Chapter 35: He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother

Neither of them were aware of the creature who came out so soundlessly and reached its fingers toward the Ring. But it was not unobserved. A sword point nearly pricked its throat.

“I’d be careful what you do, if I were you,” Faramir said.

Smeagol looked back at the intruder.

“Get out of here before I run you through,” the captain said. “And believe me, I will. I’ve had enough of you.”

Smeagol bounded off.

Faramir stared at the two sleeping hobbits. He was surprised that they could even be sleeping, but was also moved by the sight. Sam woke then as Faramir sheathed his sword. The Ranger was dirty, sweaty and bleeding from a cut over his left eye, but a very welcome sight. Faramir looked at the three corpses in the room.

“You’ve been busy,” he commented dryly to Sam. “I saw four more in the hallway.”

Sam didn’t looked shame-faced or apologetic. He looked down at his sleeping brother for a moment, then up to Faramir again. “They made the mistake of not listening to me when I told them to stop hurting him.”

“Ah. We should get moving,” the captain said. “The orcs are not going to let us gain ground easily, even though they are for the moment, more interested in killing each other than us.”

“It happened that way last time, too.”

“I hope it continues, but we can’t count on it. And your master’s skulking friend was just here, trying to get at the Ring.”

“Figures,” Sam muttered. “I should have watched out more carefully.”

“My men will find him,” Faramir said, “or if they don’t, Sauron’s will.”

“We’ll see him again. The Ring has possessed him. He won’t let it go.”

Sam looked down at Frodo who was still sleeping. He shivered for a moment, thinking his last words could apply to his brother too. Not if I can help it, he told himself, then gathered Frodo tighter into his arms and then rose with him.

Faramir was impressed. “I could carry him if you’d like,” he offered.

“He’s not that heavy, Captain,” Sam assured.

The Ranger lifted an eyebrow. “I would think with all his cares he would be very heavy.”

Sam followed Faramir’s sympathetic gaze and looked at his beloved friend. “No, he isn’t. Do you see all the light inside him? Like he’s becoming more and more just that. Just as long as he don’t leave without taking me with. Or maybe he’s light because he’s my brother and I love him so much,” he finished softly. He looked at Frodo for a moment more, then back at Faramir who was moved by such an open profession of devotion. “Lead on, Captain. I’ll wake him if we need to fight, but until then, he needs his sleep.”

Faramir looked once more down at the Ring-bearer and the worthy one who carried him, then nodded and signaled to his remaining men. He gathered Sam and Frodo into the center of the group to afford them the greatest protection.

The attack came almost unexpectedly as Faramir and his men walked warily through the tower with two hobbits. The previously empty hallways suddenly swarmed with orcs and one of Faramir’s men was hit in the throat before the orcs rushed the rest of them.

Sam quickly put his still slumbering master in a corner and stood protectively in front of him, sword drawn. His dispatched his first three opponents with relative ease, but then the floor began to get slippery with blood from his conquests and those of the Rangers, and he slipped when he next orc came at him. He fell on his back and lost his grip on his sword. He watched his death coming in the form of a sword swinging quickly downward and could not move, just stared up at it, knowing the last thing he would be aware of was that he had failed his brother, the last thing he would see the face of a leering orc.