Mind Games

by Trust No One

At the Cracks of Doom, Frodo realizes that there is only one way to Destroy the Ring and has to make a dreadful choice

For the first time in days, Frodo was walking without either having to be dragged or carried. He stood upright, the weight of the Ring all but bearable. He knew it was only a lie, a short respite before the most terrible ordeal yet to come.

The fight with Gollum forgotten, Frodo glanced back one more time before entering the Sammath Naur. Though his eyes stung from the suffocating fumes and smoke rising all around him, he could discern Sam's shape down below, towering ominously over the cowering form of Gollum, sword held high, the death blow readied.

'Kill him! Kill him! Finish him off! Put him out of his misery…no… no...spare him… have mercy….!' Frodo said aloud forcing himself to drown the voice that rang inside his mind, knowing that neither one could hear him. But he could not turn back, he could not stay the blow, could not be there to soften Sam's wrath and thirst for revenge. The decision to slay or give Gollum reprieve now lay entirely with Sam. There was nothing Frodo could do for either of them. Like there was nothing they could do for him. Whatever happened between the two, in the end, when the Deed was done, it did not matter any longer. Frodo did not expect himself or his companions to live long beyond the end of the Quest.

The cave droned incessantly around him, but Frodo could not hear. The heat was becoming intolerable; still the floor was unpleasantly chilly to the touch, sending uncontrollable shivers along his weakened body.

He turned once again and, without stopping, beheld the path he was doomed to follow, the Path that led him to the place where he would be faced with his worst torture yet - a terrible choice.

Strangely enough, he knew the way. An instinct deep inside him guided his steps. Something stirred inside him, recollection? …Had he seen this place before?

He closed his eyes, trying to shake off the feeling, this could not be…he had not even attempted to picture how the final destination of his journey looked like. Yet somehow he knew….

He entered the passage that led up to the Cracks of Doom, a foul current of air rushing in and out, now beating upon his face, now raging from behind, with no direction, spiraling out of control, yet not fierce enough to deny Frodo his unsteady foothold, just sufficient to bring about more anguish. The leather orc-shirt Frodo wore was no protection against this cruel wind and the thin crust formed in the past few days over the whip lashes across his back split and started bleeding from its harsh bite. But Frodo no longer felt this new rip of pain. Pain had become so entwined into his fading spirit, the only way he still experienced life, the only way he remembered how to breathe and extort air from that poisoned atmosphere.

'Where are you going?' He tried to shut out the voice in his mind but it was becoming impossible. It was there to stay, it seemed. ' What are you doing? What are you DOING????'

Not long now… a few more steps…towards the red-lit exit of the tunnel, towards the volcanic light of the Cracks…must…I MUST…carry ON!!

'You don't know what you are doing… You're mad. Why, why, why, why….'

Suddenly time stood still and even though he had not stopped walking, Frodo was transported to another place. He felt nauseous from the speed with which the scenery changed. There was a field, littered with fires and corpses. The light was spectral and the sky was marred with red clouds. He smelled the foul stench of burning bodies, heard the cries of agony and terror of the dying amidst guttural howls of victory. Orcs... He became aware of something wet and warm about his feet. He feared to look, knowing that it belonged to humans, or elves…and too few orcs…

Then he saw it, and his blood ran cold. He wanted to run to them but he was rooted to the spot where he stood, ankle deep in blood. A scream welled up in his throat yet he made no sound, while his eyes stung with tears and his heart twisted in torture. His friends, his companions lay strewn all around him in a dreadful ring of death.  They were all there, dead, lifeless, and by the looks of it they had all taken a long time dying. Aragorn had more than a dozen sword-cuts, Gimli lay by him with an axe, his own axe, lodged in his side, Legolas' body was pierced by his own elegant elven arrows at all angles, while Merry and Pippin's throats had been slashed with their Lorien daggers…Like rag dolls they were, slain with their own weapons, frozen, immobile, their eyes open and terrified…He heard flutter of wings. He glanced at the sky, fully aware of what hovered above… Nazgul, on their winged steeds, circling around him, getting closer… and closer …THIS was not real…this wasn't happening…

'Stop! Stop! This is not real! This cannot be real'  Frodo cried and his voice echoed his anguish into the walls and floor of the cave. He had somehow tottered out of the tunnel and a mere few metres lay the edge of the abyss.

'Yes, it is. It's real. It's already happened. They're all dead. There's nothing you can do for them now…'

'No, no' Frodo sobbed, his voice breaking as his steps faltered, his small body shaking uncontrollably. Only a short distance…yet the entire length of his journey seemed shorter than the last few steps he had to take.

'Yes, Frodo. You know it in your heart …there was nothing to be done. It's been hopeless, since the beginning. You knew this. They knew it too.' There was no trace of malice in the voice resounding in Frodo's head. It was filled with sorrow and compassion, nothing like he'd ever heard before. It begged to be trusted.

'No' Frodo repeated feebly, blinking back his tears 'don't tell me, I don't want to hear…'

'I know you don't but you have to face it. It's the end. Stop lying to yourself.'

'How could this have happened? I can't be seeing all this' Frodo whispered and then with an unnatural surge of fury, he shrieked 'You are deceiving me. I know you, you miserable wretched thing!'

'Face it, Frodo. Be honest to yourself… just this once. Now… when it really counts!'

'My friends are not dead…you cannot give me that vision.'

'You're in denial. Look inside yourself.  Your senses are sharper than ever, your perception has altered so much, you SEE things…, you SEE HIM…'

Frodo quivered violently as the mere mention of The Eye struck him like a physical blow.

The Eye… all seeing…all knowing…he could feel it turning, slowly, inevitably, towards him, as he stood there, at the very core of its being, small, vulnerable, driven mad by the weight of his burden with every step he took and with every aching breath he still drew, while the shadow engulfed him like a shroud.

'Yes, I see him' Frodo whispered, the crushing weight of defeat in his every word. 'I see him' he repeated as he stared unseeing in the inferno of fire beyond the sharp edge of the stone floor.

'…and He's already WON!'

Frodo's frenzied scream pierced the monotonous humming of the fiery river below. He fell to his knees, hands covering his ears then tearing his hair out in utter despair, as the Ring ripped at the remaining shreds of sanity left in him.

'Get up, Frodo. Get up!'

'What?'

'Get up!'

Frodo struggled to his feet, searching around in vain for the voice of another soul that could have given him this incredible command. But there was no one else.

'Look down'

Awestruck, Frodo stared into the hellish entrails of Mount Doom, the pupils of his blue eyes glassy, almost transparent, mirroring the orange-red blaze below.

'Is this what you really want to do, Frodo?'

'Yes…YES…' Frodo shouted over the turmoil in his mind, only he could not hear his own voice.

'No!' he said, his voice no more than a whisper yet louder and more resolute than anything he had ever heard himself utter before.

'It will be useless. For Sauron has already won, even without me. He doesn't need me anymore, you see. He doesn't need you to bring me before Him!'

'How?'

'Darkness grows, Frodo. It spreads. It is only a matter of time before it swallows everything up. You know that too…there was no need for me anymore. Sauron's work was done with war and terror, by orcs and others, but most of all by the weakness of Men… He's won…and now its over'

'It's over' Frodo repeated.

'I'm frightened'

'So am I'

'Don't do this'

'I have no choice.'

'Yes you do. I need you'

'So do I, so do I…'

'How will you live without me? How can you ever hope to live without me?'

'I don't know' His breathing was becoming strenuous; his hands were shaking as he took the Ring off its silver chain and admired it with worship in his eyes. 'No, no, I couldn't…'

'I am yours… forever.'

'You…mine…?'

'All is lost. But you can still make a difference. We can still defeat Him. We can save Middle-Earth. We can save each other…'

"Saved" Frodo thought and the sheer folly of it brought a grin to his once cherry, fresh lips, now parched and cracked and curling painfully, his eyes red-rimmed and mad. He understood it now. It had taken every ounce of control he still possessed, yet he reveled in the words he spoke. Since it was so terribly real. How could he destroy the Ring now? Now that It had bound Itself to him, pleading for protection, abandoned by Its maker. There was only one way, Frodo knew. And he would have to play along in this demented, suicidal game.  He had once been told '…If you do not find a way, no one will.' He now believed he had found that way. It was not what he would have chosen, had the times been less desperate…

He felt, rather than heard, running steps, approaching fast. Sam. He was coming, crossing the tunnel now, shouting out his master's name… Then the other presence, drawing close more stealthily, yet with the same resolve, same desire and the same hunger…Gollum.

There was no time. It had to be done…now.

'The Ring is Mine!' he spoke the words that sealed his doom, his voice stronger and more daunting than ever before. It sounded all the more believable because, as much as he dreaded admitting it to himself, he meant every word.

He had only a moment to delight in the feeling that was sweeping over him when he heard It again.

'Yes, I am yours now – and you are MINE.'

The voice was changed, it's malice slicing through Frodo's brain like a knife through flesh.

Yet, the feeling, the enthrallment and the realization that struck Frodo all at the same time were unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The pain of his wounds was gone…

The Eye beheld him and the folly of the Dark Lord was revealed…

He felt as if he truly could make a difference, be the Saviour of Middle-Earth.

Wake up!

The Nazgul steered their winged beasts towards the belly of the Orodruin...

He wanted to feel like this for one more instant. The surge of power and beauty fastened him to the spot, insensitive to anything except the Ring and himself, becoming one.

Wake up!

They were coming for him…

WAKE UP!

He almost keeled over from the effort to force his mind to think for itself one last time. Do it, he told himself… Jump…jump now!

As Frodo drew what he thought would be his last breath and with immeasurable effort and woe set his body in motion for the fatal leap, his senses warned him of something approaching.

He lunged for the abyss…too late. Gollum knew exactly where he was. He caught Frodo in midair, pulling him back, flinging him to the ground with strength borne of despair and all-consuming insanity…

'You wont takes it from us again, no, Precious' Gollum hissed as he pounced on Frodo straddling him and clawing for what he believed was Frodo's face and throat.

Instinctively, Frodo fought back but the shock and dismay at the failure of his plan robbed him of his newly acquired strength. Or was it the Ring taking away that which Frodo had foolishly thought he had gained? He quailed as he tried to pry himself loose from Gollum's unusually strong grip. With Gollum atop him, crushing his body with the tight grip of his legs, Frodo tried to inch closer to the abyss, to somehow hurl both of them into the fire, but he couldn't. Gollum seized him by the hair, yanking his head backwards, tracing his face, neck, scratching at his chest where the Ring had nestled, fumbled for his arm and before Frodo could react, he saw those horrible, ancient fangs biting down on his finger, on His Precious!!! The pain was excruciating, but Frodo did not even look at the blood spraying from his mutilated hand. The scream that reverberated through the entire mountain was not borne of physical pain. It was of anguish and devastation at the loss of the Ring. Frodo could not recall how it happened, but as his body was writhing in agony on the floor of the cave, watching Gollum dance with his prized quarry and tasting sweet victory, the wretch suddenly lost balance as a piece of rock crumbled under him and was sent hurling over the edge, into the fires where the Ring had been forged.

'No! NO!' Frodo's mind screamed as he dragged himself agonizingly towards the edge. He glanced over the edge but could see neither Gollum nor the Ring. Both had been engulfed by the blistering flames and were not of this world anymore.

To see it one more time, to hold it…. Frodo let his head fall on the hard stone, his small body racked by uncontrollable sobs and quivers.

With every fibre of his being Frodo ached to see it, hold it, wear it, one more time. Then he could endure any torture, pay any price, anything! Just to have it in his hand. Just one time! Please!! He did not care if that meant eternal darkness for the whole of Middle-Earth. He did not care anymore…He begged for death to come quickly and take him, to end this agony…

He barely heard the roar of the mountain building up to spew its fiery entrails all across the cursed land of Mordor.

As darkness was mercifully beginning to take him, he felt strong arms lifting him up, dragging him to his feet. He complied. Sam was trying to save them, to outrun the eruption that was soon going to destroy everything in its path. His legs moved involuntarily, instinct taking over as he let himself be hauled towards the exit. As soon as they were out of the tunnel, Frodo felt a pang of pain and was reminded of his latest wound. He saw Sam's face, saw him uttering words of comfort and saw the worry in his eyes. But he could not hear anything. The pain of losing the Ring throbbed like a festering wound, blocking out all sound, though his mind seemed clearer now. He shuddered in Sam's arms as they sauntered together down the path chased by explosions and various collapsing structures.

'Hold on, Mr. Frodo. A few more steps' Sam was saying, his voice echoing just as protective and resolute as ever. 'You just hold onto me, we'll make it out of here. Don't give up.'

Dear Sam. Through all this, and he still hoped that they could come out of it unscathed. Frodo obeyed his protector, for the least he could do for Sam's efforts was heed him and profess to share his hope.  Sam would never have to know that Frodo was not whole, could never be whole, again. That he wished he had plunged into the abyss along with the Ring. But Sam could never know. If, by some miracle, they indeed made it out of there, Frodo vowed to honour Sam's deeds and do the best he could to never let Sam worry about him again. And never let him know to what extent his soul had been marred.

He looked up at Sam and gave him the best smile he could muster.

'I am glad that you are here with me, Sam. Here at the end of all things."

That's right, Sam, Frodo thought, his heart going out to his devoted friend, oblivious to the choking fumes and the waning air. You will never have to know.