Title: The Foldings of Dawn
Author: silver-tear-crystals
Rating: PG -13
Summary: What if Frodo gave in, took the ring to Sauron?
Inspiration: I was watching LOTR again, and when Boromir was trying to take the Ring from Frodo, who put it on, Boromir yelled something like: 'You'll betray us all! You'll take the ring to Sauron!' Well, what if it happened?
Disclaimer: This is not the REAL Sam, Frodo.. I made copies when no one was looking. **pouts at lawyer** Ok, Ok, JRR Tolkien owns 'em.. 'cept for Tanth'Quiel and Quira who I own. My riding school owns Fenella.
NOT slash, Not romance, I'm trying to prove to myself and everyone else that male + female does not always = luv.
BTW: I've used the name Tanth'Quiel before, in a story I never finished, so don't be surprised if it crops up here.
One, final side note: This was written ages ago, so I apologize for any mistakes. ___________________________
There was silence all around him. The river calmly lapped at his feet, creating an odd, hushed tone. In the distance, he could see the mountainside, the forest, the future. But even though his eyes roamed, a blind image was within his mind, for all thoughts were on the smooth, cold object in his hand. The solid gold, seeming innocent ring, that he now despised so feircly it hurt.
Frodo could not tell how long he had had it now, for how much longer he could stand to look at it. The landscape provided a convient distraction, but not for long. His whole future was before him; and the solitary choice of what to do next. The river Anduin held no answers, no hope.
He stood for a good many minutes more, feeling each moment strike a cold hurt into his heart. Tears were slipping from his eyes, splattering upon his dark emerald cloak. He could not tell why, but a great sadness was within the trees, the water. Finally, he came to his decision. The thought he had dreaded ever since starting out from The Shire; the thought of travelling to the horrible terrain of Mordor alone. But still, he had no choice.
Swiftly, quickly, he returned the ring back to his pocket, and stepped forth. There was no turning back now, no casting the ring simply into the water and forgetting it forever. That path was never open anyway.
Frodo pushed one of the boats moored at the bank into the river, determindly casting his gaze forward. Behind him, he could hear Sam's distants shouts. Much as he wanted to, he refused to look back, instead focusing his attention on rowing.
Presently he heard his friend call much more louder, most likely having reached the bank. As much as it hurt, Frodo refused to go back. It was unfair to put his friend in so much danger, over a burden that had never been his. This was Frodo's task, and Frodo's alone.
'No Sam,' he whispered.
He heard the sloshing of water, and spun around, despite himself.
'Go back Sam!' he yelled. 'I'm going to Mordor alone!'
'Course you are!' his friend shouted back, now waist deep in the water. 'And I'm going with you!'
'You can't swim..'
Sam was now flailing, sinking, and fast.
Frantically, Frodo yelled his name, turning the boat around. With a deep dread beating inside, he rowed as hard as he could, to the place of his friend's last gulp of air. He could not bear to think, more then he could ever fear risking Sam's life, of him dying now, right here.
'Sam!'
Reaching his hand into the cold, sharp water, he scanned the surface quickly. What if he had lost his best friend, another tragic victim of the ring in his pocket.
Suddenly, he felt flesh against his hand, and gripped it tightly, as hard as he could. Pulling, he soon had a firm grim, and drew Sam up, gasping for air. In a moment's time, he had him in the boat. There was a moment of panic, when Frodo had to steady both his friend and the now rocking dangerously boat, but a moment later, all had calmed breifly, though his friend was still spitting water, and now, it looked like, crying.
'I made a promise, Mr Frodo, a promise,' he spluttered. 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee, and I don't mean to, I don't mean to.'
Frodo felt tears come to his own eyes as he listened. The seeming never- ending pain in his heart flared up again, for both pity and compassion. Sam looked so dejected, sitting, drenched in the boat. And yet, Frodo felt, he almost could not let him come, deep into danger, which they both may never return out of.
'Oh Sam..'
But then, he could not refuse. He doubted Sam would go back, even if he pleaded. But it was so wrong, and he hugged his friend suddenly, feeling as if the choice was not even his.
'Come on,' he said finally, letting go.
That seemed like years ago, Frodo mused, staring up. The night was cold, swift, and all around them. Laying at the very foot of Mount Doom, he felt a pressure much harder then that the simple one of darkness. It was upon him, suffocating him, pressing into his existance.
He turned onto his side, trying to get comfortable. A dark curl cut into his vision of the remaining glow of fire, but he could not bring himself to lift his arm, brush the wayward strand of hair back. In the gentle dancing light, he could see Sam, across from him, snoring gently. His friend looked peaceful, almost as if he was back home in the Shire.
Frodo closed his eyes, fighting both weariness and weakness. They had but crumbles left of the Lembas, and although Sam sacrificed his own share for him, he still felt life ebbing away, like a trickle of water from a blocked stream. And yet; he dared not bring himself to sleep, for a haunting nightmare had hunted him for the past nights, awakening him in the middle of the night drenched in a cold sweat.
Nothing stirred; nothing moved. Darkness was like a cloak in Mordor; stilling all signs of life, if there ever was any. Even the wind dared not to whisper.
Frodo couldn't stand it anymore. He lay a few moments more, gathering his strength, then rose up, swayed, and was forced to crouch down. After the dizziness passed, he stood up again, groaning softly, but making sure he did not wake Sam. Somehow, he felt ten times worse then before, but he could not let his friend know it.
A fear danced within him, but he forced himself to move. He did not know why; but to walk, he must.
Taking a few steps forth, he found it slightly more easier then he had expected. He was cold; but it was not a sharp feeling, but bearable, and awakening. Although lack of food had seen him loose more weight then before, (Sam often commented he found it impossible to look at his master, for so thin was he) Frodo did not surrounder to his body's protest at the sharp forcefullness, but rather lifted his eyes and stared ahead.
He had taken a good ten steps, left the glow of the fire behind him, so that he was almost in full darkness, when Frodo suddenly felt something. It was not big, nor was it the wind. The hobbit paused, re-coiled back, and let out a low gasp.
There was suddenly whispers coming from all around him. They mixed together, untangled, so that they were almost un-audible. Frodo stumbled back, lost his footing, and fell onto the hard ground. He felt his bones jarr painfully, and a shot of extreme hurt was spreading like fire in his body. But he could not scream, was frozen in fear, as an un-named terror murmered all about him.
Then, in his breast pocket, he felt the ring stir. It was almost as if it moved, and Frodo felt himself draw a hand to it, egged on, it seemed, by the voices. His fingers clasped about it, the cold, round object.
He was drawing it out; frozen, yet moving, as in a dream.
"It's over," he thought, captivated with watching his arm move by itself, still too shocked to utter a word. "Sauron has won."
Then, suddenly, a sharp sound broke through the whispers, the dream-like state. It was Sam, yelling his name.
Frodo wanted to reply, but could not, would not, his lips refused to obey.
Then, he felt his friends arms around him, felt himself be lifted from the ground, the ring re-placed firmly in his pocket.
'No!' he screamed. At the same time, he let out a groan, before clinging to Sam's shirt. There was a ringing in his ears, his vision swam, and then, everything went black.
Pwease, pwease review? I'll be grateful for the rest of existance.. silver-tear-crystals
Author: silver-tear-crystals
Rating: PG -13
Summary: What if Frodo gave in, took the ring to Sauron?
Inspiration: I was watching LOTR again, and when Boromir was trying to take the Ring from Frodo, who put it on, Boromir yelled something like: 'You'll betray us all! You'll take the ring to Sauron!' Well, what if it happened?
Disclaimer: This is not the REAL Sam, Frodo.. I made copies when no one was looking. **pouts at lawyer** Ok, Ok, JRR Tolkien owns 'em.. 'cept for Tanth'Quiel and Quira who I own. My riding school owns Fenella.
NOT slash, Not romance, I'm trying to prove to myself and everyone else that male + female does not always = luv.
BTW: I've used the name Tanth'Quiel before, in a story I never finished, so don't be surprised if it crops up here.
One, final side note: This was written ages ago, so I apologize for any mistakes. ___________________________
There was silence all around him. The river calmly lapped at his feet, creating an odd, hushed tone. In the distance, he could see the mountainside, the forest, the future. But even though his eyes roamed, a blind image was within his mind, for all thoughts were on the smooth, cold object in his hand. The solid gold, seeming innocent ring, that he now despised so feircly it hurt.
Frodo could not tell how long he had had it now, for how much longer he could stand to look at it. The landscape provided a convient distraction, but not for long. His whole future was before him; and the solitary choice of what to do next. The river Anduin held no answers, no hope.
He stood for a good many minutes more, feeling each moment strike a cold hurt into his heart. Tears were slipping from his eyes, splattering upon his dark emerald cloak. He could not tell why, but a great sadness was within the trees, the water. Finally, he came to his decision. The thought he had dreaded ever since starting out from The Shire; the thought of travelling to the horrible terrain of Mordor alone. But still, he had no choice.
Swiftly, quickly, he returned the ring back to his pocket, and stepped forth. There was no turning back now, no casting the ring simply into the water and forgetting it forever. That path was never open anyway.
Frodo pushed one of the boats moored at the bank into the river, determindly casting his gaze forward. Behind him, he could hear Sam's distants shouts. Much as he wanted to, he refused to look back, instead focusing his attention on rowing.
Presently he heard his friend call much more louder, most likely having reached the bank. As much as it hurt, Frodo refused to go back. It was unfair to put his friend in so much danger, over a burden that had never been his. This was Frodo's task, and Frodo's alone.
'No Sam,' he whispered.
He heard the sloshing of water, and spun around, despite himself.
'Go back Sam!' he yelled. 'I'm going to Mordor alone!'
'Course you are!' his friend shouted back, now waist deep in the water. 'And I'm going with you!'
'You can't swim..'
Sam was now flailing, sinking, and fast.
Frantically, Frodo yelled his name, turning the boat around. With a deep dread beating inside, he rowed as hard as he could, to the place of his friend's last gulp of air. He could not bear to think, more then he could ever fear risking Sam's life, of him dying now, right here.
'Sam!'
Reaching his hand into the cold, sharp water, he scanned the surface quickly. What if he had lost his best friend, another tragic victim of the ring in his pocket.
Suddenly, he felt flesh against his hand, and gripped it tightly, as hard as he could. Pulling, he soon had a firm grim, and drew Sam up, gasping for air. In a moment's time, he had him in the boat. There was a moment of panic, when Frodo had to steady both his friend and the now rocking dangerously boat, but a moment later, all had calmed breifly, though his friend was still spitting water, and now, it looked like, crying.
'I made a promise, Mr Frodo, a promise,' he spluttered. 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee, and I don't mean to, I don't mean to.'
Frodo felt tears come to his own eyes as he listened. The seeming never- ending pain in his heart flared up again, for both pity and compassion. Sam looked so dejected, sitting, drenched in the boat. And yet, Frodo felt, he almost could not let him come, deep into danger, which they both may never return out of.
'Oh Sam..'
But then, he could not refuse. He doubted Sam would go back, even if he pleaded. But it was so wrong, and he hugged his friend suddenly, feeling as if the choice was not even his.
'Come on,' he said finally, letting go.
That seemed like years ago, Frodo mused, staring up. The night was cold, swift, and all around them. Laying at the very foot of Mount Doom, he felt a pressure much harder then that the simple one of darkness. It was upon him, suffocating him, pressing into his existance.
He turned onto his side, trying to get comfortable. A dark curl cut into his vision of the remaining glow of fire, but he could not bring himself to lift his arm, brush the wayward strand of hair back. In the gentle dancing light, he could see Sam, across from him, snoring gently. His friend looked peaceful, almost as if he was back home in the Shire.
Frodo closed his eyes, fighting both weariness and weakness. They had but crumbles left of the Lembas, and although Sam sacrificed his own share for him, he still felt life ebbing away, like a trickle of water from a blocked stream. And yet; he dared not bring himself to sleep, for a haunting nightmare had hunted him for the past nights, awakening him in the middle of the night drenched in a cold sweat.
Nothing stirred; nothing moved. Darkness was like a cloak in Mordor; stilling all signs of life, if there ever was any. Even the wind dared not to whisper.
Frodo couldn't stand it anymore. He lay a few moments more, gathering his strength, then rose up, swayed, and was forced to crouch down. After the dizziness passed, he stood up again, groaning softly, but making sure he did not wake Sam. Somehow, he felt ten times worse then before, but he could not let his friend know it.
A fear danced within him, but he forced himself to move. He did not know why; but to walk, he must.
Taking a few steps forth, he found it slightly more easier then he had expected. He was cold; but it was not a sharp feeling, but bearable, and awakening. Although lack of food had seen him loose more weight then before, (Sam often commented he found it impossible to look at his master, for so thin was he) Frodo did not surrounder to his body's protest at the sharp forcefullness, but rather lifted his eyes and stared ahead.
He had taken a good ten steps, left the glow of the fire behind him, so that he was almost in full darkness, when Frodo suddenly felt something. It was not big, nor was it the wind. The hobbit paused, re-coiled back, and let out a low gasp.
There was suddenly whispers coming from all around him. They mixed together, untangled, so that they were almost un-audible. Frodo stumbled back, lost his footing, and fell onto the hard ground. He felt his bones jarr painfully, and a shot of extreme hurt was spreading like fire in his body. But he could not scream, was frozen in fear, as an un-named terror murmered all about him.
Then, in his breast pocket, he felt the ring stir. It was almost as if it moved, and Frodo felt himself draw a hand to it, egged on, it seemed, by the voices. His fingers clasped about it, the cold, round object.
He was drawing it out; frozen, yet moving, as in a dream.
"It's over," he thought, captivated with watching his arm move by itself, still too shocked to utter a word. "Sauron has won."
Then, suddenly, a sharp sound broke through the whispers, the dream-like state. It was Sam, yelling his name.
Frodo wanted to reply, but could not, would not, his lips refused to obey.
Then, he felt his friends arms around him, felt himself be lifted from the ground, the ring re-placed firmly in his pocket.
'No!' he screamed. At the same time, he let out a groan, before clinging to Sam's shirt. There was a ringing in his ears, his vision swam, and then, everything went black.
Pwease, pwease review? I'll be grateful for the rest of existance.. silver-tear-crystals