A/N: Dehydration and exhaustion can play havoc with one's mind, pain and hallucination are just two in a long list of sensations one can experience in such a situation. I cannot even begin to imagine what went through Frodo's mind, I can only feebly speculate what happened when the lack of food, water and the exhaustion, to say nothing about the battle with the Ring, ultimately caught up with him. Hope you enjoy this!

Many thanks to:

My wonderful beta, the greatest of writers, who understands Frodo's inner strength like no other: thank you for the gift of inspiration!

Shadow: For her priceless observations, it means so much!!

 ~~

To never know that you've made the right decision can make anyone go out of their mind. It wasn't too strange a feeling for me, I'd visited the dark corners of madness myself, more than a few times. Yet somehow I have learned to tuck away the darkness and though it is still very much a part of my being, and in all likelihood it always will be, I have made a shaky truce with it. And this was only possible because I was granted the grace to make the right decision, once only, in Mordor, to try and protect you from the evil as best as I could.  That would have to be enough to keep the darkness that lingered inside me at bay. It was a fragile peace, but the best I could hope for. Some days it would be enough, most days it would not.

It was only when I left Middle-Earth that I knew for certain. I had suspected it at various moments in our life, like your wedding, or the birth of your daughter, when seeing your joyous expression was enough to warm me for months, but never with the simple yet crushing clarity as when I beheld you for the last time at the Havens, as the ship slowly turned west and headed out to sea. And your unrestrained tears, catching the twilight as they streamed down your face, little stars that glinted shyly a few moments longer before they waned, and your whole body seemed rooted to that very spot, so much so that for a moment, my heart leapt anxiously in my chest and the thought sprang to mind that you might remain there forever. But I knew it to be a foolish thought, even as it tried to ensnare my mind into the ever-gnawing doubt that had become my second nature.

And I believed beyond a doubt that, once, I had made the right decision because you were there. I would hold on to this most precious of gifts and start anew in this strange new world I am sailing towards knowing that, at a time when I was beyond the point of no return, you were my light when all other lights had gone out.

~~

I handed my soul to you. I knew you would keep it safe. It was an immense task, keeping whatever shred of it was left untouched, but I could look to no other to protect it. I used you, I burdened you with the knowledge of its frailty and I charged you with its weight knowing full well that it was the only thing that could sink your hopes and your strength. Don't think that I did not feel guilty, because I did. Or rather I feel guilty now. Back then, there were other things to worry about. Not that it matters, guilt is something that I am used to bearing, and grin bearing it.

Selfishly, not for a moment was I concerned that you already bore too much. Already you were my strength at a time when my own strength was failing me with each wretched step I took. But I fooled myself into thinking that if you kept my soul as well, then, somehow, the task could be done.  If whatever else remained of me that the Ring sought to take away would no longer inhabit my body and there was the slightest chance that we could make it to the end of our journey.

But I was wrong, as I discovered soon enough...

Because It wormed Its way into the deepest pits of my mind and It somehow pried out the secret of what I had so feebly attempted to do.

Its tone changed after the Tower, you know. It told me that I was no longer fit to bear It, that It had found another, that whatever strength I still possessed was because It had decided to prolong my agony, and because It knew that by now I could never let It go willingly. It whispered about leaving me, about the brave new bearer that would do what was right and leave me to my wretched fate, turning his back to this cancer that I'd become and leaving me to rot in the carcass of my own decaying mind.

I wept for the twisted pity I felt when It lamented about how wrong It had been, thinking that I could ever be Its rightful bearer. And because It tore me apart, yet I still agreed that it was you whocould be that bearer.

So you see, I was wrong to believe that I still had a soul when I decided to hand it to you. You fought for it, wept and raged for it as you felt it slipping from your grasp. I know now that whatever you held on to was a phantasm and there were moments when I saw it with cruel, unforgiving clarity and I wanted to tell you. Believe me, I wanted to scream it out so loud so that every enemy who hunted us would hear and bear down on us, on me, and finish off what I did not have the courage to end. Except, I held back, wanting, no, craving a few more moments with It, no matter the suffering.

'Sam, you must take It and go....' I would repeat to myself endlessly, 'I have carried It so far but no more. Another day or so and you will reach the mountain. Two days is not enough time for It to break you. You have the strength to complete the quest.'

I'd gone through the speech I was going to give you so many times in my head that it had almost become a blessed respite against Its persistent murmur. I saw it in your eyes, how you wondered time and again why I did not speak, the look of pity and naked pain on your face when you thought that all my strength was eaten up by the struggle to take yet another step. What you didn't know was that what I kept repeating in my mind, what I meant to burden you with above all other burdens that I'd set upon your capable shoulders, taxed my spirit far more than the unimportant physical pain.

Only it wasn't that easy. I knew you would not leave me, if I asked it or ordered it would make no difference, you were stubborn enough for that. You'd told me of your promise to Gandalf and I suspected that not even death would break your will.

It pained me to think that way, but I had to find something convincing enough, horrifying enough to bring you to accept that I was indeed beyond all hope.

To leave you during the night? It seemed impossible, for even if by some miracle I found the strength to drag myself away from you and leave the Ring behind, you somehow felt my every stir and you were there, hovering above me, with sweet, encouraging words that I would have forgotten had you not whispered them to me so often.

Sadly, your words no longer had meaning for me, for no matter how I wracked my brain I could not remember ever knowing a word such as home or hope or heart. The same way, the elvish waybread burned my insides, worse than the foul orc-draught - and I knew it was not because of the thirst - upholding that which I had long suspected: my place was here, in this dark land, where I would walk for the rest of my miserable life. The light across the mountains would never have me again.

My spirit floated in and out of my body at its own demented will, moreso when the smoke and ash and thirst and pain became so insufferable that I willed myself to crumble into a million pieces, become one with the jagged rocks that bloodied our feet. It occurred to me that although I could no longer feel the rocks cutting into my feet, anyone following us would only have to follow the trail of our mingled blood.

It was only the word 'heart' I remembered the night I heard you talking to yourself, because it felt like a hand reached inside my chest and gripped that useless piece of muscle that kept beating traitorously, as if to spite me, and squeezed it until I thought, somewhat relieved, that it would crush it to dust. I understood then that your hope had finally waned and that you followed me on this road only so that I would not die alone. But you were wrong, Sam. You did not know it then as I did.

I was already dead, for all intents and purposes, dead to a world that only you remembered.

Yet it was neither knife nor sting that had killed me. It was the knowledge.

The burden of knowing that I had agreed to bring the Ring to this place, to unmake It, only because I knew that I could not part with It. Even then, in Rivendell, It had Its claws firmly embedded in my soul. Oh, yes, I was fooled then, just like all the others, save perhaps Bilbo, who gave me this strangest of looks that at the time seemed little more than worry. But I have had time to think about it and the more I think about it, the more I am willing to wager that he had volunteered to destroy the Ring for the same reason.

~~

I couldn't sleep anymore, although I pretended for your sake. I knew you listened to my breathing to convince yourself that indeed I slept, and only after you were satisfied did you allow yourself the respite you so desperately needed. In turn, I had learned the pattern of your own breathing. Once sleep took you, I could relent and return to the ragged cadence that my chest had grown so used to in the past weeks. Eventually, exhaustion took me anyhow, but if indeed I slept or merely lost consciousness, it was of little consequence. I knew that wishing never to wake up again was in vain. A new day would come, or whatever the sick, sunless Mordor light was called, and I would invariably open my eyes to face yet another day.

It was early every morning, before you even tried to shake me awake, and my eyes were still closed, that I would vow that today, I would give you the speech. That today I would come to the end of my appointed road. I even imagined watching you walk away, as I lay down, happy and weary and ready to sleep for all eternity. I imagined hearing your footfalls growing muffled as you put more distance between us, not once turning to see the burden that you had left behind, your mind bent on the one purpose that kept you going.

But then I would succumb to cowardice once again and promise myself that maybe at our next stop, I would somehow find the courage and the sparkle of sanity to tell you.

'Please, take It. Take It and go. Now!'

I did not raise my eyes to meet yours, grateful almost that your gaze bore into my skull as your unspoken question answered itself in your mind.

'Mr. Frodo? What are you sayin'?' you rasped and my elation at having finally spoken crumbled at the sound of your exhaustion and raw despair.

But I was unstoppable now that I had found the moment and I tried to babble on, get through with the speech as quickly as possible. But the words choked in my throat and violent coughing gagged my words. My throat was raw and bloody from the ash and smoke and I felt its coppery salt even as I realized that it was the first thing I had tasted in many days.

But I was granted no more the grace of speech.

To you, my cough might have sounded like Gollum, because I saw it in your eyes, for the briefest of instants, the disgust and pity that I once felt towards the creature. But you reacted quickly, turning away and busying yourself with the almost empty water skin, your face not grimy enough to hide the blush of shame you most likely felt at your own reaction.

'Here, drink up.... ' you urged brokenly when you turned towards me, your gaze averted, like never before.

And was it just my imagination or did you actually shrink back, just barely, as your fingers brushed against mine when I took hold of the water skin?

I knew I was right only moments later, because as you went about breaking off pieces of our diminishing lembas supply, handing them to me and then settling down to chew on your own smaller piece unenthusiastically, you were silent and your eyes searched the ground, refusing to face me. You found no more words of encouragement to soothe me with. And when the silence became too much for you, you started rummaging through your shrunken pack and I knew then that our food supply was running out faster than you thought. What hope you still held to make it back, I could not fathom. I forced the lembas down my throat and lay down without a word. Had it come to that? What was so repulsive about me that made you cringe so?

Clutching the Ring was the only comfort I could think of....

It was not until late that night, when I lay curled under my cloak, that I heeded the voice ringing in my ears and tried to stand up. I didn't know if it was the Ring putting thoughts into my head again, but it was of no importance. I could no longer tell the difference between what It wanted me to think and my own thoughts.

Much to my amazement, I found that I could raise myself on one elbow, then sit up without difficulty. I stood up shakily, still unsure of where this bout of unexpected strength came from, half expecting to collapse the very next moment. I knew it was not a dream, the thirst that racked my body was real, sending stabs of pain through my parched kidneys with every breath and my vision, though sharpened by my close brush with the wraithworld, was still blurred by the lack of proper nourishment and water. Yet this vigor was a gift beyond my wildest expectations.

Had the Valar somehow granted me strength beyond my own? Was this another one of the Ring's enticing promises? I forced my mind to find another explanation but it was then that the moon's face appeared for the briefest of moments from the thick clouds and I saw it.

Downhill from where we had sheltered for the night, concealed by shadow and jagged boulders, lay the most unexpected of sights: a minuscule pool of water, no more than a puddle. I could almost smell it and I rejoiced in finding that another of my senses had returned, for however long that grace was granted to me.

Almost detached from my own body, I watched myself in utter amazement as I skipped down the jagged rocky slope with amazing deftness, hands first, sliding skillfully on the enemy terrain as if I had been living here all my life.

Moments later I was admiring the still darkness of the water's surface, so perfect that it almost pained me to think that soon I would sink my hands in it, and possibly drain it with my consuming thirst. How this fragment of life had survived in this wasteland I could never understand. I reached out timidly, half expecting this vision to crumble before my eyes as my hand would encounter dry rock and reality would crash down on me. Only it wasn't to be, since my hand broke the dark surface and my whole body shuddered violently from the iciness and the delightful sensation. It felt oily and it had a dark viscous texture, but I thought nothing of it as I drew my cupped hand close to my mouth and gulped greedily. Soon I had both my hands in the murky liquid that flowed more and more easily down my parched throat when it dawned on me that this water, or whatever it was, was completely tasteless.

Reason returned to me and I began suspecting that this was not water after all, but some other foul liquid that could prove to be poisonous and would probably kill me before long. But the thirst won out in the end and I reasoned that, if this was indeed poisoned, then drinking more of it would bring death quicker and if it was not, then I would have my fill. 

When I'd drunk quite enough or rather when my arms had gone numb from the repetitive motion of scooping up the water, I splashed my face and neck and ran my fingers through my matted hair, gave up after a few attempts at untangling it, my eyes never leaving the black, fetid liquid in my palms, so foul yet the only thing that could save me in this cursed land. I admired its dark oiliness, black, so beautiful, so smooth, like my sweetheart's hair...

My sweetheart? Time ground to a halt as I let the liquid bleed through my fingers and stared ahead in the darkness. My sweetheart? Who was she? What did she look like? I desperately wanted to remember her laughter, her skin, her hands, anything.... Did I even have a sweetheart back home? Where was home? Did I even have one anymore or was this rocky, dry land all that I had ever known? Who was this creature that Sam so lovingly called Mr. Frodo?

I bent over the still rippling water to look at my reflection and at that moment the moon chose to show her pale ghostly face again and allow me to behold that which I'd become. Staring back at me from the blackness were two huge, lamp-like eyes, much too large for the sunken cheeks and pale-lipped withered countenance. And yet the only thing I had eyes for was the band of gold hanging around this wretch's neck when in all fairness it should have been mine... I knew it to be impossible, even as I shrunk back, clutching It in my hands, and my whole being was invaded by twisted pleasure because It was safe, with me, where It should be...

Yet somewhere in the periphery of my mind a faint, dying voice whispered: it is you, it is what you are now....Gollum....!

No, it cannot be, no, noooo....

And I sobbed as my body twitched in the throes of such uncontrollable shivers that I thought I was back in the Tower with the orcs shaking me violently, jarring my very marrow... and then I saw Sam's face, in plain daylight, and he was shaking me while muttering words I was deaf to at first. Then the world slowly swam into focus and Sam's voice reached me through the layers of insanity that covered my mind.

'There, now, Mr. Frodo', the only voice I ever remembered hearing, 't'was a dream, nothin' more.'

My stomach churned with nausea and the gasp of shock I let out sounded so sharp that I had no doubt it would echo into the very last corner of Mordor, but still you held me, your disgusted reaction the night before forgotten. And you cried with me yet you shed no tears, such was your anguish.

'There's... water,' I managed to stammer much later, 'down there...by the ledge....'

I expected you to leap to your feet but all you did was shake your head dolefully.

'No, Mr. Frodo, I looked during the night. There's naught but dust and ashes in this cursed place. Not a drop of water....'

'But ....' my protest started to leave my lips but suddenly, it occurred to me why I had been blessed with that nightmarish vision. I might have laughed out loud had my chest and back not been so battered. I started to anyhow, but another seizure of coughing punished my elation. Only this time, although it sounded like Gollum to me, you did not shrink back, nor did I see that repulsed look as I searched your face.

I understood then that I could not ask you to carry the Ring anymore than I could willingly part with It. If by some miracle you had agreed to carry It and leave me behind, I would not hesitate to kill you, such was my desire to have It. And with you gone, nothing would stand between me and the Ring's power anymore. I doubted I would even have the strength to reach the mountain on my own, let alone keep myself from giving in to Its ever-present entreaties that clawed at whatever sanity I had left.

It would only be a matter of time until I would lie down to die or finally succumb to It and all would be lost. Whether I was a corpse lying amongst the rocks or the roving fiery Eye discovered me, the Ring would be found before long, if I gave in to Its cruelly deceiving voice.

If I was turning into a creature worse than Gollum, then so be it. I had long known that the Ring would find a way to exact its punishment on me. But if my body and soul were to be the price of keeping you untouched and untainted by Its evil, then I knew what had to be done. I would not do it for the world of Middle-Earth, whose memory had been slowly eaten away by the Ring. But I would do it for you.

Who knew, even on this hopeless road, the sheer strength of your will could be the reason that would see you safely on your way home. One way or another, I had already made peace with the fact that I would not leave this land, not really...

Thinking back on it, that must have been the last decision I had forced my will to make. From there on until the mountain, I remembered little or nothing. But the only clarity that remained was what I kept repeating to myself over and over: you had to remain unscathed, undamaged by the Ring's evil. I stopped repeating the speech where I begged you to take the Ring, instead the only voice in my mind that I knew to be my own, chanted on fanatically, drowned and dying as it was:

'No, Sam. You cannot come between me and this doom.'

~ The End ~