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Chapter 4: The Spider's Deeds

I knew not for how long I remained there on the Morgul Road, lost, brooding, and indecisive. All awareness of time and my surroundings escaped me as I became deeply lost in thought. I sat huddled behind the great boulder, afraid of continuing forward, and still more afraid of turning back. What was I to do? I could not spend the rest of my life here until thirst and starvation overcame the failing vital functions of my body; nor could I take a steep in any direction on the compass. What was I to do save sleep, until I awoke with perhaps a new insight to another path that I had not yet known was open?

So sleep I did, for long hours as it seemed, and I slept deeply, though many dilemmas troubled my restless mind. And I did not so much as stir until I finally jerked awake to find my sheltering rock still in front of me, and the fierce wall of the Ephel Dúath still behind. For a moment, I sat, confused, knowing not what to think; for the bliss of ignorant sleep had erased all memory of what had transpired to bring me to this dreadful place. Then I searched my memory, and after I recollected all, I wept hard, and bitterly, for I instantly wished that I hadn't. Now, once again, the dilemma faced me: What was I to do?

Instead of worrying about it right away, I reached for my pack that was still slung on my back. True to my Halfling blood, I habitually ate as I pondered whenever there was something troubling me. I reached in and pulled out some dried fruit and nuts that I had packed for the long journey. As cheerless and unsatisfying as the meal was, it brought me some form of comfort. But nothing could raise my spirits entirely as I thought of Minas Tirith burning, as it doubtless was. It would be razed to the round; there would be nothing left to which I could return. All of the glory of Gondor would be diminished, and all that was good in Middle-earth along with it.

Possibly, all of this was an exaggeration, merely an image formed in my troubled mind. But if it were not, then what refuge would there be for me or anyone else? If the tales of young Frodo about Sauron covering all Middle-earth in shadow were true, would the iron fist of the Orc and the terrifying shadow of the Nazgûl not torment every man, elf, and hobbit?

I knew for certain what the answer to that question was, though I still could not say whether these circumstances about which I questioned myself should in truth come to pass. But as I though of Frodo and his companion Sam out on the Morgul Road alone, willing to set foot in the most treacherous land in the world whether I led them there or no, my heart trembled in pity. I if had wept before on this same Road when I'd learned that I was going to my death, still more did I weep at the thought of those two courageous Hobbits going to theirs; for there was no escape from that land. Yet, they knew this, and all the more did they refuse to turn in any other direction but East.

Before I knew that I was doing, my bag was packed and slung on my back, and I was swiftly rising to my feet. I ran towards the spot where I had last left the two Hobbits. There I beheld the pass that I was expecting, for the Stairs of Cirith Ungol are found on many Gondorian maps, though none of that land has ever been known to venture into the Nameless Land via that pass or any other. More likely than not, I would be the first one from Gondor to do so.

I thought of the path ahead, and how challenging the terrain alone would be to conquer. Still slimmer were the chances of conquering the merciless landscape and finding Sam and Frodo afterwards. They could be hidden, traveling through the smallest niches through which only small Hobbits could travel. The more I thought about it, the more I shook with fear and dreaded what promised to be a nearly impossible journey ahead. Yet, find them I would, or die trying, whether there were people left standing in Minas Tirith to honor my deeds or no. But I still held out some hope, however faint, that by helping Frodo and Sam, I could save my City in time, or if not, I could at least draw the Dark Power that waged war with it out of the world, so that a remnant of Gondor's people could unite and build the City once again.

Because tears filled my eyes, and because other preoccupations filled my mind, I was minimally aware of my surroundings. From what little I did see, the first stair was almost vertical, seemingly stretching to the heavens; even my normally surefooted Hobbit feet slipped countless times. At length, I came to another stair, less steep, more evenly spaced, but it wound, so that each time I thought I was about to come to the end, I rounded another bend. And so it went on, apparently endlessly, until the stair terminated into the entrance to a tunnel. This, too, was dark and wound in so many different directions that I began to wonder if I would ever find Frodo and Sam. But I hastened on as quickly as the dark confines of the tunnel would allow. If did not, I would not find them before it was too late. Even as it was, I began to wonder whether they would be beyond my aid when and if I found them. Nevertheless, I pressed on; I had no other choice but to search.

I groped through the remainder of the tunnel. My head by now was clear, and I had stopped weeping, so that I was more aware of my surroundings. I heard moanings within the deep recesses of the tunnel, but by good fortune, I did not encounter whatever it was that dwelt there. Either because my eyes were starting to adjust, or because I was nearing the end of the tunnel, I began to see a faint light and began heading towards it. At last, it became increasingly brighter, and, sooner than I had expected, I was on the outer pass.

Dark as the land of Mordor was, it appeared bright as the moon in comparison to the obscure tunnel. Such relative light was such a shock that I emerged squinting, and I began to worry that I would not be able to see. I continued groping as I walked along, until, at last, my eyes adjusted. And now that I had regained my sight, I beheld something that gave me many cares of a different and far worse kind.

There sat a grief-stricken Sam, leaning over a limp bundle, tightly bound with thin, dense cords. He rocked it back and forth, and as it leaned to face me, I caught a glimpse of Frodo's face, but it was changed: pale and helpless, unblinking eyes fixed on the heavens. Sam, still too preoccupied with his Master to notice me, stared down at him with tears upon his face and spoke to him softly.

"Mr. Frodo, wake up! It's your Sam calling. Wake up! Don't leave me here alone – don't go where I can't follow!"

At this juncture, I rushed forth, refusing to believe that he was dead. "Samwise! What has happened here?"

He looked up at me with tears in his eyes as I knelt beside him, incredulous. "So, decided to come back now, have you? You're too late." He pressed his master's limp body closer to him. "Just as bad as that Gollum, running off on us like that.

"No one ever understood my Master – no one except me. Everyone made light of the burden he had to bear, because no one else had to carry it himself. And it weighted him down so much, but he never complained, not up to the very end. And now it's too late for him; nothing can bring him back. I must perhaps go along on my own, without him. How I dread the thought! Oh, Mr. Frodo!"

"I am sorry," I gasped, though to say that the apology was quite insufficient would be a dire understatement. "I do not expect you to forgive me, Samwise. But if there is any way I can help you in the quest that you are going to continue, then let me know of it."

"I don't know if I shall continue. Part of me wants to stay here by him forever." He let Frodo's body gently roll to the ground and stroked his hair absently as he tried to regain his sense. I leaned forward to look into Frodo's unblinking eyes, but I was not prepared for the sadness I saw there. And on pondering what Sam had said about his burden, immediately I felt guilty for making light of it. In leaving the two Hobbits to fend for themselves, I had done a grievous thing, and undoubtedly, Frodo had passed on with a sore image of me in his mind. But, though the excuse did not justify my actions, I had not understood; I knew I still didn't. What did this Ring signify, and what made it so burdensome? Was it the sheer amount of power in it that oppressed Frodo so? And who would receive this burden now that he was gone?

With a renewed sadness, I looked into Frodo's face once more. It was deathly pale, but fair and rich with an Elvish beauty, far surpassing that of any other Halfling or Man. For the first time, I noted just how beautiful that face was, all features finely chiseled and etched with great compassion and kindness. Most magnificent of all were the two huge blue eyes, splendid though distant and forlorn. Then, as I thought of his passing and my responsibility for it, I fell on the ground, holding Frodo's limp body close. By chance or fate, my right ear pressed near to his left shoulder, and there, though at first I thought I imagined it, I heard the flutter of a heartbeat, however weak. I sat up in shock and undid the cords that bound Frodo's wrists. Then I knew that my senses did not betray me, for I felt a faint pulse in both.

"Samwise!" I cried, and the other Hobbit promptly rose to his feet. "Put your fingers to your Master's wrists and tell me that you do not feel a pulse." Even as he did so, I stretched out on the ground and placed my head upon Frodo's breast. I felt it swell with breath and could not be convinced otherwise. And as Sam did likewise, he agreed fully, and a look of wonder and relief slowly worked its way across his despondent face, for we both knew that Frodo was alive. We made haste in undoing the cords that encompassed Frodo's body. "How did he come to be in this state?" I asked Sam.

"That makes for a long tale, I daresay. But to put it in simple terms, we came through tunnel, and a big spider came after us." He reached behind Frodo and indicated a spot just below the nape of his neck. "Bit him right here, and bound him up, before I could get to it. But I did get it, eventually. Drove it back into its precious Tunnel, I did. No one hurts my Master and gets away free!"

I laughed, not out of mockery or amusement, but from respect for Sam's bravery and loyalty to his Master. "Never in a living being have I seen such devotion, Sam. May you be richly rewarded for it!"

Soon, Frodo was free of the spider's silk. "We cannot carry him through Mordor as he is now," I said. "And we cannot tarry here long enough for him to wake up. We have already stayed a sufficient time for Orcs to have spotted us from their stronghold." I motioned to the tower that loomed ominously on our left. "Have you an extra garment that will fit over him, and perchance some rope? Thus we can transport him, and he shall be safely hidden if some great need should fall upon us."

"For the spare garment, we can use his Lórien cloak. That will sure conceal him well. And I do happen to have some Elvish rope. Good ol' Galadriel!"

"Who is this one, this Galadriel? Is she not the Elf-witch rumored to live in the Lórien Woods?"

"No, you're quite mistaken on that." Sam's voice rose and his face grew red. "That is, she does live in fair Lórien, but she's no witch, and most certainly the finest and fairest Lady that I've ever come across, begging your pardon for sayin' so. It's a shame that through all those years of wandering you never happened upon the Golden Wood. Would've been much fairer and more welcoming than those wild lands you were roaming. But to tell all there is to be said of the Lady and her Wood would take more time than it would for Mr. Frodo to wake up. The rope—" he reached into his pack and produced it as promised.

"I take it this is the cloak to which you refer?" I tugged on Frodo's outermost garment, the color of which was hard to determine, but it seemed to blend in with the rocks and ash around us. It was fastened at the top with a leaf brooch, which I promptly undid. I started to wind the cloak about Frodo, but Sam stopped me suddenly. He approached his Master and placed a hand to his forehead, speaking to him though he could not hear.

"I know this was entrusted to you, Mr. Frodo. But let me keep it, only for a little while – for safekeeping. I promise to give it back." He reached around Frodo's neck and lifted off the chain with the Ring on it, and he draped it about his own neck. Also, he took a small phial filled with a translucent blue liquid that seemed to glow with a soft light. Last, he removed Frodo's sword, which was quite long for a Hobbit, beautifully crafted, seemingly with the skill and delicacy of Elves. Then I marveled that these two Shire-Hobbits should have traveled so far and wide even as to be named Elf-friends and receive so many gifts and blessings from their hands.

With that done, Sam and I set to work wrapping Frodo in the cloak, which proved easier than I had supposed, for it was quite elastic. We loosely bound his upper arms and lower legs with Sam's Elvish rope so as not to impede his breathing. When we were done, we had successfully reached our goal of keeping Frodo safe, but inconspicuous as a piece of baggage.