Chapter 18: The Lady’s Light

Frodo lay on his side, his back to Sam who was softly snoring. His cousins, Boromir and Gimli were ranged asleep around him. It was the day after Gandalf had been lost and Frodo knew he should be sleeping as well, but the Ring was never silent. He looked surreptitiously at Aragorn and Legolas who remained awake or seemingly so. Neither were looking in his direction. He fished out the Ring from under his clothing and looked it in the moonlight. He began to stroke it as he listened to its whispers drip poison into his mind and soul. He knew it was killing him, he knew he shouldn’t listen, but it was filling him again with itself and he felt there was so little of himself from before to fend off its attacks. His lips moved silently. Precious, precious. Mine. And now he was on the way to destroy again. He couldn’t do that. He knew he couldn’t. He wanted it to remain his.

His thoughts were interrupted as a hand reached over his shoulder and gently pulled his away from the Ring. Shame filled him as he instantly recognized the hand as Sam’s.

“You have to fight it, me dear,” he whispered.

Frodo’s back remained to his friend. “I know, but it’s already so hard.”

“That’s when you need to do it the most.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m not strong like you.”

“Then take some of mine.”

“No, you’ll need it when mine fails. And it will.”

Sam ached to hear the emptiness in his beloved master’s voice, the defeat. He turned Frodo slowly around so they were facing each other. He wrapped his fingers around his friend’s hand that still held the Ring and waited until Frodo looked up at him. His heart broke a little more to see the terrible pain and shame in those beautiful eyes.

“I know you don’t think you are winning the war against the Ring, me dear,” the gardener said quietly, “but you are already victorious, if you are willing to fight. Are you willing?”

Frodo took a couple deep breaths. Sam watched a tremendous battle of wills take place within his friend as the Ring-bearer renewed the fight to save his soul. He put the Ring back under his clothes. It burned him where it touched his skin and he drew in a pained hiss of breath. “Yes,” he said slowly with new determination. “I am willing.”

Sam smiled and kissed his head. “That’s my Frodo. Now get some sleep, dear. The morning will bring new light and new strength to you.”

“You are my light and strength, Sam,” Frodo said. “Even now. I don’t need to wait for the morning.”

He was able to fall asleep, safe in Sam’s arms, lulled by the sound of his guardian’s heartbeat.

* * *

It was with pleasant surprise that the Fellowship encountered Haldir in the woods. Aragorn stepped forward to hug him and the Elf returned the embrace gladly. Then he broke away and bowed to the Fellowship.

“I don’t pretend to understand why all of this has happened again and we are again meeting in this wood,” he said, “but I bid you welcome once more. The Lady awaits you all. It is my honor to escort you there.”

Frodo looked up hopefully, Boromir uneasily as they followed the Elf’s lead. The man was no more comfortable entering the Elven land than he was last time, but the Ring-bearer hoped for some relief from his grief and Ring’s incessant call. Legolas smiled when Gimli commented quietly about the welcome being much warmer this time.

And indeed, it was. Lady Galadriel shone brightly and warmly welcomed the Fellowship. Gimli stared in open adoration at her and she smiled at him, smiled at all of them, but her most loving smile fell on Frodo.

“You have endured much sorrow once more,” she addressed them all, “but here for a little while, lay aside your griefs and relieve yourselves of your burdens. They are too heavy to carry if carried all alone and for too long a time. Here find some rest.”

Frodo heard her voice also in his mind, as though she was speaking her words only to him. He did so want some relief. The way ahead was so far, so long, so hard. And he had so many doubts. But that night he slept peacefully and deeply from the moment he closed his eyes, the first time he had been able to since Rivendell. Sam, Merry and Pippin watched him for a long time, his light softly shining in the shelter they had been given. They all leaned down and brushed his brow with a kiss and murmured “Good night, sleep well,” and then curled up next to him to sleep deeply themselves.

* * *

“You still want it, don’t you?” Galadriel asked the next night. Her voice was at once of soft accusation and gentle understanding.

Frodo glanced at her, then turned away. “Yes,” he said, barely audibly, his voice full of shame, horror and self–loathing.

Galadriel took his chin in her fingers and gently drew his eyes back to her. She smiled. When she next spoke, none of the accusation remained, only an immense love and compassion. “Do not be astonished or troubled, Iorhael, at seeing that you are subject to fall into imperfections, even often. We cannot hope to live without them. It is impossible while we are in this life. It is enough that you do not love them and that they do not remain in your heart.”

Frodo looked at her. He wanted so badly to be consoled by her words. He desperately needed just to lose himself in the brightness that surrounded her, but he confined himself to nothing more than the yearn to do so. He looked away again. “I’m afraid they are remaining,” he confessed almost inaudibly.

Galadriel smile’s did not falter. “I know what it is to desire something even though it could and would destroy oneself. The wisdom of the Elves has been hard won, through fire and shadow.”

Frodo looked back up at her. “What’s going to happen this time?” he asked, searching her eyes for an answer. “Do you know?”

The lady stepped back and filled the bowl with water. “The mirror may tell you.”

Frodo looked at her a moment more. He hesitated, then gripped the edges of the bowl and bowed his head to stare into the water. Its surface was clear, then images began to swirl in it - Sam, Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, Boromir, Faramir, Smeagol. They were fighting a seemingly hopeless battle. Frodo watched in horror and tears as one by one they fell from an unseen foe. As they did, they looked up at him, sadness in each of their eyes. Frodo thought he saw silent accusation in Merry’s. Sam was the last to fall. As he did, he stretched out his hand to Frodo beseechingly. Frodo started to release his white-knuckled grip on the bowl to reach out to him, but Galadriel’s voice sounded sharply in his mind. Don’t touch the water! Frodo drew back and watched Sam fall and lay silent on the batttlefield.

“NO!” the Ring-bearer cried out and wrenched his gaze away. He raised his tear-stained face to stare up at Galadriel. “It was me, wasn’t it?” he said, desperate for her to deny it. “I killed them, I killed them all.” His head swam and he nearly fainted under the horror of it. He could barely breathe.

The lady gave him a piercing look.  “Their killer was unseen. Why do you think it was you?”

“They all looked up at me. Right at me. Like I was there. I was, wasn’t I?”

“It could happen that way,” the lady acknowledged gravely, “but they started out fighting for you. Whether they succeed or not, depends on you. The shadows that surround your heart do not merely reach there, but will encompass all Middle-earth if you do not prevent it. A new darkness will come with you as its slave and focus if you fail.”

“What must I do?” Frodo rasped. He looked up at her beseechingly. “It is so strong and I am so weak. I am so afraid.”

His agony stirred Galadriel. She knelt, touched his cheek and smiled again. “Remain Iorhael,” she said softly. “The darkness cannot own that which resists it. When it comes again, do not consent to it. And when you fail in that, resolve again to resume the battle. A lifelong battle it is, the same one we must all fight, but it will be hard won if hard fought. You can do this, Frodo of the Shire.”

Frodo looked at the love and light shining from her eyes and smile and touch. At last he let it enter him and clear away the gathering shadows, at least for a little while. His sleep was deep and untroubled for the rest of the night and he woke refreshed as he did the rest of the nights they spent in that hallowed wood.

He looked at Galadriel again when they were ready to leave. She raised her hand to him and smiled. He stared at her until they were out of sight, wrapping himself again in her light as a safeguard against his fears and doubts, strengthening himself with it as with armor, as he already carried Sam’s support and love like a shield before him. He clasped the phial she had given him. It was as though he was carrying part of her light, love and strength with him where ever he went, even into the dark places around his own heart and soul.

A/N: Galadriel’s advice about imperfections are actually words of wisdom from St. Francis de Sales. Sam’s words about being victorious by simply willing to fight are a paraphrase from the same.