Introduction: This is a story that just kinda came to me in flashes. (I think these things up while I'm working) I just started wondering what would have happened if each member of the fellowship took the Ring from Frodo. Well, I guess we'll find out together ;) LOL
Disclaimer: not mine, so stop asking…
Ringsong
Sometimes things happen – you don't understand why, but they do.
I didn't understand what that meant until Uncle Bilbo left. I didn't understand it, it just happened. And when he left me his Ring – I didn't know what to think. I had never really understood why Uncle Bilbo seemed so odd and perhaps, troubled, until he left me his Ring. Then I understood very well. Then I became odd and…troubled…myself.
I had to leave, and it wasn't just because Gandalf told me too. Something else drove me from home, a nagging feeling that I wasn't safe, that it was time to go- anywhere. I had that feeling ever since I first touched the Ring, and I was never rid of it. Ever.
***
"It is what will come to pass…if you should fail."
Galadriel's stare was so intense. The hobbit wanted to look away, but knew it was impossible. Even if he were able to wrench his gaze from hers, the voice would still be there. "The Fellowship is breaking- it has already begun. He will try to take the Ring." For a moment he was confused. Who will? They all wanted it, or at least, were curious about it. Ever since they'd left Rivendell every one of his eight companions had asked if they could see it, just to look, nothing more, save one. But…he was no longer there. The voice continued, filling his mind, clearing it of all else , and demanding to be heard. "You know of whom I speak – one by one it will destroy them all."***
Bright blue eyes opened, looking frantically around in confusion. It did not take long until they took in the familiar sight of the Anduin, seeming to flow on forever. Behind him, Sam lay a hand on his shoulder as he asked him if he was alright. Yes, he said, alright. Always alright.
The truth was, he was never alright. Ever since he'd left the Shire he hadn't been; ever since he'd left Rivendell it had grown steadily worse. Every step, every foot away form his home took away some part of him that was irreplaceable. He felt it in his heart, his very bones ached with it. And then there was the weight. The constant nagging pull of his burden growing steadily worse, even as his uneasiness grew also. It was calling to him, he knew, not just its master, but also it's bearer. It spoke to him, whispered, almost serenaded him. It was as if it wished to drive him mad with merely its presence. Then it began to speak with words.
He felt it, as they travelled closer to its home, felt its power growing, it hold over him strengthening, and its power over his friends doubling. Fear took root in his heart- fear of it, them, himself. It began telling him things, and at first he didn't even realize he was listening to it. In a soft melodious voice it told him of how they wanted it, all of them. They will take it, and he would pine for its presence forever when they do, living out the rest of his life in grief, mourning its loss. Sometimes he would realize where the thoughts came from, seeing the notions for what they were, but sometimes they slipped through his defenses, and these were the most insidious. These were the ones that he secretly thought himself, careless daydreams that were taken and twisted for its own dark will. Soon they began to take a hold of him, and their damage was irreversible.