Chapter 28: Fury of the Ring

Sam knocked his master over the moment another arrow bit into the creature’s side. The roar of the beast nearly deafened the gardener, but he didn’t have time to worry about that as he and Frodo tumbled down the stairs. The younger hobbit marveled that they hadn’t broken their necks last time and he fervently hoped they wouldn’t this time. He put his hand around his friend’s head to try to cushion it some against the blows of the fall. His fingers scrapped against the brittle stone and began to bleed, but that pain was nothing compared to seeing the hateful fury in his beloved Frodo’s eyes as they landed in a tangle at the bottom. The Ring screamed in rage and under its control, Frodo drew his sword as the Ring sought its revenge against the one that had thwarted its chance to return to its master.

Sam looked into his friend’s crazed eyes, felt the tip of Sting at his throat, Frodo’s hand hard against his shoulder. It was all so wrong. Especially Frodo’s eyes. There wasn’t anything left of him in them, but Sam knew there had to be somewhere. He just had to reach it.

“It’s me,” he said. “Your Sam.”

The Ring stared back at him. The sword it controlled moved a millimeter downward, barely pricking the skin, but enough for Sam to feel it, enough to make him afraid he had failed his master.

“You wouldn’t hurt your Sam, would you?” he asked, tears and fears beginning to choke his voice.

Something changed then. The madness slowly, so slowly faded from the Ring-bearer’s eyes and the pressure on Sam’s shoulder eased abruptly. Sting dropped from Frodo’s suddenly nerveless fingers as the full horror of what he had done, again, sank in. Sam got up and wiped at his throat. His fingers came away slightly bloody. Frodo looked at them and the thin line on blood on Sam’s throat and his eyes widened and then darkened with shame. “I hurt you,” he said, dazed with horror and looked away. “Oh, Sam, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You should leave me. I...”

Sam took the hand that had just held a sword at his throat, kissed it and held it to his heart. Frodo looked at his brother for a long moment, too moved to speak. Tears streamed down his cheeks unnoticed.

“I’m not leaving you, my dear,” Sam said. “I said last time there were things worth fighting for. You’re worth fighting for, my dear. The Ring will not have you. I won’t let it. I will fight for you against it.”

Frodo continued to stare at his guardian. When he could no longer bear to see the love that shone so brightly there, he looked away. “I don’t know if anyone can help me anymore, Sam,” he said sadly. “I can feel myself slipping away and I can’t seem to stop it. The path ahead of me is so dark, I can barely see it. I can see two lights ahead of me. You and...” He shook his head. “But I’m fading, Sam, fading so fast. I don’t see how I will last. I must though. I must. Until the end.”

Sam turned his beloved friend’s face back toward him and wiped at his tears. “You will last, dear, even if I have to carry you all the way from here to Mordor.”

Frodo looked at his friend, saw the love and trust there that never wavered and then at his hand that lay limply in Sam’s. He knew the only strength he still had came from Sam.

“I’ve seen and felt such horrible things, Sam, that I think I will go mad. I don’t want to take you there. Nothing can survive where we’re going but the evil that made it. I would go alone if I thought I had any hope, but I know you must come.” He looked up at his friend as fresh tears streamed down his face. “But I am taking you to your doom, dearest Sam. That crushes me even more than the Ring does.”

Sam stared into his beloved master’s eyes. “It is the Ring’s doom, not ours, dear. Even if it was, I would still be with you, to whatever end.”

Frodo smiled faintly, losing himself for a moment in Sam’s light and Sam in his. “To whatever end,” he repeated softly. He squeezed his guardian’s hand. “Thank you, Sam.”

The gardener pulled his master up, then picked up Sting and handed the blade to him. “Take it, me dear. You may still need it.”

Frodo looked at it with revulsion and fear, then up to his friend. “I’m afraid to, Sam. I don’t trust myself with it anymore. I shouldn’t have any weapon.”

The younger hobbit wrapped his master’s hand around Sting’s hilt and smiled. “You may not trust yourself, but I do.”