Chapter 6 - Rohan

They are nearly a month on the road and, whether by luck and chance or some special skill of Sauron’s, they do not come across any other travelers along the way. Frodo and Sam ride mostly in the cart, looking out around at the lands through which they pass. Sometimes, they will sit in the coach and talk to their companions of their other adventures. Not all they hear is comforting, but the ease and joviality between the lad and Maia is reassuring, at least for Frodo. Sam constantly wonders if there are parts of the stories that are being left out, or if Sauron has somehow convinced Rick that things happened differently than they actually did. He waits for Sauron to slip up and reveal himself for the Deceiver but he never does.

They reach the Greenway on their third day out of the Shire and travel the ancient highway to the River Mitheithel. When they are within a half day’s ride of the river, the hobbits get undercover again, and Sauron smuggles them through Tharbad. The port town is slowly being reconstructed. Among the crumbled and broken ruins of old there are now two large buildings on either side of the ford for the King’s Messengers to live in and for travelers to sleep if they so wish. Small kitchen gardens grow alongside each building and there has even been set aside a small farm for chickens, a handful of pigs, sheep and goats, and a few milking cows. 

The roads are slower to be reconstructed, and the hobbits are jolted around in the back of the cart for the potholes and ditches are too many for Sauron to successfully steer around them all. They slow at the ford as one of the King’s Messengers ask Sauron and Rick about their performance for the halflings. He remembers the ‘bards’ from when they traveled north, and he is pleased to hear that all went well. The hobbits listen with interest but keep as still and quiet as they can. If they are discovered, it will force Sauron to reveal their mission. 

After the brief exchange, they are moving again, and the hobbits have to brace themselves to keep from colliding into the sides of the trap or banging their heads on the floor as they bounce over another deep rut and the rock-strewn riverbed. Once they cross the river, they continue at a steady but leisurely pace for many miles and there is little conversation between any of them. By the time the hobbits are released from the trap, the sun is setting, Tharbad is a small dot on the horizon behind them, and the hobbits fear they will be covered in bruises for the next several days.

They leave the road the next morning to follow it at a distance, choosing instead to travel through the smoother plains south of the road. The hobbits are very grateful for this, and they are even more grateful to be able to see where they are going. They make cushions of their sleeping rolls to sit on as they enjoy the cool winds of late winter. It rains softly at times, and they are thankful for their Lorien cloaks that keep them warm despite the weather.

They are now in the lands of Dunland, and Frodo and Sam look upon it with wonder and trepidation. They remember the many tales they had heard upon their return to the Shire of the Men who had decimated their homeland. They were Saruman’s men, some corrupted with orc blood and others simply corrupted, and many had haled from Dunland if not from Isengard. Whatever the hobbits expect to see – some desolate wasteland similar to Mordor that will explain the Men’s desire for greener fields – they do not see it. Lush green plains and fertile lands greet their eyes, and in the distance on their seventh day they spy a large herd of elk milling near a wide creek of clear water. 

“Why then did they come to the Shire?” asks Sam. “There’s naught wrong with their lands.”

“Dunland is beautiful, but it is haunted by a tragic past. The Long Winter that left Rohan nearly extinct was even harsher on Dunland, and the floods that followed in the spring devastated all the lands around the Greyflood, destroying Tharbad completely,” Sauron explains as he steers Brego around a patch of mole-burrowed earth. “Plagues and famine followed and those that survived fled this place for the southernmost part of the country, near the feet of the White Mountains from whence the Dunlanders originated. They fear to enter these lands again unless it be to travel through them, and even then they go as quickly as they can. They will not resettle here for the ghosts they fear still linger, and the lands they live in now are not as glorious as these fields they abandoned. Their attempts to take Rohan were many and futile. The Rohirrim were too fierce; defeat came at a heavy price and their victories were too few. The Shire, then, with its well-tilled earth and easy-mannered occupants, became a most beautiful and bountiful country to possess. Such is the nature of greed, and the power of Saruman to infect the Men with his words of gluttony. It may not make sense to you Sam, but to them it seemed perfectly logical that to have all you need is not nearly as good as having more than your want. As such, they felt they were entitled to the Shire, and if you can justify your actions, no matter what the logic, you can do anything without guilt.”

“Like Lotho,” Frodo says. “He wanted to improve things, or at least that’s how it started, with all those fancy mills.”

“He might have truly been able to do that,” Sauron adds, “had he placed his faith in his own people and not the Men of Saruman. His greed for respect and control consumed him and by the time he realized his error, it was too late. He could not have stopped the stone from rolling even if he had placed himself in its path.”

On the night of their nineteenth day from the Shire, they camp in the Gap of Rohan. To the north can be seen the stretching toes of the Misty Mountains and beyond the foothills jut the spires of Orthanc. The wasteland that once surrounded Isengard now fosters young trees from Fangorn, their roots already deep in the earth, and they grow stronger and taller every day. To the south are the fingers of the White Mountains and to the east are the plains of Rohan. The hobbits aren’t the only ones excited to see familiar land. 

Rick sits at the fire looking upon his homeland with eager eyes and a nostalgic smile. He and Sauron had passed through quickly on their way to the Shire and he fears they will do so again. Still, he asks, “Will we be going near the Eastemnet on the way to Minas Tirith?”

“We will round Westemnet to the south and use the small woods there as cover to cross the Entwash,” Sauron answers and Rick’s face deflates with a resigned sigh. Sauron reaches out a hand and squeezes the youth’s shoulder. “We will visit your family the next time we come through. Maybe they’ll even invite me inside this time.”

“So you really are from Rohan then?” Sam asks, his interest peaked. “Did you fight in any of the battles?”

Rick glides his hand along his scabbard, following the line of the sword’s sharp edge from long memory. He shakes his head. “Nay, I did not. I was still considered a child, a mere fourteen, and my mother would not permit it. She already had my father and older brother to worry about, and she needed me home to help her, my aunt and younger brother with the fields.”

“Did your father and brother survive the battles?” Frodo asks, empathy so clear on his face it is nearly palpable. 

“My brother fell at Helm’s Deep. This is his sword,” Rick answers, proud sorrow in his voice and in the sparkle of his eyes. “My father went on to fight valiantly at Pelennor and he avenged my brother’s death many times over. He lost his right leg in that battle and he spent many months in the Houses of Healing after the war. He saw the Ernil i Pheriannath there many times, coming to call on his friends, and one day he came to sing to the injured soldiers. My father said that his voice was so clear and high that he lifted the hearts of all the Men there and they were merrier than they had been for many days. They always looked forward to his visits. Now my mother, father and younger brother live with my aunt on her farm, and they help her to run her lands. My uncle fell many years ago in the earlier battles with the Uruks of Saruman, and my aunt was left with two younglings and another baby on the way. My mother and brother help with the fields, and my father watches the children.”

“You’ve never fought yourself then?” Sam asks again, wondering anew at the lad’s allegiance to Sauron. Sam has been fancying Rick to be a sweet if naïve boy, sheltered from the horrors of the War. He sees now this is not the case and he marvels that the lad had become such a steadfast friend with his once-enemy. 

“Not in the wars, but I’ve had all my training and I’m a good fighter. At least, I like to think I’m more a help than a hindrance to Sauron.”

“You are a great help,” Sauron assures, “and I don’t just mean about cooking breakfast.”

Rick laughs and elaborates for the hobbits. “He’s a terrible cook. You would think after living so many thousands of years he would have learned how to poach an egg.”

Sauron splutters at this, pretending to look wounded by the insult. “Like I’m supposed to know what a poach is. It sounds like something you’d find stuck to the bottom of your boot.”

The friends laugh and Frodo grins to see them at ease and enjoying each other’s company. Sam notes this but is not as alarmed by it as he would have been a couple of weeks earlier. He is still wary of the Maia but he has come to see during their travels what Frodo had seen immediately – this is not the same Sauron they had faced during the Quest. Whether that is for the better is yet to be seen though, as far as Sam is concerned, and he still sleeps with one arm curled protectively around his master, just in case.

Four days into Rohan they come to the woods that Sauron had spoken of. The trees stand tall on the horizon by mid-morning, an island of green surrounded by waves of tall golden grass, the River Snowbourne cutting through the land from the woods like a sparkling blue ribbon. They reach the woods at midday and escape the chill wind and rains for the sheltered forest floors. They camp early in a small glade near the trickling river, and Frodo discovers a surprise treat circling the bole of a knurled tree: mushrooms. Rick fells a couple of hares with his sling, and they dine on roasted coney glazed with sautéed mushrooms and herbs that Sauron finds in the woods. Sam cooks the meal and Rick entertains them with stories of his homeland as they eat.

Sauron begins Frodo’s nightly training early and encourages the Ring-bearer in his progress. From where Sam is sitting, always close at Frodo’s side, nothing has changed about the sessions except their lengths. Sauron and Frodo still sit tailor-fashion, facing each other from across the mesmerizing dance of the campfire’s flames. They close their eyes and time seems to stand still until either Sauron breaks the hold or Frodo gets tired of protecting his mind from Sauron’s assaults. The latter happens more often than the former. Frodo does not tire as easily as he did that first night, but he still cannot sustain his defense for long, or at least not long enough by Sauron’s troubled frown when they end their session for the night.

The following morning Sam wakes to find the moon setting in the west, lighting the woods under the canopy of leaves with its soft silver-blue light. To the east, the sky is already glowing pink with the rising of the sun, and overhead the storm clouds have cleared. 

He stands and stretches, then bends down to swiftly rearrange the blankets around Frodo so that his master does not miss his warmth. He walks around the perimeter of the camp to stretch his legs and work out the kinks in his shoulder. He had forgotten how hard a bed the earth can make, and he finds it no longer agrees with him. He misses his home and his friends, and his visits to Rosie Cotton. They would be married already if not for his master’s illness demanding so much of his time and attention. They may have even had a bairn already, yet Sam cannot regret this too much since it means he is free to follow his master on this quest. He only wonders if Rosie will be waiting for him still when they return.

He is pleasantly, and bewilderingly, surprised that Frodo has not had any bad turns since leaving the Shire. Indeed, his friend looks almost the portrait of perfect health, except for his lean form which will likely never regain the girth lost during the Quest and the subsequent illnesses that followed. Sam stares down at the small form of his master. Only Frodo’s face lies exposed to the elements and Sam can see his light again, glowing strong and bright from that peaceful and lovely visage. His light is strong this morning which means Frodo has had good dreams. Frodo doesn’t always remember his good dreams but they do leave him with a noticeable bounce to his step and an almost childlike joy in his voice.

‘Strange,’ thinks Sam, ‘that he forgets the good ones but remembers the bad ones.’

A branch breaks behind him, harsh and sharp in the silence, and Sam whirls around, instinctively placing himself in Frodo’s direct path. He is not surprised to see Sauron approaching with fresh firewood, as Rick still sleeps nearby and Sauron's bedroll lies empty: it is always the first place Sam looks when he wakes.

“Good morning, Sam,” Sauron greets, halting before the hobbit who blocks his path. “I trust you slept well. Is your shoulder hurting?”

Sam yanks his hand away from his shoulder, unaware that he is still rubbing at it. He turns without answering and leads Sauron to the fire pit, coming to stand in front of Frodo. Sauron kneels and deftly begins setting and starting a new fire. When the flames are strong enough, Sauron sits back and considers the gardener.

“I know you do not trust me, Sam,” he begins, his voice low so as not to disturb the slumbering forms around them. “Whatever you may think of me, know this: I will do everything in my power to prepare your master for what is to come. I know that you will do the same.”

“Aye I will, but there’s that word again – power,” Sam says, narrowing his eyes accusingly. “You told us you didn’t have any and then you reveal that you do. What other powers do you have? How do I know you ain’t brainwashing Mr. Frodo during your little sessions?”

“You don’t know, except that he acts no differently than he did before,” Sauron answers calmly, knowing it is fruitless to defend himself against Sam’s accusations as that will only make Sam more suspicious. He will have to gain some part of Sam’s trust, however, if he is to continue Frodo’s lessons and get the results he needs from them. “As I told you before, power is taken, a gift is given. And as a gift can be given, it can be taken back.”

“Only the Valar didn’t take it back as they should have, so far as I’m concerned,” Sam says, arms now crossed.

“They will take it away if I abuse it.”

“If?” Sam repeats, incredulous. 

“My ability to use my natural powers is of concern to you Sam, for they help me to train your master,” Sauron says.

“The training isn’t going so good is it?” Sam asks, just as Sauron hoped he would.

Sauron shakes his head. “I’m afraid it’s not. Don’t get me wrong. Frodo’s learned much already and he is strong, but he’s afraid of using that strength.”

“Last time he did he wound up claiming the Ring.”

“You wore the Ring yourself didn’t you Sam? I remember you.”

“Only for a couple of days, ‘til I could give it back to Mr. Frodo,” Sam shrugs the comment away even as a cold shiver runs up his spine. He has never been certain before if he had been spied by Sauron while wearing the Ring. He isn't sure now that he likes the answer.

“Still, to accept the burden of the Ring, for the first time, so close to Mordor when it was nearly at its strongest, to wear it all that time and then give it back so freely – you are strong also Sam.”

“It weren’t all that hard,” Sam says, shuffling uncomfortably. “It couldn’t offer me anything I wanted.”

“Indeed it couldn’t,” Sauron agrees. “What you wanted was your master back safely in your arms. The Ring would have prevented that if it could. You were wise to remove it when you did.”

Sam does not respond to this but watches the Maia warily. Where is this going? 

Sensing his hesitancy, Sauron continues, “Your master has an enormous task ahead of him, and I have very little time to prepare him for it. We will be in Minas Tirith in less than two weeks. A day after that, we will head for the East. We will reach Near Harad in another two weeks, and it will take another nine days to reach Khand. At the borders of that land, the Blue Wizards’ power is already strong, and we will still have some days to travel before reaching their fortress. If we are to succeed, Frodo cannot afford to keep being scared of his strength.”

“Are you saying Mr. Frodo can’t do this then?” Sam asks with concern. He isn’t about to let his friend continue on this fool’s mission if even Sauron admits there is nothing he can do. 

“I’m saying that he needs help,” Sauron answers. “You said you would do anything to protect your master.”

“I did, and I will,” Sam says, his suspicion returning full force. What does Sauron want of him?

“Tonight, when Frodo and I sit to our session, with your permission I will assault your mind and not his,” Sauron says. “It is the only way to get Frodo over his fears. He will fight harder for you than he will for himself. The assault will have to be quite frightening for you in order for it to work. If I rise Frodo’s ire enough he will use his abilities without even having to think about them, and then he will realize his full potential. He will not be afraid of them anymore.”

“Is that wise though? To have him realize his strength through anger?” Sam asks, his heart pounding at the mere thought of Sauron invading his mind. 

“Anger can be a powerful asset for someone like your master. He will not abuse it but let it carry him above his limitations,” Sauron answers. “Do you agree?”

“What will you make me see?” Sam asks.

“What you need to see,” Sauron answers. “Do you agree?”

Sam does not answer immediately. There is much to worry about in this plan, not the least being his master’s reaction to such a conspiracy. Yet Sam cannot deny that Frodo is floundering. He can see his master’s reluctance as easily as Rick and Sauron can. What’s more, he understands the reason behind that reluctance. Even if Frodo will not admit it, he has always blamed himself for claiming the Ring at the last moment. The Quest would have ended in certain disaster if not for Gollum. If Frodo uses that strength again, and it fails him at the last as it did before, he would be to blame again. Sam agrees that something must be done to help his master, but he is not so sure about allowing Sauron to take a stroll through his mind.

Sauron waits patiently, allowing Sam all the time he needs to think over the plan. Sam remains stuck in his thoughts until Frodo moves behind him. Sam looks over his shoulder and stares down at his beloved master and dearest of friends. Frodo is beginning to stir and will be fully awake in a few more minutes, and then his light, that beautiful and breathtaking light, will fade away until his next good dream. Sam smiles at his friend and new resolve sets in his shoulders. He turns back to Sauron and nods. “I’ll do it,” he says, “but it better work.”

Sauron nods, hoping sincerely that it will – for both the hobbits’ sakes.

To be continued…

GF 10/28/06