Chapter 5: Falling and Living
"With that power I should have power too great and terrible. And over me the Ring would gain a power still greater and more deadly…I dare not take it, even to keep it safe, unused. The wish to wield it would be too great for my strength."
-Gandalf, from Shadow of the Past
Gandalf cocked his head as he heard the distant shuddering howl of a wolf. It came from not too far ahead. Perhaps the Fellowship had run into a pack of wolves. When he strained his all-too-mortal ears, he could catch more faint howls and a higher pitched human cry. Was that one of the hobbits? Encouraged and feeling a hope that had been non-existent for days, the wizard picked up his pace. The hope was driving away the shadow that clung to him, but he could feel the Ring's anger growing. Yes, you know it is almost over, thank the Valar.
The new hope gave him new energy, and he spryly pulled himself over a rock one-handed; practice made perfect, after all. "I'm coming, my dearest friends," he chuckled into his beard, happier by the second. What danger were wolves compared to a wizard teetering on the edge of madness? Gandalf had just straightened up from hurdling his last obstacle when he became aware of a small cold spindly hand wrapping itself around the handle of Glamdring. He whirled and came face to slimy face with Gollum, surprising and angering the hideous creature.
"It's ours! Our Precious!" Gollum shrieked and backhanded the wizard, sending both of them tumbling over backwards. Gandalf felt him pulling at the sword. Mercy he may have had for Gollum, but Gollum was plainly intending to finish him off. Anger kindled in the Grey Pilgrim, an unnatural strength pouring into him. He shoved Gollum away roughly, but the clammy hands scrabbled for what they could. Chance determined that his hands fell on the pouch.
It leapt away and laughed, more giggled, triumphantly, digging into the pouch and pulling out the shining Ring. "It's ours at last!" Gollum saw Gandalf struggling to his feet and coming at him, and he bounded down the trail.
Inexplicable rage filled the wizard at this sight. The foul thing was taking the Ring away from him! No one dared take his ring! He could feel the Ring pulling at his conscious, begging for him to save it. A voice not his own snarled at Gollum's retreating back. Yanking the elvish blade from its sheath, he hurled it at his fleeing foe.
It was an uncontrolled throw; the hilt, not the blade, connected with Gollum's head. Gollum fell to the ground squealing, the Ring rolling away from his hands. Gandalf felt no twinge of pity as he gazed upon the writhing, groaning fiend. The ungrateful wretch had taken his mercy and thrown it back in his face. In fact, that was all Gandalf ever got from those he helped—ingratitude. A still small voice in the back of his head was warning against this irrational pattern of thought, but Gandalf was in no mood for reason. He was angry, angrier than he had ever been in his time on Middle Earth.
He did not stop to think of the Ring's influence on him as he strode forward. He had never been recognized for his help and guidance. This creature was the face of all the times he had donated his blood and tears and received nothing but contempt in return. Well, that would change. No more looking down on the Grey Pilgrim, no more laughter for the addle-minded wizard who spent too much time with hobbits. He was much greater than that. He could prove it. He would prove it! No more patience with idiots. He would help them and they would get down on their knees and thank him.
The wizard's eyes blazed with white hot fury as he strode by the gasping Gollum. Gollum half rose to stop him, his own bulbous eyes focusing on the Ring. Gandalf reached down with his good hand and gripped Gollum by the few strands of hair he had left and shoved the pitiful wretch against the nearby rocks. Gollum flew through the air and collided roughly with the hard surface. He wailed, but Gandalf never heard him. The wizard was beginning to glow with an unnatural fiery haze. He stretched forth his hand, and the Ring flew through the air to his call. There was no more need for any staff to channel his power. Conscious thought left what was once Gandalf.
Gollum was terrified. The magnificent creature now approaching was not a man or a wizard to his stinging eyes. Greater than any king or beast, as powerful and unchained as the raging ocean, the figure was glowing with a light so dazzling that it hurt Gollum to look at him. A wheel of fire seemed to be in its right hand, and Gollum recognized the raw lure and power of the Ring. He was filled with despair as he watched the two halos merging and growing. It was no longer his Ring. This … frightening apparition was the Master now, and he knew in his twisted, warped mind that if it wished, Gollum would be no more. The being's eyes were flaming orbs of white fire. Gollum cowered down fearfully against the snow and rocks. He was waiting to die.
When the immortal finally spoke, lightening and thunder seemed to lace every word. "Thou foulest of wretches, thy treacherous thoughts are open to me as a book! I would destroy thee for what thou hast attempted here today." It raised the hand of fire to strike. "You seek what is mine. No more!"
Gollum knew he would die.
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It is not mine! Stop it! The grey wizard known as Gandalf screamed silently, pushing desperately at the shadows that threatened to strangle him and put him under the Ring's spell forever. An eternity of destruction and pain. He felt like he was watching himself from a far distance. Such hatred is not of me. This is the Ring's doing. Stop! Manwë, help me! I cannot do this alone.
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Gollum was amazed and did not dare move from his crouch. The mighty being was hesitating. "I should destroy thee," it rumbled. "I desire to destroy thee…and all evil things. I could set things to right. I could stop His pain and anger. I could…I should."
Neither Gollum nor his executioner heard the distant shouts of men and hobbits.
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Not through the Ring! Gandalf cried, staring up at the horrible circle of gold. It beckoned to him with comfortable power, sweet lies of peace and happiness. Never had he wished to believe lies so much! He could make Middle Earth safe again from wicked things like this wretch at his feet. He could destroy every Gollum the world had ever seen. He could topple Sauron's tower, end His reign. The Ring glowed brighter between his fingers. The only way was through the Ring. He should put it on, use it. No!
Wavering to him as if he were drowning in the water came a voice, high and clear and fearful. "Gandalf!" It echoed through the turmoil and shadows of his mind, and he felt the Ring recoil at such purity and selfless love. He sensed the presence of the Fellowship. They were almost here. One was calling to him. He struggled to remember who it was. A hobbit, curly dark hair, large sad blue eyes…an innocent face. What was the name? What did it matter? Of course it matters! He is counting on me. They all are. The true Gandalf the Grey clung to the clear voice, the good voice. "Help me," he whispered.
The Ring sensed its power weakening and redoubled its efforts. Thunder pounded in his ears, and he suddenly and clearly saw the future, his future. All evil would fall if he only claimed the Ring. His kingdom would be perfection in every way. They would love him and fear him. Four hobbits flashed into his vision, but their faces were twisted with fear and revulsion, scarred with hate and terror. The Ring was angry that he saw this, realized its grip was slipping away again. They would not hate him; they would adore him. No, the Ring's power is evil; it will eventually corrupt. Did he not pity them? Would he not save them from certain suffering?
Yes, yes, he pitied them. The tortured Maia took no notice as Gollum crept away into the falling snow. He did not see the members of the Fellowship coming over the distant rise and dashing into the canyon. He did not see the nameless hobbit running to him. He saw only the Ring hovering above his fingers. He had to put it on, to end all the troubles. He had to bring peace to Middle Earth.
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"Gandalf!" Frodo cried joyously as he staggered over the top of the canyon's edge and spotted the wizard down below. "Gandalf!" Slowly Gandalf turned to face the cries, but he did not look at Frodo. He looked beyond him, far, far beyond. Frodo felt a strange shudder run through his small frame. Fear? Of what? It was Gandalf, his friend. He started to run forward to embrace his old friend, but Aragorn reached him at last and held him back.
"Stop, Frodo! Do not go near him!" The Ranger's voice trembled with fear.
"Why?" Frodo asked and took a closer look. He was quite startled and even a little afraid at what he saw. "His eyes," he whispered hoarsely. "Is that not Gandalf? The Ring has him!" He was filled with sorrow then, sorrow for that good and kindly old wizard who was his closest companion, now separated by thousands of miles in mind.
The wizard's eyes were wild white flames, liquid pools of raging emotion. Frodo saw rage, terror, pity, fear, desire, and confusion written in them for all to see. Frodo understood at last. "It calls to him. It offers what he most wants," he told Aragorn, who had no idea of the weight of that small fiery band. "Let me speak to him as one who knows." He started forward once again, and once again Aragorn pulled him back.
"Frodo, you cannot do this. He will harm anyone he perceives as a threat."
"I am not a threat," Frodo replied, shrugging off his hands. "I am his friend. Please." Pleading eyes turned upwards, and Aragorn finally nodded.
"Just…be careful. He is…not himself," he cautioned.
"I know that, more than any other." Frodo left the lean man standing to wait for the others and clambered down the steep incline. He approached slowly, hands up in a gesture of friendliness and warmth, much like a hobbit approaches a spooked pony. "Gandalf," he gently intoned. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the air felt warmer the closer he drew. "Gandalf, let us help you. Let me help you. The burden is too great."
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The name…it was coming to him now…A hobbit he had cared for since the hobbit's childhood. He had cared for him, guided him. It was…
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"Frodo?" the old voice of his friend broke the haze, and the eyes flickered with recognition. "You are all right?" Frodo heard an almost paternal concern, and the young hobbit was comforted.
"Yes, I am. But you are not. The Ring is calling to you, I know, Gandalf." He reached out a hand, tried to lay it on Gandalf's left arm. The wizard winced and jerked his arm away. Frodo hurriedly stepped back.
The glimpse of the old Grey Wizard vanished at the contact. "It does call me, and why should I not heed it? I could make things right." This time he focused on Frodo with a frightening intensity. There was a gleam in his eye. His voice dropped lower and took on a soothing, darkly appealing tone. "The Shire would be safe, Frodo. I could help you. You don't want the pain of dealing with this, Frodo, my friend, my dear friend. I can do it for you."
Frodo saw the sincerity in his eyes, but something else was there too. Frodo knew the true Gandalf was not talking now. The Ring was using every bit of its persuasive powers. Gandalf wanted Frodo's support, and the Ring was complying and twisting that wish to its own purposes. Frodo ignored the powerful proposal. "No, my dearest friend," he replied gently. "Come back to the truth. You know we might have peace, but at the price of our freedom, our joy, and our love. You know the Ring understands none of that. It is evil, Gandalf, and you are not. You told me it was evil, once. I know how it pulls at one, but it must be destroyed. We need your help to do this."
Gandalf laughed strangely, the Ring ridiculing the young hobbit. "You are strong, little one, but is it possible?"
"It has to be. It is our only chance. You are our only hope."
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It is our only chance. The words fell on his ears with the force of a beautiful, blinding rainfall, dousing the flames and washing away the confusion. He could see again. I do pity them, he realized. I cannot take their only hope away. Frodo stood before him, tears in his clear eyes. Hobbits were truly amazing, and as proof, this one had just pulled him away from the brink of catastrophe. Hope radiated from the hobbit-faith, trust.
They trust you, Olórin. I trust you. Gandalf blinked furiously.
Forgive me, Manwë. I have almost betrayed your trust.
The Ring screamed in anguish when he made his decision. You throw away their lives! It screamed at him, tore at him with a thousand knives of regret.
Perhaps mine as well, but not our souls. That is what counts. He lowered the hand that held the Ring, felt the fury flowing out of him, and suddenly he was so very tired. The ache of his left hand returned, his shoulders bowed. Aloud, he softly asked, "I need your help, Frodo Baggins of the Shire."
"Anything, Gandalf."
"Take the Ring from me. Please. It is yours to safeguard." He lifted his hand to the hobbit and noticed the trembling that shook his entire arm. Open and offering, it frightened him to think how close he had come to ruining everything. Would the Valar themselves have come down to stop him?
As Frodo's hand drew near his own, he saw his fingers closing. No! He forced them open again. The Ring was lifted screaming from his palm. He watched in rigid silence as Frodo looped the Ring's chain over his neck once again. The hobbit gazed solemnly up at the wizard.
Blessed silence. The tumultuous storm had died away into a quiet, cold, delightful breeze. The Ring was no longer in his mind, filling his head with lies. It lay silent and sullen against Frodo's vest. The crushing weight was gone, and though the temptation remained, Gandalf was no longer worried. He was free. He had passed the test.
Frodo smiled at him. "I knew you could do it," he told him as they walked together back to the Fellowship.
Aragorn bowed his head as Gandalf passed, and the old wizard smiled. The king was eyeing the wizard with concern and a new-found healthy respect. I am still me, Gandalf wanted to tell him, but did not. Time was needed to recover from this. He would not push Aragorn to trust him again. It had to come naturally. He saw the Ranger's eyes narrow as he looked at Gandalf's left arm. The Healer was taking over.
Legolas was staring at him openly. The elf could not understand why Gandalf looked so old and worn out. He knew of Gandalf's true nature, and now Gandalf looked more like a man than ever before. Perhaps I am, Gandalf thought. I have been tried as most immortals will never comprehend. I am tainted, and now I know the danger. Is that a bad thing?
Gimli regarded him with bare suspicion as he handed Gandalf's staff back to him. The Grey Wizard wrapped his gnarled hands around the smooth wood and nodded his thanks. The dwarf would not go quietly into the darkness. He might question Gandalf's judgment now more than ever, but the wizard wanted no other at his back in the coming fight. He is fearless, loyal, and powerful.
Boromir refused to meet his eyes, and Gandalf feared at that. There was darkness in the Man that Gandalf now knew and clearly understood. He thinks we are wrong to destroy the Ring. I pray he never gets the chance I was offered.
Sam…Sam had no eyes for him, only for Frodo. He had sensed a threat to his master, and now he was supporting Frodo and whispering to him. That one is very strong, indeed. I have a feeling that much will fall to this little gardener.
Merry was on the other side of Frodo, telling him something about a wolf, and Gandalf smiled wearily. His determination will carry them far.
And Pippin… he could not see Pippin. For a moment, he panicked and thought of the wolves. Then there was a tug at his robes, and he looked down to see the tiny hobbit at his side. In his hands was a perfectly delectable-smelling pouch. "Sir? I thought you might like some of this Longbottom leaf. I had some extra."
Epilogue coming soon! Thanks for reading. I'm attempting to finish my unfinished stories this summer. Apologies for leaving anyone hanging and for any mistakes in this version checked only by myself.