A/N: Hey guys, I'm back! I don't know if I'll always be so quick to update, it depends on how many reviews I get. I hope this chapter came out all right. I spent a long time editing it. So, enjoy!
Sam was no stranger to exhaustion. He had walked for miles and miles, across marshes and mountains, up nearly vertical stairs, and across the barren plains of Mordor. He had given up most of his food so that Frodo had enough, he had put up with Gollum, and he had been hunted and chased across the entire land of Middle-earth. But never before had he felt like this. The Ring was calling to him, trying to corrupt him. It had been trying for the entire journey. But now that it was so close to the place it had been created, its power was at least tripled. It took a kind of strength Sam didn't knew he possessed to keep going. But he had to, for Frodo.
Sam finally made it through the door to the Cracks of Doom. Frodo stood on the edge of the cliff, holding the Ring over the abyss before him. "Frodo!" Sam called frantically. Why hadn't he thrown it in yet?
"I'm here Sam," Frodo said, turning.
"Destroy it!" Frodo turned back around. What was taking him so long? All he had to do was throw the Ring in. Then it would be done. Over. "Go on! Now! Throw it in the fire!" Still Frodo hesitated. "What are you waiting for! Just let it go!" His last word seemed to echo around the massive chamber. An eerie silence set in. It seemed to last forever. Then Frodo turned around.
"The Ring is mine."
This was it. The thing he had been most dreading, ever since he discovered the enormity of the quest and the power of the Ring. "No..." Sam whispered. "No..." Then Frodo put the Ring on. "Noooooo!" Sam shouted. Not now, not when they had come so close. Not Frodo. Why should Frodo have had to carry that burden? It should have been himself who had to do it. Frodo had so much to live for. But now, the only thing Sam could see for their future was death.
Then he felt a blinding pain on the back of his head. Sam fell forward and saw Gollum leap past him, towards Frodo. Sam did his best to stand, trying to get to his friend, but Gollum got there first. Sam could only think how insane Gollum looked, fighting with nothing, but he knew that Frodo was there, invisible. As they wrestled back and forth, Gollum grabbed something and raised it to his mouth. There was a loud, nauseating crack, and Frodo reappeared, crying out with agony, Gollum holding Frodo's detached finger in his hand. He pulled the Ring off and threw the finger aside.
Then Frodo stood, tackling Gollum again, and even though Frodo's hand was a bleeding mess, he still possessed incredible strength. He fought harder than Sam had ever seen him fight before, trying to get the Ring from Gollum. The two were wresting back and forth, surrounded by fire and ash, a thousand-foot drop into one of the most deadly places in Middle-earth just inches away from them.
And then Frodo managed to pin Gollum down, wrestling the Ring from him. He stood up, a smile of victory on his face. But it wasn't Frodo's smile, Sam thought. Frodo's smile was sweet, and gentle, and beautiful. This smile was that of an insane person finally achieving their goal.
Frodo stood over Gollum, tilting his head as though deciding what to do. Then, even as Gollum struggled to his feet, Frodo pushed him. Hard. And Gollum tumbled over the sided of the cliff, letting out a horrible shriek.
Sam felt his mouth drop open, and tears came to his eyes. This was not the Frodo he knew and cared for. Frodo would never have committed murder, much less in cold blood. Never. The Ring had taken hold of him. It had been doing so for such a long time, but Sam had been too blind to see it. Maybe, if he had looked closer, he would have discovered how much pain his friend was in. Maybe he could have helped him, done something to save him. But now it was too late.
Frodo held the Ring up, looking at it with an expression of pure glee. Then he put the Ring on his finger for the second time in the Cracks of Doom, disappearing before Sam's eyes.
Sam sat down on the ground, feeling to tired even to cry. They were coming for them, he knew. He was sure they would be dead within half an hour, if it even took that long.
As he sat, waiting for his impending death, images came into his mind. They were all scenes of his past. Any memory that had ever meant anything to him now visited him again. He saw Rosie Cotton dancing, himself gardening with his father, running through the woods, laughing, playing with the other hobbits as a young child. Then memories from the quest came. He remembered how naive he was when they started the quest. He had actually thought Caradhras was Mount Doom, for Eru's sake. He almost laughed at the thought. More memories came. Boromir teaching Merry and Pippin to fight, Legolas and Gimli arguing about something again, but they were never that serious about it, Gandalf talking to Frodo. He wondered where they all were now. Gandalf and Boromir, he knew, were dead, but the others? Sam had no idea. He missed them all. He knew, now, that he would never go back to them. It was probably for the best anyways. They had failed, Sam thought. As much as he didn't want to believe it, they had. They had tried their hardest but in the end it didn't matter. Sauron would still get the Ring back.
Sam still didn't want to accept it, though. Something was holding him back from completely giving up. And then, another memory played through his mind. Himself, talking to Frodo. "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. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something," he had said. "What are we holding on to Sam?"
"That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fighting for." And that, Sam realized, was exactly it. Here he was, sitting in the heart of Mordor, waiting for death, but somehow he couldn't give up and that was because he had fought. He had given his life for a cause. When they came to kill him, he would be ready. Because he knew that he won't have given his life in vain because he had given it for a reason.
He felt at peace.
Then he remembered Frodo. He remembered that it wasn't over yet. He could still save them.
He felt a surge of protectiveness. No one would touch Frodo, not while he was still alive. If they wanted to get to Frodo, they would have to go through him first.
Frodo may not be himself right now, the Ring might have corrupted him, but Sam was Frodo's best friend. He cared for Frodo like a brother. He wouldn't let anything happen to them. They would make it out of this alive, or at least Frodo would.
Sam wondered how it had come to this. He had set out from Rivendell knowing the dangers, and he had been prepared to give his life. After all, this was all for the people of Middle-earth. He had changed more than he had realized over the quest. For better, or worse, he didn't know.
Then he heard the cries of the Nazgûl. They chilled him to the bone. Any last delusion disappeared. They were close now. So close. And when they got here, he and Frodo would be killed. And there was nothing Sam could do about it.
Sam began to shake. He was deluding himself if he thought that they would survive this. He wanted nothing more than to find Frodo and put an arm around him, to comfort him in the last minute of their lives, but Frodo was invisible and not himself. He would not know Sam even if Sam managed to find him.
Then Sam felt a presence approaching...or several presences. He stood up. Shaking and clammy, he turned to face the entrance to the Cracks of Doom.
He wished more than anything that he hadn't.
Eight Nazgûl stood in the doorway.
Their tattered, black cloaks blew violently in the wind. They faced him, regarding him coldly. Sam could not see their faces, but he knew for sure that there was no mercy in them.
Sam heard quiet footsteps approaching him. He could not see Frodo, but he knew that he stood not far from him.
The Ringwraiths began to walk forward. Slowly and silently, like a funeral procession. So much like that one night on Weathertop. Sam thought he would die then, too, but Strider had come to their rescue.
Now there was no one to save them.
The wraiths still moving closer, Sam felt a tear slide down his face. He stepped closer to where he knew Frodo to be, and felt wildly for his friend's hand. Finding it, Sam grabbed it tightly, not caring that it was slick with blood. If he they were to die, Sam did not want them to go alone.
The Nazgûl stopped, just feet away from them. One stepped forward, away from the others, drawing a knife from its rusty sheath. The knife glinted silver in the dim light. Sam desperately tried to pull himself and Frodo back, away from the wraith, but Frodo resisted, not wanting to move. The Ring was calling him to the Nazgûl, telling him to give in.
Using the last of his strength, Sam yanked Frodo's arm, pulling him away from the wraiths. He backed up, until they were standing against the ledge. They were out of time. There was nowhere else to go.
This was it.
Sam found himself thinking that, despite the fact he was going to die, he was glad he was with Frodo, here at the end of all things.
The wraith had followed them. He stood just a few feet away from them. Sam found himself stepping in front of Frodo, lifting his chin in defiance. They would not touch Frodo. Not while Sam was still alive.
As though reading his thoughts, the wraith tilted his head, lifted his sword, and stabbed.
Sam cried out, his vision going blurry. He doubled over, feeling a terrible, piercing pain in his chest. Looking up, he could see the Nazgûl in their real forms. He collapsed on the ground. The world around him was was dark and shadowy. He supposed this was the Shadow World, as he had heard Frodo describe it once. Wait. Frodo. Now that Sam was in the Shadow World, he should be able to see...
Sam did his best to turn around, looking for Frodo. What he saw made him hurt as if the wraith was twisting his knife in Sam's flesh.
The Nazgûl held Frodo by the neck. Lifting him off the ground, the wraith readied his knife. Although Frodo writhed in protest, trying desperately to free himself, the wraith was stronger. He lifted the knife and stabbed it deep into Frodo's heart.
Sam screamed, as Frodo's face contorted in pain. The wraith dropped
Frodo on the ground, then bent and yanked the Ring off of his finger. Frodo lay on he ground, struggling for breath. Sam ignored his own wound and crawled towards him, wanting to do anything he could to help.
But he never made it that far. His vision going blurry, his breath leaving his body, all Sam could do was grab tightly to Frodo's hand again, as he sank into darkness. A searing pain filled him, then a light filled his vision, and he knew no more.
A/N: Errrm... Okay... That was supposed to be really sad. I hope that I managed to get the feelings across right. I'm sorry if it's a little weird, or didn't make sense or something. The next chapters probably won't be written in the same way as this. So, review! Let me know what you think, even if you hated it!
