Chapter 5 - First Lesson

Sunset arrives as they approach Waymeet. The burlap that covers the trap blocks out all light but for a few thin beams near the hobbits’ feet. They had managed to fall asleep not long after starting off on their adventure, and now they wake to shadowy day. Frodo reaches into his pocket for his watch and rubs his eyes to stare at it blearily. Sam’s rumbling stomach tells the time as near first breakfast but from the sounds outside the covered trap they won’t be stopping soon for food. The market is noisy this time of day and the roads around Waymeet are always busy. Sam reaches for a sack and pulls out a couple of loaves of bread. He hands one to Frodo and bites into his own with a huff.

They eat their meal in silence, brushing off the crumbs when they are done. Frodo understands the need to stay hidden until they are over the Bounds and have passed the rangers at the Ford, but Sam is taunt with tension. He holds himself still so that he can better listen to everything being said between the young man and the Maia. It is difficult to hear much over the clomping of the horse’s hooves and the grinding of the cartwheels on the dirt, but he can hear other hobbits shouting good-mornings to the so-called minstrels. Rick calls back cheerfully. 

“Why are we going through Sarn Ford anyway?” Sam shouts through the cover once all has gone quiet again, the Waymeet marketplace now behind them. “Wouldn’t it be easier to go out the Buckland Gate? Then we’d have a direct line to Rivendell.”

“We’re not going to Rivendell, and we need to retrieve our weapons. The rangers took them when we passed through,” Rick explains. 

Weapons. Sam never thought he’d be carrying his blade again, and he knows for a fact that Frodo had never intended to set hand to Sting after the Quest. Yet here they are, their weapons stashed with their packs beside them. Sam wonders what sort of blade Sauron carries and how long it will be before he uses it against them, if that’s his plan. 

“How are we getting to Khand then?” Frodo asks, though he already suspects the answer.

“We will travel down the Old South Road through Dunland to the Gap of Rohan, and then travel east for many days to Minas Tirith,” Sauron answers. “We will stay there for a day to renew our supplies. The King will want to see you both again I’m sure.”

“It will be nice to see Strider again,” Frodo says. “Is he expecting us then?”

“He is,” Sauron affirms. “He knows of our mission, and he knows that we will seek your help.”

“What?” asks Rick, clearly as surprised by this news as the hobbits. “You never told me that. The King knows about this?”

“There wasn’t time to tell you before,” Sauron explains.

“Oh no, of course not. We’ve only been on the road for weeks,” Rick says, sounding wounded. “You can’t keep leaving me out of things.”

“I didn’t mean to not tell you, honest,” Sauron says, sounding eager to convince the boy of this. The hobbits listen with interest.

“You could have fooled me,” Rick goes on, not budging. There is a pause, and then, “You know, you might have at least mentioned this back at Bag End. It would have made things go much more smoothly.”

“They wouldn’t have believed me and it would have only made Sam more suspicious,” Sauron points out. “It’s not exactly like I have a letter from Elessar explaining all this.”

“Which would explain why we have to sneak past the Rangers. It still doesn’t explain why you failed to tell me earlier.” The hobbits can imagine Rick folding his arms stubbornly.

“I’m sorry,” Sauron says again. “I’m just new to this. I’m not used to sharing information.”

“Well, I’m hardly one your orc lieutenants who would just as soon stab you in the back as follow your orders,” Rick points out. “If you’re ever going to learn to live among Men, you have to start trusting people, especially your friends, and the only way to do that is to tell them things.” Frodo snickers into his hands. This is sounding more and more like an argument between Merry and Pippin, not a Rohirrim and a Maia.

Sauron sighs. “You’re right. I should have told you and not made up excuses. I’m sorry.” He sounds genuinely contrite, and if this is anything like an argument between a Took and a Brandybuck, Sauron will now be looking at Rick with pleading apology. 

There’s another pause, and finally Rick says, “It’s all right. Just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t. I promise,” Sauron says, sounding relieved.

Sam sighs and shifts uncomfortably. “Well, that’s reassuring,” he mutters sarcastically so only Frodo can hear. This exchange is not helping to bestow his trust in the Maia. If Sauron is willing to leave his traveling companion out of his plans, who is to say what he has been refraining from them.

Frodo takes Sam’s hand and presses it, then calls up to their companions, “Why didn’t Strider give you a note for the rangers?” he asks, wanting further explanation on this point. 

“Because the King is the only other one who knows about this and it must stay that way,” Sauron explains. There is silence for a long while and the hobbits can hear a pony approaching. A rider calls out good afternoon to the pair and they respond kindly. A few more minutes pass before Sauron continues. “This is a very sensitive mission and the less people who know about it the better. I wasn’t the only one who used spies in my service. Not everyone can be trusted.”

“He’s telling us that?” Sam whispers, incredulous. “At least we know he won’t try killing us before we reach Minas Tirith, if Strider’s expecting us.” He is not at all happy about Frodo’s decision to accompany Sauron into the Sunlands. Whatever has convinced his master to believe the Maia, Sam isn’t sure that Frodo is thinking entirely clearly. 

“Then why not at least give you a letter for us?” Frodo presses.

“There was no time to wait for one to be delivered,” Sauron answers. “I was not in Minas Tirith at the time.”

“Then how does Strider know?” Sam asks.

“I have other means of communication,” Sauron answers. “The Palantír, I’m sure you know what that is.”

“You still have a palantír?” Frodo asks, alarmed.

“No, but I know where they are all located,” Sauron explains. 

Sam huffs at this, his suspicion growing with each new revelation. Frodo knows he cannot convince Sam to trust Sauron. That will have to come with time and hopefully before they pass into the East. He presses Sam’s hand again, the only reassurance he can offer at the moment. Sam responds by scooting closer to him and wrapping him in a sturdy embrace. Frodo yawns instinctively and he is suddenly aware of just how tired he is.

“What happens after we leave Minas Tirith?” he asks through the burlap, struggling to awaken fully. Outside their cocoon, they can hear the horse’s hooves beating harder on the ground as the cart gains speed.

“Then we cross the Anduin and continue east,” is the answer. They can hear the coach seat creaking with each tiny bump and rut that the wheels encounter.

“Yes, but which way?” Frodo asks and now he is scared as thoughts of Mordor crowd into his head. Up to now, he has been able to ignore them, hoping their journey will perhaps take them nowhere near the Black Land. He sees now that this isn’t possible. They will be passing right alongside it, if not through it.

There is a pause as the cart sways suddenly, the hobbits can only assume to avoid a more pronounced dip in the road. “Our final travel plans will be decided when we reach Minas Tirith, but for now I think we will go south along the Ephel Duath, and then due east. We will follow the southern branch of the Ash Mountains to their end,” Sauron says, his voice purposefully calm. “Mordor is desolate, Frodo. You will meet no dark creatures while we travel past. They are all gone or perished, or hiding deep within the mountains. I have no more wish to see that land again than you do. We should reach the East with little adventure.”

Sam tightens his hold on Frodo, who is now trembling despite his trust in the Maia and young Man who lead them. Sam doesn’t say anything, but he finds it sickly ironic that Sauron should reassure Frodo of the safety of Mordor. Even if they do pass the Dark Land without conflict, Sauron is still leading them to their possible deaths. Perhaps that is his real plan – to take them to his old allies, who will do the deed for him and no one will be the wiser. 

“At least we won’t have to see that volcano again,” Sam mutters and soothes his master’s curls from his face. It is difficult to see in the dim rays of light that sneak their way into the cart, and all he can see of his master is his outline and the glint of light off his eyes. Frodo is looking at him intently, his body trembling still. “You could still change your mind,” Sam says. “Let them find someone else to help.”

“But I’m the only one,” Frodo replies, his voice as small as he feels.

He had been the only one once before and now he is helping the very being he had once sought to destroy. For the first time, he clearly sees the absurdity of this quest and he would have faltered if not for seeing the light of Sauron’s being. Frodo draws a deep breath and steadies himself. He releases Sam’s hand and Sam’s other arm instantly wraps around him, holding him closer still. Now Frodo can feel the trembling and doubt in Sam, unnoticed before in his own fear. He touches Sam’s face and kisses his brow.

“We can trust him, Sam,” he assures, speaking into Sam’s ear so he can be heard over the creak of the cart’s wheels. “I saw his light, just as you see mine. He’s changed. I went to Mordor to destroy the darkness there and it was destroyed. This can be done too.” His voice wavers on this last part despite himself, and he only just manages to keep his breath from hitching.

“I trust in you Mr. Frodo,” Sam replies, “or I wouldn’t let you go on this fool’s errand. He certainly isn’t what I thought he’d be, but I’m still keeping my eye on him. Both of ‘em.”

“Nor am I a fool, or at least not usually,” Frodo says, smiling now. “I know there is something he is not telling us. Perhaps he only wants to spare us the details of how truly hopeless this is. Yet a fool’s hope was enough to suffice us the last time. Maybe it will be enough again.”

“So I should start hoping then, is what you’re saying?” Sam says, smiling to see Frodo smile. Those have been far too rare of late and he nearly forgot how they can light up his master’s face. Anything that can make his master sound cheerful again is worth hoping in, as far as he is concerned. “Then I’ll hope for us both.”

“Samwise the Stout-hearted I named you once, and so you remain. Let me do the hoping this time, for I am the fool who is taking us on this quest,” Frodo says.

“You’re no more fool than I am for coming,” Sam says, a tease in his voice. He returns the kiss and pulls Frodo’s head to rest on his chest. They may have just awakened but Frodo has long been deprived of sleep. He is in desperate need of it. With the rocking of the cart and the steady beat of Sam’s heart, his master might be able to take some more sleep before they stop for a proper meal. 

They are both asleep within moments.

Frodo sleeps much over the next few days, muttering in his sleep but otherwise showing no signs of dreams. Even so, he wakes often with a jolt or a gasp as though he has been startled or has been struggling for air. Sauron fixes the healing draught every night when they make camp, and Sam keeps some in a water bottle during the days to give his master when he wakes. Sam watches the Maia vigilantly as he prepares the tea, hardly daring to blink for fear that Sauron will slip something into the brew that will do Frodo harm. Sam would also insist on tasting it before giving any to Frodo, except that Frodo will not allow this, saying it is unnecessary. 

They are three days from Bag End when they come to Sarn Ford. As they approach the river, Sam and Frodo are hid in canvas bags, and they do their best to look like sacks of potatoes when the rangers inspect the cart. Sauron’s and Rick’s weapons are restored to them and placed in the cart with the hobbits. Once they have crossed the ford and are out of sight of the rangers, Frodo and Sam are let out of their hiding place but are still made to lie under the burlap until they make camp that night.

They camp near a small stream in the open fields just south of Sarn Ford. The green sward runs for many miles in all directions, tall grass swaying in the night wind. In the far distance they can hear the Baranduin flowing swift and strong on its course to the Sea, far to the west. Sam and Rick cook, and they are all pleased to see Frodo looking much more clear-headed and alert. 

Frodo sits, sipping his medicinal tea as Sauron sharpens and polishes everyone’s swords and knives. Both hobbits are surprised to see that Sauron’s blade is Gondorian, identified by the gull-head hilt. His old blade, he explains, was lost along with everything else in Mordor. 

“Everything except you,” Frodo points out, “and your name. Why do you keep it? It is Quenyan for ‘the Abhorred’, but that is no longer what you are.”

“Not according to most,” Sauron says with a shrug. 

“What about your original name, when you served Aulë?” Frodo asks.

“I no longer remember it,” Sauron says, “and I would not wish to take it again, even if I did. I do not serve Aulë any longer, but Manwë.”

“You have other names that you took upon yourself,” Rick says. He has long wanted to ask these questions himself but always sense the topic to be off-limits. He is not about to pass up the opportunity to get some answers now. “Why don’t you use one of those?” 

“Because those were all created to deceive,” Sauron says. “Any other name I now give myself will not be seen as genuine. I am Sauron, until the people name me otherwise.”

“What about your name, Rick?” Sam asks the boy. “It seems a bit plain for a Rohirrim, begging your pardon.”

“My full name is Childeric Cottontree,” Rick explains, blushing slightly.

“Cottontree?” Frodo repeats. “Where did you get a title like that?”

“My family used to live near a small wood,” Rick explains. “In the summers when I was young, I used to go out to the wood and sleep in the boughs of the trees. I pretended to be an elf, for I had heard that they do such things. My brothers teased me mercilessly about it, saying I should haul my cot up there and live there if I enjoyed it so much. I said I’d do even better and build an entire Elven town, so they started calling me Cottontree and the name stuck. It annoyed me at first, but now I rather miss it. What about your names? How did hobbits come to have surnames?”

“I’m not sure, we’ve just always had them,” Frodo says with a shrug. “Most of them don’t mean anything, though sometimes they reflect the profession or trade of the family. Our first names don't usually mean anything either, at least for lads. Lasses are usually named for flowers and sometimes jewels or other such stones. Lads might also be named for spices or trees, or even birds.”

“King Elessar has given you Elven names: Iorhael and Perhael.” Rick says. “I heard that Gandalf gave you other names also. What are they again?”

Frodo shifts uncomfortably and Sam concentrates on stirring the fire. “He named me ‘Bronwe athan Harthad’, and Sam he named ‘Harthad Uluithiad’,” Frodo eventually answers, almost muttering the words in his embarrassment.

“What does that mean?” Rick asks.

“It means ‘Endurance Beyond Hope’ and ‘Hope Unquenchable’,” Sauron answers for them. “Very aptly given names, if I may say so.”

“Gandalf just went a bit soft in the head after the War ended,” Sam says, explaining away the high praise of those grand names. 

After dinner, Sauron sits across from Frodo and looks at the hobbit intently.

“We will reach Tharbad in three days,” says the Maia. “There are no rangers there, but there is a station for the King’s messengers. You will have to get under cover again as we approach the river and remain hidden until we are clear of the eyes that watch the lands around the station. For now, you and Sam may ride as you please.”

“Very well,” Frodo agrees. Sam listens with sharp ears and watches with sharper eyes while he and Rick clean the dishes and set up the camp. Sam puts Frodo’s bedroll next to his own, closest to the fire. 

“We should start our lessons,” Sauron continues. “You need to learn to control your gifts. Only then will you have hope of withstanding the Blue Wizards’ power. I will attempt to encroach your mind. Do not let me.”

“You’ll do what?” Sam says, standing up and coming to stand near his master. He is hot with fury, both at himself and Sauron, and even Frodo. He had known that Sauron was deceiving them. Once a deceiver, always a deceiver by his way of thinking and this comment just proves it to him irrefutably. “You said you lost all your powers. How can you do this then if that’s true?”

“This is not a power, but a gift of the Valar to my kind,” Sauron says calmly. He knows the gardener’s eyes have been on him the whole journey, and he is not surprised by this outburst.

“What’s the difference?” Sam says, his hands balling into fists as he positions himself between Sauron and Frodo. At the campfire, Rick watches, paused in his cleaning.

“A gift is given,” Sauron says. “Power is taken.”

“Don’t make no difference how you got it,” Sam says. 

“You’re right. It only matters how I use it,” Sauron concedes. “I will not do anything to harm your friend, nor anything that will cause him duress.” He turns to Frodo and looks him in the eyes. “Nor will I proceed if you wish to stop. It’s up to you.”

Frodo nods and reaches up to pull Sam to his side. He will want his friend close by for he knows not what will happen. He keeps a hold on Sam’s hand and nods again. “I’m ready,” he says, the uncertainty showing in his voice but not his eyes. In his eyes can be seen only determination, and a great deal of it. No wonder this little hobbit had succeeded where greater men had faltered.

“Remember, don’t let me in, no matter what,” Sauron says. He waits for Frodo to nod again, then closes his eyes and concentrates his energy on the Ring-bearer’s mind.

At first, Frodo feels or sees nothing. For so long he has been assailed by his nightmares and his memories that he expects the assault to be brutal and violent. He prepares himself for an epic battle of wills but what happens instead is far different. He feels a warmth spreading throughout him, calm and reassuring. He sees the Shire in his mind, as it was before the scouring. The party tree of old stands proud in the Party Field and Bagshot Row stands in place of New Row. Frodo looks around, hoping to see his friends, when suddenly the vision disappears. He shakes himself of the cloud that has settled over his sight and blinks up at Sauron in confusion.

“Don’t let me in, Frodo,” Sauron reminds.

“Right,” Frodo said, unsettled now that he realizes what has happened. Of course, the assault won’t be harsh. It will be soothing and subtle. It will be alluring at first, until it holds possession of him completely. Only then will the battle begin and it will already be half over. He shakes his head again, gathers a great breath and prepares himself anew. “I’m ready now.”

Sauron closes his eyes and a moment later the warm feeling is rushing through Frodo’s limbs again. He tenses himself and strives to push the feeling away, to thwart the intrusion in any way he can. He concentrates so hard he is shaking with the effort and still the warmth overtakes him. Now he sees the Brandywine River and the ferry. He sees his cousins fishing at the edge of the ferry landing. They’re laughing over some joke they have just shared or are remembering. As before, the vision fades in an instant and a cloud lingers over his eyes. He shakes it off and collapses into Sam’s supporting arm.

“You are trying to attack me,” Sauron says when Frodo is rested. “You cannot do this, you have not the strength yet. You can only protect yourself. Do not let me in.”

Frodo nods, his hand trembling uncontrollably in Sam’s sure grip.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Sam says. “We have plenty of time to practice.”

“No we don’t, Sam. I have to get this right,” Frodo says.

“Yes but not right now. You need to rest, me dear. You’re exhausting yourself and the more tired you are, the harder it will be,” Sam says.

“One more time?” Frodo offers and when Sam gives in, he turns back to Sauron. “You speak as though the only way I can stop you is to stop myself. I have to stop myself from letting you in. The battle isn’t about you at all. It’s about my own will.”

Sauron smiles, greatly impressed by this analysis. Rick too is impressed that Frodo is able to determine the secret so quickly. He has heard the Ring-bearer to be a clever one, but he until now he has not realized how true those stories are. 

“You are truly a unique hobbit, Frodo Baggins,” Sauron says. “I can see now why Gandalf always placed such faith in you. But be warned Frodo. It can be a far greater task to conquer yourself than it is to conquer others. We will try one more time and then we will rest.”

Sauron waits again until Frodo is ready and this time when the vision stops, after taking him to the Green Dragon for a night of merry reveling, there is no cloud over Frodo’s vision. Sauron nods encouragingly and stands to help the hobbits to their feet. “Very good, Frodo. That is a start. We will try again tomorrow. Now let’s get some sleep.”

“Shouldn’t we set a watch now that we’re out of the Shire?” Sam asks.

“Sauron will hear if anyone comes within a hundred yards of our campsite,” Rick assures. “We can sleep without fear of attack.”

Sam looks at Sauron cautiously, not at all reassured that he has nothing to fear.

To be continued…

GF 10/8/06