Author's Note: This story is basically a lot of Frodo-angst in the first person, present tense, because Frodo-angst is fun and so easy. Thanks to my pal TALEWG for lending me the idea about Sam's NDE (Near Death, or in this case Drowning, Experience) being particularly traumatic for Frodo because his parents drowned when he was very young. It starts about the time when track 17 from the soundtrack – "The Breaking of the Fellowship," the most sad, touching, heart-wrenching, powerful piece of music I have ever heard – begins, and was inspired by the movie when Melanie and I saw it (the 4th time for me on Sunday, February 24) and she made the thought-provoking comment about Frodo's parents. So sue me, Tolkien traditionalists. I like the movie, and it is very inspirational. (Those eyes…wow. They're so blue. And they hurt so much. I can never really imagine Frodo as looking like anyone other than Elijah Wood, even when I'm reading the books.) So this version of my story is written using quotes from the movie in the Italics, and the dialogue and action at the end is in the movie and not the book. But if you are a staunch traditionalist and you would rather, you can read the book-compatible version to be found in the next "chapter" and just ignore this first chapter. You don't have to read both; it sort of loses its impact the second time, as do most angsty stories. For those reading the movie version (below) who have the soundtrack CD, skipping to #17 might be in order.

Drowning Alone

There are two things in the world of which I am most afraid and always have been, and one of them is inevitably before me. I have always been afraid of being alone. Completely alone, that is; living alone in Bag End after Bilbo left doesn't count, because it was comforting to know that I could always find familiar faces in the houses all along Bagshot Row, and Sam was just a few doors down. But I know that now I face the complete loneliness that has been my darkest terror for as long as I can remember.

If I had known earlier that this was what awaited me, I probably would never have stood up in the Council of Elrond and announced, "I will take the Ring." A sense of need and duty motivated me, but some fears are so paralyzing that they will overwhelm even those. I wonder if I was stupid to volunteer…I could press on despite weariness, heartache, and fear when I had the Fellowship beside me, but now it is more true than ever that I do not know the way.

I should go forward…it is just a matter of stepping into the canoe and rowing across the river, and then I am already on my way to Mordor and what I must do.

I cannot do this alone.

You are a Ring-bearer, Frodo. To bear a ring of power is to be alone.

Then I know what I must do…it's just – I'm afraid to do it.

This task has been appointed to you, and if you don't find a way, no one will.

I have to find a way. I know what I must do, but I am frozen and afraid. I cannot take a step forward; my feet are leaden, as is my heart. The terrible emptiness inside me fills my chest, tears at my throat, and stings my eyes from within.

I know why you seek solitude: you suffer. I see it day by day.

The voluntary solitude which I have sought in an effort to prepare myself for what I knew must come is so different from the loneliness forced upon me by this duty that I did not want. I do suffer, and cannot keep from showing it. I have been wounded, and shall never really heal; I have been weighted down with a burden that, day by day, becomes heavier until a day shall come when I will fall under its weight and it will be impossible to rise. I have lost my closest confidant, advisor, guide, guardian, and friend in fulfilling a task that I should not, should not have undertaken.

But I know that it was not my choice to make.

There are other forces at work in the world besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, in which case you were also meant to have it. And that is an encouraging thought.

It should be an encouraging thought. But I wish I could have chosen home, safety, the warmth and security of familiar people and surroundings. I wish that the terrible darkness of this weight that I carry didn't force me to leave the only solace I have, the only strength that bears me up.

I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.

So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.

It is remembering this that gives my hand the strength to close around the Ring that seems to whisper to me all my fears and apprehensions when I gaze at it lying gleaming in my palm. That is what the motion of closing my hand around the Ring feels like, somehow – accepting the pain and fear for which Fate has chosen me and pressing on though I desperately fear being alone. I put it in my pocket, taking it in stride, defying it to hold me back from the task that has been appointed for me. My personal phobias don't matter in the face of the enormity of the consequences of succumbing to doubt, and shirking the duty to which the fates of all races are bound. I cannot be a simple, flesh-and-blood hobbit when I am the agent and vessel of fate.

Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.

My face set, like my heart, with the firm determination that fills all my being with a strength I never knew I had, I push the boat into the river to cross to the side where lies my task, my destiny, my glory, and my doom. My soul is hardened around the knot of hopelessness and pain settled at its center that will never be untied, because I am a Ring-bearer and to bear a Ring of Power is to be alone.

But I am not alone, it seems, for I suddenly hear someone crashing through the trees on the western shore of the river, yelling, "Mr. Frodo!"

"No, Sam," I whisper, my voice hoarse through lonely, despairing tears. I cannot look back and break my resolve to face this worst of fears and do what must be done – alone, because none but I can do it. I cannot look back, because the temptation to go back and escape the loneliness would be too great.

But I hear him splashing into the river, trying to follow me. "I am going to Mordor. Alone," I say sternly – though my voice sounds…watery – trying to dissuade my dearest and most loyal friend from helping or comforting me, from going with me to where it surely must be my fate to go and perish alone.

"Of course you are!" Sam exclaims from where he is wading into the shallows. "And I'm coming with you!"

The humorous irony of this statement is not entirely lost on me – until I turn around to see Sam splashing farther into the water. Cold fear clutches at my heart as the second of my two greatest fears surfaces. "Go back, Sam!" I cry desperately. "You can't swim!"

He flounders, paddling wildly, for a moment before his head goes under, and terror paralyzes me as memory washes over me –

The sun on the river. A boat far out in the current. Then I cannot see why it is sinking – why my mother is screaming and flailing and my father is nowhere to be seen. I can do nothing but cry, "Mother!" and shout for help. Helplessness and terror freeze me; I sob and run along the bank, desperately crying and screaming, and Why does no one come to help them? and I'm too afraid to go into the water, but I can't leave the shore – no one is anywhere near, no one can hear my cries – "Frodo!" my mother screams, but she can't reach me, she can't swim, and she disappears, leaving me all alone –

I shake off my momentary, terrified paralysis – I can't let it happen again. Not to Sam. Paddling with speed and strength born of frightening necessity, I maneuver the boat to where I saw him disappear beneath the waves. I reach urgently into the water, finding and grasping Sam's limp hand, terribly afraid that I am too late…until his grip strengthens on my wrist, a powerful, rough, familiar gardener's hand. As I pull his sopping form out of the river and he clambers into the canoe, I feel as though it is he who has rescued me from drowning, from my greatest fear: drowning alone, helplessly sinking, enveloped in my loneliness.

Sam is an almost laughable sight, drenched and spraying droplets of water from his mouth and nose, but somehow I can do nothing but sob my fear, my pain and loneliness, my relief. Sam is crying too as he splutters with heart-rending courage and determination, "I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. A promise. 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee.' And I don't mean to." A sob shakes him and breaks his voice. "I don't mean to."

"Oh, Sam," is all I can say through my thankful tears, and I throw my arms around him, my supporting rock of stolid steadfastness. The water that weighs down his cloak and clothing is soaking through mine and chilling my skin until I can feel the comforting warmth of Sam radiating through the cold. He is courage and steadfastness in its purest essence, the line thrown to me that saves me from drowning, the warm friendship and love that saves me from being alone. For we will go together.

Rowing with Sam to the far shore, I am impossibly glad he is with me; I desperately do not want to be all alone.

Galadriel, for all her wisdom and experience, for all that she is also a ring-bearer, was wrong about one thing: one can bear a Ring of Power without being alone. A true friend will keep me from drowning alone.

Author's Note (you can't shut me up): If you enjoyed this story, read also "Remember Me" and "'Samwise Gamgee and the Ring,'" also by Flame Tigress, who is a shameless advertiser and needs reviews. The aforementioned stories also involve a lot of sappy hobbit angst for readers who are suckers for such. Heck, read anything I've written – Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, whatever – if you enjoyed this story. I will die without reviews…