"You want to know what happened to Boromir? You want to know why your
brother died? He tried to take the Ring from Frodo! After swearing an oath
to protect him, he tried to kill him! The Ring drove your brother mad!"
He heard the words from miles away - they were both foreign and muddled to him, so that they finally ceased to exist in a dull backdrop of other sounds. Someone yelled "Watch out!" and a terrifying crash boomed all around, though Frodo felt unattached, almost gleeful of the panic around himself. Darkness crept over his vision, and the Ring, the Ring, it pulsed ever greatly around his neck, shutting out all other sights and sounds, intent on imbedding itself into him. And Frodo knew what was coming. Fools! They all were so bleak in the realization of true power, and he hated them all, Sam, Faramir, all of them.
"They're here. They've come." The words were directed at no one, though he felt immense satisfaction at saying them, and the panic intensified all about him. He raised his eyes and saw, as if through a mist, a huge form looming over him.
"NAZGUL!" The frame sprouted arms, grabbed him, and he saw in a flash of light, a face - Faramir - herding him and Sam into the wall. "Stay here. Keep out of sight. Take cover!"
He stood for a moment, leaning heavily against the wall as the darkness danced away slightly, giving forth light. He was sure that Sam was saying something, and if he concentrated hard enough on it, he would hear. His eyes met the scene before him; The Gondorian Rangers every once so often rushed past, lost in the terror of the battle, unnoticing and unaware of Sam and himself. Behind them, the great Tower lay in ruins, previously being shattered by the rock that had made the incredible blast. It was still smoking, and behind it, the grey sky loomed menacingly overhead.
As if in a dream, mezmorized, he felt himself waver once more, and darkness, soothing darkness crept over his soul again. He welcomed it. How tired he truly was, and it was an escape! I cannot do this he realized, slipping even further away from reality, I am too tired, and I have tried too hard. I cannot escape. I'm sorry Sam, I tried. I really did
Frodo found himself moving, walking forth, though he felt neither ground nor air. Sam was yelling something, something which did not matter, though he did decipher the words "where are you going.." yelled in a state of immense fear. He knew fear. He felt it now, though the darkness ebbed it away, sung to him and egged him on, so that if he took a few more steps he would be rid of all the pain and all the grief.
He gazed up. A huge mass, one that he saw surprisingly clearly, was before him. Black, black, he saw black, saw the fine stretch marks on a huge shoulder, pulsating in rapid beating motions, but he could not see it all at once. Screams echoed behind him, and he felt raw fear unsheild itself, instantly soothed away by the darkness, and suddenly, he felt coldness come to his palm. The Ring. He had the Ring in his hand, and if only he was to raise it, the pain would leave, forever, and the darkness, though he didn't care about that anymore. Do it, do it echoed in his brain, again and again, though Frodo wavered unexpectedly. This was it, this was it, he either put it on or rid himself of it. Time seemed to stop, though he felt as if he had been standing for years, decades even.
Suddenly the world blurred. He felt sound come back to his ears, as greys and blacks rushed past him, until he colliding harshly with the ground. Pain shot throughout his shoulder and stomach, and something heavy was upon his back. Anger rose all about him like a wall. He had been rid of his decision, and it made him feel sheer odium at it's purest. He sprung up, found Sting's trusty hilt and unsheathed his weapon, intent on killing whoever had knocked him to the ground. Fury; hot, burning, lashed before his eyes.
Sam.
"It's me. It's your Sam. Don't you know your Sam?"
Realization dawned heavily. Reality crashed onto his shoulders, and he gaped soundlessly at his friend's teary face, Sting still raised, though getting heavier with each passing moment. Once more, the sounds dimmed, though now for a different cause, and he was painfully aware of only himself, his ragged breathing, his deep self-hatred at what he had just done.
From his arm, his sword fell, clattering soundlessly upon the concrete. He scrambled back, re-coiling, and meeting the wall, unable to understand what had come over him.
"I can't do this, Sam."
"I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are."
He paused.
". It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?"
Frodo looked up at him, feeling limp with shock and despair. His friend's words hardly registered, though he fought to understand.
"But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn't. Because they were holding on to something."
"What are we holding on to, Sam?"
"There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fighting for."
And at last, he felt himself rid of the darkness, and felt emotion flood back into his soul. Sam, dear Sam, had brought him back from that frightening world of the dark.
---
Ergh, I kinda wrote this more for myself, g. Anywhoo, it sounds strange when you add the direct lines from TTT, but hey, all I wanted to do was compose a short piece about Frodo's feelings at that particular time :)
He heard the words from miles away - they were both foreign and muddled to him, so that they finally ceased to exist in a dull backdrop of other sounds. Someone yelled "Watch out!" and a terrifying crash boomed all around, though Frodo felt unattached, almost gleeful of the panic around himself. Darkness crept over his vision, and the Ring, the Ring, it pulsed ever greatly around his neck, shutting out all other sights and sounds, intent on imbedding itself into him. And Frodo knew what was coming. Fools! They all were so bleak in the realization of true power, and he hated them all, Sam, Faramir, all of them.
"They're here. They've come." The words were directed at no one, though he felt immense satisfaction at saying them, and the panic intensified all about him. He raised his eyes and saw, as if through a mist, a huge form looming over him.
"NAZGUL!" The frame sprouted arms, grabbed him, and he saw in a flash of light, a face - Faramir - herding him and Sam into the wall. "Stay here. Keep out of sight. Take cover!"
He stood for a moment, leaning heavily against the wall as the darkness danced away slightly, giving forth light. He was sure that Sam was saying something, and if he concentrated hard enough on it, he would hear. His eyes met the scene before him; The Gondorian Rangers every once so often rushed past, lost in the terror of the battle, unnoticing and unaware of Sam and himself. Behind them, the great Tower lay in ruins, previously being shattered by the rock that had made the incredible blast. It was still smoking, and behind it, the grey sky loomed menacingly overhead.
As if in a dream, mezmorized, he felt himself waver once more, and darkness, soothing darkness crept over his soul again. He welcomed it. How tired he truly was, and it was an escape! I cannot do this he realized, slipping even further away from reality, I am too tired, and I have tried too hard. I cannot escape. I'm sorry Sam, I tried. I really did
Frodo found himself moving, walking forth, though he felt neither ground nor air. Sam was yelling something, something which did not matter, though he did decipher the words "where are you going.." yelled in a state of immense fear. He knew fear. He felt it now, though the darkness ebbed it away, sung to him and egged him on, so that if he took a few more steps he would be rid of all the pain and all the grief.
He gazed up. A huge mass, one that he saw surprisingly clearly, was before him. Black, black, he saw black, saw the fine stretch marks on a huge shoulder, pulsating in rapid beating motions, but he could not see it all at once. Screams echoed behind him, and he felt raw fear unsheild itself, instantly soothed away by the darkness, and suddenly, he felt coldness come to his palm. The Ring. He had the Ring in his hand, and if only he was to raise it, the pain would leave, forever, and the darkness, though he didn't care about that anymore. Do it, do it echoed in his brain, again and again, though Frodo wavered unexpectedly. This was it, this was it, he either put it on or rid himself of it. Time seemed to stop, though he felt as if he had been standing for years, decades even.
Suddenly the world blurred. He felt sound come back to his ears, as greys and blacks rushed past him, until he colliding harshly with the ground. Pain shot throughout his shoulder and stomach, and something heavy was upon his back. Anger rose all about him like a wall. He had been rid of his decision, and it made him feel sheer odium at it's purest. He sprung up, found Sting's trusty hilt and unsheathed his weapon, intent on killing whoever had knocked him to the ground. Fury; hot, burning, lashed before his eyes.
Sam.
"It's me. It's your Sam. Don't you know your Sam?"
Realization dawned heavily. Reality crashed onto his shoulders, and he gaped soundlessly at his friend's teary face, Sting still raised, though getting heavier with each passing moment. Once more, the sounds dimmed, though now for a different cause, and he was painfully aware of only himself, his ragged breathing, his deep self-hatred at what he had just done.
From his arm, his sword fell, clattering soundlessly upon the concrete. He scrambled back, re-coiling, and meeting the wall, unable to understand what had come over him.
"I can't do this, Sam."
"I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are."
He paused.
". It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?"
Frodo looked up at him, feeling limp with shock and despair. His friend's words hardly registered, though he fought to understand.
"But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn't. Because they were holding on to something."
"What are we holding on to, Sam?"
"There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fighting for."
And at last, he felt himself rid of the darkness, and felt emotion flood back into his soul. Sam, dear Sam, had brought him back from that frightening world of the dark.
---
Ergh, I kinda wrote this more for myself, g. Anywhoo, it sounds strange when you add the direct lines from TTT, but hey, all I wanted to do was compose a short piece about Frodo's feelings at that particular time :)