Epilogue – In Darkness Buried Deep*

14 Rethe, 1419 SR

At last, weary and feeling finally defeated, [Sam] sat on a step below the level of the passage-floor and bowed his head into his hands. It was quiet, horribly quiet. The torch, that was already burning low when he arrived, sputtered and went out; and he felt the darkness cover him like a tide. And then softly, to his own surprise, there at the vain end of his long journey and his grief, moved by what thought in his heart he could not tell, Sam began to sing.

His voice sounded thin and quavering in the cold dark tower: the voice of a forlorn and weary hobbit that no listening orc could possibly mistake for the clear song of an Elven-lord. He murmured old childish tunes out of the Shire, and snatches of Mr. Bilbo’s rhymes that came into his mind like fleeting glimpses of the country of his home. And then suddenly new strength rose in him, and his voice ran out, while words of his own came unbidden to fit the simple tune.

In western lands beneath the Sun
The flowers may rise in Spring,
The trees may bud, the waters run,
The merry finches sing.
Or there maybe ‘tis cloudless night
And swaying beeches bear
The Elven-stars as jewels white
Amid their branching hair.

Though here at journey’s end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Beyond all mountains steep,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.  

Frodo stirred groggily and strained his ears to listen to this dream from long ago. He had nearly forgotten it and now it was here again, to visit him in this horrid land, unless that is, he was quite deceiving himself. But no, there is was again. “Beyond all towers strong and high…” The voice continued and it sounded as though it were just below him where he lay in this filthy tower. Hope flared in his chest and he dared to speak for the first time since waking. He licked his lips and forced his voice past his parched throat.

I will not say the day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.

He waited, but now there was no singing or sound. He sank back to the hard floor and back into despair. So he had been imagining it.

Then suddenly, there was that terrible sound, already long familiar: that creature’s foul voice rising up to irk him. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that maybe his captor might believe him to be asleep. He had no such luck.

“Ho la! You up there, you dunghill rat! Stop your squeaking, or I’ll come and deal with you. D’you hear?”

Frodo’s heart quickened and his breath came shallow, so great was his fear. So he had been heard and he would be punished for daring to make a sound. The creature’s second call confirmed this, though Frodo had made no reply.

“All right,” growled Snaga. “But I’ll come and have a look at you all the same, and see what you’re up to.”

Frodo prepared himself for what he knew to be coming and soon he heard the unmistakable sounds of Snaga’s approach. The trap door swung open and Snaga’s foul stench was added to the stale air of the turret. The orc’s shadow loomed over him, cutting off the dim red light that hung in the rafters above.

“You lie quiet, or you’ll pay for it! You’ve not got long to live in peace, I guess; but if you don’t want the fun to begin right now, keep your trap shut, see? There’s a reminder for you!”

A hard, cruel whip landed across Frodo’s right side, and though he tried his best, he couldn’t help but cry out at the sting of the whip and the following sting of blood rushing to the open wound. He bit his lips against any further outbursts, but the damage was done.

Snaga growled down at him, pleased it seemed that Frodo had made yet another noise. Now he would be able to whip his prisoner until he squeaked no more. Snaga raised his whip arm again, ready to deal a second blow, waiting until his prisoner threw his arms up to shield his eyes in terror, a sign of submission. Then suddenly from behind him, there was a great growl and Snaga turned at the same instant that his hand was hewn from his arm. He yowled in pain and surprise, and sprang at his attacker, but he was caught off his guard and went careening out of the trap door.

Frodo didn’t know what had happened. He was bracing himself for a second strike of the orc’s whip, but instead he heard the most beautiful sound: his Sam. “Frodo! Mr. Frodo, my dear! It’s Sam, I’ve come!” And he was lifted, not harshly by tearing claws, but gently by caring and loving hands, hands that could coax life out of the tiniest of seeds, hands that have cared for him so often over the last several months and years, hands that were the essence of home and safety and friendship. He was lifted up and felt a strong, broad chest beneath his cheek, soft and enveloping, and beneath the dirt and sweat and the stench of black blood, he smelled the Shire and green grass and flowers blooming. He could have wept for the joy he felt if he were not so tired. Was this real?

“Am I still dreaming?” he muttered. “But the other dreams were horrible.”

“You’re not dreaming at all, Master,” said Sam. “It’s real. It’s me. I’ve come.”

“I can hardly believe it,” said Frodo, clutching him. “There was an orc with a whip, and then it turns into Sam!” And remembering again that long ago dream, come upon him like a beacon in the dark heart of the Old Forest, and again here, in the most unlikely of places, he asked, “Then I wasn’t dreaming after all when I heard that singing down below, and I tried to answer? Was it you?”

“It was indeed Mr. Frodo. I’d given up hope, almost. I couldn’t find you.”

“Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam,” said Frodo, and he lay back in Sam’s gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven away by some loved voice or hand. He had confirmed at last what he had long suspected to be true: his parents had indeed left him a protector, and that protector was his own Sam. And suddenly, if only for a little while, he did not feel so alone in the world.

The End.
 

GF 11/26/05 
 
  
* - The italicized parts are directly quoted from “The Tower of Cirith Ungol” from The Return of the King.