Forgiveness is the Key
By Talking Hawk
Author's Note: This was a story written for a contest at the Barrow-Downs. This is the original version, but the story I submitted had stuff cut out of it due to length. (It was still twenty-two words over the limit, so I'm not sure if it'll be accepted or not.) This is kind of short, but I hope it got across the message I wanted it to. I hope you'll enjoy.
"But there is no other way," Frodo whispered softly, the silence of the wood threatening to swallow his words in their sinking depths. He looked the Man in the eye, determination falling upon his heart.
"It is madness," Boromir spoke, tension growing in his voice. He spoke of the Ring, its magnificent power, its potential to save all mankind - the Shire, even. That was all that Frodo ever wanted, was it not? To return home, his duty fulfilled. To go back to Bag-End without the presence of the Ring weighing upon his mind. Was it not?
No, Frodo decided. That was not what he wanted. He wanted Bilbo with him, and Gandalf as well. He wanted all that he ever loved to be safe without fear of what may lie behind closed doors.
But that was never to be so with the Ring's endurance. It would never be so until it was rid of forever.
Clunking noises as the logs fell to the ground. "You FOOL! We will all be dead before the end!" A madness swept over the Gondorian's mind. "You will give the Ring to Sauron!" Frodo, infuriated, began to stride away. But then, the Man lost control of himself and threw the smaller creature to the ground - trying to make him understand, trying to make him see the light.
"Give it to me!"
"NO!"
"Give it to--"
With a slip of the hand, the Ringbearer was gone. His cries chasing after the fleeing hobbit, the man was left alone to mourn his grievous mistake.
* * *
Samwise looked upon his master with an expression worthy of pity, shock and sadness both mixed into his round face. Round no more, as it was, traveling through the Dead Marshes where the dead lie and the near-dead walk. That was what the two traveling hobbits were now - the walking dead.
"Why. . .why didn't you tell me?" the gardener stammered, Frodo's back turned to him. Frodo made a grunt, shouldering his progressively lighter pack once more.
"I. . .I didn't want you to worry."
Sam, both appalled by the recollected memory and infuriated, strode up to his traveling companion and peered critically into his face. The other did his best to look away, fearing what harm his heart might endure if he were to look into his friend's concerned brown eyes.
"I, I don't get it," Sam admitted, his gaze unflinching. He sighed regrettably, a shuddering breath filled with resentment. His fists clenched at his sides. "He. . .he was chosen to protect us! And then. . .and then he attacks you!" His fists turned white, his entire body rippled with an angry shudder. "Why, if he were here RIGHT now, I'd. . ."
Frodo's blue eyes finally met his companion's. "-Do nothing."
Samwise's mouth fell open. ". . .NOTHING. . .?"
"Yes, nothing, Sam. He didn't mean to do it."
Sam maintained his expression of disbelief. With a sigh, Frodo's tired eyes looked into the distance, perhaps contemplating how much longer it would be before he would be able to retire to a warm bed, the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders.
"He was under the Ring's spell, Sam. As was Bilbo." A painful pause. "In Rivendell, I sensed dear Bilbo's longing for it, the desire to hold it once more in his hand and feel the cool metal in his palm. He loved it, Sam. More so then he realized." He touched the Ring, hidden beneath its shirt. It didn't feel evil - it felt comforting, familiar, safe. That was what made it so powerful in the hearts of Men.
Frodo turned to Sam. "If my uncle, who hast been more a father to me than a distant relative, wasn't able to resist the Ring upon my behalf, what is to be expected of a mere stranger?"
A long moment of silence passed. The younger hobbit seemed dumbfounded, but then his lips formed into a straight line - then even a glimmer met his eyes.
Frodo finished, "I. . .I forgive him, Sam. The fault was not his own."
A heavy silence fell over the pair, and Sam stood thinking for quite a time. Their eyes met as Sam's lips remembered how to utter words.
". . .You have a better heart than I, Mr. Frodo," Sam finally managed, a fond gleam in his eyes.
His master chuckled softly - an action that had almost outgrown his weary mind - and clasped a hand onto his friend's shoulder.
"I doubt that, Sam. . ." A ghost of a smile. "I doubt it."
By Talking Hawk
Author's Note: This was a story written for a contest at the Barrow-Downs. This is the original version, but the story I submitted had stuff cut out of it due to length. (It was still twenty-two words over the limit, so I'm not sure if it'll be accepted or not.) This is kind of short, but I hope it got across the message I wanted it to. I hope you'll enjoy.
"But there is no other way," Frodo whispered softly, the silence of the wood threatening to swallow his words in their sinking depths. He looked the Man in the eye, determination falling upon his heart.
"It is madness," Boromir spoke, tension growing in his voice. He spoke of the Ring, its magnificent power, its potential to save all mankind - the Shire, even. That was all that Frodo ever wanted, was it not? To return home, his duty fulfilled. To go back to Bag-End without the presence of the Ring weighing upon his mind. Was it not?
No, Frodo decided. That was not what he wanted. He wanted Bilbo with him, and Gandalf as well. He wanted all that he ever loved to be safe without fear of what may lie behind closed doors.
But that was never to be so with the Ring's endurance. It would never be so until it was rid of forever.
Clunking noises as the logs fell to the ground. "You FOOL! We will all be dead before the end!" A madness swept over the Gondorian's mind. "You will give the Ring to Sauron!" Frodo, infuriated, began to stride away. But then, the Man lost control of himself and threw the smaller creature to the ground - trying to make him understand, trying to make him see the light.
"Give it to me!"
"NO!"
"Give it to--"
With a slip of the hand, the Ringbearer was gone. His cries chasing after the fleeing hobbit, the man was left alone to mourn his grievous mistake.
* * *
Samwise looked upon his master with an expression worthy of pity, shock and sadness both mixed into his round face. Round no more, as it was, traveling through the Dead Marshes where the dead lie and the near-dead walk. That was what the two traveling hobbits were now - the walking dead.
"Why. . .why didn't you tell me?" the gardener stammered, Frodo's back turned to him. Frodo made a grunt, shouldering his progressively lighter pack once more.
"I. . .I didn't want you to worry."
Sam, both appalled by the recollected memory and infuriated, strode up to his traveling companion and peered critically into his face. The other did his best to look away, fearing what harm his heart might endure if he were to look into his friend's concerned brown eyes.
"I, I don't get it," Sam admitted, his gaze unflinching. He sighed regrettably, a shuddering breath filled with resentment. His fists clenched at his sides. "He. . .he was chosen to protect us! And then. . .and then he attacks you!" His fists turned white, his entire body rippled with an angry shudder. "Why, if he were here RIGHT now, I'd. . ."
Frodo's blue eyes finally met his companion's. "-Do nothing."
Samwise's mouth fell open. ". . .NOTHING. . .?"
"Yes, nothing, Sam. He didn't mean to do it."
Sam maintained his expression of disbelief. With a sigh, Frodo's tired eyes looked into the distance, perhaps contemplating how much longer it would be before he would be able to retire to a warm bed, the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders.
"He was under the Ring's spell, Sam. As was Bilbo." A painful pause. "In Rivendell, I sensed dear Bilbo's longing for it, the desire to hold it once more in his hand and feel the cool metal in his palm. He loved it, Sam. More so then he realized." He touched the Ring, hidden beneath its shirt. It didn't feel evil - it felt comforting, familiar, safe. That was what made it so powerful in the hearts of Men.
Frodo turned to Sam. "If my uncle, who hast been more a father to me than a distant relative, wasn't able to resist the Ring upon my behalf, what is to be expected of a mere stranger?"
A long moment of silence passed. The younger hobbit seemed dumbfounded, but then his lips formed into a straight line - then even a glimmer met his eyes.
Frodo finished, "I. . .I forgive him, Sam. The fault was not his own."
A heavy silence fell over the pair, and Sam stood thinking for quite a time. Their eyes met as Sam's lips remembered how to utter words.
". . .You have a better heart than I, Mr. Frodo," Sam finally managed, a fond gleam in his eyes.
His master chuckled softly - an action that had almost outgrown his weary mind - and clasped a hand onto his friend's shoulder.
"I doubt that, Sam. . ." A ghost of a smile. "I doubt it."