Frodo and Sam

by Overlithe

He heard it only faintly; the sound of Sam’s voice, only this one thing remained beyond the Ring and the fire and the eye. His voice spoke of things he could no longer fathom, green grass and gentle breezes, food, they were all but words in the dark now and his mind gave him no recollection as to what these things were, how they felt or tasted. The fire, the wheel of spinning flame, the ring it encompassed all; only Sam kept the tiny spark of who he had been alive, if not for Sam he would be long dead, or worse.

“I can’t recall the taste of food…” Frodo felt the fear rising in his throat even as he tried to explain. “There is no veil between me and…I can see him with my waking eyes!” The anguish the admission had caused him nearly sent him over the brink of despair that he so delicately balanced upon. He stared, barely able to make out the dark silhouette of his gardener, companion, and his friend. Sam’s voice echoed in his mind even as he felt the wetness upon his cheeks. He was amazed that he was able to cry for he felt only the overwhelming desire to take the Ring unto himself and end all of this, this needless quest. Then the realization dawned, it was not he who wept, it was Sam leaning over him, his tears drawing him back into the world of the Shire, a world unlike the reality that now haunted his every moment. Sam…no he couldn’t do it to him, he would fight this horrid desire, if only for Sam.

“I can’t carry IT…. but I CAN carry YOU! Come on, Mr. Frodo” He was aware that he was being carried and wondered somewhere in his mind how Sam found the strength. The ring was so very heavy, it tore at the skin of his neck digging, clawing and biting his tender flesh, slowly devouring who and what he was.

The face of Gollum appeared over him. Indeed it was the only thing that could have revived him, the attempt to wrest the ring from him set the fires of Mordor to work in his mind and body and indeed his very soul once more. RUN! The command came from with in him but not from him, and he ran toward the great door, the ring desired it, it wished to return to it’s master, still the knowledge and understanding that any should seek to destroy it was not fathomed. He did wish it destroyed; with all that remained of his former self, Frodo desired it and yet as he stood on the brink his resolve failed him.

He faltered and delayed and suddenly the malice read his intent. The voice that had plagued him for so long shouted in his mind now. Claim it, put it on; put it on…greatness I can offer, you will be lord over all the lands! You but need to claim what is already yours…the sounds of the cavern muffled the roar of the flowing lava a distant whisper, all that remained was the seduction and whispers of the Ring. He fought it; he knew the lies of the ring and of its maker. Surely it sought only to keep itself from destruction, yet…He was so weak and so tired, he had no more strength. The power washed into him, even as it felt the sudden loss of his will and Frodo of the Shire was lost…

Sam nearly swooned at the look of pure malice. It was a look he had seen in part before, the being looking out of those eyes was not his master, not his Mr. Frodo, He gasped and screamed as he saw and knew, Frodo had claimed the Ring as his own. “NO”!!!!

Frodo reappeared moments later before him, Gollum danced in gleeful delight the ring of power clutched in his hands. Frodo collapsed nearby his eyes still wild and not his own, he desired only the Ring, Sam saw it in him and recoiled again in horror of what he had been powerless to stop. The quest had failed and so had he, he gaped in silence as he saw his master fall trying to regain what had become his precious.

Why did he hold on, how had he managed it? He fell over the precipice with Gollum the Ring with them. Yet he managed to grasp at the outcrop of rock catching just so and holding on, for what? There was nothing now, no Ring, only darkness and death, nothing would ever be right again. It was gone, lost and yet his hand would not let loose from the last hold it had on what was his life. He wished only to follow the Ring, to die and seek peace in the searing flame.


Frodo looked down at the roiling lava flows and thought how quickly it would all be over. His physical pains would be gone he would seek his death here with his precious. It was only fitting for he had in the end claimed it. He turned his weary gaze again to look up at his offending hand, the hand that stayed his death and prolonged his life. Why had he struggled so? “DON’T YOU LET GO!” The stern voice broke into his mind and his eyes refocused, Sam…. Of course this was why he had grasped at this final chance, the ring continued to call at him to lie to him, but Sam called now too.

Sam feared now, for he knew his master wished to die. His eyes said all that need be said, there was no light in them. They were beautiful but vacant orbs of anguish and pain, he looked as one who had already accepted his death and sought to speed it.
“DON’T YOU LET GO!”… “REACH!” His halfhearted attempt was not enough; he tried weakly but his eyes, his eyes.

Let me go Sam, please just let me die, I can’t live with this pain in my mind, I will never be whole again never…Gandalf said so, did he not? If the Ring were to taken by force, the bearer would loose his mind? Did he not say it was so? Please Sam don’t make me try…Gandalf was right I have lost my mind. Please my dearest friend, understand, you cannot save me now, I want to go, I want this pain to end. Frodo glanced at his fingers and willed them to let go and yet Sam called and he looked at his friend.

The look on that face so beloved so dear, so ever present in every waking moment…how can I leave him like this, only for my own comfort? What of him, what of my Sam?

Sam saw the light return to his eyes, first a mere flash then alive with pain, anguish and caring, Sam saw his jaw set in determination and breathed a sigh as he reached again with more effort. Frodo had chosen, he would try and he would live.

Frodo pushed the anguish aside and ran with Sam. His will to live returning with each step… The Ring was gone, the quest fulfilled if not by him than through him. He sensed the gaping wound in his soul and mind, the part of him that had been consumed by the need for IT, would never be the healed. He sat surrounded by the ruins of Sauron’s empire and found despite his pain and the receding madness he was glad.

“I’m glad you’re with me Sam, here at the end of all things…”

Sam looked at him, tears streaking soot-covered cheeks. They would die here his mind held no doubt, and yet Frodo had been saved, he could see it in his eyes, and nothing else mattered.

The End?

It never ceases to amaze me Elijah's capacity to convey so much in a mere glance...As he hangs by a perverbial thread both in mind and body and will, I can hear all these things pass through Frodo's mind....I can see his utter despair and hoplessness, his desire only to die...miraculously only to awaken to hope again at least for a time. Knowing that Sam could not have borne it had he gone with the ring. Sigh...perhaps more will follow, tomorrow and Saturday Iam headed for a few more viewings, trying to do my part to keep LOTR #1 for a fifth weekend.....GO US...