Chapter Rating: PG

Chapter Title: The Ghost of Smeagol



Neither moved. The air in the kitchen almost vibrated with tension and fear.

Iris recognized the name Smeagol. It was Frodo's name for the creature called Gollum which Mrs. Cotton had mentioned when she and Iris had sat and chatted after Frodo's surgery on the 13th. Frodo was talking about the creature which had attacked both him and Sam. The creature which bit off Frodo's finger and perished in the fires of Mount Doom, along with the One Ring.

Frodo continued to stare at Iris, his hands splayed in front of him on the kitchen table. His breathing was becoming more rapid and his face was turning very white. He suddenly squeezed his eyes shut, stood up and doubled over in distress.

Iris leapt from her seat and rushed around the end of the table to him.

"Iris," he panted, "I think I am going to be sick." He certainly looked it. But his voice sounded like the Frodo she knew.

"Here. In the sink," she quickly instructed. He threw up.

In-between Frodo's heavings, Iris heard the front door being opened and shut. Iris was still occupied with Frodo's sickness when Sam bolted into the kitchen. He was back from his latest planting foray. He had heard the commotion in the kitchen and had run into the room without even removing his cloak. Iris continued to support a wobbly Frodo as he retched over the sink.

Iris held Sam back with a wave of her hand. He stood in the doorway, shocked. Frodo finally finished with a gasp. Iris sat him down on his chair, putting his head between his knees and placing her hand on his back. The tears were rolling down his face. Frodo held his head in his hands, sobbing. He was still unaware that Sam had returned and had witnessed the scene.

Sam came over and knelt at Frodo's feet. Frodo looked up, distress and anguish mixing with guilt and shame. "Oh, Sam…"

Sam gathered Frodo into his arms for a strong hug as Frodo struggled to contain his raging emotions. Empathetic tears stained Sam's tanned face as he held his lifelong friend and mentor. Iris backed away from the pair.

"Your Sam is here," he said. "Let it out. Tell me what happened."

Frodo was completely miserable but unable to stop the flood of emotional words. They stood and Frodo pushed Sam away to arm's length.

"I killed him, Sam," he sobbed.

"Who?"

"Smeagol."

Sam shook his head emphatically. "No you didn't. He tripped and fell in. You didn't kill him."

"Sam, you could not see it. You were wounded. You had blood in your eyes. When he was distracted, dancing obscenely with my finger and the Ring in his bony clutches, laughing and prancing…I…I pushed him. I pushed him in. I couldn't stand the thought of him taking It from me. He did not trip. I pushed him. I murdered him, Sam. Oh, Elbereth, help me." Frodo tried to twist out of Sam's grasp.

Sam would not let go. "I was there, master. I saw what happened. You did not push him. You were on the ground, holding your hand. It was bleeding terribly. There was blood all over the ground. He must have slipped in the blood. He must have tripped over you when you were curled up on the ground. You couldn't have pushed 'em in. You were holding your hand. I saw you holding your hand."

"But I did. I did push him! Oh, Sam…I gave him my word he would be safe with me. I gave him my solemn oath back at the pool in Ithilien. I spoke it before Faramir. I spoke it before you. I swore I would protect him. He trusted me. He even saved our lives. And… and I killed him! What sort of horrible creature have I turned into? This is eating me alive!"

Iris said and did nothing during this painful exchange. What could she add? Nothing. She had not been there. This was between Sam and Frodo. The only living witnesses to the destruction of the One Ring.

Frodo continued his dreadful confession. "I should have died - not him. I should have found the strength to leap into the fire while I still had a choice. I was prepared to sacrifice myself. I thought about doing it the entire time we were in Mordor. It was the only I could think of where I could take the Ring to the fire and guarantee that It actually went into the fire. I knew I could not throw It in willingly. I was going to run and leap over the edge before you or the Nazgul or anyone else could stop me. I thought I had the solution. I thought I was ready!

But when we reached Orodruin, I could not do it. The Ring had consumed me. I had no choice but to put It on. I had no strength left to fight It any longer. I could not cast the Precious away. I could not give It to you. I could not ignore It. It filled me with a lust so strong I could do nothing except what It commanded. I had no choice but to carry out Smeagol's death sentence.

Sam? Remember when Smeagol tried to touch the Ring when we were at the Black Gate? I uttered a curse upon him then. If he ever touched the Precious again, he himself would be cast into the fire. Do you remember that, Sam?" Frodo was grabbing onto Sam's cloak now, jerking Sam towards his face. "Do you remember?!"

"Yes!" Sam wrenched away from Frodo's grasp and backed up a step. "Yes, I remember! How could I forget? You were possessed! It weren't you talking. It was that damned Ring. It was cursing Gollum. Not you!"

"No! I cursed him! Not the Ring! I cursed him!" Frodo yelled. "I caused his death." Frodo suddenly fell to his knees on the floor.

"Precious held me to my own curse," his voice came out hollow as wind blowing though the Barrow-downs. He clutched his hands to his head. "Smeagol touched the Precious, and Precious called me to be the instrument to fulfill my curse. So I did. I pushed him over the edge and into the fire."

Frodo looked up at Sam.

"If you had tried to take the Ring from me at that moment, I would have pushed you in too, Sam."

The last words were a hoarse whisper full of blackness and self-hatred. Sam was standing alone, his lips pulled tight to fight off a cry of pity. Sam finally accepted that Frodo was telling the truth.

"Sam… you should have left me to die on that mountain."