Disclaimer: The plot is mine, the characters and locations are Tolkien's.
Chapter III: Fire and Smoke
"Surely you're not going alone, Mr. Frodo?"
Frodo smiled. "I'm sorry, Sam. I do wish you could come with me, but time is of the essence. Taking along an extra person could mean failure."
"But how will you survive?" asked Sam frantically. "You'll be gone for six days, with no one to cook for you or anything . . ."
"Your loyalty commends you, Samwise," said Gandalf from where he stood beside Gwaihir. "I too wish that you could accompany us, but Gwaihir and Landroval are not accustomed to carrying burdens. If there was time, we should ask Gwaihir to call another of his people to accompany us, that you may be borne aloft too, but there is not. The Orcs are already moving, and time, as Frodo has said, is of the essence."
Sam bowed his head. "I suppose that is true, Mr. Gandalf. For the safety of Middle-Earth, I can let him go."
"Thank you, Sam," replied Gandalf. He climbed onto the Eagle's back, and looked back at the little Hobbit. "And I will take care of your master, Samwise, I promise. You will see him within the week." With that, the Eagles lifted gracefully into the sky, bearing with them the hope of Middle-Earth.
The journey to Mordor and Mount Doom was long and uncomfortable. Twice only did they stop, in the nights, that Gandalf and Frodo could find food to eat, and get some sleep. And thus, as the sun set on their third day of travel, they came to the place none of them wished to see, but were driven to by necessity – the Cracks of Doom, on the side of Orodruin.
"Behold, Frodo," said Gandalf, "the fires in which Sauron forged the Ring, long ago. The time has come to undo that making. Take out the Ring, and cast it back into the pit!"
His face lit by the dull red glow from below, Frodo reached into his tunic and pulled out his burden. Hanging there, on its silver chain, it seemed so beautiful. He stared at it, seeing the fiery lettering forming in the overwhelming heat of the volcano. As he looked, he wondered if perhaps there could be another way, a way to redeem the Ring, to claim its powers for good.
"There is not," said Gandalf quietly. "The Ring was made by evil, and is itself Evil, just as the Great Jewels were Good. It cannot serve any purpose save that of the Dark Lord. Destroy it now, before we are discovered."
"I suppose you are right," the Hobbit replied. "But here, now, when it comes down to it, I don't really want to give it up. We fought so hard to save it, to keep it, that it seems . . . wrong."
"Listen to yourself, Frodo," said Gandalf sternly. "That is not you speaking. The Ring knows why we are here, and it will do anything it can to preserve itself. Destroy it. Now."
On the last word, there was a subtle shift in the Wizard's tone, from lecturing to Command. Before he knew what had happened, Frodo was at the edge of the precipice, holding the Ring out. It dangled there, twisting gently in the updraft. It was so beautiful – surely it could not be evil. Frodo began to turn away. And then . . .
. . . he remembered the Shire, remembered the evil this simple gold band had called to it, how the woods had become filled with peril. He remembered his fear on Weathertop, and at the Ford, and he remembered that it was all down to this ring. There was no good in it. He let it go.
The Ring plunged into the lava, submerging completely before returning to the surface. As Frodo watched, the letters blazed out, brighter than ever before. Then they began to lose their clarity as the One Ring, bane of all the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, softened under the intense heat.
"Come, Frodo," cried Gandalf. "It is not safe to remain here!"
But Frodo could not move. Even as the Ring bent, twisting as it softened, he kept watching, until finally it melted, dissolving into the lava. Then he looked to Gandalf – only to be thrown off his feet.
The Ring's destruction sent shock waves through the whole of Middle-Earth. In his dark tower, Sauron screamed as his spirit was ripped from his body and torn asunder, destroying him and all his works as if he had never been. In the foothills of the Misty Mountains, the Nazgul, still working their way by foot back to Mordor, fell screaming as flames engulfed them. In the tower of Orthanc, Saruman flew back as his mental battle with the Dark Lord was suddenly, violently terminated. And deep beneath the Misty Mountains, something ancient awoke.
A tremor rocked the mountain, and Frodo teetered on the very edge of the precipice. Below him, the lava bubbled, rising slowly up the walls of the chamber. How ironic it will be, he thought, to die now, after the quest is complete. He leaned forward, willing the lava to take him . . .
. . . and was pulled back by a hand to his collar. Gandalf lifted the delirious Hobbit up and dashed out of the chamber to where the Eagles awaited. Ignoring Landroval, he jumped up onto Gwaihir, holding Frodo in front of him, and cried, "Fly now! Before you cannot fly at all!"
The great Eagles burst from the clouds of ash and smoke into the clearer air. Behind them, fire spread from the ruins of Mount Doom, and they had to fly an erratic course to evade the rocks that still flew up from the dying mountain.
For a day and a half they flew, stopping only for Gandalf to collect water for Frodo. Then, as the sun reached her zenith on the second day of November, Gwaihir saw a column of smoke rising, far to the south.
"Alas," cried Gandalf, "I fear Saruman has betrayed us again! I had hoped that the fall of Sauron might free his mind, but I see now that I was wrong. The fires of war burn in Isengard this day. Gwaihir, I bid you bear me there, that I might see what has passed."
"Nay," replied the Eagle, "That I will not do. You must care for Frodo, for without you he will surely perish. Nevertheless, this must be investigated. Landroval shall go in our stead."
"As you wish, my brother," said Landroval from where he flew. "Carry our charges back to Imladris and Lord Elrond – I will join you there within the week." With that, the great eagle turned and sped south, while Gwaihir continued north-west, to Rivendell and sanctuary.
I'm reasonably sure the Eagles can talk. They did so in The Hobbit, as I recall.
Cloaked Eagle