Murky Horizons
Ouch, stupid rocks. All jagged and sharp, they are. We're now on the border of Mount Doom. The sky never changes color; it is always the foulest brown, with the most loathsome green lining the murky horizon. It is practically disgusting to look up there, if you take my meaning. That green color is the color of my Gaffer's working cloak, it is!
Stickleback, there you go again thinking of home.
It wouldn't be so hard if I had no home to go to in the first place. Maybe I won't ever go home.
Don't you talk like that Samwise Gamgee; you have an important job to do. You must see it through to the end.
I know! I know, but it's so hard to think straight in this poisoned place. Mr. Frodo is getting worse by the day. Steadily worse, I reckon so. Poor Mr. Frodo.
With all that heavy burden and all, I often wonder how he manages to stay awake. Since I found him in that dungeon of hell, he hasn't been quite the same. He has to wear them orc clothes and he has to carry that heavy dagger as well as the ring. He's so thin and light, it almost seems that he might disappear. He don't eat and he don't sleep and I save up all me Lembas for him and all. Since that Slinker betrayed us. I never trusted him anyway, but kindhearted Mr. Frodo always gives them souls another chance.
Sometimes he's so exhausted he can't move; he just lays there with his eyes open, staring at the sky. I don't know why, but it makes me sad to see him like this.
He's a-sleeping now, I think. He just collapsed at the side of a foul-stenching bog and moved no more. Then he turned his head to the side and it tipped him over and he started rolling down the side of the bog. I barely had the strength to drag him back up again. What if I fell asleep and he sank into the bottom of the bog and had to strength to yell, or to struggle? What if he drownded? What if the ring fell off the chain and sank, too?
You've been told not to think those horrible thoughts, Sam. He didn't fall down that bog and now he's in full sight of the enemy and you're closer to the edge, he ain't likely to.
I know. We've been resting in full sight of The Eye for almost 6 hours. My heart leaps every time it looks toward Mount Doom. And we can't move. Mr. Frodo can't even move now. It's like he's dead; it makes me jump up of my skin every time I see him sleeping with his eyes open. It's like the time he was couldn't moved because that great ugly spider got him.
That's in the past, Sam. You need to concentrate on the present.
It still makes me scared to think what could have happened. But I don't tell Mr. Frodo. He's been through enough already. He knows the end is coming, he knows it is. He feels the ring all the time now, it physically drags him down on the ground, if you take my meaning. He doesn't walk much more. He kind of crawls. My master needs me to help him to walk, and it does well to bring tears to my eyes.
I wish Gandalf were here. I wish The Ring never came to Frodo. I wish that I carried the Ring instead, and I wish that Frodo would eat and at least get some energy back. Which reminds me, we need clean water. How can we find any clean water in this fuming pit of filth?
I'm sorry I talk so bitter, but it's like I don't know happiness any more. All I know is the fear, the feeling of dread. And when I see Mr. Frodo gasping for air, shivering on the cold ground, I get this grim determination, and I hate the feeling. But I know that if this is my job, then I must see it through.
Is that the job? To get Mr. Frodo to Mount Doom, to destroy the Fate of Middle Earth and then both die a long and painful death?
If that is your job, Samwise Gamgee, it must be done. It must done.
It must be done. And I know it must be done, but I'm afraid to do it. There I go again, thinking of the past. Isn't that what Mr. Frodo said when he decided to go it alone to Mount Doom? I remember. I remember the sweetness in Lorien, and the beautiful silver Mallorn trees and everything. Mr. Frodo can't remember anything anymore. All he remembers is torture. From the ring, and from within the strongholds at the fortress of Barad-dhur.
That Shelob creature. That little Slinker. Betraying Mr. Frodo like that, to eat him? To eat Mr. Frodo! It makes me so angry sometimes. She would have darn well eaten me as well!
Mr. Frodo is stirring. He's moving his head slightly from side to side with listless eyes. Another nightmare I would suppose. Why should I moan and groan, while he's a-suffering even in his sleep! Oh no, the ring is whispering. Whispering in that Mordor tongue. That could be why Mr. Frodo's having nightmares.
Orcs! Sam, pull yourself together and get your master to safety!
Orcs? They're Easterlings! Oh, go put your foot in it Sam Gamgee that's right!
The Easterlings have passed, we need to go now. If we make good timing Mr. Frodo and I could get to the Crack of Doom in two days! Just think, peace in two days. I hope Mr. Frodo will be alright.