Chapter 11 The Voice of Deceit
Sam had stopped again. He had traveled several more miles towards Isengard, but fought every step of the way. He felt as if some invisible force had him in its grip and was relentlessly pulling him on. Now that he knew what was happening, he wasn't willing to cooperate if he could help it. But, it was hard, so incredibly hard. His head pounded mercilessly and always he could hear the voice of Saruman calling to him, urging him on. He was beyond exhaustion and felt so weak. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink since the day before and his mouth was like sand. He was gasping for breath and his legs were shaking. Hobbits were not meant for cross-country running. He closed his eyes and sank to the ground, wheezing and holding his throbbing head. All of his meager energy stores were being used to fight the call of Saruman's Command. "Oh Mister Frodo!" he moaned in black despair, "I've made a right mess of everything! I hope someday you can forgive your poor Sam for betraying you like this!"
As Sam sat there, lost in the mire of his hopeless misery, he slowly became aware of a second voice murmuring, whispering in the back of his mind. His head snapped up in alarm, eyes wide. He knew instinctively it was the Ring calling to him. How could he possibly fight both the powers of the Ring and Saruman? He felt like he was going mad. The Ring was urging him to put it on, to disappear from all his cares. He would be safe then. All would be forgiven. It was a hypnotic call and Sam's hand inched up towards the ring dangling from its silver chain. But, no sooner had he clenched it in his fist, his own voice, strong with good common hobbit-sense, cried out "No!"
His hand flew away from the Ring as if burned, Sam's face now bathed in sweat at the effort. He knew he must return the Ring to Gandalf or perhaps Lord Elrond, but would he be able to? With both Saruman and Sauron calling him, Sam seriously doubted his ability to resist the siren song of the Enemy. It also occurred to him that if Saruman's Uruk-hai had been waiting for him the first time, there were sure to be some looking for him now. Another thought occurred to him. One even more chilling. He hesitantly pulled out the Ring and felt his stomach clench with an icy fear. Uneasily, he recalled using the Ring while escaping down the mountain. He also remembered Gandalf saying that one of the Nazgul apparently had not perished in the flood. If that were the case, Sam had no doubt that the Ringwraith was also hunting him. Sam had never felt more alone in his entire life. .
Sam sat on the ground awhile longer, trying to catch his breath, desperately trying to find the strength to rise and fight his way back towards Rivendell. "North," he thought dully, "All I have to do is go north." Slowly, painfully, he climbed to his feet. The world spun around him and his legs trembled. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, then turned and began trudging back the way he had come. He felt as if he was wading through quicksand, every step harder than the last. Because the ravine walls were so steep, he was forced to follow it's path. It seemed to be heading in the northerly direction he wished to take, so he went. He was holding onto the hope that he might encounter the others from the Fellowship searching for him. He had no idea where they were, or where he was for that matter. He just knew that if they figured out that he had the Ring, they would be after him at once. At the very least, he hoped he could find his way back to the elves. Perhaps they would kill him for his heinous betrayal, but if Mr. Frodo was indeed dead, Sam cared little for his own fate. He deserved to die. He deserved every abominable torment the elves could conceive of. He was sure, if they put their minds to it, the elves could come up with some terrible ones. "No amount of pain and suffering is punishment enough for what you've done, Samwise Gamgee!" thought Sam fiercely.
The throbbing in his head never stopped, nor did the whispering, seductive voices. If only they would be quiet and let him alone, even for a moment., he thought desperately. He was so very tired, but he didn't dare rest. He was afraid if he fell asleep, he would lose all control. He frequently stumbled and fell, tears of exhaustion and misery staining his dirt-smeared face. It seemed as if he had made little headway. Then the darkness of night came and with it, the rain. It pounded him, the floor of the ravine became a sea of mud, sucking at his plodding feet. He could feel what little hope he had left draining away with his remaining strength.
He was so cold. His sodden garments clung to him, his breath visible in the raw, freezing rain. His feet felt like lumps of lead. He slipped again and lay in the sea of gray mud, sobbing and shivering uncontrollably. "Oh, Mr. Frodo," he moaned "What am I going to do?"
"Sam!" Sam lay silently for a moment, then sluggishly raised his head in bewilderment. The voiced called again, "Sam!" Sam pushed himself into a sitting position and peered through the gathering gloom trying to find the source of the sound.
"Mi.Mister Frodo?" he whispered. He cast frantically about the narrow ravine. He knew he'd heard the voice of his beloved master. It came again, this time sounding annoyed and impatient.
"Samwise Gamgee!" Startled, Sam looked upwards, his eyes wide with shock, spied his master standing on a tall rock, slightly higher than Sam's head. Although it was dark, Frodo seemed to glow and appeared unaffected by the pelting rain.
Sam crawled through the muck, closer to the base of the rock, gazing up at Frodo in mute disbelief. How could this be!? "Mister Frodo?" he choked, "Are.are you alive?"
Frodo stood, arms crossed, looking down at Sam with the obvious disdain. "Of course I'm not alive, you fool!" he sneered scornfully, "You killed me, remember?" If Frodo had stabbed Sam through the heart with Saruman's dagger, he could not have caused Sam greater pain.
"Oh master!" Sam sobbed wretchedly, the tears mixing with the rain on his face, "I never meant to hurt you! I'd just as soon kill myself as hurt a hair on your head! Please!" he pleaded despairingly, "Please forgive me! It was a spell that Saruman put on me! You know your Sam would never hurt you!"
Frodo snorted in disgust. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that?" He stared down into Sam's woebegone face shaking his head. "You truly are a fool, Samwise Gamgee. Saruman is not our enemy! Gandalf is the treacherous one! He has been leading us into a trap from the start!"
Sam gaped at Frodo, his mouth open in disbelief. "I.I don't understand, Mr. Frodo. Gandalf would never do anything like that!"
Frodo leaned forward, continuing to stare intently into Sam's frightened eyes. He spoke very slowly and distinctly as if addressing a rather dull-witted child. "Where was Gandalf leading us? To Mordor! And who is in Mordor? Sauron, the very person who wants the Ring more than anyone! How can you not see that Gandalf was trying to return the Ring to the Dark Lord?"
Sam was shivering worse than ever. He felt so confused and disoriented. None of this made any sense! He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the rain from his eyes. It certainly looked like Mr. Frodo up there on the rock, but if he was truly dead, how could that be?
"Sam," Frodo's voice had changed now. It was gentle and soothing . Sam peered up at him hopefully. "Dearest Sam. You know I would never do anything to harm you, don't you? I only want to protect you and do what is best for the Shire." Frodo smiled warmly at Sam and Sam felt his heart sing with joy.
"Yes, Mr. Frodo!" he replied eagerly. "I know you'd never do anything that would hurt your Sam!"
Frodo nodded in satisfaction, still smiling. "Then Sam, you must do one thing for me. One small thing. Surely after what you did to me, you would not refuse me?"
Again, Sam suffered the sharp pain of guilt and grief. He couldn't possibly deny Frodo anything after the horrible thing he'd done, now could he? "I.I'll do anything you want, Mr. Frodo."
"Then," began Frodo, a look of triumph appearing in his glittering eyes, "You must promise to take the Ring to Saruman. He is the only one with wisdom enough to know how to best deal with it. Do you understand me, Sam? You must take the Ring to Saruman!"
An icy finger of fear ran up Sam's spine. This was not right. He knew in his heart that Gandalf would never betray them, yet, how could he deny his beloved Frodo his request? Sam stared at Frodo and slowly nodded. Frodo still smiling his strangely triumphant smile slowly faded from sight, leaving Sam alone and bereft in the cold, wet night.
Sam had stopped again. He had traveled several more miles towards Isengard, but fought every step of the way. He felt as if some invisible force had him in its grip and was relentlessly pulling him on. Now that he knew what was happening, he wasn't willing to cooperate if he could help it. But, it was hard, so incredibly hard. His head pounded mercilessly and always he could hear the voice of Saruman calling to him, urging him on. He was beyond exhaustion and felt so weak. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink since the day before and his mouth was like sand. He was gasping for breath and his legs were shaking. Hobbits were not meant for cross-country running. He closed his eyes and sank to the ground, wheezing and holding his throbbing head. All of his meager energy stores were being used to fight the call of Saruman's Command. "Oh Mister Frodo!" he moaned in black despair, "I've made a right mess of everything! I hope someday you can forgive your poor Sam for betraying you like this!"
As Sam sat there, lost in the mire of his hopeless misery, he slowly became aware of a second voice murmuring, whispering in the back of his mind. His head snapped up in alarm, eyes wide. He knew instinctively it was the Ring calling to him. How could he possibly fight both the powers of the Ring and Saruman? He felt like he was going mad. The Ring was urging him to put it on, to disappear from all his cares. He would be safe then. All would be forgiven. It was a hypnotic call and Sam's hand inched up towards the ring dangling from its silver chain. But, no sooner had he clenched it in his fist, his own voice, strong with good common hobbit-sense, cried out "No!"
His hand flew away from the Ring as if burned, Sam's face now bathed in sweat at the effort. He knew he must return the Ring to Gandalf or perhaps Lord Elrond, but would he be able to? With both Saruman and Sauron calling him, Sam seriously doubted his ability to resist the siren song of the Enemy. It also occurred to him that if Saruman's Uruk-hai had been waiting for him the first time, there were sure to be some looking for him now. Another thought occurred to him. One even more chilling. He hesitantly pulled out the Ring and felt his stomach clench with an icy fear. Uneasily, he recalled using the Ring while escaping down the mountain. He also remembered Gandalf saying that one of the Nazgul apparently had not perished in the flood. If that were the case, Sam had no doubt that the Ringwraith was also hunting him. Sam had never felt more alone in his entire life. .
Sam sat on the ground awhile longer, trying to catch his breath, desperately trying to find the strength to rise and fight his way back towards Rivendell. "North," he thought dully, "All I have to do is go north." Slowly, painfully, he climbed to his feet. The world spun around him and his legs trembled. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, then turned and began trudging back the way he had come. He felt as if he was wading through quicksand, every step harder than the last. Because the ravine walls were so steep, he was forced to follow it's path. It seemed to be heading in the northerly direction he wished to take, so he went. He was holding onto the hope that he might encounter the others from the Fellowship searching for him. He had no idea where they were, or where he was for that matter. He just knew that if they figured out that he had the Ring, they would be after him at once. At the very least, he hoped he could find his way back to the elves. Perhaps they would kill him for his heinous betrayal, but if Mr. Frodo was indeed dead, Sam cared little for his own fate. He deserved to die. He deserved every abominable torment the elves could conceive of. He was sure, if they put their minds to it, the elves could come up with some terrible ones. "No amount of pain and suffering is punishment enough for what you've done, Samwise Gamgee!" thought Sam fiercely.
The throbbing in his head never stopped, nor did the whispering, seductive voices. If only they would be quiet and let him alone, even for a moment., he thought desperately. He was so very tired, but he didn't dare rest. He was afraid if he fell asleep, he would lose all control. He frequently stumbled and fell, tears of exhaustion and misery staining his dirt-smeared face. It seemed as if he had made little headway. Then the darkness of night came and with it, the rain. It pounded him, the floor of the ravine became a sea of mud, sucking at his plodding feet. He could feel what little hope he had left draining away with his remaining strength.
He was so cold. His sodden garments clung to him, his breath visible in the raw, freezing rain. His feet felt like lumps of lead. He slipped again and lay in the sea of gray mud, sobbing and shivering uncontrollably. "Oh, Mr. Frodo," he moaned "What am I going to do?"
"Sam!" Sam lay silently for a moment, then sluggishly raised his head in bewilderment. The voiced called again, "Sam!" Sam pushed himself into a sitting position and peered through the gathering gloom trying to find the source of the sound.
"Mi.Mister Frodo?" he whispered. He cast frantically about the narrow ravine. He knew he'd heard the voice of his beloved master. It came again, this time sounding annoyed and impatient.
"Samwise Gamgee!" Startled, Sam looked upwards, his eyes wide with shock, spied his master standing on a tall rock, slightly higher than Sam's head. Although it was dark, Frodo seemed to glow and appeared unaffected by the pelting rain.
Sam crawled through the muck, closer to the base of the rock, gazing up at Frodo in mute disbelief. How could this be!? "Mister Frodo?" he choked, "Are.are you alive?"
Frodo stood, arms crossed, looking down at Sam with the obvious disdain. "Of course I'm not alive, you fool!" he sneered scornfully, "You killed me, remember?" If Frodo had stabbed Sam through the heart with Saruman's dagger, he could not have caused Sam greater pain.
"Oh master!" Sam sobbed wretchedly, the tears mixing with the rain on his face, "I never meant to hurt you! I'd just as soon kill myself as hurt a hair on your head! Please!" he pleaded despairingly, "Please forgive me! It was a spell that Saruman put on me! You know your Sam would never hurt you!"
Frodo snorted in disgust. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that?" He stared down into Sam's woebegone face shaking his head. "You truly are a fool, Samwise Gamgee. Saruman is not our enemy! Gandalf is the treacherous one! He has been leading us into a trap from the start!"
Sam gaped at Frodo, his mouth open in disbelief. "I.I don't understand, Mr. Frodo. Gandalf would never do anything like that!"
Frodo leaned forward, continuing to stare intently into Sam's frightened eyes. He spoke very slowly and distinctly as if addressing a rather dull-witted child. "Where was Gandalf leading us? To Mordor! And who is in Mordor? Sauron, the very person who wants the Ring more than anyone! How can you not see that Gandalf was trying to return the Ring to the Dark Lord?"
Sam was shivering worse than ever. He felt so confused and disoriented. None of this made any sense! He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the rain from his eyes. It certainly looked like Mr. Frodo up there on the rock, but if he was truly dead, how could that be?
"Sam," Frodo's voice had changed now. It was gentle and soothing . Sam peered up at him hopefully. "Dearest Sam. You know I would never do anything to harm you, don't you? I only want to protect you and do what is best for the Shire." Frodo smiled warmly at Sam and Sam felt his heart sing with joy.
"Yes, Mr. Frodo!" he replied eagerly. "I know you'd never do anything that would hurt your Sam!"
Frodo nodded in satisfaction, still smiling. "Then Sam, you must do one thing for me. One small thing. Surely after what you did to me, you would not refuse me?"
Again, Sam suffered the sharp pain of guilt and grief. He couldn't possibly deny Frodo anything after the horrible thing he'd done, now could he? "I.I'll do anything you want, Mr. Frodo."
"Then," began Frodo, a look of triumph appearing in his glittering eyes, "You must promise to take the Ring to Saruman. He is the only one with wisdom enough to know how to best deal with it. Do you understand me, Sam? You must take the Ring to Saruman!"
An icy finger of fear ran up Sam's spine. This was not right. He knew in his heart that Gandalf would never betray them, yet, how could he deny his beloved Frodo his request? Sam stared at Frodo and slowly nodded. Frodo still smiling his strangely triumphant smile slowly faded from sight, leaving Sam alone and bereft in the cold, wet night.