Chapter 44: Love Remains

Ignoring the pain of his bruises and ringing ears, even the destruction of the chamber that began around them, Sam loosened his grip slightly to stroke his brother’s pale face. Tears flowed down his cheeks onto Frodo’s, muddying the area there but also cleaning the ash and dirt in small streaks.

“Wake up, dear,” Sam pleaded. “Wake up for your Sam. It’s all over now. You did it. The Ring is gone. But please don’t you be, too. You can’t leave me here all alone. You can’t go where I can’t follow you. Please, me Frodo, wake up. We have to get out of here and I’m not leaving without you.”

Sam began to cry anew when Frodo stirred and opened his eyes. There was no madness in them, but a great amount of torment. He looked into his guardian’s tear-stained face and suddenly memories came back to him and he was sure he would go mad from the horror of what he had done. But then he realized he had been mad and was now only very fragilely holding onto sanity. He began to sob uncontrollably. “Oh, Sam!” he cried. “How evil I have been! How you must hate me.”

Sam looked into his tortured eyes, saw directly into his lacerated soul and his heart broke anew. He held his beloved brother tighter in his arms. “No, dear, I don’t hate you,” he said softly.

“I want you to,” Frodo said just loud enough for Sam to hear.

“I would do anything for you, my dear,” he said. “But I can’t do that.”

Frodo looked back up at him, his tears nearly blinding him, nearly choking him. He could not bear to look into such sorrow for him and such love more than a moment. He tried to pull away, but Sam wouldn’t let him, then the gardener let go and took his brother’s bleeding hand in one of his own. He shrugged off his pack and reached with his other hand to the bandages he had packed inside. Tenderly, he wiped at the blood and gore as best he could, wrapped Frodo’s maimed hand tightly, kissed it, then looked into his beloved friend’s tormented eyes with such incredible love that Frodo began to cry even harder, so moved he was by such care when he least deserved it. But Sam, as always, knew that was when he needed it the most.

He couldn’t look into that love for long and at the same time couldn’t bear not to. He looked down at Sam’s own bleeding hands and somehow knew it wasn’t just from the blood of his own bound hand, but that he had hurt his dearest friend in more than one way. “Please, Sam, I’ve done such hateful things. You shouldn’t...I could have killed you!”

Sam placed bloody fingers against his brother’s lips. “Shhhh, dear, shhh,” he said quietly as he looked into Frodo’s eyes. “It wasn’t you. It was the Ring. You didn’t do anything hateful. You had hateful things done to you. But you are free of it now. We all are. It can’t hurt you anymore.”

Frodo looked at his beloved friend for a long time as Sam gazed back. He so wanted just to forget everything and believe Sam was right, believe only in that love that had never wavered. But....

“Where’s Smeagol?” he asked suddenly, fearfully, looking around desperately.

Sam did not want to answer. “The Ring can’t hurt him anymore either,” he said, hoping he knew in vain that Frodo would be satisfied with that answer.

More memories came back to him now and the Ring-bearer felt madness claw at him again, seeking purchase. “I remember fighting him, kicking him. I...I killed him, didn’t I?” he said, desperately seeking denial in his guardian’s sorrowful eyes. “Oh, Sam, I wanted to save him!”

Sam thought he would die from the anguish of seeing his beloved master engulfed by such pain, shame and guilt. To save them both, he gathered Frodo back into his arms and held him tight as Frodo sobbed anew and Sam joined him. He was nearly torn apart listening to such agony and he didn’t even want to imagine what it was to feel it. After a long moment, he helped Frodo stand.

Faramir came to see Frodo’s ravaged eyes and looked at Sam’s tear-stained face. He knew the Ring had been destroyed, but he wondered if it was any type of victory for either of the hobbits.

“He’s back, Captain,” Sam said softly as he held Frodo’s arm to steady him. “He’s been freed.”

Faramir didn’t say anything. Frodo looked like he could barely stand. He swayed on his feet and stared blankly straight ahead, into what hells Faramir didn’t even want to imagine. Frodo didn’t seem to be aware of anything, except possibly the one steady force in his life that had never wavered even when all else disintegrated around him. Faramir looked back at Sam, whose sorrowful, but still devoted, gaze remained fixed on his master.

“Come on, my dear,” Sam said gently. “We need to get to where the eagles will know where to find us.”

Frodo did not respond, but let himself be led away. Faramir followed. None of his men had survived, but they had died more meaningful deaths than they had previously. It was cold comfort, but in wartime, Faramir too well knew, sometimes that was the only comfort there was.