“I am naked in the dark, Sam, and there is no veil between me and the wheel of fire. I begin to see it even with my waking eyes, and all else fades.” Return of the King, “Mount Doom”

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The voice never ceased and all Frodo saw was fire, though he shivered in the cold. You could be rid of all this, if you merely claimed me as your own. I can provide warmth and escape. You wouldn’t be so cold, so hungry, so thirsty. You hurt so much. Don’t you want to end all the pain?

No, not that way.

Why do you struggle on?

It is my duty. I must go on.

Wouldn’t you let me help? I could give you such power.

No.

You are so tired. Don’t you want to rest, to lay down and fall asleep and turn aside from your burden?

The vision seemed to change from fire to a grassy meadow. The Ring-bearer could feel its softness under his battered feet which were cut by sharp stones and coated with ash and dust. He could see the sunshine that spilled out everywhere. He could smell the fresh air instead of the foul fumes that choked him. He could feel warm wind against his cheeks instead of cold. He could hear birds signing in the air instead of the sounds of his enemies, the screech of a fell beast. How he longed to lose himself in all of it!

He shook his head and closed his eyes against such a sight and stopped his ears. Sam looked over at him, concerned, but Frodo was not even aware. He knew if he did not keep his entire attention focused on his Adversary, he would be overwhelmed.

No, that is not real.

The vision sharpened. The sun was brighter, the air was fresher, the grass softer, the wind warmer, the birds louder. He found himself wanting to run. He wanted to fill his eyes and his heart with the light of the sun he had forgotten even existed. He wanted to fill his lungs with the clean air. He wanted to listen to the birds in their gaiety. He heard the sound of a babbling brook and he began to run.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam called out in surprise.

The vision shattered into a thousand pieces. Frodo stumbled and fell. He gasped and choked on the fumes that entered his lungs and coughed and heaved. The water disappeared before him, even as he reached for it. The terrible screech of a Nazgul pierced his ears instead of the birdsong and he clenched his ears in agony. Sam was beside him instantly, holding and rocking him.

I can make you see anything you want, the voice came again. I can make hear anything you want, feel anything you want and I can take it away anytime I want. Yield to me. You would be unstoppable, instead of being trapped in this frail body that will soon fail. You would have all the power in the world at your command, instead of fearing how you will take the next breath or the next step. You need never suffer again. It could all end now.

Frodo gathered together his dwindling energy and will, the torn pieces of his heart as he lay in Sam’s arms. No.

What power do you hope to have outside me?

Both hobbits watched in dismay as Frodo’s right hand moved toward the chain around his neck. Sam saw his master’s beloved features clench in some sort of terrible battle that ever worsened.

“Don’t go where I cannot follow,” he murmured as he took Frodo’s hand as it moved away on its own. He pressed it to his cracked lips and blessed it with what few tears he had left.

He will die.

I know.

Doesn’t it hurt you to think that?

More than anything.

You could prevent it. Ease his suffering. Lay down with him. Let him hold you and you can go to sleep forever. Wouldn’t you want him to be at peace? Don’t you want to be at peace?

Frodo got up and struggled on. I cannot stop.

I own you.

Not completely.

Not yet. Give yourself freely to me or when I will take you by force, it will be a torment you cannot imagine. You suffer enough already. Why endure more when you can prevent it?

I will go on.

There will be nothing left of you if you do not claim what it is yours for the taking, no victory.

Then there will be nothing you can have.

I have the power to save you, save him. I’m the only one who can give you victory. I see what you feel inside. You cannot hide anything from me. Yield!

Anxiously Sam looked over as his master’s left hand was raised as if to ward off a blow, or to screen his shrinking eyes from a dreadful Eye that sought to look in them. And sometimes his right hand crept to his breast, clutching, and then slowly, as the will recovered mastery, it was withdrawn.

No!

I could make you do anything. Don’t you want the power to save him, to save all your world?

No, not that way.

Death is the only thing that awaits you if you do not choose me.

I have known that since before I set out.

Death is the only thing that awaits him.

Frodo’s heart cried within. I have known that also.

Don’t you want to stop that?

I must go on.

He will not leave you. He will die because of that, not knowing he is guarding but a shell. What is the worth in that? He will be dying for nothing. Take me and stop that. Doesn’t your heart cry out for that?

Yes.

Then yield to me.

No.

Frodo staggered on.

I will have you. Even now there is so little left that you can call your own. Be free of the terrible weight around your neck, be free of the pain. You would feel no weight if you would but claim me.

Frodo’s head bowed under the incredible weight and more than ever he could feel the burning around his neck as the chain dug deep. He could not raise his head.

No, I will not yield.