"'We teeter on the brink of darkness, you and I, alone in the midst of the flood.'" These are Legolas's words to Aragorn one night as they camp on the Field of Pelennor. Little does he know how true they will yet prove. An AU where Frodo succumbs in Mordor, leaving Sam alone to bear the Ring and brave Mordor alone. Character death, angst, dark themes.
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Legolas leaned back against the sturdy linen wall of the tent. He gazed out at the battlefield and sighed deeply. He could see bonfires lit by the Rohirrhim all over the field as the stench of roasting, rancid flesh marred the cool night air. Mound had been raised all over the field to honor the dead.
Eomer had come into kinghood, while Theoden had fallen. To Legolas, this was a great blow. As he saw it, Theoden was experienced, thorough. Eomer had never been placed under pressure, at least not as much as that he would face in these times and it was still not clear how he would react. He had been raised as a warrior, and although he knew some strategy, thinking up orders was not his area of expertise; following them was.
And then there was the matter of Denethor. Gandalf had brought word of the Steward's passing, his madness, as the fights had died on the field and it was clear that the Men had won, at least for that day. Now Faramir was to assume the office of Steward. Yet would the Man even livve through the night?
They might have won the battle, yes. But with so many lives lost, how were they even to try to hold their ground against the majority of the Dark Lord' forces? For Legolas knew the grim, terrible truth: this had been the greatest force they coul muster. With the Dead gone, they had only around a thousand warriors. Even with theirking gone, the Nazgul remained a powerful force. Legolas was afraid. Yes, he was very afraid.
He smelled smoke from a pipe. He turned to see Aragorn slide down the side of the tent to sit next to him.
"The council is over." he told Legolas. Silence endured for a few more moments as Aragorn puffed. Suddenly, he sighed deeply and lowered his pipe.
"Did we ever really stand a chance, Legolas? We have sent two hobbits to their doom to destroy a ring. We have saved this city, yes; but now where are the men to defend us in the real battle?
"For, as you probably already know, this is not our great battle. Nay, we have not even enough men to hold this city for one night if a force half the size we just fought stormed it! And Saron has so many more at his command. Is all hope gone? Has it, as Eomer said, forsaken this land? Or has it forsaken all of Middle-Earth? Where has it gone?"
"Whether it has forsaken us or all of the land, Aragorn, the fact remains that it is gone. We teeter on the brink of darkness, you and I, alone in the midst of the flood. We never had much hope, even in the begining. And now that this is over, it has gone. Does it matter where hence it has fled? Nay. All that matters now is that we survive. If that is gone, nothing will linger. The world will fade and die, and evil will run rampant once more."
"But the Valar will not let-"
"The Valar...," Legolas sighed. "Sauron's master was one of the Valar. When he went evil, they did not destroy him, but locked him away. Why not have killed him? For, Aragorn, if we lay bare the facts, a servant of one of the Valar corrupted the Kings of your people and made them the Nazgul. This same servant of one of the Valar made my people dark, made them into Orcs. Every time I go into battle, Aragorn, I am facing one who could have been my kin. If the Valar had killed him, if they had not let their kindness get in the way, we would have more numbers than Sauron's army. We wouldn't need to fight."
"As true as that is, Legolas, it is but a fantasy."
"A fantasy that could have been reality. The Valar will not save us now."
"They might still."
"Nay, Aragorn. Can you not see?"
"Can you not see what is happening to you? You have already lost hope; would you also lose your beliefs, mellon?"
Legolas gave a small smile. "Hannon le, mellon-nin. Once more I have despaired. You have brought us here today and we have pulled through where it twas not thought possible. I have all faith in you."
"You are not giving yourself any credit."
"I deserve only the credit of a warrior; you were my captain. As you still are."
"Hannon le, Legolas. Hannon le."
"Mae govannen, Aragorn. Guide us well, mellon-nin."
We shall need it...
MORDOR
Frodo took another gulp of the water. He heard the swishing of the empty spaces in the bottle and felt a pang of guilt. Sam was sleeping, and he was supposed to be taking watch, not sneaking water. And yet, it was as though he couldn't help it. Every day the heat in the godforsaken land they had come to intensified. Sam claimed he felt no such change.
Frodo wiped the perspiration from his brow on the back of his dirty sleeve, the mithril chain mail scratching at his skin. He tried to look around for anything moving in the area, but his eyes drooped. He fought them open, blackness barely receeding from his vision. The rocks swam, the heat made his vision ripple.
He swayed and fell. The Ring probed his mind one final time. Frodo was pushed off the edge of the cliff into insanity.
Sam awoke to his master's laughter. He sat up and yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Squinting them against the sun, he asked, "Mr. Frodo...'bout what time is it, do you reckon?"
There was no answer, save a giggle, from his master.
Sam looked around for the dark-haired hobbit. He found him curled up next to a rock, in the fetal position. "Get on up, Mr. Frodo. It's time to be a-going, begging your pardon."
No answer but a spout of hysteric laughter.
Sam flipped Frodo toward him. He gasped and half-stumbled, half-ran away from him in shock. A laugh far, far too loud echoed from his mouth as tears ran down his face. He had an extremely high fever; his pupils were scarecly there.
Suddenly, the laughter stopped, and his pupils grew. His eyes widened and his breath came in gasps. "Water," he choked, "Water, water, water..."
Sam rushed to him, water bottle in hand, handing it to him. He drank deeply, and then gazed at Sam. "Who...who are you?" he coughed.
"It's me; it's your Sam..." Sam whispered.
"W-ho...I d-don't know...you...and they're coming for me...they're coming to save me..."
At the moment when he drew his last breath, he seemed to get a grip on his sanity. But just for a moment. Then the pupils shrunk once more, and he tried to lugh. But all that came out was a cough and a long, long sigh. Then nothing.
Sam carefully laid down Frodo on the ground next to the rock. Slowly, knowinghis duty, he emptied Mr. Frodo's pack, putting all the food and water in his own. All he wanted to do was turn back; but he couldn't.
He at last took the Ring, so carefully, from around Frodo's neck. He placed it round his own and took his last look at his master.
A wind blew through the canyon, touseling Frodo's black hair. His pale skin was streaked with dirt and tears. Sam reached down and closed his eyes in respect for his master. Now no more pools of blue looked up into the night blankly.
As he began to trudge on, tears ran, glinting gold in the sunlight, down his own dirt-streaked, road-weary face. To think of this, this bleak and dreary land of blackness and flames, was his Mr. Frodo's final resting place, was almost to much for him to handle. It knawed at him, ate him, dug sharp pricks into his tender heart. The Ring was heavy; but Sam would destroy it, if only for Frodo. If only to be able to say that he had avenged his master...that he had avenged his friend.
And as he adjusted his pack and trudged on toward Mount Doom, a small, emaciated figure followed, as silent and swift as a shadow, with a heart and an intention blacker than one.