Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13
First Chapter
Frodo felt a terrible burning sensation in his throat. He awoke. Immediately he noticed the terrible aching pain throughout all his limbs and the pounding of his head. A groan escaped his lips. He felt weak and sick all over and there was a strange burning pain on the back of his neck. He had not even the strength to open his eyes.
He felt a cold hand clutch him cruelly tight on the arm and jerk him. The pounding in his head increased and he cried out.
Frodo's eyes snapped open.
The first thing he saw once his eyes had focused sent a shock of pure terror through him. He was being held by the arm by a huge, hideous black orc who leered over him, bearing yellow fangs. Its grip was fiercely strong. It held a flask of some burning liquid that had just been deposited down his throat. Many more orcs stood round them, fingering their knives.
"Ah, so the little maggot finally awoke now, did he?" sneered the one that held him, leaning in ever closer. Frodo struggled a little, but the orc only held him still tighter, twisting his arm and laughing at Frodo's pitiful attempt to free himself. "Musn't wear yourself out, little one, oh no." It said. "You must save your strength for all the fun that will come later on." Frodo stopped struggling and hung limp in the orc's grasp. He could do nothing to prevent it, he had no more strength, he felt so small and frightened. How had he gotten here? His mind was a whirl of confused and frightened thoughts. What could have happened to him? He tried to think, but the orc shook him again, causing a blinding pain to shoot through Frodo's head and he cried out.
The orcs chuckled evilly and muttered amongst each other in their terrible language. Suddenly the orc that held Frodo, who seemed to be the one in charge, said sharply in the Common Tongue, "Strip him."
Before Frodo knew what was happening, many more pairs of iron-strong hands gripped at him from every angle. They tore at him, pulling, yanking, pinching; their nails digging into his flesh until he bled. For several terrifying moments all he could see were orc faces, looming in at every angle, all he could feel were those hands, groping, grabbing, tearing. He trembled, petrified, as the many hands began ripping at his clothes, his hair, everything. But the orcs' attack had awoken a sudden spark of energy within Frodo and he tried desperately to free himself. He struggled against them with all the strength his aching body could muster, pushing their groping hands away. "Let go! Let go of me!" he cried, but his voice only came out in a frightened squeak, causing the orcs to laugh. But Frodo continued to struggle despite his rapidly declining strength.
But the orcs had quickly become aggravated by the hobbit's struggling; they hadn't expected him to have enough strength to fight back at all. Shelob's victims were usually left extremely weak, even after reawakening.
One of the orcs quickly grabbed hold of Frodo's flailing arms, and pulled them behind his back while another backhanded him across the face. "Stop your wiggling, you imp, or I might have to start the fun early!" But Frodo was deaf to the orc's threats, his only thought was to escape. Escape those terrifying hands grabbing at him from everywhere. He tried to struggle out of the it's grasp but the orc, clearly annoyed, twisted Frodo's arms behind his back until he let out a tormented yell. It then held Frodo's arms in place, so all he could think about was the stabbing pain in his shoulders. Frodo closed his eyes tight and willed it all to end. He felt completely helpless as the others proceeded in taking everything he had.
All of a sudden it stopped. The orcs let go and Frodo was thrown roughly on the ground, cold, naked and in pain. But before he could even regain his senses a strong hand gripped the back of his dark curls, forcing his face upwards. He could feel hot breath on his cheeks but he did not open his eyes. He did not want to face the pain of reality.
"Look at me you rat!" the orc shouted, and it pulled Frodo's head back further until he whimpered from the pain and reluctantly opened his eyes.
An orc, the same that had gripped him before, grinned evilly down at him. The orc began speaking, his grip on Frodo's hair never loosening. "Now you be quiet and behave yourself and things will go a lot easier for you, understand? Because we got ways of making you be quiet that you won't like." The orc pulled Frodo's head back even further until he let out a cry.
"Gugruk," growled one of the other orcs, looking up from where he and the others had been tearing through the bundles of Frodo's belongings. The Ring! Frodo thought. They'll have gotten it! Oh, all is hopeless now! He moaned with despair. "Stop playing around, we'll have our fun later." The orc said.
"Shut your trap, Ushnukh, or I'll have you reported!" retorted Gugruk. Then he turned again to Frodo. "Now I'll be back soon enough, and then the real fun will begin." Gugruk grinned down at him, once again showing those hideous fangs. Frodo cringed. Gugruk chuckled, still gripping Frodo's hair.
Frodo's breath came in great, terrified gasps and his eyes began watering from the pain. All he could see were those wicked yellow eyes squinting mercilessly down at him.
Gugruk laughed again, seeming pleased with himself, and let Frodo go, who collapsed weakly on the floor. Then Gugruk shuffled off after the others who had already left in a flurry of muttering and cursing.
Frodo lay for a long while as he found himself--naked, face down on the cold stone floor, too terrified to move. His ears strained for any sounds but there were none after the orcs had retreated. All he could hear was the loud pounding of his own heart.
Slowly he propped himself up onto his elbows and looked with weary eyes around his prison. He was in a large, circular room, probably at the top of a tower. It was all made of gray stone and was completely empty except for a small bundle in a corner and a tiny, high set window, through which no dim light of day shone. In the middle of the floor there was a trap door, hardly visible because it blended so well into the gray stone floor. It was the only way out.
Frodo shivered uncontrollably. There was a dull, throbbing pain throughout his entire body, and his head continued to pound. He still could not sort things out in his mind. How did I get here? What happened? But he had no answers.
He slowly crawled over to the bundle in the corner and wrapped the thin rag about himself, curling into a little ball and hugging his knees to his chest. But The thin dirty rag did almost nothing to ease the cold in his bones.
Frodo closed his eyes tightly to block out the horrible gray world all about him and tried, once again, to concentrate on his very confused thoughts.
His mind seemed fogged, but slowly things began to come back to him. And all of a sudden- he remembered. He could remember everything clearly now. The ring, the quest, the terrifying Black Riders.the ring!
They have it! Frodo thought wildly to himself. He felt strange without the constant presence of the ring about his neck and had a strong desire to have it back.
All at once, Frodo remembered the terrible visions he had seen in Galadriel's mirror in far-away Lothlorien. How long ago it all seemed, almost like it was only a dream. But no, he could remember it all clearly.
The Shire, his home, destroyed. infested by orcs. Burning.everything was burning. Everything was gone. All he ever knew and loved, lost forever.
"It is what will come to pass if you should fail." That is what she had said.
"No, no!" Frodo's eyes snapped open, but he was not seeing his surroundings. He saw instead the faces of the other members of the fellowship. They risked their lives to help me and I have failed them all he thought despairingly. He saw the faces of his hobbit friends, his dear Bilbo, his home.
All will be lost. Everything will be destroyed. All will come to darkness and I will be the cause of it. I am to blame for the destruction of all Middle Earth. He shut his eyes again and despite all he tried, the tears began to trickle down his face. Gandalf, you chose poorly. The Council should never have trusted this task to me Frodo thought bitterly.
But how had it all happened? How had he come to be here?
Frodo struggled to remember further. He could remember leaving the Fellowship, he and Sam. And then.
Suddenly it all rushed back to him. The long march through the Emyn Muil. Gollum. the Dead Marshes and the long blackness of Mordor.even Faramir and his men, all the kindness they had showed them.
Then he remembered Gollum, Gollum's promise to show them a way into Mordor. And the long, black tunnel he had led them through. And the endless darkness.
And the eyes. The many, hideous, glowing eyes that had chased them through the darkness. And the smell. The terrible smell of some huge, terrifying creature that loomed through the impenetrably stifling darkness of the tunnels. Following, always following.
And then Frodo remembered seeing light. At last, an end to the darkness! He remembered rushing toward it, calling to Sam who was behind him. Then a terrible stinging pain in the back of his neck.then blackness.
Frodo reached up to his neck- yes, it was still sore. But what had happened? Had that horrible creature followed them out? But then.Sam!
Frodo's eyes snapped open once again, this time widening in terror. What has become of Sam if I am here, in this tower full of orcs? And how did the orcs find me in the first place?
Maybe that monster or whatever it was, had been distracted by Sam and followed him instead. Frodo thought to himself. And then the orcs found me. He buried his face in his hands. So what has become of Sam?
He pictured Sam lying dead, pale and lifeless. No glittering eyes or cheerful, reassuring smile on his face. Total emptiness. And then a menacing creature leaning over him, preparing to devour its prey.
Oh, Sam! How could this happen?
He should never have come with me. Frodo thought. This was my doom, not his and I should never have let him come. And now.now. Hot tears welled in Frodo's eyes again.
What have I done?
But what if Sam was still alive? What if, by some miracle, he had escaped?
He would come looking for me. Frodo thought miserably. And he musn't do that. If he's alive, coming here would only put him in greater danger.
Sam, dear, if you're still out there. Frodo pleaded with him silently, Please, please stay away from this place. Whatever you do, don't come looking for me, please. You do not deserve to die. Just take care of yourself as best you can. I couldn't bear it if you lost your life trying to help me. I am beyond help now, dear Sam.
But then the gentle, loving face of Sam appeared in Frodo's mind, smiling warmly down at him.
Frodo thought back to sunny mornings at Bag End when Sam would come in cheerfully each day and bid him good morning. How he would sing or whistle a tune as he went about his work in the garden.
These once familiar and comforting thoughts became painful memories to Frodo as Sam's smiling face swam before his mind's eye. The tears streamed silently down Frodo's face as he sat in the corner of the dark room at the top of the tower, utterly alone.
Just then hoarse, angry shouts and loud clashes of metal upon metal floated up from below. It sounded as if an argument might be starting. But Frodo kept his eyes tightly closed, clinging to the image of Sam's face, as it was his only comfort, trying desperately to block out the sounds from below.
And he knew that if Sam was out there he could never just forget, would never leave him. And uncontrollable despair welled in Frodo's heart as, despite all he tried, he could not stop the terrible longing he had for that face, that smile, for Sam's arms to wrap around him. And he knew it was impossible.
Loud clunking footsteps approached. The orcs were returning. Frodo curled into a tighter ball, wrapping the rag tightly about himself and burying his face in the rough fabric, dampening it with his fresh tears; all the while not letting go of the vision of Sam. It was so clear, as if he were standing right in front of him.
I will never see that face again. Frodo thought despairingly, letting go of any hope he might have had left as the footsteps continued, now so close, and the trap door swung open with a bang.
Third Chapter
The trap door flew open with a crash. Frodo's heart began to pound again. He desperately clung to the image of Sam as if it were a lifeline.
A pair of heavily booted feet stomped in. A strong hand grabbed Frodo's shoulder painfully. He could feel hot, putrid breath on his wet cheeks. The orc shook him a bit and, despite all he tried, the comforting vision of Sam slowly melted away, drowned by his terror. He opened his eyes.
The huge black face of Gugruk leered down at him. When the hobbit opened his eyes Gugruk grabbed him hard by the upper arms and pulled him close to him, so their faces were inches apart and began speaking in a low growl.
"Alright, Imp, I'm not waitin' any longer for those good-for-nothin' Men to get their lazy hides over here. I want answers and I want em now." Frodo's arms were really starting to hurt him now and he tried to wiggle out of the orc's grasp but he only held him tighter. "Now I know you got somethin' the Master wants," Frodo's blue eyes widened and Gugruk grinned. "What is it?"
Frodo remained silent. He didn't know what to do. He just stared into that horrible face, completely petrified. A spasm of anger flashed across Gugruk's yellow eyes.
"Well? WHAT IS IT?" Gugruk yelled with deafening volume into Frodo's face. Frodo remained silent. He felt frozen with fear and wasn't sure if he would have been able to answer even if he had wanted to.
"Answer me!" Gugruk backhanded Frodo across the face so hard he fell, reeling, to the floor. For a moment everything was spinning, and Frodo could not tell which way was which. His face throbbed. He could taste blood. Then he felt himself being lifted off the floor again and slowly his eyes came into focus on the hideous orc-face, whose eyes now gleamed with a mad desire.
'He's looking for the Ring.' Frodo thought weakly. 'He's seeking it but he doesn't know what it is, just that it's very important.' He thought with growing terror, 'It's driving him mad.'
"I know you carried it. It, that the Master seeks at all times." He growled, his face very close to Frodo's again. His breath smelled of rancid meat, and Frodo tried to hold his breath, but his heart was pumping too fast out of fear. Gugruk pulled him closer still. "Tell me the truth. Where is it?" His voice was low but menacing.
'What should I do?' Frodo thought desperately. He could not look away from those terrible eyes that bored into him, searching for an answer. Frodo struggled to make his voice work. "I-I don't know w-what you mean-" he squeaked.
"You do know what I mean!" Gugruk yelled back, rage emanating in his eyes once more. He could not control his anger any longer. He shook Frodo violently, mercilessly. "Don't lie to me you miserable rat!" He roared, still shaking Frodo who was too weak to resist, Shelob's poison still in his veins. Frodo's head snapped back and forth and he cried out as a sharp pain ran through his neck, he felt that if this continued a moment longer his neck would surely snap--
And then he was thrown onto the floor again with great force and slid into the wall where he lay in a painful heap. Gugruk roared with rage and Frodo felt a violent kick to his side that nearly knocked the wind out of him. He lay there, gasping, as another kick was aimed at him. Tears of rage and utter despair appeared in Frodo's eyes as he desperately tried to shrink away from the savage blows.
Eventually the blows stopped. They left Frodo bruised and gasping. He lay on the floor with his eyes tightly closed, the side of his face pressed against the cold stone of the floor. He didn't dare to move.
He could hear Gugruk still in the room, breathing hard and growling. What was he going to do?
'Please just let him leave me here.please.' Frodo thought desperately. 'Just let him leave me alone.'
But Gugruk was wild with rage at being resisted, and forgetting all orders, grabbed Frodo's head and lifted him up once more, sliding his long sword-blade under the hobbits throat as he did so.
Frodo's eyes immediately flew open as he felt the touch of cold metal against his skin. He held his breath, his heart pounding frantically against his chest.
"You will tell me where it is," growled Gugruk, that menacing gleam still in his eyes, "or I will cut your throat."
Frodo only looked up at him, eyes wide with fear. Words would not come.
Just then the trap door crashed open again and Frodo could hear several orc voices begin yelling at the same time. Gugruk quickly withdrew the blade and dropped Frodo who sunk to the floor.
Frodo slowly raised his head off the floor so he could see what was happening. Three other orcs, all just as ugly but perhaps not quite as large as Gugruk, had entered the room and they were all yelling to each other in their own language. The surprised anger from the others was evident. Abruptly, they switched to the Common Speech and Frodo could understand.
"So you just thought you would come up here and work the information outta him yerself, did you?" one was saying loudly. "Thought you would be the one to present the Master with his prize, eh?"
"The prisoner was to be stripped and left at that until further notice," another said. "Or do you want us all to be killed?"
The others all began to yell loudly in unison at this, so it was impossible for Frodo to tell just what they were saying. His head began to ache terribly again and he let it drop onto him arm, still listening intently.
"Silence!" Gugruk roared and the others immediately stopped. He was in a blind rage now and this interference had put him over the edge. "I am Gugruk! I am in charge of this force! I will not be told what to do! I am tired of taking orders from those filthy pigs the Master sends as messengers. I wish for answers now!" And then he went on with a long line of ranting in his own speech, which seemingly enraged the others, and one stepped forward.
In an flash, and before anyone had time to react, Gugruk leaped forward drawing his blade and swinging it through the air, quickly beheading the other orc, whose body fell to the earth with a soft thump.
The head of the orc rolled across the floor until it came to a rest in front of Frodo who backed away. But he could not tear his eyes away from the open, glassy eyes of the orc. Eyes that were still wide open in an expression of surprise. They stared back at him eerily, until he finally looked away, breathing hard, shocked at how fast a life could be snatched away. That severed head had belonged to a living, breathing creature just moments before. Just one quick instant and your whole life could be over.
Frodo began to tremble and dragged himself further away from the orc- head, its gaze still staring blankly ahead. Is that what would happen to him?
Gugruk looked down at his work with satisfaction. But the maddening look that had grown in his eyes since he had first entered the room and questioned Frodo about the Ring was slowly fading. "Let this be a warning to you," he announced to the others who now looked a bit frightened. "No one will question my authorities. If they do they will only end up like this."
He looked over at the little hobbit; half lying on the floor staring at what Gugruk had done with eyes wide with fear. He chuckled; the stupid imp had probably never seen any creature be killed like that before. He reached out and grabbed Frodo by the shoulder again. Frodo started and his petrified gaze snapped up to focus on Gugruk. "If you don't want the same to happen to you," Gugruk said, smiling a little at the hobbit's obvious fear, "then you'd better learn to cooperate. The Questioners will not stand for resistance."
Gugruk let Frodo go. He landed weakly on the floor, bruised and throbbing. Gugruk then glared around the room, spat on the ground, and slouched out. The others slowly followed, muttering to each other. The body of the dead orc was left on the floor, lying in a puddle of black blood.
Soon the trap door had swung closed again and all that was left was a small heap on the floor, sobbing quietly.
Not long after the orcs left Frodo had dropped off to sleep out of pure exhaustion. He had crawled back into the dark corner furthest away from the door and huddled under the thin blanket again.
Throughout his sleep Frodo was haunted by nightmares in which Sam stood before him, smiling his cheerful smile, warming Frodo's very heart. But as Frodo reached out to him, he felt many clawed hands grope at him, always pulling him away. Then Sam began to fade slowly into the shadows, leaving nothing but the terrible clawed creatures that hid in the darkness. "Sam!" Frodo cried out, groping blindly in the darkness, "Sam don't leave me! Please!" But Sam had gone.
Frodo was so deeply lost in his nightmares he did not hear the echoing footsteps that approached once more.
The trap door opened and a Man and several Orcs entered. They approached the small trembling figure that lay tossing and turning on the floor, it's small voice murmuring something they could not understand. Its brow was furrowed with pain and tears trickled down its cheeks from behind tightly closed eyes.
"Wake 'im up, Drenymer. What're you waitin' for?" growled one of the orcs impatiently.
The Man impatiently stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of dark curls and tossed the small figure roughly into the wall.
Frodo landed with a groan. His ribs were badly bruised and swollen. His eyes fluttered open. It took him a moment to focus, his head pounded so badly.
Eventually he came to realize that the faces of a Man and several of the largest, cruelest looking Orcs Frodo had ever seen were peering down at him. He recognized one of them as Gugruk and shuddered. Gugruk eyed Frodo from behind Drenymer's back.
Drenymer himself had shoulder-length stringy black hair and squinting black eyes that held no warmth. The Orcs glared down at Frodo with their yellow eyes, bearing their fangs, and fingering their sword hilts. Several of them also held whips.
Frodo gasped and started to back away, but Drenymer reached out a strong hand and grabbed him hard by the wrist, dragging him forward. The rag fell in a heap to the floor.
"You're not going anywhere, Halfling," he growled, sneering down at Frodo. "You've got some information we want." His grip on Frodo's wrist tightened, and he slowly began to twist it into an extremely uncomfortable position. "Now if you answer straight out without any fuss, things'll go a lot easier for you." He twisted Frodo's arm further. Frodo bit back a whimper.
"Now, what is it you and your companion were doing wandering the Dark Lands?"
Frodo's eyes widened at this. His companion? They knew about Sam? How? The Man saw the flash of fear pass over Frodo's eyes and grinned. He twisted the small wrist further until Frodo cried out.
"Answer me," he whispered, close to Frodo's ear. "What were you doing?" Frodo had nothing to answer.
His first thought was that he musn't answer anything. He had to protect Sam. He shuddered at the thought of what might happen if they found Sam too.
No, he couldn't bear that. He couldn't let them hurt Sam. And the rest of the Fellowship were still out there--he could not betray their trust. No, he would not put his friends in danger. He was willing to endure pain, even death, before he would do that.
Drenymer still had a firm hold on Frodo's arm. Frodo gritted his teeth from the pain. He couldn't struggle out of the painful grasp.
Anger flashed through Drenymer's cold eyes and in one swift motion he tugged hard at Frodo's wrist and a loud crack of braking bone sounded through the room. Frodo howled in pain as he was released and landed back on the floor, cradling his injured wrist. He nearly blacked out from the pain. He struggled to look up, tears of pain trickling down his cheeks.
Drenymer looked grimly down at him, a look in his eyes that made Frodo's blood run cold. No emotion whatsoever. He was completely undaunted by Frodo's pain. It was in that moment that Frodo realized this Man would do whatever was necessary to complete his appointed task. He had no free will left. He was completely controlled by the mind of Sauron. Frodo began to shake, preparing himself for whatever there was to come.
Just then Drenymer stepped forward and grabbed Frodo by the wrists, dragging him up, forcing him to stand on trembling legs. Frodo cried out in agony from the excruciating pain in his wrist, but Drenymer did not let go, he held Frodo tightly, pulling him close.
"Did that hurt?" he asked quietly. Frodo could barely think from the pain and did not answer. "Because that's only the beginning," he continued. "Unless you answer me now. Where do you come from? Why are you here? Who sent you?" Frodo clenched his teeth and tried to stifle a cry of pain. His wrist throbbed and he was beginning to see black spots before his eyes. He did not look at Drenymer but focused on the stone floor.
The Man let out a growl of frustration and let Frodo go. But he barely had a moment of relief before he felt Drenymer's hand on his throat, forcing him to look into his cold, dark, fathomless eyes. Drynemer tightened his grip, cutting off the Frodo's air supply, and he began to gasp, clutching at the hand that held him but it didn't let go.
Mad anger reflected in the Drenymer's eyes at being resisted. "I'll break your neck," he hissed. Frodo couldn't breathe. He needed air. He tried to gasp but no air came to fill his searing lungs. He began to get weaker.
Drenymer smiled grimly as he saw Frodo's eyes begin to unfocus. Frodo himself felt as though the ground had pulled out from under him and he was falling. A darkness crept into the corners of his vision. He couldn't breathe.needed air. Is this what it was like to die?
But just as the world slipped away, Frodo felt the iron-strong grip relax and suddenly he could breathe again. He landed weakly on the floor, coughing, gasping for air, filling his lungs again and again. Slowly his vision came back into focus. He could see the tall Man standing above him, and the Orcs looking down at him. They seemed amused.
Then Drenymer began to speak in a low rumble, "There's no use holding back," he said, "we'll get all there is to know and more out of you sooner or later." Several of the orcs chuckled at this but the Man ignored them. "There's no use worrying about your companion anymore, either." At this Frodo lifted his head, searching Drenymer's dark face. Terror welled in Frodo's heart. What had they done? Drenymer continued slowly, a grin forming at the corners of his mouth.
"He is dead. We killed him."
Frodo's heart stopped. Time stopped. He stared blankly back at the Man as though he had not heard him but his eyes grew as wide as ever. Sam? Dead? It was what he had been dreading, but he had never imagined what the impact of those words would be. "He is dead." Dead. In that moment every memory he had of Sam seemed to come flooding back to him. Sam had always been there, was his lifeline. How could he be gone? Then slowly the reality hit him.
He's gone. Gone forever. He will never come back.
A sob of pure despair rose from the depths of Frodo's heart and his vision blurred as a waterfall of tears cascaded down his face. Frodo's mind whirled. In a matter of moments his whole world had come crashing down. His heart had been shattered into a million pieces.
"Stop yer sniveling!" Drenymer barked, stepping forward and slapping Frodo hard across the face, knocking him forward into the stone floor. But Frodo didn't care. He was numbed with shock and grief. He was numb to the stinging of his face, the pain of his bruised ribs and his wrist. All he could feel was the terrible ache in his heart. "Now answer me." Drenymer's voice was deathly cold.
But Frodo had had enough. Sam was dead. All was lost. He felt nothing but overwhelming despair and hopelessness. He slowly turned his tear-streaked face toward the Man.
"No." Frodo croaked, barely audible. He kept his eyes locked on the Dremymer's. He was terribly afraid but tried to keep his voice steady. "You will get no such answer from me. I do not care not what you do. My quest has failed."
Drenymer had a dangerous gleam in his eyes that frightened Frodo. He was growing impatient. The imp was not cooperating. Well, he would make him. He would not leave until his task was fulfilled.
He turned and signaled to some orcs who stepped forward, loyoking eager to be of assistance. Gugruk one of them.
Drenymer stepped back as they approached Frodo. This would do it, he thought, this would make him squeal. He could not hold out forever.
Frodo didn't understand what was happening. His head had dropped back onto his arm. He was extremely dizzy. He felt sick.
The nearest orc stepped right up to where Frodo was still lying on the floor. His breathing had become shallower and raspy. The orc slowly undid a clasp that fastened a long whip to his belt and uncoiled it, raising it over his head. Before Frodo knew what was happening he swung it through the air and brought it down with a crack across the hobbit's back.
Frodo felt the excruciating pain and screamed in agony, twisting his head around just in time to see the orc raise the whip for a second time. Frodo attempted to dodge the blow but, quick as a flash, two more orcs had closed in on him. They grabbed hold of him, holding him down as the whip sounded a second time and another blow fell, emitting another scream. Over and over this was repeated.
Over the sound of the whip cracking and Frodo's own tormented cries, the Man called, "Just give in. Give in any time and it will stop. Just give in and answer me now or it will only get worse." Through his blind pain Frodo faintly heard him but he would not give in. He would not tell them anything. He would not betray his friends and give the Drenymer that satisfaction.
Frodo bit his lip, trying to stifle the cries of pain that threatened to escape his throat. He bit so hard that soon he could taste blood and feel it trickling down his chin. He struggled madly against the grips that held him, but they did not let go. Frodo heard laughing, soft laughter close to his ear. He knew it was Gugruk. Gugruk laughing at him.
'Please stop.just make it stop.' Frodo's mind was in a haze of pain and fear. He had one last fleeting thought before he dropped into unconsciousness. 'Sam.' Then he saw no more.
The orcs continued the vicious beating until the little hobbit ceased struggling and lay very still. Then Drenymer signaled for the orc to stop. He quickly recoiled the whip, chuckling softly, and the others let go of Frodo, stepping back. The hobbit still lay unconscious. His back was now a bloody mess.
By this point Drenymer was now very angry that the little imp had not given in. He stood for a moment in doubt. Soon enough his confusion transformed to anger and he kicked the sorry-looking bleeding heap on the floor. It groaned.
Another vicious kick slowly brought Frodo back to reality. As soon as he was conscious he couldn't concentrate on anything but the pain. His wrist throbbed, his sides ached, and his back felt as if it were on fire. He nearly blacked out again.
Drenymer stepped forward. Anger seemed to radiate from his body. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut. He was nearly blinded with pain. He didn't think he could handle any more pain, emotionally or physically. He began to weep. He was so tired, tired in his body and his mind. And the ache in his heart burned with his love for Sam. But Sam was gone. There was no reason to live anymore. Frodo began to wish for death. He just wanted it all to end. To black out, to die. So he could be with Sam and leave all the pain behind. He couldn't stand this anymore. His quest had failed. Middle Earth would be destroyed. He deserved to die.
Frodo lay waiting, dreading whatever was to come next. But nothing happened. Then faintly, through his own fogged thoughts, Frodo heard an orc speaking, quite harshly. He listened harder. Yes, it was Gugruk. It took a few moments before Frodo understood what he was saying.
".foolish!.dang waste of time! Take control! Show 'im who's boss! You don't know what yer doin'. Yer just playin' with 'im. You need to get serious! I won't stand here anymore and watch this! You filthy swines don't know how to handle nothin'!"
Then Drenymer began yelling back. It seemed he was now very angry. The other orcs soon joined in and their yells echoed off the stone walls and pounded through Frodo's sore head. He couldn't concentrate anymore. It was too much effort.
A sudden movement near to where Frodo lay made him open his eyes a crack. Gugruk and the Man were now standing across from each other very near to Frodo, still yelling. Gugruk was gripping his sword-hilt. He seemed to be threatening. Frodo gasped. He lifted himself slowly, trying not to be noticed, until he was leaning on his arms and dragged himself further away from the pair, his heart pounding. Soon he felt the wall again. He dropped back into a lying position gasping. It was extremely painful to move.
He closed his eyes, breathing heavily, fighting to remain conscious. Suddenly the volume of the shouts increased and faintly Frodo was aware of the sound of metal against metal as weapons were unsheathed.
Just then Sam Gamgee heard a sound and looked up. He listened harder. What was that? He heard it again. Thumping, and clanging. It sounded like there was a scuffle up there.
'So that's where the last of those ugly brutes are,' he thought grimly, gripping the hilt of the small sword that he held in his hand. As Sam continued down the dark stone corridor, Sting slowly began to turn a dull blue, slowly growing brighter with each step.
There was a particularly loud bang that echoed down through the floors and Sam quickened his pace, fear coursing through him. His thoughts immediately flew to Frodo. What could be happening up there? He had a feeling it had something to do with the prisoner.
'Stop lagging, Sam Gamgee,' he told himself, no quickening to a trot. Despite what he kept telling himself, horrible thoughts continued to plague Sam's mind. What if Mr. Frodo was already dead?
Sam stifled a small sob. No, no he wouldn't let that happen. 'He needs you, Sam.' He told himself firmly. 'Don't think like that now, he needs you.'
He stopped at the base of a staircase that spiraled slowly up. Paused for a moment, then rushed onwards, the occasional sound from above urging him ever on.
All of a sudden there was a sound that made Sam's blood turn to ice, the sound he had secretly feared since he entered this dreadful tower. And it was no orc.
A small but loud scream rent the air. A tormented yell, followed by many strange but more faint sounds. Sam listened harder. A whip cracking. The screams continued for a few more moments, each more pained than the last. Sam flew up the stairs, nearly blinded by tears. He knew whose screams they were. There was no mistaking the voice.
A terrible anger and hate burned through his heart and the even stronger love for his master coursed through his veins. If he ever got a hand on an orc, any orc in the place, he swore he could kill them with his bear hands at the moment, without help of a blade, so great was his anger. Then the cries stopped, but the unmerciful cracking noises continued longer.
Sam continued to struggle up the stairs, his breath coming in great gasps, tearing at his throat. Then all went quiet. Sam paused for a moment, trying to quiet his breathing so he could hear better. All was silent.
He hurried on as fast as he could, sword held out in front of him. At last the stairs ended and he came to a circular landing, all of gray stone like everything else. Several more dark passages led out of it. Sam had no idea where to turn. No sounds aided him in his pursuit any longer.
Sam paused to catch his breath and decide where to turn next. He felt completely lost as the real hopelessness of his situation came to him. What hope did he have of finding Frodo in such a vast place?
Sam closed his eyes, shutting out the dreary grayness of the world about him, trying to calm his mind and think straight. But as his eyes closed a sight which he never wanted to see again haunted his mind. A vision of his master lying as if dead on the cold ground materialized before his mind's eye. He was so pale, and no familiar rise and fall of breath could be seen. And when Sam reached out to touch him he was so cold.
Sam's eyes flew open. He feared more than ever that he might see a similar scene if he did not hurry. So with thoughts of Frodo to urge him on, Sam forced his reluctant legs to move.
Just then an icy cold gust of wind whistling through some unknown crevice in the stone rushed through the landing, making Sam shiver and extinguishing the little torch he held- his only source of light.
Sam gasped as he was plunged into complete and utter darkness. Not a light could be seen, there were no torches lining the walls of the three ominous- looking corridors leading out of the landing.
Still all was silent and all Sam could hear was the beating of his own heart. Tentatively he stepped forward, feeling along the cold stone of the wall with his hands. He crept along this way, peering through the inky blackness with all his might.
Eventually, he made it passed all the openings to the other corridors and seemed to be on the opposite side of the landing from where he had entered at the top of the stairs.
Suddenly the wall he had been leaning against disappeared and Sam lost his balance, nearly toppling over. Reaching out his hands he could feel the wall angle. He had stepped into a corner just outside the last entrance that he had not seen before as it had been hidden in shadows.
All of a sudden several loud voices exploded out of nowhere, apparently having a heated argument. Sam jumped, his heart racing. What had startled him more than anything was that the voices seemed to be coming from right above him, echoing around the landing. But how could that be? He had seen no more stairs leading up. Sam stopped and listened intently to what they were saying.
".just playin' with 'im.need to take control!.If he won't talk."
This one particularly hideous voice seemed to go on and on but Sam wasted no more time. He knew who they meant. He had to find Frodo. Now.
Sam started to feel his way out of the corner as quickly as possible when he suddenly walked right into something tall and hard, nearly knocking it over. He caught it before it fell, standing it back up to where it was.
Cautiously, Sam felt the object up and down, not wanting to waste any unnecessary time. It was made of wood and taller than he was. He felt rungs.a ladder! Of course, a trap door would lead to the top of the tower! And that's where Frodo would be.
Without even stopping to think Sam raced up the ladder, his heart pounding painfully against his chest. When his head found the trap door, he felt for the latch, undid it, and swung the door open. Sam gasped at what he saw.
Several great black Orcs and a Man were in the small circular room in the middle of what seemed to be an all-out sword fight. All had their weapons drawn and were aiming vicious swings at each other. A small curly-haired figure lay in the corner dangerously close to them, covered in blood. Frodo. He was hardly recognizable but Sam knew it was him. He was not moving.
But before Sam could even move something happened that made his heart seem to stop altogether.
The Man dodged a vicious blow by a dark orc-blade, sending the Orc stumbling forward and onto its knees, dropping its sword. However, it wasted no time in retrieving a short curved knife from its belt. The Orc attempted to get to its feet, but not fast enough. The Man stepped smoothly forward in the blink of an eye, slicing the Orc's head clean off.
Its body swayed for a moment, then fell- right on top of Frodo, driving the curved knife blade deep into the hobbit's back.
A heart-wrenching scream filled the air.
Sam stood stock-still in shock. He couldn't have moved if he had wanted to. His heart seemed to have stopped beating as he stared numbly at the bloody heap on the floor.
Hours seemed to pass that way. Sam frozen, still standing on the top rungs of the ladder, his head peeking through the trapdoor, looking at his master's motionless body. Sam's thoughts seemed to be moving so slowly. He couldn't sort things out in his mind.
But in reality it had only been mere moments since it happened. Drenymer, who had been fending off a furious Gugruk finally succeeded in driving his long-bladed sword, dripping with blood deep into the Orc's back. Gugruk bellowed then fell still. Drenymer whirled around, eyes blazing in a mad fury, and caught sight of Sam.
"Hoy!" He cried out in surprise. Then he rushed forward, sword raised high over his head, preparing to strike. Sam noticed only just in time and ducked as the sword came swinging down toward him. Clinging desperately to the now teetering ladder, Sam saw the sword crash into the stone floor and heard the Man above him roar with rage at having missed his target.
But Sam had no time to catch his bearings before he felt a large hand grab him firmly by his collar. He gasped as he was pulled roughly through the trapdoor and thrown on the ground at Drenymer's feet.
Sam, quick as a flash, had Sting out in front of him. Burning anger glowed in his eyes. But overwhelming fear settled in his heart. This Man was so much larger that he. Drenymer immediately jabbed at him again.
"So you must be the other little rat then, eh?" he snarled, driving Sam back with his furious swings. The poor hobbit could do almost nothing to defend himself. All of a sudden a quickly aimed blow cut into Sam's arm and immediately blood began to flow causing the hobbit to drop his sword.
Drenymer quickly kicked it across the floor, out of Sam's reach, grinning evilly down at him.
"You're too late, though, Halfling," Drenymer continued, swinging at Sam, though not as hard as he could. He wanted to make this one suffer before he finished him. "Look at him. You're friend is dying over there. But it's no matter anyway. We have what we wanted, I am sure. And now I will kill you as well. Your mission has failed."
Sam gaped back up at him, his eyes wide with fear, clutching his bleeding arm. He could feel tears prick at his eyes. Although he had not wanted to admit it to himself, Sam had known in the back of his mind that Frodo was probably suffering horribly and that if he didn't get some kind of help soon, he would not survive. Sam stumbled as he dodged the blows, tears blinding him. He could still hear that horrible tortured cry echoing in his mind.
Another fierce blow was aimed at him and he dodged it. Then another and another, missing him by mere inches. He didn't know how long he could keep this up; he was beginning to feel weak.
Suddenly Sam stumbled more as he began to grow dizzy, and he fell to the ground, slamming his head into the hard stone. Vaguely he noticed how close they had come to Frodo, still lying face-down on the floor in a pool of his own blood.
Sam looked up to see Drenymer standing before him, grinning with satisfaction. Sam looked up at him, his eyes glazed with fear and pain. He seemed to feel his death hanging in the air, he could almost smell it.
"Well this is the end, dear Master." He thought to himself, "at least we will die together." And with that he cast his head upon the floor in despair, waiting for the final blow to fall.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Frodo slowly came to again. His pain was beyond pain. He knew nothing but his own suffering. He was soaked in blood, and could barely think as he gasped for air. But a familiar echoing cry in the room suddenly penetrated through his fogged mind.
Sam?
He struggled with all of his might to open his eyes. He thought he could blearily see Sam lying on the ground. He was bleeding. And Drenymer stood over him, sword before him, preparing to strike.
"No." Frodo thought weakly. "This can't happen, not Sam."
Then he noticed Sting, his own short sword, lying before him. He slowly reached forward, feeling for the hilt. The pain from this small movement was extremely painful and Frodo fought to stay conscious. At last he grabbed hold of it, then paused for a moment, trying with all his might not to faint.
With all the effort he could muster, Frodo lifted the sword slowly with one hand. The blinding pain that came immediately was almost unbearable for the beaten hobbit but he would not give in, not until he was dead. Sam needed him.
Frodo lifted the small blade as high as he could and drove it into the large calf muscle of the Man standing before him.
Drenymer cried out and fell onto his back, his sword clattering down beside him. Frodo let him arm drop and collapsed into unconsciousness.
The Man immediately fumbled to regain his weapon, growling in pain. But Sam quickly retrieved Sting, which had fallen from Frodo's grasp, and without even pausing to think, he did what immediately came to his mind. There was nothing else to do. If he did not act now and Drenymer regained his sword than all would be lost. With that Sam lurched forward, forcing the blade through the great Man's chest.
Drenymer looked at Sam for a moment in surprise, clutching at his wound, blood blossoming over his hands. And Sam looked for a moment at the Man who had ruthlessly hurt his Master, his dear Master who had already suffered so much. And Sam watched as the man took his last breath.
Sam sat frozen, Sting still raised in his hand before the dead Man, the shock and horror of killing anything besides an orc slowly seeping in.
Just then a small pained cry echoed about the room, and Sam thought no more of the dead man as he rushed to his master's side.
Sam dropped to his knees beside Frodo, who stared blankly up at him with wide, glazed eyes, his pale naked body stained with blood.
Sam grabbed hold of Frodo's hand and was surprised to feel how cold it was. Slowly Frodo's eyes began to focus.
"Mr. Frodo?" Sam whispered shakily, rubbing the icy hand. "Mr. Frodo, it's me, Sam."
"Sam."
"Yes, sir,"
"Sam, I thought.you were.dead." he whispered faintly. Tears ran freely down Frodo's face as Sam looked down at him. Sam wasn't dead. He was alive, and right there with him.
Sam slowly looked Frodo up and down, choking back a sob. His back was covered with dark whip slashes, bleeding freely; one wrist was badly swollen and appeared to be broken. His face and ribs were bruised. But nothing compared to he ghastly sight of the knife-wound in the center of his back, gushing blood. Too much blood.
Hot tears ran down Sam's face at the sight of it and he could not suppress the sob of pure fear and despair that escaped his throat. He looked around the room for a moment at the bodies of the dead orcs and the man. They had done this to Frodo.
He no longer had any regrets about killing the man and his despair was quickly overridden with an intense anger that burned in his heart. He caught sight of the evil weapon that had caused his master this pain and grabbed hold of it, heaving it across the room in his rage. It clattered against the far wall with an eerie clang. But Sam was immediately brought back to reality when Frodo clutched his hand, gasping, his face and body contorting in agony as a sharp burning pain racked his small beaten body.
"Sam!" he gasped, his eyes wide with pain.
"I'm right here, Mr. Frodo, I'm right here." Sam whispered fervently, his hand beginning to hurt him, so strong was Frodo's grasp. But nothing could make him pull away. "It's alright, I'm here," he whispered reassuringly until the fit had passed and Frodo lay unconscious.
The flow of blood did not slow; in fact it seemed to increase. And his master was already so pale. Sam took the chance of Frodo's unconsciousness to take off his own gray Elvin cloak and a spare blanket from his pack and wrap Frodo's blood-soaked, shivering body in them. He tried his best to wrap the wound with cloth but there was so much blood that whatever he had wrapped it in was completely soaked through within minutes.
Sam wept openly now. He was so frightened for his master's life. What if he didn't make it through? What would he do without him?
Sam pushed back Frodo's sweat-soaked curls and gathered him up, holding him close.
"Hold on, Mr. Frodo, hold on." he whispered into his ear. "Everything will be alright." But he had no idea what to do. There was no way to get more supplies. And they were stuck up in this horrible orc tower. There was no way to move Frodo in his current state. Any movement could make the blood flow even faster and they could not afford that.
"Sam." Frodo said quietly and Sam started, looking down at the deathly pale face of his master who lay limply in his arms. Sam was now drenched with blood as well. "Sam, it hurts," Frodo whispered, burying his face in Sam's shoulder. "Why does it hurt so much?" Sam didn't have the heart to answer, just held him close and sobbed.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Frodo's mind was in a fog. He couldn't remember what had happened. He was hurt, but he didn't know what had happened or where he was. Slowly visions of hideous orc faces glaring at him out of the darkness floated through his mind. And memories of only pain and fear and uncertainty.
But then Sam was there. Sam's familiar face was looking down at him, holding his hand. "Sam." It came out as only a hoarse whisper.
Frodo struggled to focus his eyes on that of his friend. He could hardly believe it. Sam was really there. But there seemed to be a fog hovering before his eyes, shielding him from his surroundings.
Then an unbearable pain flared through his body from a point in his back and he cried out softly. He thought he heard Sam whisper something to him but he couldn't be sure.
Frodo felt sticky and damp all over. Blood. He was bleeding. He vaguely remembered orcs and a man fighting, clashing swords. Then a terrible pain. Then nothing. But Sam had been there somehow. Frodo couldn't remember what happened after that, it was all a haze. Then Frodo felt himself slowly slip into unconsciousness.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam sat there, the moments slowly creeping by, his tears falling onto Frodo's curly head. He couldn't stop them. He knew he was wasting precious time, though, and attempted to pull himself together.
But he didn't know what to do for Frodo. He had no healing skills. And this was serious. He needed someone like Strider. He would know how to help. Suddenly he wished for the strong, dark figure of the ranger to be beside him; he could help his master. But Strider was miles upon miles away. And Sam felt more lost than ever.
Suddenly he was jolted from his thoughts when Frodo began to choke, coughing violently. Sam sat him up a little, rubbing his hand soothingly, trying to help him through it. Blood. He was coughing up blood. It ran down his chin now in a dark red rivulet.
Sam gasped. The damage was worse than he had originally thought. He was bleeding internally, the wound was so deep.
"Easy now, Mr. Frodo," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, easing Frodo back down in his arms.
Frodo himself was gasping for breath, his eyes wide. A severe pain had flamed through his body with each cough. He could taste blood. His breathing intensified out of pure fright. What was happening to him? Everything hurt so much. But the coughing fit had left him extremely exhausted and he had not the strength to think anymore. His mind drifted and he passed out again.
Sam, however, sat stunned. Frodo was injured beyond any help from him. He would need a skilled healer and fast to recover. There was nothing he could do.
'Nothing I can do." Sam thought slowly, the terrifying thought seeping slowly into his mind. "I can't help him anymore."
He sat, Frodo in his lap, and slowly came to painful realization that his beloved master was dying. And the room was completely silent except for the wheezing breaths of the wounded hobbit.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Frodo felt nothing but pain. Each breath was torture. He wished he could just stop breathing and die. It wasn't worth it anymore. The quest had failed. He wanted nothing more than for all the pain to stop and to just close his eyes and sleep forever.
Through his pain-glazed mind Frodo had fleeting thoughts of home. The Shire. Bag-End. Bilbo. His dear Bilbo. He would never see him again. A small sob escaped his throat bringing with it a wave of unbearable pain, making him cry out in anguish. If only it would all end.
Frodo knew in his heart he must be dying. He wondered briefly what it would feel like to die. And he would die all alone in this dreadful tower. But no, Sam was here. He heard him before or he thought he did. Yes, he could feel him too. Someone held him close.
Frodo struggled to open his eyes and peer blearily up at Sam. Tears cascaded down his cheeks at the sight. He was so happy to see Sam alive. All his memories seemed jumbled up, though. He still couldn't remember exactly what happened, one minute he seemed to think Sam was there, and that was a comforting thought, but the next moment he was surrounded by hideous orc faces. He didn't know what was real and what wasn't anymore.
Once the painful realization had come to him, Sam felt completely helpless as his master lay, dying and suffering, in his arms. And he could do nothing.
"Sam." The whispered voice was so quiet that Sam wasn't quite sure if he had actually heard it. But then he looked down at his master and saw that both startlingly blue eyes were open and struggling to focus on him.
Sam tried his best to put on a brave smile for his master, though he doubted if it really worked. The muscles in his face seemed to have forgotten how to do it.
"Sam." Frodo repeated with much difficulty. After each attempt at speaking he had to stop and catch his breath, wincing at the awful pain it caused him.
"Yes, Mr. Frodo? Your Sam's right here." Frodo gently squeezed Sam's hand and slowly closed his eyes, though he continued to try and speak.
"Sam.the Ring.all is lost.the Ring.they have It.Sam." Frodo gasped as fresh pain flared through his body. This time he was unable to suppress a loud cry that seemed to tear right through Sam's heart.
When the pain subsided again (except for the dull throbbing, of course, which was always present) Frodo lay limply in Sam's arms breathing hard but shallow, his eyes closed tightly in pain, sobbing openly now.
Sam cradled him closer. "Ssshh now, it's alright," he whispered in Frodo's ear, trying desperately not to cry himself. It didn't work however, and soon tears were trickling down his face once more. He made an attempt to hastily brush them away. "Don't try to talk now, Mr. Frodo. Rest, please, and everything will be alright."
"No Sam." Frodo started again weakly. "Y-you don't understand.the Ring.It's gone." The terrible feeling of emptiness that he had first experienced when he had discovered that It was gone had returned. Without It, he had not the will to live.
Slowly what Frodo had said penetrated Sam's slow-moving mind and he sat up suddenly, to pull the Ring and It's chain off from around his neck. The sudden movement, however, made Frodo gasp with pain and hold Sam's hand painfully tight until it dissipated once more.
"Oh, Mr. Frodo, I'm so sorry!" Sam gasped, horrified that he had caused his master more pain. "Please forgive me!"
"It's.alright Sam." Frodo whispered, still gasping from the pain the small sudden movement had caused him. "It doesn't.even hurt.th-that much."
Sam slowly pulled himself out of his horrified trance and remembered the Ring. He slowly pulled It over his head, careful to not move Frodo again. But his master seemed too caught up in the task of breathing for the moment to notice.
"Mr. Frodo." He whispered tentatively. "It is not gone, the Ring that is, I have It here with me."
Frodo's eyes immediately snapped open and although his vision was extremely clouded he could not miss the bright spot of gold dangling from a chain that Sam held up.
He gasped. "Sam.h-how.how did you.?" Then he stopped. It didn't matter how. All that mattered was that the Ring wasn't lost.
Suddenly the Ring seemed to take hold of his mind and Frodo heard himself demanding "Give It to me! It's mine!" in a voice as cold as ice. He couldn't remember ever resolving to say that. All he knew was the strong desire to have the Ring back in his possession. Now.
Sam looked at his master, startled. A second ago Frodo had been lying in his arms, completely spent, gasping for air and sobbing. Now he was looking up, alert, and cold anger flashed in his eyes though his cheeks were still wet with tears. He had never heard Frodo speak like that before and it frightened him.
"Al-alright, Mr. Frodo," He stammered and moved to hand the Ring over but Frodo's hand had already shot up and snatched It from him, holding It tightly in his small fist.
As quickly as it had come the strange feeling that had seemed to overcome his master disappeared, leaving him looking as exhausted as he had before. He sank back in Sam's embrace whimpering in pain once more and shutting his eyes, breathing heavily.
Sam gently pushed a dark curl off his master's pale forehead, wiped at the trail of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, and sighed, grief overcoming all of his other worries.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Frodo lay in a haze of pain again, though he was strangely comforted by the feel of the cold metal held tightly in his palm. He had the Ring again. The empty feeling had disappeared, though it was only replaced again by the burning pain that throbbed through his entire body, refusing to leave him in peace.
The flashes of pain that tormented him came more often now, and although he felt Sam's cooling touch against his brow and the pressure of his hand against his own, Frodo could not even muster up the strength to open his eyes or slightly press his hand in thanks. For he was very grateful that Sam was there with him. It terrified him to imagine what it would be like to be going through this alone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Suddenly Sam felt his master stiffen in his arms and his breathing come faster but weaker as though he were only taking half breaths. Frodo's eyes were closed tightly shut, dark circles outlining them, his brow furrowed in pain.
Sam looked at him, startled. Oh Elbereth, what was happening to him now? All of a sudden Frodo began to thrash, writhing in pain in Sam's arms, crying out. Sam attempted to quiet him but it was to no avail. He continued to shake convulsively, thrashing from side to side, an expression of pure torment etched in the fair features of his face. Sam could hardly bear it. What was it he was going through?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Frodo didn't even know what was going on, it happened so fast. One moment he was lying still, concentrating on taking slow breaths (as they seemed to be less painful) and the next moment an agonizing pain, unlike anything he had ever felt before in his entire life, had seized him.
He began to squirm in Sam's hold, crying out loudly. He couldn't control it, it hurt so badly. The sharp burning pain reverberated through his whole body, not letting up for a moment.
'Please, please just let it stop,' was the only thought that flashed across his mind.
Then, just as quickly as it had started, it stopped. The unbearable pain was no longer there. In fact, even the throbbing that had always been there before seemed to have dulled considerably.
"Mr. Frodo?" Sam cried, peering anxiously at his master's pale, sweat- soaked face. Just a moment ago he had been thrashing about wildly, obviously in some sort of terrible pain. But then he had suddenly gone completely still, lying quietly in his arms once more. "Mr. Frodo?" Sam repeated, louder this time, fear coursing through him. "Mr. Frodo, are you alright? What happened?"
Slowly Frodo opened his eyes and looked blearily up at Sam. Despite the fact that most of the pain that had been relentlessly torturing him was gone now, his breathing was more labored then ever and he struggled to get enough air. A dark grayness swam before his eyes. He could just barely make out the form of Sam leaning over him.
This was it. It had to be. Even the pain was leaving him now.
"Sam." He struggled to say, it came out in such a small whisper that he doubted if Sam had even heard, and he didn't think he could make it any louder. Miraculously, though, Sam had heard and leaned closer to hear. "Mr. Frodo?"
"Sam.th-thank you." Sam sat back a little, surprised.
"For what, Mr. Frodo?"
It took a few moments before Frodo had enough air to speak again. "For.everything Sam," He paused to gasp, "For.b-being here with me."
Tears flooded down Sam's face at this and he saw that Frodo's face was equally soaked with his own tears, though he fought to suppress them as it was hard enough to talk already.
"Oh no, Mr. Frodo, don't start talking like that now, " His voice now only came out in a light whisper as well. His master was saying good-bye and he could hardly stand it. "Everything will be alright, you'll see," he was sobbing openly now, despite his attempts to sound sure of himself.
Frodo's eyes, shiny with tears, remained locked on Sam's, despite the effort it cost him to hold his gaze steady. He would not look away, not now. Frodo weakly squeezed Sam's hand, his breathing slowing even more with each passing moment. He tried his best to smile, the corners of his mouth turning up just ever so slightly. "Thank you," He whispered again, ever so faintly, but still Sam heard him. "I love you, Sam."
Frodo's breathing slowed even more and a fresh panic coursed through Sam. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Not Frodo. Not his dear master. No.
"Mr. Frodo?!" He cried. "Mr. Frodo, what's wrong?"
Frodo's eyes slowly closed. "Nothing's wrong, Sam, " he whispered, "You always did worry too much." A small smile remained on his lips. "I'm alright Sam, really, it doesn't even hurt anymore." His voice slowly faded to silence.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He didn't know how he had managed it, but he was smiling. Frodo now felt no pain at all, but the gray mist that hovered before his eyes grew thicker with each passing moment. He tried his best to remain brave for Sam, but he could feel tears trickling down his own cheeks. He was barely getting any air into his lungs now, and he couldn't find the strength to talk anymore. He simply closed his now useless eyes and gripped Sam's hand with all the little remaining strength he had.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Mr. Frodo?!" Sam cried. The moment Frodo had said 'it doesn't even hurt anymore.' he knew. Knew that this was it, and he could do nothing to prevent it. But the thought still terrified him. "Mr. Frodo! Please look at me." he sobbed despairingly. Then he felt the slight pressure against his hand. Frodo was still there, he was still holding his hand. Sam returned the pressure, sobbing, looking down at his master's bloodied form, watching his chest slightly rise and fall every couple of seconds.
Then, slowly, ever so slowly, the movement in Frodo's chest caused by his tiny breaths he managed to take, all but disappeared and he lay still, deathly pale, in Sam's arms.
Sam gasped, panicking, then put his hand to Frodo's chest, feeling for a heartbeat. The moments slipped by and there was nothing but silence. No slight beating could he feel.
Frodo lay, completely still, in Sam's arms. No sign of breath. No beat of heart. And slowly Sam realized that the small hand he held in his own was deathly cold and limp in his grasp. No slight pressure could be felt anymore.
Sam's loud cry of anguish echoed around the chamber.
Ninth Chapter
Frodo didn't have the strength to talk anymore. Not even enough to say goodbye. A terrible sadness had washed over him. He held onto Sam's hand, so warm and comforting, and concentrated on breathing. He closed his eyes, knowing he would not have the strength to open them again.
Slowly he felt as if he were drifting, and the pain that had already all but left him vanished completely. Except now he was numb to everything. At first he felt frightened, he didn't want to leave Sam. Not here, not in this dreadful tower.
Then a feeling of great tiredness washed over him and he relaxed into it. Oh, it was wonderful not to feel any pain. And the heaviness on his heart where the Ring lay suddenly lifted and he felt whole. Complete. As he had not felt since before this had all started. He felt his mouth twitch- was he really smiling?
Then a vision, a vision of his dear Sam swam in front of his mind's eye once more. Sam, smiling and happy, standing in the sunshine, looking as if he had just come from a good day's work in the garden. There was the Sam he knew so well.
And with that thought Frodo felt contented, happy and at peace at last. Then he knew no more.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The cry of anguish set forth from Samwise Gamgee in his final moment of despair echoed along all the passages of the tower from top to bottom, reverberating against the cold stones. Any who heard it would have felt his grief in their own hearts, so powerful was his cry-- all but orc-kind.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Two orc-guards entered the tower, just off duty. They ambled in, not bothering to be quiet and grumbled loudly at each other. For a time they were completely unaware that anything had gone wrong within the tower as they continued their loud discussion.
One was complaining loudly, "Can't believe this. Everyone's runnin' about. It's outta control out there! Did you ever hear what it was that's got everyone so riled up?"
"You didn't hear yet?" The larger of the two answered. "You ain't got a clue. A big group of lads ran by my post not too long after I was put on watch, seemed mighty frazzled about something or other. I asked what was going on and one called out somethin' about someone getting' past Her Majesty last night."
The first one looked astounded. "Ain't no one can get past Shelob!"
"Ah, or so we thought," the other one sneered. "Apparently it ain't so impossible, at least not for elf-kind."
"Elf? How could a ruddy elf get in here? The guards-"
"They made it past the guards, all right, and that ain't never been done. At least not by someone who ain't wanted in. It had to be an elf; they're the only ones who could magic their way past those guards and Shelob. I heard she's even been wounded. Saw the blood on the ground with my own eyes."
The other's already bulbous eyes widened, "Yeah," the second continued, "Dozens of troops been sent out searchin' for this elf-warrior. He can't be too far off. They also said they found a spy or somethin' lyin' near where there seemed to have been a battle between Shelob and her defeater. Some kind of rat, they said. It was taken to the tower o' course, but it had to have been traveling with that elf, and the elf will be bound to come back for it. Ain't like elves to abandon a companion."
At that time the large orc stopped talking when he noticed the look of surprise in the other's face. "Whatcha gogglin' at?" he questioned, then looked around the corridor they were standing in and gaped at it. There were orc-bodies strewn all about the length of the hall, dark blood everywhere. The place reeked of death.
"What happened here?" he bellowed, unsheathing his sword and looking around suspiciously as though he expected an unknown enemy to come jumping right out at them. "Don't tell me they gone and had a quarrel again- fine time to choose to wipe themselves out!"
The shorter one, also looking around carefully, said. "What if that ruddy elf is already here? I bet it's him who killed all these lads-only an elf could do that. He probably just came back to look for his friend. Don't you remember that sound we heard on the way here?"
"Yeah, like a scream or somethin'. But there's lotsa prisoners bein' tortured around in these towers. It was probably just that-" But he sounded doubtful.
"Something right strange has been goin' on here and I bet it all has to do with that elf-warrior they're all blabbin' about."
The larger orc considered this for a moment- it looked like hard work. Finally he said, "You might actually be right for once. But he's gotten rid of everyone in the tower, it looks like. If any were still around they would have called out for reinforcements."
"Well, shouldn't we come back with a troop to investigate?"
"No, it wastes too much time. We need to find this filthy elf-warrior, wherever he is, and stop him in his tracks- before he make off with the prisoner. I heard this little rat is very important to the Master. Apparently he sent one of his Men over here for questioning. Man, he must be dead, too. Ain't no orc gonna take down a man, especially Drenymer, he's the one I heard they sent over."
They stood in silence for a time, looking at the bodies and listening for any sounds. There were none.
Finally the larger one broke the silence. "I heard they were keeping the prisoner at the very top. If the elf's still here, I bet that's where he'll be." And with that they both started down the corridor, swords held out in front of them, looking and listening intently for anything at all. But all was silent.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sam sat like that, clutching the small bundle of blood-soaked blankets. He was covered in blood, his and his master's. Though his own wounded arm was of no importance anymore. He was blind to any pain of his own. Nothing mattered now-
Sam's world had stopped when Frodo's breathing had stilled. There was no past or future for him anymore- only the agonizing present. Frodo had finally gone somewhere where Sam could not possibly follow. He was alone now. Utterly alone.
After his immediate reaction Sam found he was completely empty of any feelings at all. He sat motionless, gazing at the fair face of his master as it swam in and out of focus, distorted by his continual rush of tears. He made no attempt to stop them.
Slowly, as if his limbs had forgotten how to move, he reached up and stroked his master's brow. Cold-so cold. He hugged the small motionless body closer to him, burying his tear-streaked face into the dark curls, hoping beyond hope to hear shallow breaths or a slight 'thump' of a heartbeat. If only Frodo would look up at him with that playful smile Sam had known so well, but hadn't seen in so long. If only he would take Sam's hand and tell him everything would be all right. Sam shut his eyes tight and wished with all his might that this terrible nightmare would end-
Without realizing it, Sam dropped off to sleep from exhaustion and grief. He awoke a short time later, still huddled up close to Frodo. Out of habit he reached out to wake his master, whispering his name softly. Then he saw the blood. So much dark blood everywhere. And the bodies of Man and Orc lying around the small tower room. And everything flooded back to him. He had awoken back into the nightmare that was his reality.
He squeezed the hand he still clutched in his own. Cold as ice. He sat for a moment in despair once more. He felt completely empty of any feelings, good or bad. How could he have let this happen? The grief was so heavily laid upon him again that he closed his eyes, feeling only the terrible pain in his heart.
'I'm sorry, Gandalf,' he whispered, almost soundlessly to the darkness. 'I let you down. I lost him.'
Slowly Sam opened his eyes again, willing himself to take in his surroundings, to face reality. What was he to do now? He was alone, at the top of an orc-tower in Mordor.
Slowly Sam's gaze moved, without him even willing it to, toward his master lying in his arms and came to rest on the shiny glint of gold about his throat. The Ring. The cursed object that had brought about all this evil. It had hurt Frodo badly, scarred him forever- and now, it had taken his master from him.
He glared down at the Ring that seemed to be looking innocently back up at him, reflecting the bit of dull light beginning to creep through the tiny high-set window. The dull glow of Mordor.
Then Sam's eyes moved upwards, to the face of his friend. And he stared on disbelief for a moment. Was that a smile he saw? A faint upturn of the lips? Yes, it was. Frodo's face, though pale and bruised, marked by lines of worry and pain and grief, in that moment looked peaceful and content.
He looked only to be asleep having peaceful dreams, safe and comforted. Sam's eyes glazed with tears as, despite himself, he smiled too. It felt odd, smiling at a time when there was almost nothing to be even remotely pleased about. But in that moment a sound had echoed through his mind. Frodo's laughter. Frodo laughing on the Stairs of Torech Ungol as they talked together. It had seemed strange then too, hearing his master laughing into the foul darkness. But the sound was wonderful. He could almost hear it now.
The unshed tears forming in his eyes slowly overflowed and cascaded down his face. But he was still smiling. Smiling down at his master. He brushed away a stray curl from Frodo's face. It was so- there was no other word for it- happy.
And then Sam understood. Frodo was free. Finally free of the Ring and all his worldly worries. Free of the responsibility he felt and the pressure of what he had to do. Free of the Quest. Forever. And now he was at peace. There was no shadow about his face anymore, darkening his features. He was only Frodo. The dear master he loved so much-his best friend.
And Sam's smile grew even wider. Frodo was finally happy.
Gently Sam pulled the Ring on its chain from around his master's neck and laid his head back down. The Ring could not have a hold on him any longer.
Now Sam held it up to eye level, it was slowly spinning on its chain, still reflecting the dull light from the window. And he knew what he had to do. Just like before- he could not just lay aside the Quest, as much as he wanted to, and remain here with his master. He had to finish what Frodo started. He would destroy the Ring as it destroyed his friend. He would get rid of it forever. For Frodo.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The two orcs continued up the passageways and staircases, eyes and ears searching for any sight or sound. An elf would be quick and quiet. But they wouldn't let that deceive them. Despite the fact that the supposed elf-warrior had killed nearly an entire troop of orcs they continued on, determined to find him and catch him by surprise before he could make off with the valuable prisoner. They would be sure to be rewarded for this-
Some time later they were still wandering, moving toward the top of the tower, though slowly so their heavy boots did not make much noise.
"You seen anything?" one of them asked, holding up a torch and trying to pierce the blackness outside of their circle of light.
"Nothin'" growled the other. "But he's got to be around here somewhere."
Finally they made it to the top of the last flight of stairs. They were on the landing underneath the tower room. They glanced around quickly, throwing the beam of light from the torch into every corner.
Then the smaller orc jabbed the other in the side with his elbow and pointed to the far wall.
"Ow!" The larger one growled. "What the-?"
"Shut up!" The other whispered, still pointing to the far wall. Eventually the larger orc caught on and followed his partner's gaze. There was a ladder standing up against the wall- a ladder leading right up to the trap door in the ceiling that was closed at the moment.
"See that?" The smaller one whispered. "That's where he got up, all right. I just hope he's still up there."
Slowly and as quietly as orcs can go, the two of them moved forward across the landing and prepared to climb up. They had this elf now-
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam had put the Ring around his neck, once again surprised by the immense weight of something so small. He had resolved what it was he would do, but that did not mean he wished to rush on and do it. He did not want to leave his master. Not again- after what had happened last time. But what could he do?
Sam's head was pounding. He did not want to think anymore. Just to drift off to sleep again with Frodo beside him and forget everything. But he knew he mustn't. Every second he wasted here was precious time lost. They would not be alone in this tower forever. More orcs would come, of that he was sure. And then he would have no chance to escape.
He pulled Frodo close again. "What do I do now, Mr. Frodo?" He asked out loud.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Hey- did you hear somethin'?" The smaller of the two orcs had begun to ascend to ladder with the other waiting to follow, both with swords at the ready.
"Hear what?"
"Sounded like a voice. A small voice, though. It sounded frightened. Don't think no elf would sound like that."
"It's probably that little rat they put up there. But he's talkin' to someone, that elf's got to be up there with him. C'mon, move it!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam did not expect to hear any answer to his question, let alone a voice at all. But there was one. A sort of whispered growl coming from right below the trap door. Immediately his arms tightened protectively about his master and his eyes flew to Sting, lying halfway across the room near the body of the great Man. He thought also of his wounded arm, throbbing dully and still bleeding quite a bit. It had been a deep cut.
His heart thudding in his chest, Sam barely had time to act before the trap door was flung open and the great ugly head of an orc peered through at him.Frodo didn't have the strength to talk anymore. Not even enough to say goodbye. A terrible sadness had washed over him. He held onto Sam's hand, so warm and comforting, and concentrated on breathing. He closed his eyes, knowing he would not have the strength to open them again.
Slowly he felt as if he were drifting, and the pain that had already all but left him vanished completely. Except now he was numb to everything. At first he felt frightened, he didn't want to leave Sam. Not here, not in this dreadful tower.
Then a feeling of great tiredness washed over him and he relaxed into it. Oh, it was wonderful not to feel any pain. And the heaviness on his heart where the Ring lay suddenly lifted and he felt whole. Complete. As he had not felt since before this had all started. He felt his mouth twitch- was he really smiling?
Then a vision, a vision of his dear Sam swam in front of his mind's eye once more. Sam, smiling and happy, standing in the sunshine, looking as if he had just come from a good day's work in the garden. There was the Sam he knew so well.
And with that thought Frodo felt contented, happy and at peace at last. Then he knew no more.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The cry of anguish set forth from Samwise Gamgee in his final moment of despair echoed along all the passages of the tower from top to bottom, reverberating against the cold stones. Any who heard it would have felt his grief in their own hearts, so powerful was his cry-- all but orc-kind.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Two orc-guards entered the tower, just off duty. They ambled in, not bothering to be quiet and grumbled loudly at each other. For a time they were completely unaware that anything had gone wrong within the tower as they continued their loud discussion.
One was complaining loudly, "Can't believe this. Everyone's runnin' about. It's outta control out there! Did you ever hear what it was that's got everyone so riled up?"
"You didn't hear yet?" The larger of the two answered. "You ain't got a clue. A big group of lads ran by my post not too long after I was put on watch, seemed mighty frazzled about something or other. I asked what was going on and one called out somethin' about someone getting' past Her Majesty last night."
The first one looked astounded. "Ain't no one can get past Shelob!"
"Ah, or so we thought," the other one sneered. "Apparently it ain't so impossible, at least not for elf-kind."
"Elf? How could a ruddy elf get in here? The guards-"
"They made it past the guards, all right, and that ain't never been done. At least not by someone who ain't wanted in. It had to be an elf; they're the only ones who could magic their way past those guards and Shelob. I heard she's even been wounded. Saw the blood on the ground with my own eyes."
The other's already bulbous eyes widened, "Yeah," the second continued, "Dozens of troops been sent out searchin' for this elf-warrior. He can't be too far off. They also said they found a spy or somethin' lyin' near where there seemed to have been a battle between Shelob and her defeater. Some kind of rat, they said. It was taken to the tower o' course, but it had to have been traveling with that elf, and the elf will be bound to come back for it. Ain't like elves to abandon a companion."
At that time the large orc stopped talking when he noticed the look of surprise in the other's face. "Whatcha gogglin' at?" he questioned, then looked around the corridor they were standing in and gaped at it. There were orc-bodies strewn all about the length of the hall, dark blood everywhere. The place reeked of death.
"What happened here?" he bellowed, unsheathing his sword and looking around suspiciously as though he expected an unknown enemy to come jumping right out at them. "Don't tell me they gone and had a quarrel again- fine time to choose to wipe themselves out!"
The shorter one, also looking around carefully, said. "What if that ruddy elf is already here? I bet it's him who killed all these lads-only an elf could do that. He probably just came back to look for his friend. Don't you remember that sound we heard on the way here?"
"Yeah, like a scream or somethin'. But there's lotsa prisoners bein' tortured around in these towers. It was probably just that-" But he sounded doubtful.
"Something right strange has been goin' on here and I bet it all has to do with that elf-warrior they're all blabbin' about."
The larger orc considered this for a moment- it looked like hard work. Finally he said, "You might actually be right for once. But he's gotten rid of everyone in the tower, it looks like. If any were still around they would have called out for reinforcements."
"Well, shouldn't we come back with a troop to investigate?"
"No, it wastes too much time. We need to find this filthy elf-warrior, wherever he is, and stop him in his tracks- before he make off with the prisoner. I heard this little rat is very important to the Master. Apparently he sent one of his Men over here for questioning. Man, he must be dead, too. Ain't no orc gonna take down a man, especially Drenymer, he's the one I heard they sent over."
They stood in silence for a time, looking at the bodies and listening for any sounds. There were none.
Finally the larger one broke the silence. "I heard they were keeping the prisoner at the very top. If the elf's still here, I bet that's where he'll be." And with that they both started down the corridor, swords held out in front of them, looking and listening intently for anything at all. But all was silent.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sam sat like that, clutching the small bundle of blood-soaked blankets. He was covered in blood, his and his master's. Though his own wounded arm was of no importance anymore. He was blind to any pain of his own. Nothing mattered now-
Sam's world had stopped when Frodo's breathing had stilled. There was no past or future for him anymore- only the agonizing present. Frodo had finally gone somewhere where Sam could not possibly follow. He was alone now. Utterly alone.
After his immediate reaction Sam found he was completely empty of any feelings at all. He sat motionless, gazing at the fair face of his master as it swam in and out of focus, distorted by his continual rush of tears. He made no attempt to stop them.
Slowly, as if his limbs had forgotten how to move, he reached up and stroked his master's brow. Cold-so cold. He hugged the small motionless body closer to him, burying his tear-streaked face into the dark curls, hoping beyond hope to hear shallow breaths or a slight 'thump' of a heartbeat. If only Frodo would look up at him with that playful smile Sam had known so well, but hadn't seen in so long. If only he would take Sam's hand and tell him everything would be all right. Sam shut his eyes tight and wished with all his might that this terrible nightmare would end-
Without realizing it, Sam dropped off to sleep from exhaustion and grief. He awoke a short time later, still huddled up close to Frodo. Out of habit he reached out to wake his master, whispering his name softly. Then he saw the blood. So much dark blood everywhere. And the bodies of Man and Orc lying around the small tower room. And everything flooded back to him. He had awoken back into the nightmare that was his reality.
He squeezed the hand he still clutched in his own. Cold as ice. He sat for a moment in despair once more. He felt completely empty of any feelings, good or bad. How could he have let this happen? The grief was so heavily laid upon him again that he closed his eyes, feeling only the terrible pain in his heart.
'I'm sorry, Gandalf,' he whispered, almost soundlessly to the darkness. 'I let you down. I lost him.'
Slowly Sam opened his eyes again, willing himself to take in his surroundings, to face reality. What was he to do now? He was alone, at the top of an orc-tower in Mordor.
Slowly Sam's gaze moved, without him even willing it to, toward his master lying in his arms and came to rest on the shiny glint of gold about his throat. The Ring. The cursed object that had brought about all this evil. It had hurt Frodo badly, scarred him forever- and now, it had taken his master from him.
He glared down at the Ring that seemed to be looking innocently back up at him, reflecting the bit of dull light beginning to creep through the tiny high-set window. The dull glow of Mordor.
Then Sam's eyes moved upwards, to the face of his friend. And he stared on disbelief for a moment. Was that a smile he saw? A faint upturn of the lips? Yes, it was. Frodo's face, though pale and bruised, marked by lines of worry and pain and grief, in that moment looked peaceful and content.
He looked only to be asleep having peaceful dreams, safe and comforted. Sam's eyes glazed with tears as, despite himself, he smiled too. It felt odd, smiling at a time when there was almost nothing to be even remotely pleased about. But in that moment a sound had echoed through his mind. Frodo's laughter. Frodo laughing on the Stairs of Torech Ungol as they talked together. It had seemed strange then too, hearing his master laughing into the foul darkness. But the sound was wonderful. He could almost hear it now.
The unshed tears forming in his eyes slowly overflowed and cascaded down his face. But he was still smiling. Smiling down at his master. He brushed away a stray curl from Frodo's face. It was so- there was no other word for it- happy.
And then Sam understood. Frodo was free. Finally free of the Ring and all his worldly worries. Free of the responsibility he felt and the pressure of what he had to do. Free of the Quest. Forever. And now he was at peace. There was no shadow about his face anymore, darkening his features. He was only Frodo. The dear master he loved so much-his best friend.
And Sam's smile grew even wider. Frodo was finally happy.
Gently Sam pulled the Ring on its chain from around his master's neck and laid his head back down. The Ring could not have a hold on him any longer.
Now Sam held it up to eye level, it was slowly spinning on its chain, still reflecting the dull light from the window. And he knew what he had to do. Just like before- he could not just lay aside the Quest, as much as he wanted to, and remain here with his master. He had to finish what Frodo started. He would destroy the Ring as it destroyed his friend. He would get rid of it forever. For Frodo.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The two orcs continued up the passageways and staircases, eyes and ears searching for any sight or sound. An elf would be quick and quiet. But they wouldn't let that deceive them. Despite the fact that the supposed elf-warrior had killed nearly an entire troop of orcs they continued on, determined to find him and catch him by surprise before he could make off with the valuable prisoner. They would be sure to be rewarded for this-
Some time later they were still wandering, moving toward the top of the tower, though slowly so their heavy boots did not make much noise.
"You seen anything?" one of them asked, holding up a torch and trying to pierce the blackness outside of their circle of light.
"Nothin'" growled the other. "But he's got to be around here somewhere."
Finally they made it to the top of the last flight of stairs. They were on the landing underneath the tower room. They glanced around quickly, throwing the beam of light from the torch into every corner.
Then the smaller orc jabbed the other in the side with his elbow and pointed to the far wall.
"Ow!" The larger one growled. "What the-?"
"Shut up!" The other whispered, still pointing to the far wall. Eventually the larger orc caught on and followed his partner's gaze. There was a ladder standing up against the wall- a ladder leading right up to the trap door in the ceiling that was closed at the moment.
"See that?" The smaller one whispered. "That's where he got up, all right. I just hope he's still up there."
Slowly and as quietly as orcs can go, the two of them moved forward across the landing and prepared to climb up. They had this elf now-
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam had put the Ring around his neck, once again surprised by the immense weight of something so small. He had resolved what it was he would do, but that did not mean he wished to rush on and do it. He did not want to leave his master. Not again- after what had happened last time. But what could he do?
Sam's head was pounding. He did not want to think anymore. Just to drift off to sleep again with Frodo beside him and forget everything. But he knew he mustn't. Every second he wasted here was precious time lost. They would not be alone in this tower forever. More orcs would come, of that he was sure. And then he would have no chance to escape.
He pulled Frodo close again. "What do I do now, Mr. Frodo?" He asked out loud.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Hey- did you hear somethin'?" The smaller of the two orcs had begun to ascend to ladder with the other waiting to follow, both with swords at the ready.
"Hear what?"
"Sounded like a voice. A small voice, though. It sounded frightened. Don't think no elf would sound like that."
"It's probably that little rat they put up there. But he's talkin' to someone, that elf's got to be up there with him. C'mon, move it!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam did not expect to hear any answer to his question, let alone a voice at all. But there was one. A sort of whispered growl coming from right below the trap door. Immediately his arms tightened protectively about his master and his eyes flew to Sting, lying halfway across the room near the body of the great Man. He thought also of his wounded arm, throbbing dully and still bleeding quite a bit. It had been a deep cut.
His heart thudding in his chest, Sam barely had time to act before the trap door was flung open and the great ugly head of an orc peered through at him.
The smaller orc crashed open the trapdoor with such force it bounced back on its hinges. He looked for a moment in shocked disbelief at the scene around him. Dead bodies of both Man and Orc littered the chamber. He recovered enough to get his voice back.
"Hey! They- they‘re all dead up here- all of em!" He still hadn't moved from his perch on the top rung of the latter, his head peeking over the door's opening.
The larger orc remained behind him on the ground. "What about the prisoner?" He called out. "Do you see him?"
The small orc hadn't seen the prisoner when it had been brought into the tower but he knew that it was very small and, for some odd reason, he had heard a rumor about furry feet. He hadn't believed it at the time but he struggled to remember all he had heard about the mysterious creature they had found as he swept his gaze swiftly around the room looking for anything different from orc-bodies.
Then he saw it. Off near the far corner lay a much smaller creature than the orcs with a head full of dark curly hair just visible from where the orc was standing and- believe it or not- hairy feet. But the small body lay motionless, wrapped in a blanket soaked in blood. It was not orc's blood.
"Well?" came the impatient growl from below him. "Is it dead?"
"I- dunno. Can't tell. Real bloody though."
The larger orc growled with frustration and forcefully shoved the other through the opening and into the room before hastily climbing the latter himself.
He also took a moment to stare in shock. Finally he broke the silence. "Imagine, that Man defeated- that elf's got to be around here somewhere. I can't wait till I find him and chop off his filthy head- where's the little rat they was keepin' up here?"
The other orc gestured toward the corner where Frodo lay and they both made their way over to him. "He's been stabbed." The large orc commented.
"Blast, that Man takes his jobs seriously, don't he?" said the other. "Look what they did to this little mite. Looks like they did a number on him even before that. Maybe the master doesn't want him after all."
There was a pause as the orcs considered what to do. They had never expected something like this.
"Is he dead?" the smaller orc steped forward to take a closer look at the hobbit. "Strange little thing, eh?"
"Yeah-" the larger answered, "This fellow's deader than dead, though. He can't be no use now."
"Musta refused ta cooperate." Growled the smaller of the two. "Drenymer was real tough when it comes to that."
"Well after we catch up to the elf-boy the Master should be pretty pleased with us-"
"But what about this thing?" He gestured toward Frodo again and the big orc glanced down. "Sounded real important that we keep it alive."
"Well that didn't work out now, did it? Look at this thing-" The big orc raised his foot to give Frodo's small body a hard kick in the side. At that moment a small but furious figure bolted out from a dark corner at the far end of the room brandishing a short sword.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam spent one terrifying, panicked moment debating what he should do. Frodo still lay in his arms, the mysterious expression of peace very apparent on his face still marked with old lines of worry and pain. The last thing Sam wanted to do was leave him. He couldn't- he wouldn't leave his master.
But he knew he must.
The Ring weighed heavily around his neck as a constant reminder of what he had to do- the impossible task that lay ahead of him. And he was alone. As terrible as it felt Sam knew if he was to protect the Ring and go along with what he decided to do he would have to save himself. He must not be seen.
Quick as a flash he practically flew across the few feet between himself and Sting. He snatched it up and backed into the shadowed corner furthest from the entrance in the floor, for once being grateful for the dim gloom of daylight in Mordor. He quickly hid the sword, glowing bright blue in warning, under his cloak and watched the trapdoor crash open and the hideous head of an orc poke over the top and squint around.
Anger boiled in Sam's veins to see one of those monsters. He felt there was anger and grief enough inside of him at the moment to kill 20 orcs. But no-as much as he hated it he must hide and wait it out while Frodo lay out there in plain view. He gritted his teeth and watched.
The orc looked around stupidly for a few moments gaping at the scene before it. Then it seemed to be talking to someone down below it. Another orc- how many were there? Then a rather angry growl sounded from down below and the orc in the doorway was pushed roughly into the room followed soon after by a second larger orc.
This one too gaped around for a matter of moments. Sam took a moment to marvel at the stupidity of these creatures. His thoughts were quickly interrupted, though, when the two began to grumble quietly to each other and he saw the smaller shorter orc point over at where Frodo's body still lay and Sam followed the other's gaze until it came to rest upon the little hobbit's still form.
Both orcs quickly strode over to Frodo and continued to grumble to each other barely audibly. Sam could just make out the words, "- deader than dead- no use now-" and he saw the larger orc lift one large booted foot and give Frodo a rough kick to turn him over.
Sam's rage boiled over- he couldn't stand to sit idle and watch his master treated like that, in life or death. Without ever stopping to consider the consequences Sam rushed from his hiding place, Sting's blade held high before him, and with a small, strangled cry of fury he rushed forward at the pair.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
There was no time to react. Before either of the orcs knew it Sting's short blade was buried in the back of the large orc. Its eyes opened wide in shock for a moment before the blade found its mark, piercing his heart. A trickle of blood dribbled from his mouth before he collapsed face-first on the ground where he stood.
Without the great height of the large orc in between them the smaller orc came face to face with his small but mighty attacker holding a short blue-bladed sword stained with orc blood staring with wide eyes at what it had just done. The smaller orc hadn't yet moved, its feet seemed to be rooted to the floor on which it stood.
Sam wasted no time. Before the remaining orc knew what had happened he was across the room at the opening for the trapdoor. He took one last look back at his master before hastily turning away. He did not want to remember Frodo like that- lying so pale and battered and bloody. "goodbye, dear master. Won't nobody ever forget the deeds you done." He thought to himself.
Even as he turned and fled down the ladder and into the corridor from which he had come Sam could still see the contented smile on Frodo's face. He knew that image would stay with him forever. And with that he hurried on, blinded by tears, cursing the ring as he went.
Already Sam could feel the intense weight of it about his neck, if it weren't for that evil thing he could have remained with his master forever, soon to join him where he had gone. But no- he had a job to do. He felt terrible running to save himself when his master lay fallen in some evil place. But he had to remind himself, he was not running to save his own life, but the future of Middle Earth rested in his hands now. This sent a shiver up his spine, but he knew he could not just turn the task away. It would be like dealing out death and suffering to all he cared for, though the one he cared for most was already taken from him. As soon as the task was over, as soon as it was completed, though, he could lie down and return to his master and never leave his side again- with that thought to urge his tired legs on, he continued to stumble down.
Sam looked around the space he found himself in now. Several other corridors led out of it but he hurried to the one directly in front of him. This looked like the way he had come-
A moment later Sam nearly tripped over something lying in his path and he stopped and turned to see what it was. The sounds of the orc pursuing him were fainter now. He seemed to have taken a different turn. Sam saw that he had tripped over yet another dead orc. He grimaced but edged closer nevertheless. As quick as he could with his trembling hands he took some mail, a cloak, and a small knife from the body and hastily put them on. Hopefully this would help him fit into the scenery of Mordor better. He shivered at the thought and hurried on.
There were no sounds anymore. Maybe the orc completely lost track of him. Sam kept his eyes open anyway, his heart thudding so loud in his chest he feared his enemy would surely hear it. Sam stopped completely. It was too quiet-
He heard the slight scrape behind him just a second too late. The orc came bounding around the corner, blade held high, swinging it down toward the startled hobbit.
Sam dodged it, the blade barely missing his face, and continued to run faster than he ever thought he could, blessing his hobbit reflexes. He heard the orc stumble and growl in rage as it turned and followed Sam at a frightening speed. Soon the orc was right behind him again. Sam skidded around the last corner and was faced with a long empty corridor. No corners or doors leading off of it. There was nowhere to hide.
There was nowhere to turn and Sam was at a loss. Then it came to him- it was the only thing he could do, though the last thing he should. He took a deep breath and slipped the ring onto his finger. The world seemed to change though he could still see.
Sam pressed himself to the wall and watched as the orc ran passed, not even glancing at him. He held his breath until he could no longer hear the orc's footsteps, then hurried after him.
He had been right, this was the way out. He could see the entrance and hurried through it. He was outside. And there were the horrible Watchers of the gate. Although they could not see him, he knew they knew of his presence. He could feel their menace growing and almost gave in, he was so tired. But then his thoughts returned to Frodo and the thought drove him on. He could not give uo now. He had escaped the tower. As before, Sam raised the phial of Galadriel, which he still bore, high over his head and, without even realizing it, cried out words he did not even know the meaning of. They simply burst forth from his tongue.
"Gilthoniel, A Elbereth! Aiya elenion ancalima!" And with that he hurried past them.
Once past the guards he ran and ran for what seemed like forever, nearly forgetting he still had the ring on. As he ran on Sam heard a loud calling screech go up into the night. A few moments later it was answered. He ran faster, feeling more than ever that the glowing windows of the tower were looking at him.
Suddenly a great eye was before his vision. Sam knew it saw Him, he heard a dark voice calling to him. Fear like ice covered his heart and panicked, he pulled the ring off and continued to run, driven on by his fear.
After what felt like hours of running Sam finally collapsed behind a large boulder, now far away from the tower, and cried until he felt all his tears were spent and his heart shattered. Eventually he fell into an exhausted sleep.
Sam swam back into consciousness slowly. His brain seemed to be working sluggishly as he tried to sort through the confusion. He was tired- more tired than he could ever remember being. He couldn't even open his eyes and everything hurt. Every muscle and joint in his body seemed to be screaming.
Try as he might, Sam could not figure out where it was he found himself. He was lying on something relatively soft and he could sense pale light through his closed eyelids.
The daylight of Mordor.
His heart sank as he realized once again where he must be. It was always a sore trial as he willed himself to remember where he was each time he awoke from the few brief hours of sleep he dared to take, just enough to keep him awake and on his feet for the next trek on through the gloom.
He reached out a hand weakly and with much difficulty and groped at the land beside him expecting to feel his master lying there. To his horror Sam found that not only did he not find Frodo beside him but he couldn't feel the ground either. His arm seemed to be dangling over the side of whatever he was laying on which was apparently quite high off the ground.
Sam's weary eyes snapped open in an instant and he shot up to a sitting position looking wildly around. This immediately brought on a huge wave of dizziness and a terrible pain shot through his head. He cried out softly and fell back against the pillows. Pillows. He gasped and despite the pain opened his eyes again and looked around more cautiously.
He was in a small but cozy room that looked as though it might belong in a healing chamber of some sort. It was obviously for Big People he thought as he noticed the size of the bed he lay on and the other furniture.
Sam stared wide-eyed at his surroundings for a while. He slowly reached up and pinched himself hard to convince himself it was not a dream. It hurt. This was real. But how?
His mind was immediately full of questions. He lay in the large bed feeling extremely small and frightened. Why was it he didn't know where he was? None of it made any sense. Where was he? Where was Frodo? Frodo! And then Sam remembered-remembered everything.
He could remember the great black tower, many orcs, and Frodo. These images seemed as clear as day for Sam for they had played across his mind countless times since it had happened and haunted him further as he slept. Frodo lay in his arms pale and covered in blood, gasping for air and Sam could do nothing. He had never felt so helpless in all his life. His master was suffering and he could do nothing to ease the pain but be there with him.
He had been so scared as Frodo's breaths had become few and far between, more labored by the moment. Frodo had said he loved him. He had somehow worked up the strength to manage those few words. But Sam did not deserve his love. Not with all he had done. He should never have left him-if he hadn't none of it would have happened. But now Frodo was gone.
A strangled sob erupted from the hobbit's throat and he buried his face in the pillow and let the tears flow. It was his fault. All his fault. He had felt like there could not possibly be any more tears left inside of him by now only to be proven wrong. Slowly the rest of his memory returned.
He had left his master. He had had to turn and run. He could still remember what Frodo looked like as he glanced back upon his master for the last time. Though he was battered and bloody a small smile still played upon his lips. A shadow of the Frodo he had known so well could be seen. He could remember running from the tower and finally escaping. He had been determined to finish the Quest for Frodo's sake. He no longer cared for anything else.
Much of the time afterwards was a blur for Sam. He no longer knew or cared whether it was day or night, he just kept walking. His life turned into a constant nightmare- the long painful trek through Mordor, always feeling as though he were being followed, forcing his tired limbs on even as he felt on the verge of collapse from weariness and grief. The never-ceasing weight of the Ring was always about his neck and the growing feeling of cold evil in the air.
And so he had struggled on with an ever-diminishing source of food and the non-existent source of water. He despaired at ever completing his task. Then he would think of Frodo and move his tired body forward once more. He would complete it, then he could join his master.
He could remember passing the endless days like that, then at last reaching the accursed mountain he had traveled so far to reach. He forced himself to wake each time he fell asleep and struggled to ignore the terrible urge to remain there sleeping for eternity. Then he would glance down at the evil thing his bore, glinting innocently up at him and go further. He was close-so close to finishing this terrible task, the task that had changed from destroying the Ring to staying alive another day.
Sam had struggled his way up the last few yards he had to cover. He was almost there; he could barely resist the urge to give up now. He would have put the Quest aside long ago and gladly gone to rejoin his master but there was a driving force that always kept him going. He couldn't stop, not until he carried his promise through. He had promised, promised Frodo. He couldn't give up now. Not yet. And so he braced himself as he gasped for air and slowly continued his ascent.
Then it had happened, a small frightfully thin creature had leaped at him out of the shadows, knocking Sam off his feet. Gollum.
Sam fought with wild rage. Rage for his Master lost because of this sneaking traitor and rage at the possibility of having the Ring, the cause of it all, taken away when he was so close to the end; rage at having this miserable skulking creature live on when Frodo was gone. Sobbing uncontrollably and never even noticing Sam fought with Gollum. He had Sting out; he had him cornered.
Gollum immediately stopped fighting and cowered on the ground whimpering and pleading that his life be spared. Sam merely chuckled inside- he had not the strength or breath to do it out loud. There was nothing that would stop him from slaying this pitiful being right now-but no. All of a sudden the thought of his master seemed to jump out of nowhere to him.
Frodo would not want this. Despite what Gollum had done to him he would not want this. It was the oddest thing- how could Sam know these things? But the feeling continued, a constant trail of thoughts. Frodo would not have wanted Gollum killed. Sam took a deep breath and looked down at Gollum. As much as Sam wanted to be rid of him now he knew he could not kill him. He had not the strength nor time to spare. Not now, he had a quest to complete. And someone to see. He turned and ran up the pass to the mountain without looking back.
Behind him Gollum looked up from where he crouched in surprise. He had expected to feel the cold bite of steel soon enough and the black rush of death. But he was still alive and the cruel Hobbit had fled. A wicked smile flashed across Gollum's face and he crept up silently after Sam.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He had done it. Sam had made it- to the Cracks of Doom. Here he was, the rushing roaring fires rumbling below him, the very ground shaking. He had made it, now to get rid of It once and for all.
He reached under his shirt and pulled out the Ring, which was glittering on Its golden chain in the light from the sparking flames. He detached It and stepped forward. He could feel the hot fire licking at his face but he ignored it. Nothing mattered anymore, just to get rid of this thing- the thing responsible for so much sadness and suffering. Responsible for so many innocent lives. The thing that had made his dear master suffer, that had taken his life too soon when he should still be safe at the Shire, happy and free. He held nothing but hatred for it.
Sam stepped closer, now he was right at the edge. He held the Ring up high above his head, a determined look on his small hobbit face. Just then a terrible feeling crept up on him- a feeling of want, of greed. Something Samwise Gamgee had never before known. It was the Ring, he knew it, but he could not stop it. As much as he wanted to block his ears and ignore it he could not, it was inside his head. A voice.
Don't do it. It told him. Don't do it, you know you don't want to. What are you trying to prove?
"No, no."Sam whispered out loud. "No. It's for Mr. Frodo. I must do it."
Fool. It countered. Can you not see? Without the Ring there will be no hope for you, you or anyone you care about. It is the one weapon you need. It can help you in tremendous ways. It will give you all you want and more.
"No, no it can't."Sam sobbed, his outstretched hand faltering. "No, I only want one thing. To have Mr. Frodo back. Not food, not water, nothing. I need nothing but Mr. Frodo here with me. Then I would happily lie down to die and finally find some peace. No, I need nothing else."
The voice chuckled softly in his head. But of course it can give you that. Simply claim it for your own, Sam. Then Frodo will be back, standing right here beside you. With the Ring in your possession anything can be willed into reality. You will be more powerful than you ever imagined. You can change the world, Sam; bring it back to how it was. Don't you wish to return to your home with Frodo and have everything as it was before? It can all happen, Sam. Just put on the Ring.
Sam stopped. The world stopped. Time stopped. Frodo-Frodo could come back to him. It was impossible but he had heard it.
Just put on the Ring, Sam.
Sam looked at his hand holding the ring tightly in his closed fist, the object that could bring his master back. He had lowered his arm without ever realizing it. He extended him index finger, inches away from putting the Ring on. This was it, all he had to do to have Frodo back.
"No, Sam!"Another weaker voice, strangely familiar, had echoed through his head just as he was about to lower the golden circlet onto his finger.
Sam stopped and looked about. It was as though he had come out of a trance. But he had no more time to ponder it as a black something sprang out of a dark corner and collided into him, sending him sprawling. Gollum had followed him in.
Gollum fought like a wild beast- tearing, clawing, and biting at Sam, anything to get to the Ring. On instinct Sam closed his fist over the Ring and fought back just as viciously. They tumbled over each other in their desperate battle, two wasted bodies engaged in the war that would affect the future of their world.
Closer and closer to the edge they came but neither would give up. All of a sudden Gollum lost his footing and his back half slid over the edge and all he held onto was Sam's hand, the one with the Ring still held tightly in his fist.
Slowly he began to drag Sam toward the edge as well, at the same time trying to clamber back over the edge and snatch the Ring out of Sam's hand. Sam was dragged closer and closer to the edge. His eyes widened and without thinking he let go of Gollum and the Ring and watched in stunned horror as both tumbled over the edge and plummeted toward the fiery depths below. He heard one last desperate wail from Gollum before he was lost to the world.
"Prrrrreecciioousssss-"
And he was gone. Sam remained flat on his stomach, half suspended over the edge as the earth began to shake violently and he quickly retreated back. Fire erupted in spouts all around him; it felt as thought the very mountain would burst in a moment. He willed the energy to crawl on hands and knees out of the little inlet he had been in and back the main path. He regained his feet and stumbled his way back down, the tremors growing more and more violent each moment.
He stopped. He had come down quite a way. Samwise Gamgee stood perfectly still, tears he was unaware of running down his grubby face in a constant stream. He gazed East at the light patch of sky slowly forming as the darkness was driven away. The sun-there it was, the first real light he had seen in ages. He kept his eyes fixed to that point in the sky as his body, completely spent, collapsed out from under him. It was done at last. He was free, free to die. Frightened as he was, he wanted nothing more than to die and leave all the pain and suffering behind, to rejoin his master and exist in utter bliss together for all eternity.
The last thing Sam could remember before losing consciousness was a large black winged shape descending toward him. At first he thought it was a Black Rider, but no, it couldn't be. An eagle? A thought of Bilbo's old stories came to his mind. Then all went black.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Lying in the strange bed in the strange room Sam remained sobbing uncontrollably. Here he was, alive through it all when Frodo was gone. All he had ever wanted was to die, to leave it all behind and be with his master. And here he remained, doomed to suffer a life without him.
The next few days were some of the hardest for Sam. He was plagued with nightmares whenever he drifted off to sleep. And he always dreamed the same thing:
He was surrounded by darkness so dark it seemed to be pressing in on him and there was a terrible stench in the air. Frodo was calling out to him from somewhere in the darkness, begging for help. Sam would try to answer but no sound ever came out. He would try to run to where the cries came from but he was always too slow and they grew fainter and fainter into the distance. Then he would see a small figure lying on the ground before him. It was covered in blood and deathly pale. Frodo. He had been too late- again.
Sam would always wake up sobbing from this dream and attract a few of the over-watchful healers in the process. They always asked him to tell them of what it was that distressed him so in the night but he would always refuse and lay awake the rest of the night, Frodo's cries echoing in his head.
By day he was no less at peace. Nightmares did not haunt him but the grief lay heavy on his heart like a disease. There was not one moment out of any day that he did not feel the immense weight of it. Sam believed this must be his punishment. He had been responsible for Frodo's death and now the memory of it would haunt his every moment. He could not escape.
Day and night there was a constant stream of healers coming in and out, tending to him, so he barely had a moment alone. They always referred to him as 'sir'. This irked Sam quite a bit. These people believed him to be their savior. They thought he had rid the world of evil. He had done nothing. He had not completed his task; he had failed. His task had only ever been to protect his master. He had failed in that. He had carried the Ring on to complete the task his master had not. But he had failed in that too. He had been weak and listened to the evil. He had been mere seconds away from claiming it as his own. There was only one thing that had stopped him.
The strange little voice that had called out to him there in the Cracks of Doom was something Sam could not forget. He pondered over what it could have been but it was impossible to identify it. Try as he might, Sam could not recall what it had sounded like in his head. He remembered how strangely familiar it had been. Something about it had made him stop. It had blocked out the overpowering voice of the Ring and the deep cold evil that had seemed to settle into Sam's very bones had quickly disappeared. But he could not remember anything more about it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
About a week after Sam had awoken Gandalf decided it was time to see him. He had heard from the healers countless times of how the hobbit lay in the large bed day and night, seldom sleeping, but the sound of sobbing could be heard often. He ate little and there seemed to be nothing but sorrow and grief in his eyes.
Of course, none of the healers knew the extent of what this little one had been through. But now Sam had an even harder task, harder than the trek to Mount Doom, and Gandalf wondered if he would succeed. He must heal, emotionally he was broken and he needed desperately to heal. His body had been mended by the best young healers in the land; there were no lasting physical scars. But the emotional ones would remain for the rest of his life. It was Gandalf's job to help them fade.
It had been hard enough on he himself to learn of the Ringbearer's death. But he knew no one's grief, no matter how deep, would be equal to that of Samwise. He had endured countless hardships at his master's side, always putting Frodo before himself. And then he had witnessed his own master's death and was unable to prevent it. He knew that this had been tormenting Sam but he doubted he knew to what extent the little one's sorrow went.
All this went through his mind as the wizard slowly approached the hobbit's room. He stood before the door and knocked. A servant came hurrying out, bowing hastily in recognition before scurrying down the hall. Gandalf slowly pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped over the threshold.
In the large bed over on the far corner of the room he could just make out the small curled-up figure of the hobbit buried under the covers. All that could be seen of him was the sandy curls on the top of his head. Gandalf walked in quietly shutting the door behind him and strode over to the bed and sat on the edge.
"Samwise?"
A pair of bloodshot eyes peeked over the blanket at him and quickly grew wide with surprise.
In a moment Sam had shot straight up in bed. "Gandalf!"he exclaimed. "But how--?"
The wizard put up a hand to silence him. "It is a long story and a tale for another time, I think."He replied softly. Sam fell silent gazing upon the figure of a friend he had believed was lost forever.
Gandalf looked long and hard at the wasted little figure on the bed before him. He looked a mess. He was so thin and pale and there were dark rings under his eyes, not at all like the stout little gardener that had left the Shire alongside his master. And Gandalf knew these physical changes were not just caused by his hardships in Mordor. They went much deeper than that; there was something different about Samwise Gamgee, he could see. Something was gone. Then he knew. The hope that had always been kindled in Sam's kind green eyes was gone. They were empty now.
As he watched, Sam's eyes filled with tears and spilled over onto his cheeks. Sam had thought it impossible that he could have any more tears left to cry but there was always more. Without a word the wizard gently gathered the small form, shaking with sobs, into his arms and rocked him gently. Sam did not deserve this, not after all he had been through. He seemed so small and frail now. The light in his eyes had long since been extinguished. Small hands buried themselves into the many folds of his robes and Sam sobbed uncontrollably into them. How could this small hobbit have endured so much?
A small croaking voice interrupted the wizard's thoughts. "I'm s-sorry Gandalf,"Sam whispered, his voice slightly muffled by the robes. "It's all m-my fault. I broke my word. I l-lost him. I'm sorry."
It took a moment for Sam's words to sink in. Then Gandalf remembered his words to Sam before Frodo and he had set out from the Shire so long ago. He closed his eyes in horror. He knew this must have been just eating away at Sam, as if the grief of his master's death was not enough. But Frodo had been more than just his master, he had been his friend.
He pushed Sam up away from him so he looked directly at the small tear-streaked face.
"This was not your fault, Samwise."He said softly. Sam opened his mouth to protest but Gandalf held up a hand once more. "None of what happened was ever your fault, you could do nothing to prevent it."Tears still fell down Sam's pale face.
"Tell me what happened, Sam."
And so Sam did. He let his whole story spill out. The words just seemed to come out in a rush and once he started he couldn't stop. He was unaware of his own small trembling voice, often interrupted by hiccupping sobs, because he was lost, lost within the terrifying memories. When he reached the point of Frodo's death he stopped and remained silent for a few moments, gazing ahead, silent tears streaming unchecked down his face. Gandalf simply placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and eventually Sam took a shaking breath and continued.
He recounted his decision to take the Ring and complete the task, his escape from the orc tower, his journey through Mordor, his encounter with Gollum, and just how the fall of the Ring and Gollum had come to pass. Such a tale will never again be heard in Middle Earth like the one told by Samwise Gamgee that day. Though he would recount the tale many times throughout rest of his long years, it would never be the same.
When Sam had finished he took a deep breath and looked up and Gandalf who looked back down at him, his aged face expressionless. However, behind those fathomless eyes, the wizard was in pure awe of what the hobbit had truly been through- and overcome.
He had done what many men never would have. He had overcome the evil of the Ring and completed the task. More importantly, he did it not for himself, nor for honor or recognition. He was not thinking of the well-being of all the inhabitants of Middle Earth as he resolved to take the Ring, as he let go of Gollum there in the chasm. He thought of only one individual, the one he had done all of this for. The love Sam held for his master was truly amazing. Gandalf could almost feel it. And he felt the same love, equally strong, emanating back to Sam.
After a long pause the wizard finally broke the silence. "Have you given any thought to what made you stop, Samwise?"he asked. "What it was that stopped you from claiming the Ring. Helped you overcome its deceiving voice."
Sam looked up and frowned a bit in thought. His curly head rested against Gandalf's arm. The recounting of his journey had taken a lot out of him. He felt the pain in his heart more fiercely, yet somehow he felt relieved to finally have let it all out.
"The voice, Gandalf,"he said softly after a while. "It was so familiar but I could not place it then and I cannot recall what it sounded like now."He struggled once more to remember, but found it as impossible as he had before.
Gandalf looked directly down at the hobbit once more. "I think, Sam, that the voice was that of your master speaking to you down there."Sam's mouth opened slightly and he gave a small gasp but Gandalf continued. "He is with you, Sam, I know it. I feel it. There is a strong feeling of love and companionship that always seems to surround you. He has never left your side once, Samwise Gamgee, and he was there as the Ring spoke to you. I believe it was a near miracle that his small voice could be heard over the powerful evil influence of the Ring, but it did. His love was stronger than its evil. And, Sam, do you remember now?"
Sam looked long and hard at Gandalf for quite a while, stunned at what he had just heard. Unshed tears swam in his eyes, a single tear rolled down his check. Finally he spoke.
"I do, Gandalf."He whispered. "I remember now. It's the oddest thing, but all of a sudden I can hear it so clearly. It is him."
He let out a small sob and Gandalf was surprised to see he was smiling, the first smile in ages. "It's him, Gandalf!"He gasped, like a delighted child. "It's my Mr. Frodo. He saved me. He did it."
Sam was still grinning broadly, tears streaming down his face. It felt odd, an emotion he hadn't felt in a long time. To smile. He reached up tentatively, an expression of wonder on his pale face, and gently felt the curve of his mouth, the uplift of his cheeks. He was, he truly was smiling.
Thirteenth Chapter
Samwise Gamgee stood before his open window, gazing ahead at the fiery orange sunset over the city. His time here was over. He turned to see his open pack lying on the bed; contents spread all about his little room. He was leaving tomorrow, leaving at last to go home. As much as he wanted to see the Shire again he believed the constant ache in his heart would be even worse there, among so many memories. He was returning home, but Frodo wasn't.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A lot had happened during the last few weeks. But it all blurred together now for Sam, one long confusing day it seemed to him; so many people coming in and out, so many new faces. And all the while he seemed only to be observing it all, not really being there. He was trapped in a place they could not know, drowning in his own sadness.
He had begun to learn how to control his emotions, or at least hide them as best he could. His face became like a wall, and no one could see through. No one must know of what he was haunted by. But two people always seemed to figure it out, always seemed to know when the sadness became too much again.
A few days after Gandalf's first visit, Merry and Pippin had come to see Sam for the first time. He had been sitting alone in his room, staring out that same window, contemplating what Gandalf had told him. He found it amazing, but ever since then Sam had been able to hear Frodo's voice clearly in his head whenever he wanted to. Sometimes it comforted him, but most of the time it only pained him. Yet he did not want to forget it, it was all he had to hold on to.
Merry and Pippin had sat with him for hours that day. At first saying nothing, just merely being beside him. He could see the grief in their eyes, and the questions they longed to ask him. He wondered if he could bring himself to repeat it all one more time. He needed to. So once again Sam opened up and told Frodo's cousins of what had happened to him. When he was finished Pippin had his face buried in Merry's shoulder. Merry said nothing, merely looked at Sam. Then he placed his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Thank you, Sam."
After that they came to see Sam every day, usually bringing along some food or stories for him. With time Sam even found himself nearly forgetting his sorrows for a few moments as he listened to Pippin's chatter. They filled him in on all that happened since they had separated that day that seemed ages upon ages ago and Sam marveled at the amazing height they had acquired.
Somehow Frodo always seemed to pop into their conversations. Whether it was a story of their childhood or merely a thought, he always seemed to be there. Most of the time whenever Frodo's name was mentioned Sam would become quiet, listening rather than talking. But during one particularly interesting story of days long passed in the Shire, Sam spoke up himself, adding in his views. Merry and Pippin smiled to each other when Sam turned away. He may finally be healing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam looked into his pack, searching for the precious objects he had stowed away first. The day before when Merry and Pippin had come to his room they had brought something different than their usual snacks and conversation.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam had looked curiously at the bundle in Pippin's arms as he approached.
"Sam," he said very quietly, unusual for Pippin, even with all that had happened. Pippin opened his mouth but realized he could hardly manage to say anything else and simply placed the bundle in Sam's lap. Sam noticed his green eyes bright with tears.
Sam looked down at the bundle and gasped. There lay Frodo's gray Elven cloak from Lorien, his mithril vest, and Sam's own short sword. Sam held the garments in his hands and buried his face into the fabric. Merry and Pippin watched in silence for a few moments as Sam's small shoulders shook with sobs, then they climbed up on the bed, one on either side of Sam.
Slowly Sam looked up at Pippin, his face streaming with tears. "It's just not fair, Mr. Pippin." He managed to stutter. "It wasn't fair. I shoulda been the one to get hurt, not him. He didn't deserve it. He had a job to do, it shouldn't have happened. I keep thinking I coulda prevented it, but I didn't know what to do. I know everyone keeps sayin' it wasn't my fault, but I can't help thinkin' it was. What if there was something I could of done for him? I didn't do anything, just sat there are watched him die." He broke into a new wave of tears, but scrubbed them away with the backs of his hands and continued.
"You don't know what it was like, no one does. To just see him fading away from me&Mac247;oh, I woulda given anything to switch places with him right then. He was in so much pain and so afraid. Why him? Why not me? I keep askin' myself that and I can't figure out why. And now he's gone, gone forever. And I'm left behind all alone without him. Sometimes I wonder how I'll ever live without him being there. What will I do? I feel so alone. I just wish he were here. What I wouldn't do to see him one more time. It was the hardest thing I ever done, leaving him I mean. But I had to. I hope he can forgive me."
He paused, staring down at his clenched hands, tears falling onto the bed and he made no attempt to stem the flow. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo." He whispered, so softly Merry and Pippin couldn't be sure they ever really heard it at all.
Merry looked down at the cloak and mithril coat sitting in a heap in Sam's lap and noticed for the first time he had tears running down his face as well. He missed his cousin horribly; Frodo had always been there for him and now he was gone. But he couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Sam. And even though Sam's heart had been shattered by the death of his master he hadn't stopped. He had continued on. It was probably thanks to Sam the world held any happiness. It just wasn't fair that the world was rebuilding itself, rejoicing, when it's little savior sat in here all alone, lost in his own grief.
Pippin merely sat staring at Sam. He had only heard bits and pieces of the story from Gandalf, but to hear it straight from Sam, the only one who had been there, was so different. His eyes were wide with shock and grief. Is that really how it all came about? Pippin could nearly feel his heart breaking all over again for this small, weather-beaten hobbit sitting beside him. This was the most Sam had spoken to anyone about anything since it had happened. They had hoped Sam would find it within himself to pick up the broken pieces of his life and maybe continue on once more. Now he looked at the grief stricken hobbit before him and wondered if it was possible.
Without ever saying a word the two held him in their arms, their tears mingling with his. They sat like that for a long time in silence, thinking back on all they had been through over the past months and clutching the pieces of clothes tightly to them, the only thing they felt they had left of their friend.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam looked down at the cloak he held in his hands now and ran his fingers through the cloth. He could feel fresh tears tickling the back of his eyes. They always seemed to be there, just waiting to spill over. He sighed and pressed his cheek to the smooth fabric.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Over time he had reunited with the rest of the remaining Fellowship. Sam thoroughly expected to be bombarded with questions and have to explain it all again, but surprisingly he was not. They were quiet and did not press him at all. Sam decided someone, Gandalf probably, had already told them. And, unlike the other people he had seen on his few brief outings from his room, they did not looks at him with sympathy, just quiet sadness.
He learned that Aragorn was to be crowned king and, after a bit of persuasion, had agreed to attend the ceremony. It had been the first time he had left his little room since waking. The whole ordeal had been loud with a lot of people crowding around, but in the end he was glad he had attended anyway. Merry and Pippin stood on either side of him, and Merry took his hand comfortingly as Aragorn addressed the city about the triumphs and the losses of the war. He spoke briefly of Frodo and Sam could not stop the tears that silently fell.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
But now all of that was over, and he was heading home. To what, he was not sure. He was not even sure if he wanted to return home without his master. What kinds of curious questions would he have to answer to there? But he knew he must go, the Shire was where he belonged.
Sam carefully folded the cloak and placed it back into the bottom of his pack. He packed up the rest of his small belongings and climbed under the covers, gazing out at the now star-filled night sky. How would he ever continue living like this?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
When Sam opened his eyes he saw bright blue sky above him. He frowned. What was going on? Slowly he rolled over and caught sight of the grass he was lying on. He quickly sat up and looked around.
"Sam?"
At the sound of that voice Sam spun around so fast he almost toppled back over. There was Frodo standing behind him, looking perfectly healthy and happy. Sam attempted to stand but tripped over his own two feet and landed back down on the grass with a thump, all the while staring in awe at his master who stood before him. Frodo suppressed a giggle and moved forward to help him up. Eventually Sam stood eye-to-eye with the one person he thought he would never see again.
Frodo's eyes were bright and sparkled with happiness as he looked at Sam. Slowly he frowned in concern. "What's the matter, Sam? Do you feel alright?"
Sam shook his head slowly. "No. Fine, I'm fine." He stumbled over the words like he had forgotten how to speak them. Without warning or even stopping to think he caught Frodo in a hug and buried his face in his friend's shoulder, laughing out loud. Frodo, caught by surprise, nearly fell over. "Sam!" he laughed, hugging him back. Sam let go and backed away a little, still trying to make himself believe it.
"You're alright Mr. Frodo?" Frodo, still a little confused, nodded slowly. "Yes. Fine, Sam." He smiled and Sam's heart leaped for joy. There he was, Frodo was all right.
Frodo laughed at the look on Sam's face and Sam couldn't have been happier. It had been so long since he had heard that laugh.
The rest of the day was a blur of color and happiness. He was in the Shire, just outside Bag End, all as it was so long ago. Things were bright green, the garden looked wonderful. But above it all, he was there with his master, happy and free. They spent their time walking and talking and laughing. Passing by all the wonderful places Sam knew so well and thought he would never see again. He still could hardly believe it.
Frodo chattered happily with nearly no end. Sam merely looked all around him, taking it all in with hungry eyes. "Sam?" Frodo had stopped talking and taken his hand. Sam turned and stared into worried blue eyes. Then he suddenly realized he had tears on his cheeks. He hastily brushed them off. "What's wrong, Sam?"
"Nothing," Sam mumbled. "Just happy, I suppose." Frodo frowned, but didn't question him anymore.
Before Sam knew it the day was over and they had returned to Bag End. Since they had spent their day feasting on berries they found all over neither was very hungry so they both sat down in the garden, right where Sam had woken up earlier, and gazed at the stars. They sat for a long time in silence, just being together. Then, slowly, Frodo began to speak.
"Sam," He said quietly, looking his friend in the eye. "It's almost time."
Sam looked puzzled. "Time? Time for what?"
Frodo sighed and took his hand. "I have to go now, Sam. I can't stay here." Sam could see tears swimming in his master's blue eyes.
"What?" He stammered, his heart quickening. "Why?"
Frodo looked at him seriously. "You know why, Sam, though you don't want to." Slowly he stood, pulling Sam up with him. "I'm sorry, Sam. I wish with all my heart I could stay."
A small sob escaped Sam's throat. No, no. Not again. He couldn't do it again. "I'm sorry I had to leave you before, Sam." Frodo said, tears wetting his cheeks now. "I'm sorry. I wasn't strong enough."
Then Sam understood. This wasn't real, it couldn't be. Frodo was dead; he couldn't be with him right now. But then Frodo reached forward and embraced him tightly. Sam felt his master's small shoulders shaking a bit and wrapped his arms around him. After a moment Frodo pulled away and smiled at him through his tears.
"Thanks you, Sam, for all you ever did for me. You were always there for me, always."
Sam could barely stand it. His eyes never once left Frodo's. This would be the last he ever saw of him. He wished this last day would last forever. "I-I tried to follow you, Mr. Frodo." He stammered. Frodo shook his head. "No, Sam. You belong here. You have your whole life ahead of you." He reached up and brushed Sam's tears away. "Please don't forget me, Sam." He whispered sadly. Sam sobbed and caught Frodo's hands in his. "I couldn't ever forget you, Frodo." He said, not even realizing he had left out the Mister for the first time since he had known him. Frodo smiled and turned to leave.
Sam's stomach lurched. No, not yet! There was something he needed to know. "Wait!" Frodo paused. "Frodo, was it really you up there? Who called to me on the mountain?" Frodo just smiled and did not answer. Slowly he turned once more and walked away. Sam called out to him, but it was too late. Frodo was gone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam awoke with tears streaming down his face. He shot up to a sitting position and looked around wildly, breathing hard. He lay in his bed in his little room, his packed bag lying on the floor nearby and the early morning sun peeking in through the window at him. He buried his face in the blankets and cried his heart out. When he looked up the room was glowing with sunlight. It was all a dream, but it had been so real.
Sam closed his eyes and could still see Frodo's smiling face in his mind. He hoped that image would stay with him forever.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
That day Sam left that part of the world and set out for home with his fellow hobbits. Merry and Pippin were amazed at the change in Sam. Just the day before he had been mellow and quiet, keeping to himself. Today he looked around him with eagerness and smiled brightly more often then they could remember seeing him smile in the past month. What could have happened to speed up his recovery so fast?
What had happened was that Samwise was finally healed, emotionally and physically. He had done what he couldn't do before, what he had been longing to do. He had said good-bye. He had seen his master one last time and it was enough. And as he turned toward home Sam smiled because knew in his heart that Frodo was happy and traveling right alongside him.
THE END