JUDGMENT DAY
By: Keara
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Part II: Nine-fingered Frodo
Frodo stood inside the Chamber of Fire, on the brink of a great ledge. Flames licked the high walls of the rocky hollow, but Frodo ignored the burning sensation of the heat on his face. He did not blink when sparks came dangerously close to marring his eyes. He fingered the Ring, and looked down at it, pressing it against his chest with something akin to possession. It was so beautiful, and its weight, when the burden was not choking him, was almost a comfort to his palm. He ran one small finger around its rim, caressing it like a priceless treasure. Because that was what it was to Frodo—priceless. And he wondered just what its destruction might cost him.
"Too much," he thought sadly. "But it must be done..."
He thought of Bilbo, and wondered how the older hobbit had managed to possess the Ring for so long without it driving him mad. For it was driving Frodo to the limits of his sanity. He had considered himself as one who contained great pride and dignity, yet he had resorted to crawling on all fours like a blind beggar who was kicked in the street. A beggar with know past or future, to whom the comforts of life were unknown. The chain around his neck dug into his flesh, an imprint that could be permanent, for all the hobbit knew. And on more than just the skin of his back.
Frodo shuddered and removed the Ring from its chain, preparing to throw it into the pit of flames that danced below him. He carelessly dropped the links of steel that had been such a burden, an unwelcome parallel of the weight of his quest. The metal clinked against the rocky ledge as it slowly slipped off of firm ground and into the heat, where the fires of Mount Doom licked their embrace, perhaps tasting the closeness of the Ring. He thought of how happy everyone would be when they learned of his success. The war against the Enemy would be over, and Middle-earth would be at peace. He thought of all the lives he would save by the simple task of dropping the Ring into the red fissure of flame. He thought of his home in the Shire, and seeing all of the hobbits again. He thought of his uncle Bilbo, who had taken him in as a child when his parents died. Throughout the course of his journey, Frodo had found himself missing Bilbo above everyone else.
But other thoughts came unbidden to his mind--other memories. The terror of learning the truth behind this mysterious Ring. It seemed unfair, as he moved absently closer to the edge, that he had been forced into all of this. He never wanted Bilbo's silly trinket. Before he knew of its origin, he had no desire for it. And when he learned what it truly was, he was never told of what horrors he would face if he agreed to have it destroyed. He had often hoped, sometimes aloud, and sometimes in silence on sleepless nights, that the Ring had never come to him. That someone else had been forced to deal with its evil tendencies. Because it was true; he had been forced.
Perhaps he didn't want to destroy it, now. Perhaps it was too much for him to handle, perhaps the foresight of the wise was wrong and misleading. The doom of men was at hand, by Sauron's might, and by Saruman's dexterity. "No! No! Destroy it now! Before it is too late!" a voice within him cried. But he paid the voice no heed. In this moment, as he stood upon the doorsteps of doom, he forgot all he knew about the Ring's evil. The Enemy didn't know they had it, what harm could it be to use it for good, or to just keep it secret for a little while longer? To let Frodo keep the precious. He recalled what Gandalf has said to him, before his death by the hands of the Balrog.
"You were meant to have the Ring."
"Frodo! Master!" he heard Sam call from a tunnel outside the entrance. But he did not respond. The part of Frodo that had heard his friend's concerned cry did not seem to have any control on this new Frodo, this angry Frodo, this hungry Frodo. This tired Frodo.
The heat of the great fissure below Frodo grew more and more intense. The Ring seemed to sense that it was dangerously close to its destruction, because it impelled Frodo with a new urgency to simply put it on. Frodo heard more footsteps behind him, and his instincts—whether controlled by the Ring or no—caused him to become alarmed. His heart was throbbing painfully in his chest. Pulsing, pulsing. He heard the footsteps coming closer. Frodo could hear the sound of his heart beating even over the crackling and roaring fires of Mount Doom. Confusion clouded his mind. His eyes were glazed over. His fingers trembled as he fingered the Ring, and in fear of dropping it, he stepped back from the edge of the chasm and clutched it tightly. Sweat poured down his brow and stung his eyes. The footsteps were very close now.
"Master!" Sam cried to the dark silhouette before him.
Frodo's mind was blank of all thought, except the one purpose he had left. He turned to Sam, his faithful servant, but his eyes were unfocussed, as though looking past his frightened companion. "I have come," he said. "But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed." Sam opened his mouth in horror and surprise, but no words would form in his throat. Frodo's blank stare lowered to gaze at the Ring that was still lying in his outstretched hand. "The Ring is mine!"
He put the Ring on his finger, and immediately vanished from sight.
Instantly, Frodo felt a great clamor rise up in the walls of Mount Doom, and he sensed the great eye that he had seen earlier. But this time, Frodo knew the eye was directly upon him. "He's found me!" he thought silently, both consciences again becoming one. "What have I done?" Trauma did not prevent the truth from registering in Frodo's mind. He had failed. After coming so close, he had fallen into temptation, and was now bringing about the fall of Middle-earth as he stood there immobile, willing but unable to pull the Ring from his finger.
Seeing his master disappear, Sam cried and leapt forward, but found a force behind him, just as he had before, driving into his aching back and sending him falling forward. He hit his head when he fell, and the world went black.
Frodo saw Gollum knock Sam over, saw a deep gash appear on Sam's forehead, and saw Gollum leap at the place where Frodo had been standing before he disappeared. Frodo reached down to take off the Ring, but it was too late. He was knocked to the ground by Gollum's expertly aimed jump.
There was a struggle there, on the edge of the fiery chasm, that lasted for several seconds. But to Frodo, it seemed to last for days. Gollum fought viciously with his invisible opponent, and Frodo was too weak to fight him off this time. And then, Gollum found his finger.
A terrible, indescribable, searing pain coursed through Frodo's hand. He cried out in agony, feeling sick as warm blood gushed out of a wound and seeped in between his fingers. Gollum was no longer on top of him, and he realized, with steadily increasing horror, that he was no longer invisible. He looked down at his right hand and saw that Gollum had severed his index finger, along with the Ring. "No!" his mind cried, and he looked up to see Gollum jumping with bliss on the edge of the chasm, holding the ring, with a finger still lodged inside.
"Precious, precious, precious!" he cried repeatedly. "My precious! O my precious!"
And then Gollum stepped back just an inch too far for his weak legs to maintain their balance on the rocky edge. He fell, and with a last cry of "Precious!", he was gone.
Sam had awoken from being knocked unconscious and had watched these extraordinary events from a few feet away. He and Frodo, who was now clutching his maimed hand and staring at the fiery chasm, were both stunned for a few moments, their shock at what had just happened too much for their exhausted minds to comprehend. Then, sensing their danger as the Mountain began to shake and rumble, Sam ran to his injured master and picked him up as though the older hobbit weighed nothing. And now that he didn't have the Ring, Sam found Frodo much easier to carry. He proceeded to run out of the door, faster, it seemed, than he had ever run in his life.
Frodo and Sam gazed out on the land of Mordor, at the great tower of Barad-dur, fortress of the Enemy, as it shook and began to crumble. A growing cloud of ash and dust and smoke devoured the mighty black pinnacles until the tower was completely destroyed. The earth was shaking violently.
"Well, this is the end, Samwise Gamgee," Frodo said, his voice happy and pure. He welcomed death; his quest was complete. He failed in the end, perhaps, but he was free of his burden. Now he sought peace and rest, and knew that, by life or death, he would achieve both. For the first time in many months, he was the same innocent Frodo that had left the Shire with a Ring he knew nothing of.
"Master!" Sam cried in relief, noticing this change in his friend. But he also noticed that his master's hand continued to bleed heavily. "Your poor hand!" he said sadly, "And I have nothing to bind it with, or comfort it. I would have spared him a whole hand of mine rather. But he's gone now beyond recall; gone forever."
They were silent for a while, and looked out and around at the destruction evil, and reveled in it, for nothing could ever bring them more joy than to witness the destruction of Mordor, the land of the Enemy.
"I am glad you are here with me," Frodo said finally, "at the end of all things, Sam."
"Yes, I am with you, Master. And you're with me. And the journey's finished. But after coming all this way I don't want to give up yet. It's not like me, somehow, if you understand."
"Maybe not, Sam," Frodo replied
sadly; "but it's like things are in the world.
Hope fails. An end comes. We have only a little time to wait now. We are lost in ruin and downfall, and there
is no escape."
But Sam could not be discouraged. He would comfort his master; he would keep Frodo in good spirits to the very end. "Well, Master, we could at least go further from this dangerous place here, from this Crack of Doom, if that's its name. Now couldn't we? Come, Mr. Frodo, let's go down the path at any rate!"
They went down the path together, and Frodo began to despair again. He was prepared to die, now that his task was done. But what about Sam? Sam did not deserve death. Sam had a beautiful future ahead of him, if only he could survive this somehow. And Frodo found himself afraid of death, now that it finally faced him. But he was immensely glad, as he had thought and said aloud numerous times, that Sam was with him. They had grown so close over the past months; they had fought against the most powerful of evils together.
And now that evil was ended. The same hand that had drawn him from his home and forced him upon the doorsteps of despair was vanishing before his eyes—soon to be nothing more than a memory of false hopes and idle prayers. Oh, for all those months he had toiled, through the deepest reaches of darkness to the highest peaks of malevolence. He saw explosions of light in the air, and heaps of dirt and rock flew in every direction before falling to the ground. Everything looked so unreal from the outside—for Frodo had been on the inside of a great wickedness when he bore the Ring, never able to escape the great eye of his enemy. And now he was sundered from the burden he had borne, and his past identity was taken from him.
Sam was staring at him anxiously, looking to Frodo for direction. Fear of their impending doom marred his features. Before, Frodo may have offered solace and support to the younger hobbit who had protected him for all this time. And he had served Frodo so well! Frodo knew that he could never have come this far without Sam. He wouldn't have lasted a mere week without Sam. But despite his guilty conscience, he had no comfort for his companion. Except to share in his misery.
Ash blew painfully into his already swollen and bloodshot eyes. He tried to rub them, but that only served to make the irritation worse. Sam's face was red from the overwhelming heat, perspiration trickling down his brow to mingle with the blood and tears that stained his face. It broke Frodo's heart again and again to see Sam this way. Even on the brink of death, Sam stood tall and proud beside his master. The lava continued to pour out of Mount Doom, completely surrounding the small mound where they stood, but still Sam was strong. He had not failed in his duty, like Frodo had. Frodo wondered how he could ever have doubted Sam's endless loyalty.
Frodo cringed in pain as a rock blasted from the mountainside and flew past his arm, brushing his tender flesh, leaving a small cut visible through his tattered clothes. His hand was still bleeding heavily, and he was beginning to feel faint from the loss of blood. He looked down at his finger, now half its normal size, but he could not see the wound. The blood was everywhere.
The explosions of earth and fire beat in his ears. A tight squeeze reminded him that Sam was still holding his uninjured hand. He met Sam's eyes, and the younger hobbit sighed hopelessly.
"What a tale we've been in, Mister Frodo, haven't we?" he said breathlessly. "I wish I could hear it told! Do you think they'll say: Now here comes the story of Nine-fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom? And then everyone will hush, like we did, when in Rivendell they told us the tale of Beren One-hand and the Great Jewel. I wish I could hear it! And I wonder how it will go on after our part."
Frodo did not answer. He had nothing—and everything—to say to his servant, his protector, his truest of friends. His mind was in turmoil. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself down on the ground and allow the flames and molten rock to overtake his lifeless body. Only in death could he be free of his pain.
The grinding of rock and stone grew louder, the eruptions of lava more frequent, the shaking of the earth more intense. The two hobbits stood silently, horrified, on their little hill, feeling lost and forsaken, waiting for the end to come.
"Even now, as we stand here, our friends are at war, perhaps dying," Frodo thought dismally. No one could escape the war that Sauron had begun, and now, even as the destruction of the Ring was serving to finish it, none could escape the consequences. The evil that had festered in Mordor for so long was fading away. The black shroud of darkness that had covered the sky for the past days was beginning to disperse and grow faint. Turning his eyes to the north, Frodo heard thousands of voices cry out in liberation and relief. A brilliant, sunlit sky fought against the cloud of night, and it would be victorious. It was worth all this time, and worth all those endless nights and days without rest or sleep or hope of a happy ending to save them from despair. It was worth it, if now even one person lived in a world without fear or hate.
But concerning him and Sam, the world was quickly and painfully ending. More rock flew past, and sparks stung their faces. Flames form the overheating lava began to crawl up the hillside. Overcome by heat and fatigue, together they fell to the ground, covering their eyes in despair as they sensed the end drawing close. Their deaths were here… so close… Frodo felt smoke filling his lungs, and the last dregs of consciousness left in his mind was slowly slipping away. He was drifting away from life, away from Middle-earth... drifting...
The last thought that remained in Frodo's mind was a memory from his childhood, a past now long forgotten, and his uncle Bilbo telling him a story of the adventures of a past generation.
"The eagles are coming…"
And then, finally, sleep took over, and a dream. Frodo dreamt even as he was saved from death and flames and borne to safety upon the back of a great eagle. He and Sam were miles away from here, back home in the Shire, and smoking their pipes in the evening as the sun disappeared from the horizon and the stars began to come into view above their heads. He dreamt of the world before all this badness had happened to drive them to the Mountain of Fire. In his dream, Frodo was at peace.
In reality, he had reached salvation.
THE END
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DISCLAIMER: The characters/places mentioned herein are property of J.R.R. Tolkien Estate Ltd., not Keara. Some dialogue taken from "Mount Doom" and "The Field of Cormallen", from The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.
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