The Ring is Mine
'I have come,' Frodo said. 'But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!' And suddenly, as he set it on his finger, he vanished from Sam's sight. Sam gasped, but he had no chance to cry out, for at that moment many things happened.
Something struck Sam violently in the back, his legs were knocked from under him and he was flung aside. A dark shape sprang over him, black fingers reaching for where Frodo had been. Sam drew his blade and stabbed upwards. Dark blood splattered over him as Gollum gave a wail 'Precious' and fell motionless.
Sam cast his gaze wildly around; Frodo was nowhere to be seen. The hobbit stumbled over to Gollum's prostrate form and knelt beside it. He was dead, arms flung in front of him, toward the chasm, his face mask-like in its desire. Sam felt a stirring of something like pity for this pathetic creature, longing always for what was beyond his reach. He thought back to Sméagol resisting the Ring, and how love of Frodo had strengthened him.
Thoughts of Frodo shook Sam from his reverie. Where was his master?
* * *
Frodo stood before the Crack of Doom. He had won. He had defeated the trickery that could have made him destroy the Ring. The Ring! Even now, on his finger, it was heavy and hot, yet he was not troubled by the heat. With the Ring he could right the sadness he had seen and bring order to the lands. The Ring was the only way! Without it, lands would perish and fight. But wearing the Ring, a king could unite them. He would be king, of course, but he would rule with a just hand. Gandalf would help him.
Uneasiness stirred within Frodo. Gandalf would not want him to be king. Well, why should he heed Gandalf? The wizard was a meddler. Hadn't he always urged Frodo not to wear the Ring? He would never listen to Gandalf, he decided, but banish him to fend for himself.
A chill foreboding crept over his heart. His eyes were drawn to the entrance as a king entered, pale and terrible. Behind him came others, tall and clad in flowing tattered robes. The Morgul-blades flashed in the dim light and empty eyes stared coldly beneath iron crowns. Eight? Where was their lord, the greatest, the one who had stabbed him?
'We greet you, Lord,' came a whisper. From the Ring? Or in his own mind? No, from the Nazgûl.
'Why have you come? I no longer fear you. I am the wielder of the Ring!' The words thrilled him, brave words. How had he ever feared these pathetic creatures, wielders of a lesser power than his own?
'We ask only that you look upon your new kingdom, and behold afar with your new sight the abode of the power that you must now claim and turn to your own purposes.' A fair speech indeed. The Ringwraiths would be valued counselors. Frodo strode out of the chamber, and standing on the pinnacle of Mount Doom looked out over Mordor.
* * *
Fear washed over Sam, cold fear that numbed his heart. Terror like this he had only known when near a Black Rider. They had come to take Frodo away! He struggled to his feet and ran out of the entrance, to the cold stones of the peak. Where was Frodo? He glanced around him, but saw only bleak rock and grey miles of land. He feared to call and draw the Riders, but where was Frodo? He must find him!
'Master Frodo! Master Frodo, sir!' Sam called. There was no answer.
A cold terror fell on him, fear greater than the Black Riders, mightier. A great presence was on Mount Doom. All hope had lain in destroying it, and now their hope was gone. In that moment his heart saw a tall black figure, terrible in its greatness, beneath which cowered Frodo, white-robed but in the shadow of the Black Lord.
* * *
Mordor! Dank, cold land, but land from which he could rule. To the East Frodo could see Barad-dûr, now his own. It was black, but he would bring light to it. To the North were cold, sheer mountains that ringed his land. And to the West he could perceive a great light. He thought that he thought he heard fair voices singing, and the light grew bright, so bright that he cried out, shielding his eyes.
Frodo heard Sam calling. Dear Sam.... Shouldn't he try to find him? No. He must stay. The Ring was hotter on Frodo's hand, it burned, but he would not remove it. A great black presence was here, and the Ring was pulling, tugging to leave Frodo. But it would not leave him! He clung to his right hand with his left. The presence loomed. Frodo fell to his knees towards the West, and memory stirred as brightness shone in his heart, baring the dark and calling forth the light. 'Elbereth, A Elbereth' he murmured, reaching for the Ring, but he had not the strength to remove it before the shadow descended, and Frodo's soul was forced from his body, and his body crushed to dust.
[A/N: Praise is fine, but what I'd really like is some good CC. All reviews will be listened to, and if I don't take your advice I'll email you saying why not. Flames welcome. ] [I do not claim ownership to any of the characters or places mentioned in this piece of fanfiction. They belong to Tolkien Estate, and, sadly, New Line. The writing is mine, except for the first few sentences, and another few in the middle, coming from RotK and Letter 246 respectively.]
'I have come,' Frodo said. 'But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!' And suddenly, as he set it on his finger, he vanished from Sam's sight. Sam gasped, but he had no chance to cry out, for at that moment many things happened.
Something struck Sam violently in the back, his legs were knocked from under him and he was flung aside. A dark shape sprang over him, black fingers reaching for where Frodo had been. Sam drew his blade and stabbed upwards. Dark blood splattered over him as Gollum gave a wail 'Precious' and fell motionless.
Sam cast his gaze wildly around; Frodo was nowhere to be seen. The hobbit stumbled over to Gollum's prostrate form and knelt beside it. He was dead, arms flung in front of him, toward the chasm, his face mask-like in its desire. Sam felt a stirring of something like pity for this pathetic creature, longing always for what was beyond his reach. He thought back to Sméagol resisting the Ring, and how love of Frodo had strengthened him.
Thoughts of Frodo shook Sam from his reverie. Where was his master?
* * *
Frodo stood before the Crack of Doom. He had won. He had defeated the trickery that could have made him destroy the Ring. The Ring! Even now, on his finger, it was heavy and hot, yet he was not troubled by the heat. With the Ring he could right the sadness he had seen and bring order to the lands. The Ring was the only way! Without it, lands would perish and fight. But wearing the Ring, a king could unite them. He would be king, of course, but he would rule with a just hand. Gandalf would help him.
Uneasiness stirred within Frodo. Gandalf would not want him to be king. Well, why should he heed Gandalf? The wizard was a meddler. Hadn't he always urged Frodo not to wear the Ring? He would never listen to Gandalf, he decided, but banish him to fend for himself.
A chill foreboding crept over his heart. His eyes were drawn to the entrance as a king entered, pale and terrible. Behind him came others, tall and clad in flowing tattered robes. The Morgul-blades flashed in the dim light and empty eyes stared coldly beneath iron crowns. Eight? Where was their lord, the greatest, the one who had stabbed him?
'We greet you, Lord,' came a whisper. From the Ring? Or in his own mind? No, from the Nazgûl.
'Why have you come? I no longer fear you. I am the wielder of the Ring!' The words thrilled him, brave words. How had he ever feared these pathetic creatures, wielders of a lesser power than his own?
'We ask only that you look upon your new kingdom, and behold afar with your new sight the abode of the power that you must now claim and turn to your own purposes.' A fair speech indeed. The Ringwraiths would be valued counselors. Frodo strode out of the chamber, and standing on the pinnacle of Mount Doom looked out over Mordor.
* * *
Fear washed over Sam, cold fear that numbed his heart. Terror like this he had only known when near a Black Rider. They had come to take Frodo away! He struggled to his feet and ran out of the entrance, to the cold stones of the peak. Where was Frodo? He glanced around him, but saw only bleak rock and grey miles of land. He feared to call and draw the Riders, but where was Frodo? He must find him!
'Master Frodo! Master Frodo, sir!' Sam called. There was no answer.
A cold terror fell on him, fear greater than the Black Riders, mightier. A great presence was on Mount Doom. All hope had lain in destroying it, and now their hope was gone. In that moment his heart saw a tall black figure, terrible in its greatness, beneath which cowered Frodo, white-robed but in the shadow of the Black Lord.
* * *
Mordor! Dank, cold land, but land from which he could rule. To the East Frodo could see Barad-dûr, now his own. It was black, but he would bring light to it. To the North were cold, sheer mountains that ringed his land. And to the West he could perceive a great light. He thought that he thought he heard fair voices singing, and the light grew bright, so bright that he cried out, shielding his eyes.
Frodo heard Sam calling. Dear Sam.... Shouldn't he try to find him? No. He must stay. The Ring was hotter on Frodo's hand, it burned, but he would not remove it. A great black presence was here, and the Ring was pulling, tugging to leave Frodo. But it would not leave him! He clung to his right hand with his left. The presence loomed. Frodo fell to his knees towards the West, and memory stirred as brightness shone in his heart, baring the dark and calling forth the light. 'Elbereth, A Elbereth' he murmured, reaching for the Ring, but he had not the strength to remove it before the shadow descended, and Frodo's soul was forced from his body, and his body crushed to dust.
[A/N: Praise is fine, but what I'd really like is some good CC. All reviews will be listened to, and if I don't take your advice I'll email you saying why not. Flames welcome. ] [I do not claim ownership to any of the characters or places mentioned in this piece of fanfiction. They belong to Tolkien Estate, and, sadly, New Line. The writing is mine, except for the first few sentences, and another few in the middle, coming from RotK and Letter 246 respectively.]