Chapter 38: Struggling On

Frodo looked at the lava cascading down Mount Doom and felt the malignant evil there clawing out to reach him. He clutched the Ring as though he could hide it in his fist and not be discovered, but the Eye saw into his very soul, he was sure of it. He was so exhausted in mind, body and spirit. He so wanted just to collapse, to sink into the ground, to surrender and not have to carry the burden that was grinding his soul into dust. And the greatest test was yet to come. How could he hope to pass it when he had failed so many other tests already? His head bowed again under the incredible weight and he struggled to take a breath in the ash-choked air.

The ash was everywhere. It caked their faces and clothes, every bit of exposed skin. It was in their hair, eyes, throat, nose and lungs. They had all coughed almost constantly in the beginning, but as Frodo’s strength continued to wan, he became too weak to even do that. His world had been reduced to the effort to take a single breath, then another, then another. He wasn’t aware of anything else but that and the wheel of fire growing steadily in his mind, countered by the other Light that held him. In the beginning, he had held his shirt up against his nose and mouth, but he had long lost the strength to keep it in place. Sam and Faramir watched him worriedly as the Ring-bearer stumbled along with the others, his breathing an unhealthy sounded wheeze.

A sudden hot wind blew more ash into their eyes and mouth and Frodo fell to his knees as a coughing fit took his breath away. Sam knelt at his side at once and rubbed his back to try to soothe the fit. The others stopped and attempted to regain their own breath.

“Take it easy, dear,” the gardener said. “Nice, slow, even breaths. There you go. That’s it. Nice and slow.”

When the spasm passed and Frodo could breathe again, taking shallow breaths that didn’t irritate his throat so much, he sagged against his guardian, too exhausted to do anything else. Sam brought his water skin to his brother’s mouth and Frodo drank greedily, desperate to soothe his cracked, bleeding lips and parched throat. Some of the water dripped down his chin, creating muddy streaks that dried instantly. He drank so fast he began choking again.

Sam stoppered the nearly empty skin, then rubbed Frodo’s back again until the Ring-bearer’s breathing settled back into the wheeze.

He tried to get up. “We....have...to...get....going,” he gasped. “Not...safe here.”

Sam held him down with no more effort than he would use for a child. “It’s even less safe any closer. No, you just rest here, dear. It’ll be dark soon.”

“It’s already dark,” Frodo said wearily. “So long since we’ve seen the sun. Is it even still there, I wonder?”

“It’s still there, dear, it’s still there.”

Frodo leaned back against his brother. Sam reached up and touched his friend’s curls. “You’ve got some fine tangles back here, me dear,” he said as he gently began to work his way through the filthy hair. “Looks that much like a rat’s nest it does.”

Frodo smiled faintly as he felt Sam’s fingers gently untangle his knots. “Want to make sure I’m presentable, my Sam?”

Sam’s heart lifted at that smile and fond teasing. “Well, you should look your best, being a gentlehobbit and all,” he returned half-in-kind, half-inbreed need to keep his master as well-groomed as possible. He had ignored that for too long a time.

Faramir and his men smiled.

Frodo laughed weakly and Sam’s heart soared to hear it, though it nearly set off another coughing spell. “You are a treasure, Sam,” Frodo said. “I feel more decent already. Thank you.”

Sam finished his ministrations as best he could and kissed his brother’s brow. “You are a greater one, my dear. Now you just keep leaning against your Sam and get yourself some rest.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo breathed. He closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep. Sam watched him for a long time, marveling at the light that continued to shine from him. He held him a little closer with both arms, then closed his own eyes.

The Rangers set a watch and then rested as best they could themselves. Faramir stared for a long time at the fiery mountain. All his life he had lived in its shadow and now he’d be getting closer than ever. But he wasn’t frightened. He needed only to look at the two small beings he and his men guarded. Their courage stood out like a beacon, nearly as bright as the light that enveloped the Ring-bearer and shone only a little less faintly in his guardian.

It made the man wonder if they were instead guarding him.