Chapter 2 The Beginning of the End
It had been a long, grueling journey for Samwise Gamgee. He had struggled through mile after mile over the rocks and crevices of Mordor's blasted landscape. He tried not to think about Frodo, lying abandoned in the mountains near Minas Morgul. The burden of the Ring had become increasingly difficult for him to bear. Always he could hear it in his mind, whispering it's promises, soft as a lover's caress. More than once he had almost succumbed to temptation and found the Ring clasped in his damp hand, ready to be placed on his trembling finger. But Sam's heart was as good and as pure as any Hobbit's and he was not easily swayed into evil, even by the power of the One Ring. One advantage he had over Frodo at this point was his physical strength. Unlike Frodo, he had not been battling the growing power of the Ring for months. Even its growing weight was easier for him to carry than it would have been for his poor master. However, despite that one small advantage, the journey had extracted a terrible toll from the exhausted, traumatized Hobbit.
Sam had finally reached the foot of Orodruin, the mountain of fire. He lay in the ashes, trying to catch his breath in the hot, stifling air. Even his own Gaffer might not have recognized Sam now. He was gaunt and haggard. He couldn't remember the last water he had consumed. Days ago it seemed to him. His tongue was so swollen, he wasn't sure he could drink anything even if he had miraculously come across a bubbling brook of the purest water. The Ring had become an almost unbearable weight around his raw and bleeding neck. He winced as he moved his left arm. He had met up with a stray Orc as he made his way across the Gorgoroth. Sam was able to kill the small, snuffling creature, but not before it had managed to slash Sam's arm. Although painful, under ordinary circumstances it wouldn't be considered a particularly serious wound, but unfortunately it had become dangerously infected. The poisons on the Orc's weapon as well as in the very air of Mordor were not conducive to healing. Red streaks of infection could be seen stretching beyond the bounds of his makeshift bandage. Left untended, it would probably kill him.
But he was near the end now, wasn't he? An infected wound hardly mattered at this point. Sam lifted his weary head and peered through the dust and gloom up the blasted side of the mountain. He wasn't exactly sure where he was supposed to go, truth be told. Frodo had never said more than he needed to drop the Ring into the "Crack of Doom". Sam gathered it was located somewhere on the mountain itself. He just wasn't sure he had the strength to find it.
**************************************************************************** ****************
The Armies of the West stood facing Morannon, the Black Gate of Mordor. Gandalf, Aragorn and their allies had ridden forth toward the gate calling for the enemy to show himself. They were hoping to buy time for Frodo and Sam so they could complete their task. It was a faint hope at best, but it was all they had. The wait seemed endless. No sound came from behind the monstrous gate, but they knew Sauron's forces were there. Suddenly, the gate began to slowly swing open and several figures could be seen riding through.
Gandalf frowned. He knew the leader of the small party riding toward them. He was Sauron's chief lieutenant. No one remembered his true name and thus he was known to all as the Mouth of Sauron. He was well versed the black arts and fearsome to behold. He was clothed all in black with a skull-like helm covering his head. He rode a massive black horse and the riders with him bore a black banner with the sinister red eye. The Mouth of Sauron halted and surveyed the group before him.
"Who here has power to deal with me?" he demanded, his voice cold and harsh. His gaze passed dismissively over Aragorn and the others, stopping only when it landed on the white Wizard.
"I have such power," returned Gandalf, his voice equally cold, "Is your master ready to surrender?"
The Mouth of Sauron through back his head and laughed. "I think, Greybeard," he sneered, "It is you who will be surrendering! Your army is woefully outnumbered. You cannot possibly hope to defeat the armies of the Dark Lord! However, I have not come out here to bandy words with such as you. I have come to present to you some tokens that may be of interest to you." He signaled to one of his men who rode forward to his master's side. The soldier handed the Mouth of Sauron a black bundle.
Gandalf and the others watched apprehensively as Sauron's messenger unwrapped the articles in the black fabric. He then held up a small shirt of shining mithril, a gray Lothlorien cloak and a short sword such as the one Sam had carried. Pippin cried out in dismay, but Gandalf silenced him with a swift look.
"Ahhh." purred the Messenger, "I see you do recognize these small tokens. We took them from your spy. A small rat he was, just like the one you have with you there. Have you any more? I cannot see what you hoped to accomplish by sending such a worthless creature into Mordor, but I can see by your expression you are disturbed by this news. Perhaps this spy was a friend of yours? Or perhaps, it is was the failure of his mission which disturbs you?"
Gandalf glared back at the Mouth of Sauron, though his heart was heavy. "Yes, I recognize those items you bear. I do not deny it. What is it you hope to accomplish by displaying these things?"
The Mouth of Sauron laughed again. "My master bids me to present to you his terms. You must lay down your arms and retreat over the Anduin where no man of Gondor nor any of its misguided allies will ever raise arms against my Lord Sauron again. You will have leave to govern yourselves, but you will pay tribute to Mordor. All lands east of the Anduin will be the possession of Mordor. In addition, Gondor and its allies will rebuild Isengard where new rulers will reside."
The soldiers of the West growled menacingly at these terms. Gandalf glanced at them briefly, then turned his attention again to the Messenger. "Why should we believe that Sauron would allow any of his enemies to live in peace?"
The Mouth of Sauron glowered at Gandalf for a moment, then signaled another of his men forward. "My Master also bids me to present to you a token of his good will to prove to you that he is sincere in keeping his part of the bargain." He turned and nodded to the soldier beside him. The man bore a larger black bundle and this he unfurled, dropping it's contents onto the ground beside him. It was Frodo. Naked and beaten, he lay unmoving in the dust beside the black horse's hooves.
"Frodo!" cried Pippin, his face white with horror. Gandalf's eyes glittered dangerously. Throwing back his cloak, his gleaming white raiment fairly shone through the murky light of Mordor. He raised his shining staff and rode towards the Messenger and his men. The Mouth of Sauron recoiled from this unexpected show of power allowing Gandalf to scoop up Frodo while Pippin leapt down, scurried forward and snatched up the bundle of Frodo's belongings the soldier had dropped to the ground.
"We will take both our friend and his belongings," Gandalf proclaimed loudly, "But we do not accept your foul master's terms. Go, slave of Sauron and prepare for death!" The Mouth of Sauron stared at Gandalf, his face twisted in fury. The other Captains of the West crowded around the wizard, the eyes hard with hatred and the Messenger felt fear grow in his black heart. With a cry, he turned and led his men back to the black gate. The battle would soon begin.
Gandalf turned to the small figure cradled in his arms. Frodo's pallid face was gaunt and bruised. His skin covered with welts from the cruel, biting whips of his Orc captors. "Frodo!" cried Gandalf urgently, his voice barely above a whisper. Aragorn and the others joined him, staring in horror at the injured Ringbearer.
"We are lost," said Legolas heavily. "The quest has failed."
Aragorn looked down at Frodo and gently lay his hand on the Hobbit's bloodied head. He closed his eyes and concentrated. A few moments later, Frodo's eyes fluttered open. He stared in confusion and disbelief at the faces around him. "Gandalf?" he croaked, "Am I dead then?"
Gandalf smiled warmly at his injured friend. "No, my dear Frodo," he replied softly, tears glistening in his eyes, "You are still among the living."
Frodo leaned back in Gandalf's arms. Aragorn gently poured some water through Frodo's parched lips. Frodo drank eagerly. He was desperately thirsty. When he had had enough, he opened his eyes again and looked mournfully at Gandalf again. "I failed," he whispered dully, "I lost the Ring. I was attacked by a monstrous spider and when I awoke, I was a prisoner of Barad-dur and the Ring was gone." Tears were now running down his cheeks. "It was all for nothing!" He brought his hands up and covered his face, his body wracked by sobs. Aragorn reached over and gently grabbed Frodo's hands in his own. "Frodo," he said firmly, "Frodo, look at me!" Frodo blinked the tears from his eyes and tried to focus on the grim face of the Ranger. "Frodo." repeated Aragorn, "Where is Sam?"
Frodo just stared at him in confusion. Sam? For a moment, he couldn't even recall who Sam was, so great was his own anguish and pain at losing the Ring. It had driven everything else from his mind. "I.I don't know," he finally stuttered. "He was with me when the spider attacked, but I haven't seen him since."
Aragorn turned to Gandalf. "Do you think that perhaps Sam has the Ring?"
Gandalf stared out towards Mordor, thinking hard. "It is possible." he replied slowly. "If Shelob simply stunned Frodo, Sam may have thought he was dead and took the Ring to attempt to finish the quest on his own." He stopped. Never would he have suspected that simple Samwise Gamgee would have the temerity to attempt such a feat.
"Sam took the Ring!?" Frodo burst out in fury, "That thief! I knew he wanted it all along! He was just waiting for the chance." Gandalf placed his hand on Frodo's brow and chanting a spell under his breath, quickly placed Frodo into an enchanted sleep.
"Is he alright?" quavered Pippin, peering at his cousin's haggard face.
Gandalf looked down at the small figure beside him. "The loss of the Ring is tearing him apart," he replied grimly. "He can still feel it's presence and will always be tied to it as long as it exists." Gandalf called a soldier over. A rider from Rohan galloped forward. Gandalf carefully handed him the unconscious Hobbit. "Take Frodo to the rear," the wizard ordered. "Give him to the Healers and ask them to watch over him during the course of the Battle. It may be that we are all killed in the end, but I would have Frodo out of harm's way for as long as possible." The rider nodded and sped away weaving his way through the gathered troops, bearing his precious burden.
Gandalf's shoulders slumped as he watched the rider's retreat. "There is nothing more we can do," he sighed heavily. "We do not know if Sam is alive or dead or if he even has the Ring. However, I do not believe the Enemy has it in his possession. I think we would know if he did." Suddenly, the discordant cry of trumpets could be heard from beyond the Black Gate. The Armies of the West gripped their weapons tighter as they watched the gate swing open and the first of the Enemy's forces advanced. The final battle for Middle Earth had begun.
It had been a long, grueling journey for Samwise Gamgee. He had struggled through mile after mile over the rocks and crevices of Mordor's blasted landscape. He tried not to think about Frodo, lying abandoned in the mountains near Minas Morgul. The burden of the Ring had become increasingly difficult for him to bear. Always he could hear it in his mind, whispering it's promises, soft as a lover's caress. More than once he had almost succumbed to temptation and found the Ring clasped in his damp hand, ready to be placed on his trembling finger. But Sam's heart was as good and as pure as any Hobbit's and he was not easily swayed into evil, even by the power of the One Ring. One advantage he had over Frodo at this point was his physical strength. Unlike Frodo, he had not been battling the growing power of the Ring for months. Even its growing weight was easier for him to carry than it would have been for his poor master. However, despite that one small advantage, the journey had extracted a terrible toll from the exhausted, traumatized Hobbit.
Sam had finally reached the foot of Orodruin, the mountain of fire. He lay in the ashes, trying to catch his breath in the hot, stifling air. Even his own Gaffer might not have recognized Sam now. He was gaunt and haggard. He couldn't remember the last water he had consumed. Days ago it seemed to him. His tongue was so swollen, he wasn't sure he could drink anything even if he had miraculously come across a bubbling brook of the purest water. The Ring had become an almost unbearable weight around his raw and bleeding neck. He winced as he moved his left arm. He had met up with a stray Orc as he made his way across the Gorgoroth. Sam was able to kill the small, snuffling creature, but not before it had managed to slash Sam's arm. Although painful, under ordinary circumstances it wouldn't be considered a particularly serious wound, but unfortunately it had become dangerously infected. The poisons on the Orc's weapon as well as in the very air of Mordor were not conducive to healing. Red streaks of infection could be seen stretching beyond the bounds of his makeshift bandage. Left untended, it would probably kill him.
But he was near the end now, wasn't he? An infected wound hardly mattered at this point. Sam lifted his weary head and peered through the dust and gloom up the blasted side of the mountain. He wasn't exactly sure where he was supposed to go, truth be told. Frodo had never said more than he needed to drop the Ring into the "Crack of Doom". Sam gathered it was located somewhere on the mountain itself. He just wasn't sure he had the strength to find it.
**************************************************************************** ****************
The Armies of the West stood facing Morannon, the Black Gate of Mordor. Gandalf, Aragorn and their allies had ridden forth toward the gate calling for the enemy to show himself. They were hoping to buy time for Frodo and Sam so they could complete their task. It was a faint hope at best, but it was all they had. The wait seemed endless. No sound came from behind the monstrous gate, but they knew Sauron's forces were there. Suddenly, the gate began to slowly swing open and several figures could be seen riding through.
Gandalf frowned. He knew the leader of the small party riding toward them. He was Sauron's chief lieutenant. No one remembered his true name and thus he was known to all as the Mouth of Sauron. He was well versed the black arts and fearsome to behold. He was clothed all in black with a skull-like helm covering his head. He rode a massive black horse and the riders with him bore a black banner with the sinister red eye. The Mouth of Sauron halted and surveyed the group before him.
"Who here has power to deal with me?" he demanded, his voice cold and harsh. His gaze passed dismissively over Aragorn and the others, stopping only when it landed on the white Wizard.
"I have such power," returned Gandalf, his voice equally cold, "Is your master ready to surrender?"
The Mouth of Sauron through back his head and laughed. "I think, Greybeard," he sneered, "It is you who will be surrendering! Your army is woefully outnumbered. You cannot possibly hope to defeat the armies of the Dark Lord! However, I have not come out here to bandy words with such as you. I have come to present to you some tokens that may be of interest to you." He signaled to one of his men who rode forward to his master's side. The soldier handed the Mouth of Sauron a black bundle.
Gandalf and the others watched apprehensively as Sauron's messenger unwrapped the articles in the black fabric. He then held up a small shirt of shining mithril, a gray Lothlorien cloak and a short sword such as the one Sam had carried. Pippin cried out in dismay, but Gandalf silenced him with a swift look.
"Ahhh." purred the Messenger, "I see you do recognize these small tokens. We took them from your spy. A small rat he was, just like the one you have with you there. Have you any more? I cannot see what you hoped to accomplish by sending such a worthless creature into Mordor, but I can see by your expression you are disturbed by this news. Perhaps this spy was a friend of yours? Or perhaps, it is was the failure of his mission which disturbs you?"
Gandalf glared back at the Mouth of Sauron, though his heart was heavy. "Yes, I recognize those items you bear. I do not deny it. What is it you hope to accomplish by displaying these things?"
The Mouth of Sauron laughed again. "My master bids me to present to you his terms. You must lay down your arms and retreat over the Anduin where no man of Gondor nor any of its misguided allies will ever raise arms against my Lord Sauron again. You will have leave to govern yourselves, but you will pay tribute to Mordor. All lands east of the Anduin will be the possession of Mordor. In addition, Gondor and its allies will rebuild Isengard where new rulers will reside."
The soldiers of the West growled menacingly at these terms. Gandalf glanced at them briefly, then turned his attention again to the Messenger. "Why should we believe that Sauron would allow any of his enemies to live in peace?"
The Mouth of Sauron glowered at Gandalf for a moment, then signaled another of his men forward. "My Master also bids me to present to you a token of his good will to prove to you that he is sincere in keeping his part of the bargain." He turned and nodded to the soldier beside him. The man bore a larger black bundle and this he unfurled, dropping it's contents onto the ground beside him. It was Frodo. Naked and beaten, he lay unmoving in the dust beside the black horse's hooves.
"Frodo!" cried Pippin, his face white with horror. Gandalf's eyes glittered dangerously. Throwing back his cloak, his gleaming white raiment fairly shone through the murky light of Mordor. He raised his shining staff and rode towards the Messenger and his men. The Mouth of Sauron recoiled from this unexpected show of power allowing Gandalf to scoop up Frodo while Pippin leapt down, scurried forward and snatched up the bundle of Frodo's belongings the soldier had dropped to the ground.
"We will take both our friend and his belongings," Gandalf proclaimed loudly, "But we do not accept your foul master's terms. Go, slave of Sauron and prepare for death!" The Mouth of Sauron stared at Gandalf, his face twisted in fury. The other Captains of the West crowded around the wizard, the eyes hard with hatred and the Messenger felt fear grow in his black heart. With a cry, he turned and led his men back to the black gate. The battle would soon begin.
Gandalf turned to the small figure cradled in his arms. Frodo's pallid face was gaunt and bruised. His skin covered with welts from the cruel, biting whips of his Orc captors. "Frodo!" cried Gandalf urgently, his voice barely above a whisper. Aragorn and the others joined him, staring in horror at the injured Ringbearer.
"We are lost," said Legolas heavily. "The quest has failed."
Aragorn looked down at Frodo and gently lay his hand on the Hobbit's bloodied head. He closed his eyes and concentrated. A few moments later, Frodo's eyes fluttered open. He stared in confusion and disbelief at the faces around him. "Gandalf?" he croaked, "Am I dead then?"
Gandalf smiled warmly at his injured friend. "No, my dear Frodo," he replied softly, tears glistening in his eyes, "You are still among the living."
Frodo leaned back in Gandalf's arms. Aragorn gently poured some water through Frodo's parched lips. Frodo drank eagerly. He was desperately thirsty. When he had had enough, he opened his eyes again and looked mournfully at Gandalf again. "I failed," he whispered dully, "I lost the Ring. I was attacked by a monstrous spider and when I awoke, I was a prisoner of Barad-dur and the Ring was gone." Tears were now running down his cheeks. "It was all for nothing!" He brought his hands up and covered his face, his body wracked by sobs. Aragorn reached over and gently grabbed Frodo's hands in his own. "Frodo," he said firmly, "Frodo, look at me!" Frodo blinked the tears from his eyes and tried to focus on the grim face of the Ranger. "Frodo." repeated Aragorn, "Where is Sam?"
Frodo just stared at him in confusion. Sam? For a moment, he couldn't even recall who Sam was, so great was his own anguish and pain at losing the Ring. It had driven everything else from his mind. "I.I don't know," he finally stuttered. "He was with me when the spider attacked, but I haven't seen him since."
Aragorn turned to Gandalf. "Do you think that perhaps Sam has the Ring?"
Gandalf stared out towards Mordor, thinking hard. "It is possible." he replied slowly. "If Shelob simply stunned Frodo, Sam may have thought he was dead and took the Ring to attempt to finish the quest on his own." He stopped. Never would he have suspected that simple Samwise Gamgee would have the temerity to attempt such a feat.
"Sam took the Ring!?" Frodo burst out in fury, "That thief! I knew he wanted it all along! He was just waiting for the chance." Gandalf placed his hand on Frodo's brow and chanting a spell under his breath, quickly placed Frodo into an enchanted sleep.
"Is he alright?" quavered Pippin, peering at his cousin's haggard face.
Gandalf looked down at the small figure beside him. "The loss of the Ring is tearing him apart," he replied grimly. "He can still feel it's presence and will always be tied to it as long as it exists." Gandalf called a soldier over. A rider from Rohan galloped forward. Gandalf carefully handed him the unconscious Hobbit. "Take Frodo to the rear," the wizard ordered. "Give him to the Healers and ask them to watch over him during the course of the Battle. It may be that we are all killed in the end, but I would have Frodo out of harm's way for as long as possible." The rider nodded and sped away weaving his way through the gathered troops, bearing his precious burden.
Gandalf's shoulders slumped as he watched the rider's retreat. "There is nothing more we can do," he sighed heavily. "We do not know if Sam is alive or dead or if he even has the Ring. However, I do not believe the Enemy has it in his possession. I think we would know if he did." Suddenly, the discordant cry of trumpets could be heard from beyond the Black Gate. The Armies of the West gripped their weapons tighter as they watched the gate swing open and the first of the Enemy's forces advanced. The final battle for Middle Earth had begun.