The Ring will come to Gondor
by Varda
Chapter Sixty-three: Without You
Boromir drew his sword, and with the tip he
gently pushed open the door of the room in the Houses of Healing where
Sam had been laid. Impetuous as all Dwarves, Gimli barged forward, but
Boromir put a hand on his chest to stop him. Gimli looked up
indignantly but Boromir said in a quiet voice;
'Let me go in first, Gimli....'
And Boromir stepped forward, through the doorway and into the room. He looked round in amazement.
It seemed as if there had been a great struggle in the narrow,
high-windowed sickroom. The small table set close to the bedside was
overturned and the pitcher of watered down wine left for the invalid
had been thrown across the room, its contents slowly seeping into the
red and gold weave of the heavy rug that covered the cold stone floor.
A tray of food had been upturned on the ground, the gruel spilt on the
flagstones and a cup of hot broth now a cold, greasy pool just inside
the door.
The bedclothes had been pulled off and lay tangled on the floor. A
heavy linen chest at the foot of the bed was toppled onto its side. But
more, on the stone slabs of the floor, there were drops of blood. Large
and dark, but still fresh, and leading out the door and down the
hallway....
'Someone has taken Frodo!' shouted Gimli. Boromir quickly crossed
the room, pushing aside the hanging to look out the window. There was a
sheer drop to the ramparts, and no windowsill; nothing could have
entered or left by the window...
Boromir ducked down and slid his sword under the bed, then
recrossed the room and moved the door back carefully, to make sure
nothing was lurking behind it. Then he sheathed his sword and turning
to the others he said in a sombre voice;
'Gimli is right; someone was seized here, wounded and taken away;
we can only hope it was not Frodo, but it could be. And Sam has been
taken, or has run off, as well. This is an evil day! We must haste to
tell the Steward that the Ringbearer may have been captured by the
Enemy....'
'No!' said Legolas. They both turned to look at him.
Legolas was standing in the middle of the room, his head down,
gazing at the floor. He was trembling slightly, and there was a grey
hue on his fair, pale face. His eyes were dark as jet but bright, as if
with fever. He stared as if he saw more than the white flagstones at
his feet.
'Frodo has not been taken...' he said in a quiet voice. The others
looked at each other, for a moment not willing to break the silence
that followed Legolas's words. Then Gimli demanded;
'What makes you say that, Legolas? How can you know? Look, there
is blood spilt, and evidence of violence, and where IS Frodo? Or Sam?'
Legolas did not reply. He crouched down and reaching out a hand
that shook slightly he laid it on the floor where the blood was spilt.
Then he closed his eyes. After what seemed an age, he opened his eyes
and straightened up.
'This is not Frodo's blood, nor Sam's....'
Gimli was about to question the Elf, but thought better of it, and
waited. Boromir stared at Legolas and was silent as well. Legolas moved
to the bed.
On the torn coverlet was a jacket. It was covered by the tousled sheets, and so had been missed. Gimli gave a cry;
'That is Frodo's jacket! He must have had it torn from his back during the fight....'
Legolas picked up the jacket, a plain homespun woollen garment made in
the Shire. He held it in both hands, seeming to draw something from its
touch. Then he put it down, and looked out of the window. A single
star, glowing green and white, glittered in the spring evening sky.
Legolas sighed, and said;
'It is Frodo's jacket, but it was not pulled off him, he left it behind when he went....'
'Went?' said the others almost as one. 'Went where?' demanded Gimli.
Legolas looked past them at the open door, and the dark passageway
beyond. A breeze stirred the wall hanging in the hall outside, and
suddenly it fanned Legolas's cheek, and it was not cool but hot, like a
blast from a furnace. And the quiet room and his friends were snatched
away and Legolas glimpsed, for less than a heartbeat, a wall of fire, a
molten avalanche cascading down from an immeasurable height to a great
depth, into a lake of flames. At once Legolas knew he was looking down
into Oroduin, into the Cracks of Doom. And against the fire he saw a
tiny figure, dark and struggling like a fly caught in bright amber, and
he knew it was Frodo.
Legolas recoiled so quickly he almost fell. The vision was snatched
away, but not before it had been seared into his memory. So that was
it, he thought; Frodo's doom! Legolas realised with horror that he had
returned from death, but he had brought something back with him, some
strange power of sight...
'Legolas!' said Gimli, stepping quickly up to his friend. 'Are ye
all right? Your face is as pale as the snow on Caradhras! Did you see
some ghost..?'
Legolas colllected himself quickly and turned to them with a forced smile. Some colour returned to his cheeks. He said;
'There is no reason to be afraid, not for Frodo. He has left Minas Tirith, of his own free will, and unharmed...'
'But..' protested Gimli '...what about the damage here, and whose blood is this?'
'Not that of Sam or Frodo' said Legolas. 'But of something that sought them out in this chamber...'
The others looked at him in horror.
'Something?' asked Boromir warily. Legolas nodded.
'Yes, and something evil. But the hobbits overcame it...'
'How do you know this, Legolas?' asked Boromir, a frown of bewilderment on his face. Legolas smiled sadly;
'I don't know, Boromir. All I can tell you is I.....see.... I can
see what passed here, in my mind. A fight, yes, but Frodo and Sam won
it, or at least came through unharmed. Then, for reasons I cannot
guess, they decided to leave Minas Tirith....'
'Well...' said Boromir 'I can guess the reason; Frodo wants to go
on with his quest, but alone. He fears to bring us into danger....'
'We must follow them at once!' exploded Gimli 'What on earth will we tell Aragorn....?'
'We won't follow them' said Legolas softly. 'Because they do not want it..'
Boromir looked at the Elf. Legolas nodded.
'Yes, Boromir. Frodo fears someone will try to seize the Ring, but
not you. He fears another of the Fellowship, or even a stranger. Taking
with him only Sam, he has departed in order to carry out his task,
alone.....'
Gimli let out a long, sad sigh.
'May you go on your way in safety, brave hobbits, and reach your journey's end swiftly, and with little loss...'
Legolas thought of the vision of fire, and said nothing....
‘Stop, Sméagol!’ shouted Frodo. ‘Wait! Sam has to rest….’
Frodo shouted the words into the empty, dripping darkness ahead,
half expecting no sound to come back to him but the echo of his own
voice, lost and desperate.
He had taken a terrible risk, trusting Gollum. Even when he thought the
creature had been overpowered, lying senseless after Frodo brought the
heavy tray down on his unprotected skull, Gollum suddenly started up,
his great green eyes almost afire with hatred and desire, and threw
himself on Frodo with all the strength concealed in his emaciated body…
The struggle that had followed had almost come out ill for the
hobbit; Gollum fought with all the savagery of a desperate animal. He
tried to strangle Frodo, but Sam, struggling to jump from his bed, hit
Gollum's knuckles with the base of a candle stand. Then he twisted
round like a striking snake and tried to bite through Sam’s throat, but
at the last moment Frodo snatched Sting from its sheath and held the
keen edge to Gollum‘s scrawny throat….
‘This is Sting!‘ he cried, and Gollum, held fast, cringed.
‘Yes, you know it, don’t you, Gollum…?’ the creature began to whine.
‘Let Sam go, or I’ll cut your throat….’
Sam, still weak from his wounds, sat gasping on the side of the great high bed. Frodo hurried over to him.
‘Are you all right, Sam?’ he asked putting a hand on his servant’s shoulder. ‘Did he hurt you…?‘
Sam, at last catching his breath, shook his head and replied;
‘No…no, Mr. Frodo. It would take more than a snake like that to do
down a Gamgee. But keep an eye on him, master. He might attack again….‘
Frodo turned round and regarded Gollum sternly.
‘No, Sam, I don’t think he will, somehow…‘
Gollum sat on the floor amid the wreckage of the meal Frodo had
been carrying on the tray. A trickle of blood ran from his bony head,
but he had a look of hatred on his face and he glared at Frodo and Sam,
wrapping his arms round himself and rocking backward and forward on his
long splayed feet. But he made no attempt to attack the hobbits again,
or to escape. Frodo said;
‘I showed him something to keep him cowed and obedient for some time…‘
‘You showed him….it?’ Sam asked. Frodo nodded. Sam said in an urgent voice;
‘Mr.Frodo! Isn’t that dangerous…?’
Frodo smiled in spite of himself. He took his eyes off Gollum to look at Sam.
‘Do you imagine he doesn’t know we have it?‘ he asked gently ‘Why else do you think he followed us all the way here?‘
‘But he might take it…‘
‘No!‘ snapped Frodo. ‘He can’t, and he won’t! Watch…‘
And Frodo got to his feet and walked across the narrow room to
where Gollum, seeing him approach, cowered lower, shielding his bald
skull with his long bony hands. Frodo stopped in front of him, and said
in a loud voice, not at all like the kind master Sam knew;
‘Look at me, you!’
Gollum’s head snapped up, as if on a string. He stared at Frodo
with great wide green eyes, full of fear. Sam could hear him whining,
but Frodo did not pay any attention. He put a hand on his chest, to the
shirt under which the Ring was concealed;
‘You know what I have here, don’t you?‘
Gollum’s whine grew louder…
‘DON’T YOU?' shouted Frodo, making Sam start.
‘Yes, yes!‘ cried Gollum, the words forced from him. ‘You have the Precious, the Precious….‘
‘And I am master of the Precious, and so I am master of you, is that not true, Gollum?‘
Frodo spoke the creature’s name in a commanding voice, and Sam had to
look again to make sure it was indeed his beloved master who was
speaking. Never had he seen Frodo so stern. Something in Sam rejoiced,
that at last Frodo was fighting back at the demons which had pursued
him. But another part of Sam felt great unease....then Frodo said, to
Sam‘s relief in a quieter, kinder voice;
‘But I will not be as cruel as the Precious, Gollum, if you will help us….’
Gollum looked up at once, his eyes bright with hope, or more likely treachery, thought Sam grimly.
‘Gollum help nice hobbitses? Yess, that we will, of course we will, help the Preciouss…‘
‘NOT the Precious!‘ cried Frodo, making even Sam jump. ‘Help us, me
and my servant, Samwise. The Precious is no business of yours….‘
At this Gollum whined again and cowered down. Sam caught a look of
pure hatred before he could conceal it. He ached to warn Frodo but his
master was not listening…..suddenly, Gollum reached up a long, starved
arm and laid a trembling hand on Frodo’s sleeve. The hobbit did not
shake it off, but stood warily, waiting to hear what Gollum had to
say….
‘Master, master….’ Gollum whined. Frodo‘s face showed impatience.
Gollum edged closer, still on his knees. He spoke, this time without
whining…
‘Master is Master of the Precious, and Master of the Precious is
master of Gollum….’ at this the creature made a gulping noise, much
like ‘gollum’.
‘So that is where he got his name!‘ thought Sam with raised brows. Frodo nodded and said;
‘Whatever I ask you to do, you will do, in the name of the
Precious. On my part, I will not subject you to pain, or danger, or
want, unless what we ourselves have to endure. As far as I can,
Sméagol, I will treat you with kindness, and dignity….‘
‘Sméagol….’ said Gollum, half to himself. Why had the hobbit
called him that? It reverberated in his mind, awakening memories long
buried. That had been his name, long ago, when he was a hobbit…
‘Yes, Sméagol’ said Frodo. ‘That was your name, once, I have been
told. And that is what I will call you. Please may you remember what
you were when you bore it, and come to earn my trust, not just for
being bound by an oath to something evil, but for yourself, Sméagol,
and the good I know you can do….‘
At these words Gollum seemed to grow in stature, to straighten up
and look less like some cave-dwelling creature and more like an old,
starved and sick hobbit who had gone through great suffering. Sam still
felt only mistrust towards him, But Frodo smiled.
‘Can you do that, Sméagol?‘
‘Oh yes, Master…!‘ said Gollum, his face lit up with hope….’..trust poor Sméagol, good Master…’
‘He’s run off!’ said Sam with a scowl, leaning against the wall of the tunnel.
‘Led us down here and got us lost, then ran off. What a smell!‘
Frodo peered ahead down the dark cavern-like tunnel, wondering was Sam right.
The first task Frodo had given Gollum was to lead them out of Minas Tirith.
‘You know a way…‘ Frodo had said firmly. ‘How else could you have come
into the city? The sentries would hardly have waved you past...‘
‘Yes, yes…‘ said Gollum ‘Sméagol knows a way in. But not nice,
hobbitses, not nice at all. A great drain, a sewer, that leads from the
city to the river, and comes out at the Star-Dome. Not used any more,
but very long, very dark, very smelly. Poor Sméagol is used to it, yes,
we are….’
At this Sméagol stopped, and began to whimper. Frodo guessed this
'Star-Dome' was Osgiliath. He had to wake Gollum from his self-pity.
‘Go on!‘ he snapped. Gollum jerked his head up.
‘Not nice, not nice…‘ he chanted ‘but it is a way out, if hobbitses don’t mind the smell….‘
‘If you can do it, so can we. Hobbits can stand the smell….‘
But now Frodo was not so sure. It was not just the smell; the sewer was
no longer in use and the smell was mostly just stagnant water and
slime. They both pulled up their Elven cloaks to mask their faces, and
it was not too bad. But the drain, which Gollum had led them to in the
undercroft of the Houses of Healing, seemed endless. There were many
openings, and junctions, and many steep sections where they feared one
slip might send them to their deaths….and still they descended, the one
single torch that Frodo had taken from a wall sconce flickering
balefully in the dank, fetid air.
And now, just as they reached the spot where the drain opened into
another, wider and larger tunnel, Gollum shot ahead and with a cry of
‘Back, soon, hobbitses…!‘ and disappeared, leaving Sam and Frodo alone
in the dripping reek, the guttering torch throwing a sickly light on
their pale, sweating faces.
‘Drat!‘ swore Sam, and he wiped the perspiration from his face with his sleeve. Frodo smiled grimly.
‘There is no use worrying about him, Sam. I am more worried about you,
dragging you from your bed like this before you were healed…..’
‘No, no, Mr Frodo…’ said Sam, shaking his head vigorously.
‘I were worse off in bed. Hobbits like me and the Gamgees at large
do not fare well in big feather-beds with maidens in long gear bringing
us our vittles. We feels ill at ease, if you take my meaning, Mr Frodo.
It were only a bang on the 'ed in any case....'
Frodo looked thoughtfully at Sam. He knew, if only they could gain
the open air, and freedom, that Sam would recover. A few days of easy
paced walking and Elf-bread, and to be again with his beloved master,
might be all he needed. But Frodo felt guilty.
'Had there been any way on this earth....' he thought sadly to himself
'...that I could have gone on without you, I would have, Sam Gamgee. But there isn't....'
