To The Ruin Of All
On Mount Doom
Sam opened his eyes and tried to look around. He was dazed and blood was streaming from his head and dripping into his eyes. He wiped at the sticky liquid in a vain attempt to clear his vision, but it was of little use. He groped forward and tried to piece together what had happened. He remembered that wretched creature attacking him from behind, and Mr Frodo; he had run on to the very Crack of Doom to destroy the One Ring. But he hadn't done it, Sam recalled with a jolt. He had stood by the fires of Hell, his body wounded, his spirit broken, yet had called out in a strong, clear voice: 'I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine'. Sam stood up carefully and made his way slowly to where Frodo had stood before he had put on the Ring and vanished from sight.
Sam tripped over something warm and wet and fell on his face. He struggled back up and saw what he'd stumbled over. It was a body. Almost hobbit-like in appearance, but it was too skeletal and too ghastly looking for any hobbit.
It was Gollum.
Sam didn't need to examine him too closely to notice the fatal wound, which slit the figure from his neck to his naval. A terrible cut had opened the poor soul like a piece of meat and entrails lay around him in bloody heaps. Sam backed away, horrified. He did not understand fully what Gollum's death would mean to the success of the Ring Quest or the survival of Middle-Earth, but he knew the miserable beast was dead. And whatever had murdered him could well have killed or hurt Mr Frodo. A sudden terror seized Sam's heart and he turned and cast his gaze around the chamber, frantically searching for his master.
"Fr…Frodo?" Sam called tentatively as around him the fires roared to imitate Sauron's fear and anger. When no reply came, his voice took on a more urgent tone. "Frodo! Mr Frodo! Where are you? Are you hurt?" Sam's voice was drowned out mostly by the noise of the fire. Then Sam felt it; a presence beside him. Nervously he turned, not knowing quite what to expect and finding only seemingly empty air.
"Mr Frodo?" he said in what could barely have been called a whisper, "Are you there?"
"Yes, Sam," said Frodo's disembodied voice, "I am here." Sam felt a shiver travel up his spine, which made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Frodo's voice sounded different; low and menacing.
"Mr Frodo?" Sam said. "What's going on? Why are you wearing the Ring?" Frodo laughed and Sam involuntarily stepped backwards, feeling very afraid.
"What's wrong Sam?" Frodo taunted. "Samwise Gamgee. Samwise the fool. What were your parents thinking when they named you so? They must've had high hopes for you. And you let them down." Sam felt the air move around him as Frodo began to circle the hobbit; heard when Frodo mockingly scraped the blade of Sting against the stone floor. "What a pity you never lived up to your namesake. Instead, you followed me, like a dog, all the way across Middle-Earth on some ridiculous and pointless errand to destroy that which I love above all else in this world. You see, it has become precious to me, as nothing else before it has been, and nothing which follows it shall ever even come close. It is my own…"
"Frodo?" Sam cried desperately. "Can't you hear what you're saying? Gollum used to call the despicable thing 'precious', remember? Or have you already forgotten? Gollum's dead, Frodo, because of the Ring! Do you want that to happen to you?"
Frodo stopped. "No…Sam…I don't want that."
Sam's heart leapt into his mouth, for at that moment Frodo had sounded more like the old Frodo than ever.
"Frodo, the Ring will turn you into a slave. That's what happened to Gollum, and he became unable to bear neither sunlight nor moonshine. Do you really want that?"
"…I…" Frodo's voice sounded strained, as though he were fighting some inner battle, whilest trying to focus on the sensible words of Sam. Sam pounced on his masters silence, and used it to his advantage.
"Frodo, I can help you," he pleaded, "if you'll only give up the Ring, we can-"
"No!" Frodo snarled. Sam had touched a nerve. "I'll never give it up, never! You cannot make me!" Sam's heart sank. Frodo was back under the Ring's spell.
"But Frodo-" Sam choked out, tears forming in his eyes.
"Be quiet, Sam!" Frodo shouted, and Sam heard him slam Sting onto the ground loudly, which made him jump. "I want to keep it and so I shall. And you needn't worry me with threats of death and slavery, for my will is stronger than that of the precious!" Then Frodo's voice changed subtly. "I can feel him. I can feel Sauron. I fell his great…his great fury. But I also feel his dread and his horror. He knows I am here and that I have won and that he has lost. He, for all his massive armies of Orcs and Trolls and evil things, has lost to Frodo Baggins of the Shire. I am now the master of the One Ring! And all shall bow before me, for it is MINE!"
Sam turned and ran blindly, filled with sorrow for his lost master, but what spurned him onwards was the sheer awfulness of the situation and the thought of what Frodo would do to him if he allowed himself to be caught. Sam heard his cruel laugh and then Frodo began to chase his erstwhile servant and dearest friend. Tears started to pour from Sam's eyes and merged with the still oozing blood from his head wound and the ash, soot and smoke on his skin. He suddenly burst out of the gloom of Orodruin, but even the new dull light did nothing to calm his frantic heartbeat.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
Sam ran, but the exhaustion and anxiety from the past year seemed to catch up with him all at once. His brain knew he had to keep on running if he wanted to live, and the fear kept his legs moving, but with every stride they seem to fell heavier, as though he were wearing iron boots. He felt himself slowing down. Then he caught his foot on a rock.
As Sam lost his footing and came tumbling down to meet the hard ground, his mind sent him images of those he loved and cared for, but would never see again. His mother and the Gaffer were there, standing in the garden that Sam had nurtured and adored, surrounded by his many brothers and sisters. All were smiling and waving. Then the pictures changed to Sam's new friends, and old, who had made up the Fellowship of the Ring. Strider; so grave but quick to laugh, Legolas; pure and beautiful, but deadly also, Gimli; as solid and sturdy as the living rock, but so moved by the love of the Elf-Queen of Lothlórien, Boromir; the brave and noble man, who had lost to his temptations but valiantly atoned his sins. Gandalf; the fatherly wizard, the healing hand, the great friend. Then to Merry and Pippin; always prepared with a joke and a laugh, but who were deadly serious about the survival of their friend and cousin. They, who, like Sam, would have quickly and easily given their lives so that Frodo could live.
Sam rolled over, a great aching in his heart and soul, and heard Frodo's laboured breathing close by and felt nothing but sadness for his master and for those who had loved him the most. They would be heart-broken to hear of Frodo's descent into darkness, and Sam hoped they would at least survive this war. He knew now that he would not.
Then the blade of Sting came rushing down and Samwise felt only pain, as the eagles swooped overhead.
On Mount Doom
Sam opened his eyes and tried to look around. He was dazed and blood was streaming from his head and dripping into his eyes. He wiped at the sticky liquid in a vain attempt to clear his vision, but it was of little use. He groped forward and tried to piece together what had happened. He remembered that wretched creature attacking him from behind, and Mr Frodo; he had run on to the very Crack of Doom to destroy the One Ring. But he hadn't done it, Sam recalled with a jolt. He had stood by the fires of Hell, his body wounded, his spirit broken, yet had called out in a strong, clear voice: 'I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine'. Sam stood up carefully and made his way slowly to where Frodo had stood before he had put on the Ring and vanished from sight.
Sam tripped over something warm and wet and fell on his face. He struggled back up and saw what he'd stumbled over. It was a body. Almost hobbit-like in appearance, but it was too skeletal and too ghastly looking for any hobbit.
It was Gollum.
Sam didn't need to examine him too closely to notice the fatal wound, which slit the figure from his neck to his naval. A terrible cut had opened the poor soul like a piece of meat and entrails lay around him in bloody heaps. Sam backed away, horrified. He did not understand fully what Gollum's death would mean to the success of the Ring Quest or the survival of Middle-Earth, but he knew the miserable beast was dead. And whatever had murdered him could well have killed or hurt Mr Frodo. A sudden terror seized Sam's heart and he turned and cast his gaze around the chamber, frantically searching for his master.
"Fr…Frodo?" Sam called tentatively as around him the fires roared to imitate Sauron's fear and anger. When no reply came, his voice took on a more urgent tone. "Frodo! Mr Frodo! Where are you? Are you hurt?" Sam's voice was drowned out mostly by the noise of the fire. Then Sam felt it; a presence beside him. Nervously he turned, not knowing quite what to expect and finding only seemingly empty air.
"Mr Frodo?" he said in what could barely have been called a whisper, "Are you there?"
"Yes, Sam," said Frodo's disembodied voice, "I am here." Sam felt a shiver travel up his spine, which made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Frodo's voice sounded different; low and menacing.
"Mr Frodo?" Sam said. "What's going on? Why are you wearing the Ring?" Frodo laughed and Sam involuntarily stepped backwards, feeling very afraid.
"What's wrong Sam?" Frodo taunted. "Samwise Gamgee. Samwise the fool. What were your parents thinking when they named you so? They must've had high hopes for you. And you let them down." Sam felt the air move around him as Frodo began to circle the hobbit; heard when Frodo mockingly scraped the blade of Sting against the stone floor. "What a pity you never lived up to your namesake. Instead, you followed me, like a dog, all the way across Middle-Earth on some ridiculous and pointless errand to destroy that which I love above all else in this world. You see, it has become precious to me, as nothing else before it has been, and nothing which follows it shall ever even come close. It is my own…"
"Frodo?" Sam cried desperately. "Can't you hear what you're saying? Gollum used to call the despicable thing 'precious', remember? Or have you already forgotten? Gollum's dead, Frodo, because of the Ring! Do you want that to happen to you?"
Frodo stopped. "No…Sam…I don't want that."
Sam's heart leapt into his mouth, for at that moment Frodo had sounded more like the old Frodo than ever.
"Frodo, the Ring will turn you into a slave. That's what happened to Gollum, and he became unable to bear neither sunlight nor moonshine. Do you really want that?"
"…I…" Frodo's voice sounded strained, as though he were fighting some inner battle, whilest trying to focus on the sensible words of Sam. Sam pounced on his masters silence, and used it to his advantage.
"Frodo, I can help you," he pleaded, "if you'll only give up the Ring, we can-"
"No!" Frodo snarled. Sam had touched a nerve. "I'll never give it up, never! You cannot make me!" Sam's heart sank. Frodo was back under the Ring's spell.
"But Frodo-" Sam choked out, tears forming in his eyes.
"Be quiet, Sam!" Frodo shouted, and Sam heard him slam Sting onto the ground loudly, which made him jump. "I want to keep it and so I shall. And you needn't worry me with threats of death and slavery, for my will is stronger than that of the precious!" Then Frodo's voice changed subtly. "I can feel him. I can feel Sauron. I fell his great…his great fury. But I also feel his dread and his horror. He knows I am here and that I have won and that he has lost. He, for all his massive armies of Orcs and Trolls and evil things, has lost to Frodo Baggins of the Shire. I am now the master of the One Ring! And all shall bow before me, for it is MINE!"
Sam turned and ran blindly, filled with sorrow for his lost master, but what spurned him onwards was the sheer awfulness of the situation and the thought of what Frodo would do to him if he allowed himself to be caught. Sam heard his cruel laugh and then Frodo began to chase his erstwhile servant and dearest friend. Tears started to pour from Sam's eyes and merged with the still oozing blood from his head wound and the ash, soot and smoke on his skin. He suddenly burst out of the gloom of Orodruin, but even the new dull light did nothing to calm his frantic heartbeat.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
Sam ran, but the exhaustion and anxiety from the past year seemed to catch up with him all at once. His brain knew he had to keep on running if he wanted to live, and the fear kept his legs moving, but with every stride they seem to fell heavier, as though he were wearing iron boots. He felt himself slowing down. Then he caught his foot on a rock.
As Sam lost his footing and came tumbling down to meet the hard ground, his mind sent him images of those he loved and cared for, but would never see again. His mother and the Gaffer were there, standing in the garden that Sam had nurtured and adored, surrounded by his many brothers and sisters. All were smiling and waving. Then the pictures changed to Sam's new friends, and old, who had made up the Fellowship of the Ring. Strider; so grave but quick to laugh, Legolas; pure and beautiful, but deadly also, Gimli; as solid and sturdy as the living rock, but so moved by the love of the Elf-Queen of Lothlórien, Boromir; the brave and noble man, who had lost to his temptations but valiantly atoned his sins. Gandalf; the fatherly wizard, the healing hand, the great friend. Then to Merry and Pippin; always prepared with a joke and a laugh, but who were deadly serious about the survival of their friend and cousin. They, who, like Sam, would have quickly and easily given their lives so that Frodo could live.
Sam rolled over, a great aching in his heart and soul, and heard Frodo's laboured breathing close by and felt nothing but sadness for his master and for those who had loved him the most. They would be heart-broken to hear of Frodo's descent into darkness, and Sam hoped they would at least survive this war. He knew now that he would not.
Then the blade of Sting came rushing down and Samwise felt only pain, as the eagles swooped overhead.