconds before felt so wet. He is puzzled by the strange pinpricks of light on his skin that wink out as he watches.

In the middle of the night Frodo wakes. He cannot breathe. He gasps for each breath like a stranded fish. His chest labours and heaves. His hands claw at the sheets. He cannot call for help. He cannot even say Sam's name. His vision blurs then the attack dies away. In the morning he wonders if it was a nightmare, so he says nothing to Sam.

The morning sun is warm,the garden so pleasant that Sam lays breakfast on a table outside. They sit on the seat and enjoy each other's company. Sam suggests a walk beside the river and Frodo agrees. "Sam,it would be wonderful." His voice is filled with love. Then suddenly Frodo cannot breathe and the nightmare is real. Sam is frightened beyond measure at what he sees. His beloved's hands tearing at a throat that will not move. Hearing strangled gasps and wheezes. It passes and Frodo seems to recover.

Sam puts him back to bed and asks if he would like anything. Frodo asks him to stay with him and Sam does so willingly. All day he stays inside and at night he holds Frodo tenderly as if he would break. Tendrils press against the glass so hard the frame begins to buckle. Within Sam's embrace Frodo goes rigid as his chest tightens. He tries to breathe in anything,anything to give him life. His hands reach for Sam as he slowly suffocates. Sam sees the terror in Frodo's eyes and cries at his own helplessness. The attacks go on throughout the night. There is no rest for either hobbit. When morning comes Sam has made a decision. They will leave Bag End and find a healer for Frodo's illness. The stickiness on the stamens dries to a crust. The colour changes from blood red to black. And the attacks stop.

Sam is not happy. Frodo seems better but he is much thinner. He looks so fragile and has nightmares about choking. Yet every time he looks at Sam his face is full of love,and he apologizes for being such poor company. For not being able to make Sam happy. Sam resolves to find a healer anyway and Frodo agrees to stay at Bag End. "I'll sit on the bench and read," he says, "you'll only be a few hours."

Sam leaves Frodo with a kiss. As he reaches the end of the lane he looks back. Frodo is reading, his arm resting on the back of the seat. The plant is weighed down by golden flowers with black stamens. They caress Frodo's hair. Bright stars among dark curls.

The stamens sharpen and elongate. They sense the presence of life and the pulse of blood. The leaves tremble and the flowers turn as one. Frodo. The hated one. Who stops the sun from coming near.

Frodo is absorbed by the book. He does not notice the perfume until his head begins to ache. He has overdone it. He should go inside. He finds his legs will not obey him and his arms are heavy. The book slips onto the floor. The tendrils begin to move.

Sam is waiting for the healer to make up the tonic she has prescribed for Frodo. The room is filled with bottles and books. Filled with curiosity he chooses one of the books. He pulls it onto the table and opens it wide. Inside are pictures of many different plants. Drawings and paintings of plants that Sam could only dream of. There are so many and most Sam has never seen within the Shire.

Each drawing has writing and symbols marked beneath. Sam can read it but does not understand. It is the healer's book and Sam knows it is important so he moves to put it back. Then he stops. There on a page is the picture of his plant. The green leaves. The lemon buds. Golden flowers and stamens. Yellow stamens like fluffy clouds. Red stamens that drip a bloodlike ooze. Black stamens as sharp as thorn. Underneath the picture is a symbol known to most races in Middle Earth. In the blackest ink Sam has ever seen. A skull - the sign of death.

Frodo lies on the bench. He cannot move. Tendrils hold him fast. He can see them winding around his wrists, feel them winding round his legs. He wonders why Sam does not come. A thicker tendril winds round his neck and pulls his head back. He is staring at a cluster of flowers. In the centre of the largest there is an Eye,wreathed in flame. The Eye has no mercy.

The healer is surprised to see Sam with the book and is happy to tell him what she knows. The plant is only found in Mordor and has many properties. Each one can be used for evil means. The plant thinks, it feels and it kills. It bonds only with the one who plants it to the exclusion of all others. It hates with a great passion. It will destroy all things elven. "It has been used as a weapon by many races.Whole families have been destroyed by the simple act of the planting of this flower." The healer lowers her voice. "It is a terrible thing."

Sam cannot believe his plant is like this. That wonderful scent. The sense of peace. The golden light. His precious. Then he realises he is the one who planted it. "You're it's sun." Frodo had said. He loves Frodo more than any other. And Frodo has suffered strangely since the plant has arrived. And he suddenly remembers the rumours that Bilbo had never denied. That Frodo has elven blood. And the last time he left him Frodo was sat on the seat surrounded by golden flowers with black stamens.

He stabs the picture with his finger. "What do these do?" he cries pointing to the black things. "They search for life. They enter the body and feed. They prefer the blood of elves but any will do if the plant is ready.....

Frodo..... Before she is finished Sam is running. Running towards Bag End praying to Elbereth he will be in time.

The hate that fills Frodo's mind is terrible to endure. He knows partly why he is hated. Pictures of Sam touching flower and leaf merge into pictures of Sam and him writhing on the bed. Yet there is a colder hatred behind that passion. This, Frodo does not understand. There is One that watches him die and Frodo does not know who. He cries out for mercy, "What have I done that you must do this?" Thornlike stamens enter his skin and start to feed.

Sam cannot see Frodo for the mass of pulsating tendrils. He screams his name and starts to pull at the plant. The perfume caresses him and he is filled with joy. He reaches to touch a bloom. It is so beautiful, so lovely.... Sam knows the healer is wrong. The plant cares, thinks,feels and loves- loves Sam and only Sam. Sam feels a wave of happiness sweep through him.

He turns to explain this to Frodo who will surely understand. Frodo sees the look of love on Sam's face and knows he is lost. A tear falls from his eyes, As the largest thorn of all reaches for the vein pulsing at his throat. Sam touches the thorn in awe and bright beads of blood fall onto his hand. Sam stares. My beloved is bleeding. My precious plant. He is cross with Frodo for hurting the one who means so much. He sees the light fading from Frodo's eyes and kneels beside him. "I am so happy, Mr Frodo - this is a special day. My precious loves me."

Frodo stares at Sam, now seeming so far away. With the last thought he has,with the last spark of life left Frodo fights to say Sam's name. A gasping sound of pain and sorrow, But his name nevertheless.

....Sam....

And the remnant of Sam's soul fights back for Sam's mind, rejects the peace and bliss, accepts the pain and sorrow, for love of Frodo. As he realises almost too late,he is the only chance Frodo has.

He tears at the plant,ripping flowerheads and breaking stalks. He rages at the plant for being so false, for it's terrible betrayal He rages at himself for the same. He does not stop until the plant is trampled, it's stem broken. A sigh of sorrow lingers in the air. Thorns shrivel and die. Blood drops scatter.

Frodo's eyes are closed and Sam howls at his own betrayal of the one that means the most to him. He carries Frodo inside and keeps a vigil over the body. No thoughts or words are enough to encompass his pain.

In the morning they both awaken,exhausted and confused. Frodo remembers nothing. Sam has only the merest wisp of memory that eludes him every time he tries to take hold.

The garden is exactly as it's always been. Life is normal in the Shire.

It is only when Sam is hiding from the Ringwraith that the memory returns. As he gazes in horror at the insects fleeing across Merry's shoulder he smells a sweet perfume. A message of death from Mordor that he helped to deliver. He vows there and then far more than Gandalf expects. He pledges his life to the Ringbearer.
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