Empty tears.
2. Dreams.
T: Right onto chapter two we go. Not mine; if it were mine I'd have had a far slashier ending. Warnings still the same with a turn up of the ANGST. The song used here in this chapter is Tolkien's original concept for `In Western Lands`. (The song Sam sings in the tower of Cirith Ungol. Which I'm miffed that PJ missed out by the way…mumble mumble…essential to the plot…mumble…) Also here I must stress again that my Sam is actually less `chunky` that the other Hobbits, being work toned as he is and yes that is relevant. On words…
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Fatigue had won over his watchfulness and he slept now, curled up into a small ball with one arm slung over his shoulder, pressing the Ring hard to the skin of his chest.
It knew that It was getting closer to Its true Master and It was pressing as hard as It could upon Its new bearer. Yet this new one had a mind like stone, unbreakable as far as ordinary temptation and corruption was concerned. However, as with stone all it took was something extraordinary to work within the cracks and then It would have him. Already It could feel him slipping, could feel the desire pulling at his heart, yet It knew that he was resisting, that his hatred might yet win out. Almost sensing the discomfort of his burden he twitched and cast it away from himself, wishing, even in sleep, to be free of Its menace.
This done he returned to complete sleep and with an unstoppable inevitability he began to dream. Again the retched stench of rotting flesh was in his nose. Again he was almost blind in the darkness. Then a light flamed just before him and he was perceiving his Master alive and bathed in the most beautiful of lights. He wanted to cry out then so that his Master's attention might turn to him for a moment so that he could see all of him and memorise it for the darker times ahead. More than that, though, he wished to again take a hold of his Master and learn again the comfort and joy of the feel of that dear living skin against his own.
He knew, almost instinctively, that he could not do those things, that he was living again this dark and terrible moment. Yet as the horror un-folded and he found himself again before the cold lifeless corpse of his Master the clarity that had been his in this moment was lost and he found himself lost within indecision. When he at last moved from his Master's side, therefore, it was mach later in the day and as he took the path his ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming his way.
His hand found the Ring against his will and he was plunged into the wraith world. This was the first that he had perceived this other world, having had no need to use the Ring in his reality. Glancing now at the pail spectral half reality, illuminated always by the distant fire of the Eye, he finally comprehended what it was that had begun to take his Master away.
The Orcs passed so close to him that he could smell the filth of their sweat and the organic stench of the rotting leather of their armour. Yet they did not see him, their eyes blind to the wraith world as they were, thus he watched them continue down the path, back towards…Fear took him, hard and irrational and he knew that he had to go back, had to try and save his poor Master's corpse from their desecration.
He followed, therefore, ever conscious that he might be found or perhaps even betrayed by the Ring. He was close enough, though, to hear the two captains begin their debate and though most was lost to him he caught Shagrat's last sentence and felt it like a blow to his heart. Impassive he remained, listening still to the Orcs talking until their voices receded and he followed as well as he might.
The chase was a great one and it ended almost as it had began, with him staring impassively at a stonewall. He felt his despair swamping over him before the image faded away. A moment later he was presented with the winding steps of some tower and he knew almost instinctively that it was the tower he had passed by on his way into Mordor. He felt fear, but it was distant, swamped by the keen hope of his discovery. But once he was at the top of the tower, once he was presented with barred entranceways and darkness unmoving all hope was gone again.
Yet it was in that moment, that one almost hopeless moment, that he began to sing, the tune an old recollection of lighter times at Bilbo's side and the words nothing less than the voicing of his soul,
"I sit upon the stones alone;
the fire is burning red,
the tower is tall, the mountains dark;
all living things are dead.
In western lands the sun may shine,
there flower and tree in spring
is opening, is blossoming;
and there the finches sing.
But here I sit alone and think
of days when grass was green,
and earth was brown and I was young;
they might have never been,
for they are passed, for ever lost,
and hope and daylight die.
But still I sit and think of you;
I see you far away
walking down the homely roads
on a bright and windy day.
It was merry when I could run
to answer to your call,
could hear your voice or take your hand;
but now the night must fall.
And now beyond the world I sit,
And know not where you lie!
O master dear will you not hear
My voice before we die?"
*
That voice, Sam's sweet voice, lifted in such hopeless despair roused him and he opened his mouth to answer. Yet only a faint rush of sound escaped from his lips and as he fell into almost complete consciousness he realised he was not where he had believed himself to be.
He was atop a horse, this gathered by the swaying of the night-drenched horizon, his small form kept atop the beast by a thin rope that bound him to the man before him.
An irrational fear caught him that this was a servant of Sauron sent to claim the Ring and he it barer, back to the Dark Lord and he struggled then. This the man sensed and he slowed the horse to a stop and turned to his companion. With the face of the man now presented to him, Frodo recognised him as Damrod, one of Faramir's most loyal soldiers. He tried again to find voice, but as with before little more than a whisper escaped his lips,
"You are still suffering the after effects of the Beast's sting I fear, little one and it might be a few more minuets before you gain your voice back properly. For the moment therefore we shall have to make do with simple questions. Do you know me?" He enquired. Frodo whispered an affirmative and then nodded his head so as to emphasise the response. "And have you any comprehension of what has happened?" A negative and a shake of the head this time and Damrod sighed, "I had feared that it would take time for the memories to come back to you. Your gangril companion led you into a trap, Frodo, and the Beast that lives within Cirith Ungol found and wounded you."
The words sparked memories in Frodo's mind, the long dark of the tunnel, the worry etched deep into Sam's forehead as the phial had blazed true within his hand and the sudden pain of the spiders bite upon his neck. He raised a hand to touch the wound and doing as such found that the Ring was gone. Something wild must have sparked in his eyes then, for Damrod took hold of his hands and leaned close so that Frodo might see the light of his eyes and be comforted by it.
"When I found you, Frodo, there were signs of a great battle littered all about the floor. Your companion must have fought and won out against the Beast, then believing you dead took up your task. It is his burden now and far beyond the both of us." And though the words were ment as comfort, Frodo found they further distressed him. For what hope would Sam have against the Ring, against the unblinking Eye? It would be only a matter of time before that spirit, that unending fire that had been as succour to Frodo was snuffed out and Sam was no more. Frodo wept then, openly and unabashed, the tears leaching the poison and darkness from his soul until he found his hope again. Found his strength.
"Where…where are we then?" He enquired, his voice still rasped and broken yet stronger now.
"We are close to the walls of Minas Tirith."
"And the day?"
"It is the 14th of March, though it shall soon be the 15th." Damrod replied, one hand pointing out towards the faint dawn.
Silence took them for a moment and then a great horn sounded from their right, and suddenly a voice rose out,
"Ride now, ride now to Gondor." And as a host of men immerged from the woods to their right the dawn broke true and strong.
The horse skittered bellow them and the man turned to face the battle and with a cry of "Gondor" he swept down into the flanks of the Rohirim.
*
As he awoke reality and dream blended for a moment and he found himself looking for his Master's form beside him. Yet he found nothing but the dusty barren terrain of Mordor for comfort and his sudden hope melted back into the iron will of his heart as it was now.
"T'aint the time to go medlin' your thoughts with might have beens. Master's gone and ye have to do this thing for his sake and as ye last duty to him…" He mumbled to himself. For whatever else the dream had done for him it had hardened his heart against irrational hope and he knew beyond a doubt that when he came to that great volcano, to the very cracks of doom itself, he would the cast the Ring into the fire, even if he had to cast himself in also. For this was his last task and once it was complete he would be dead either way, for his Master was lost and all that he had been was lost with him.
His thoughts were traversing in circles, this he knew, and yet what else was there for it to do? What else was there in this desolate, lifeless place to take his mind from his burden if for but a moment? He felt the draw of the Ring grow then and again he found his hand wondering to its place at his neck.
"No." It was barely more than a whisper and still his hand continued onwards, though slower now. In his mind he could see the power the Ring was promising him, could see the end of hurt, grief and despair. Yet also he could see his Master in a clarity that had been lost to him since he had taken this path and that vision fuelled the fire long dead in his heart and his will flared suddenly and with a hard broken cry of,
"NO!" He rent the thing from him with such a force that Its chain came over his head and fell slightly before him. He stared sightlessly at the object for a moment, afraid to touch it again less he succumb to Its lure. Yet the recollection of his Master, that keen image of the one he was doing this for, pushed away that fear and bending forward he took the Thing again into his hand.
"Ye killed him once and ye have tried to take him from me again. But ye have failed and in doing so ye have revealed your plans to me. I prey for your sake that ye never again try such a thing for it would only make ye even more evil in me eyes, for the dishonour it would mean to my Master's name." And as he again placed the chain over his neck he felt, or seemed to feel, a lightening of his burden, as if for the moment the Ring had been of Its power.
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T: Again I give you notes.
1. Here you can see the original cannon from the book, though it will still be of little help to film viewers as here (and later on) I've assumed that fans of the book will be reading this and as they know what's going on I've stripped away most of the unnecessary dialogue.
2. Yes I know its more than a days ride to Minas Tirith from Cirith Ungol and that there is no where between the two where Damrod could have picked a horse up but bare with me a moment. Lets assume that Faramir asked his men to keep a few horses hidden in secret locations thought Ilthilien just encase they needed to escape in haste, and lets also assume that some of these horses are going to have come from Rohan lineage. Right now then could it not be possible that Damrod's horse has a little of Shaddowfax in him? And that though perhaps not as fast as his sire he might be able to cross the distance between Minas Tirith and Cirith Ungol in a day? It's just a suggestion mind you.
3. I was in great debate as to whether to actually let the Ring tempt Sam properly, thus I've come up with this almost temptation. Sam knows that what the Ring offers him is useless and more than likely false but it seems to him the only strength he can rely on in this his darkest of moments. Only in recalling the purpose for his continuing struggle (Frodo, if you've forgotten.) does he find his strength again.
Right R+R please.