Chapter 19: A Trip on the River

Sam didn’t like getting into boats anymore than he did last time. He sat beside Frodo and Aragorn, just as anxious as any of them to get it all over with. He scanned the water worriedly for their unwelcome trailer-after and saw Frodo doing the same with a different set of emotions crossing those fair features. Then they began to move forward. Frodo looked over at his nervous friend, smiled faintly and squeezed his hand. Sam returned the smile and the clasp. He did not let go.

"It’ll be over soon, my Sam," Frodo murmured, looking out ahead of him. The younger hobbit worried about the layers of meaning in his master’s voice.

"And then we’ll be back home in our own beds and no water around us deeper than a bath tub," he returned, trying to lighten his dear friend’s spirits.

Frodo looked back at his friend and his smile widened just slightly. "You’d like that, wouldn’t you?"

"You would, too."

The elder hobbit looked away again to the open waters. "I don’t know. I think I like the Sea. Perhaps one day I shall like to travel over more of it."

There was longing in that beloved voice that made Sam nervous. He didn’t look forward to any more of this business on the water than possibly necessary, but of course, his master wasn’t going to go anywhere without him.

Aragorn heard the soft exchange, but did not comment on it. His heart ached for the two though, because unlike Sam, he knew what Frodo was referring to and he wondered if the Ring-bearer was trying to warn his dear friend about Arwen’s gift.

They traveled down the middle of the river to avoid the arrow shafts the orcs shot at them from the shore. Frodo heard some of them and shivered, trying to shrink away into the smallest possible target. Aragorn squeezed his hand. "It’s all right, tithen gwador, we are out of range."

The Ring-bearer looked up fearfully and lost himself for a moment in that kind gaze, trying to believe, but he continued to feel as he had nearly the whole time, that he was naked in front of the evil that constantly sought him to reveal himself, and it was only a matter of time before he was found. He looked away, returned his eyes to the sky that he searched constantly, expecting any moment to see a Nazgul on its fell beast to dive down at him. Aragorn and Sam watched him worriedly.

It was during one of the searches Frodo found that his fears were indeed justified. Two beasts screeched far above causing the hobbits in both boats to cry out in pain and cover their ears. Frodo looked up frozen in terror until Sam pulled him to the bottom of their boat and made sure they were both completely hidden under their Elven cloaks. The gardener reached for his master’s hands when he saw them reaching toward the Ring. He spoke words of reassurance and comfort but Frodo didn’t hear them. The call of the Ring was too loud in his ears and mind. He was barely aware of anything else. He closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate on Sam’s hands around his, grateful that his guardian was clutching them so tight he couldn’t let go. Over and over, he whispered, "A Elbereth Gilthoniel, o menel palan-diriel, le nallon si di-nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!" O Elbereth Starkindler, form heaven gazing far, to thee I cry now beneath the shadow of death! O look towards me, Everwhite!

Legolas loosed two arrows quickly, his sharp eyes finding just the place to take the beasts down. Terrible cries, even more piercing them before, issued from the dying creatures as they fell from the air. The hobbits cried out in pain. The boats rocked in the wake of the beasts, but they were far enough away not to be harmed.

The hobbits raised their heads tentatively when the pull of the Ring eased. Sam looked rather green from the tossing of the boats and was promptly sick over the side. Frodo’s gaze was frozen on the black cloak that floated near him on the other side, close enough to touch. He shrank from it and began to tremble in after-reaction, then belatedly became aware of Sam’s weakened condition. He crawled away from the cloak and over to his friend, supporting him from behind as the gardener retched. When nothing else came up, they sagged into each other’s arms and just held one another, Frodo crying softly as his lips moved in silent thanksgiving to Elbereth.

Aragorn rowed them away from the site, sending his own prayers of thanks for the aversion of the near-disaster, aching for his brother’s tears. He knew Frodo had found relief in Lothlorien, but they all saw that the burden beginning to bear down again on those slim shoulders, that shining soul. Elrod and the king had helped heal the Ring-bearer’s body and the Lady had helped his soul find some solace, but... Oh, please Eru, help him, Aragorn prayed. He had tried to give succor himself, had watched the other hobbits, Legolas, Gimli and Boromir all try to reach Frodo, and had seen Frodo’s gratitude at that, his light shine through a rare smile or even a laugh at one of Pippin’s antics. He had also wiped at his tears and seen the others wipe at theirs when Frodo wasn’t looking as they shared worried glances at how the burden was taking its toll on their friend. The king felt as helpless as the others having to watch such a gentle, noble being struggle on. But he also felt very proud and honored to know such a one, to see him bear such a weight without complaint, to endure the unbearable. He constantly searched, like all the others, for ways to lighten the impossible load, but knew he could do little by himself beside stand by his brother and hope that would be enough.

The king glanced at the two in the boat with him. Frodo and Sam had broken apart and the elder was looking at his anxious gardener as he normally did, with a soft, loving smile while Sam was staring forward, his hands nearly white as he clutched the sides of the boat.

"Well, one good thing has come out of this," he said.

Frodo looked bemused at his friend. "And what would that be, dear Sam?"

The gardener looked at his master and smiled. "No more logs with eyes."

Frodo laughed out loud and Sam’s heart nearly burst with happiness. Aragorn and the others smiled widely. The light from the two hobbits Aragorn could see even in the daylight and from Legolas’ gentle smile as he regarded the two, the king knew the Elf was looking at the same thing.

Frodo lifted one of Sam’s hands from his convulsive grip and took it in his. "I’m glad you’re with me, Sam."

* * *

The Fellowship continued its way down the river. Most of the time, Frodo held Sam’s hand, a help to them both as it calmed the younger’s fears and helped the elder fight off the urge to clasp the Ring. During the day, the Ring-bearer concentrated his focus either on Sam or his cousins in the next boat or the passing shoreline, anything to distract himself from the Ring’s constant blandishments. His lips moved silently in almost constant supplication to Elbereth.

Each night and each morning and many times throughout the following days, Aragorn sent his own prayers of thanksgiving to Iluvatar for sending Frodo strength and his pleas that it continue. He had seen Legolas’ lips often moving silently for the same. And Gimli’s was not unknown to do so as well. The other hobbits glances rarely left Frodo who was unaware with his eyes, though not his heart, how often he was watched.

The Ring-bearer’s eyes traveled frequently to the skies, but there no more attacks from there. They all come from within. It took all his strength to fight the Ring off, to not listen and he was exhausted by the end of the day from the mental struggle to keep himself from being swallowed whole. Sam or one of the others had to catch him as he’d stumble out of the boat and collapse to the ground. They made sure he had something to eat and drink and then he’d lay down and close his eyes and silently beg, sometimes in tears, for sleep. It had been so wonderful at Rivendell and Lothlorien. Why couldn’t they have all remained there? Why did he have to do this again? He knew it was going to destroy him. Such thoughts chased themselves around and around his head at night, when there were no distractions. At that time he lay exposed to the Ring and he feared himself to be already destroyed.

But then he’d feel a gentle hand wipe his tears away, Sam’s or his cousins’ or Aragorn’s or Legolas’. He would feel himself gathered into arms, usually Sam’s or Merry’s or Pippin’s, though sometimes the arms of his king would encircle him. He held on tightly, placing his head where he could hear the heartbeat of whoever was his guardian that night and listen to soft lullabies sung in Westron or Sindarin instead of the whispers of the Ring. It was during those times that he could push back his despair and feel as though he was someone other than a slave to the Ring. He’d feel the brush of a kiss to his brow just before sleep finally claimed him for a little while. Always too soon, though, he had to get up the next day and go through the entire ordeal again. He truly did not know where his strength came from to endure it all. He had no idea how he was going to make it when he had to trudge through those endless miles and still have to fight the Ring off.

A/N: Frodo’s prayer to Elbereth is from the master, though it wasn’t originally spoken by the Ring-bearer but by his devoted gardener-guardian angel.