The next morning the sun shone so brightly that Frodo had to squint after he left his home. But this is where he wanted to be: outside in the light before he entered such darkness as the Fire. He        turned as he heard Boromir come up beside him for their daily walk and saw him smile down upon him. Frodo tentatively returned it and took the man’s extended hand as they began.

“We will come to the Fire Mountain today?” Boromir asked.

Frodo’s hand tightened slightly around the man’s. “I must return there if I am ever to leave it. I must climb up again before I can climb down. The Powers gave me such a great gift in coming here to have the hope of healing. I do not wish to squander that. And when Sam comes, I do not wish to have him see me still broken. I thought I would die on the Mountain. I feel I truly did, bit by bit, and far less cleanly that I would have had I hit the Fire with the Ring clenched in my hand.”

“I am glad, little brother, that it did not come to that. You were not meant to die, but to live, and you are understanding now how to do that again, bit by bit.”

“Sometimes I feel I am. Other times I feel the punishment meted out to those who lusted after the Ring is given to me the worst for I had the most grievous fall. Death came quickly to you and to Gollum. It has not to me. I still wonder why Smeagol had to die in my place. I wish it had not need be. I wish he could have healed also. Why did he have to be punished for my fault and I receive this reward?”

“I will not presume to question the wisdom of the Powers or the One directing them in sending either of us here. But I know it is not a punishment. They value us far more than we value ourselves and amended your fall just as quickly as my own and Gollum’s. Their mercy brought us and Isildur to the same end: freedom from the torment of the Ring. I read more of your tale last night and how much Gollum helped and hindered you.”

“I owe him a great debt. All Middle-earth does. Sam and I were the ones celebrated in Gondor for throwing down Sauron. But it was really Smeagol that did it. He kept his word to the end, truer than I did. He kept the Ring from the Enemy, where my actions would have brought it straight to him at the end. We would not have made it even through the Marshes without him. Yet who remembers him now? After escaping from the Tower, we were aware that he was following us, or that Gollum was. Perhaps Smeagol was already gone, much as I was by the end after walking so many miles into the deepest darkness.

Boromir shook his head in wonder and smiled. “I still find it a wonder that you simply walked into Mordor.”

“I have walked there so many times in my memories and nightmares. I do not think I have stopped since we left Rivendell. I hope the journey will soon end.”

“Then let us finish it before tea-time.”

The Ring-bearer’s lips quivered in a ghost of a smile. He squeezed Boromir’s hand. “That sounds like something Sam would say. I am glad you are with me.”

Frodo sat down on the grass in a wide meadow and prepared with fearful confidence to enter the Sammath Naur once more. Boromir watched him fade from the present and return to the past that he had never truly left. Though the day was warm, it was not uncomfortably so. Certainly not enough to cause the sweat that the man began to see on his brother’s face and soak through the hobbit’s tunic.

Darkness surrounded Frodo, yet light behind him grew. The siren call of the Ring was all that he heard, drowning out the soft whisper that sought to find its way into his heart. The terrible crushing power of the Enemy’s treasure cowed him until the last remnants of his will and self were swept away under the onslaught and he stood naked before his adversary and his own lust. Boromir sat rooted in horror and shame as he heard from his little brother words that he had spoken and heard in his own heart. “I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!”

Frodo gasped for breath as he sought for the Ring on its chain. Yet even as he reached for it and closed his fingers around it, he felt calm rather than madness. The consuming fire within him burned down. The horrible sense of violation that had left him shattered into pieces so small he could not hope to gather them began to ease. He felt light enter the terrible darkness, so he could see the pieces amidst the ash and stoop down to reach them. The screams of the Ring silenced and instead he heard a soft voice guiding him to those which were more far flung. Carefully he gathered those closest to the edge so they would not fall into the Fire. Enough of himself had been claimed by that already. It was time to reclaim and restore them all. Boromir watched in wonder as his brother’s features relaxed as he clutched the gem the Queen had given him. A brighter light around the meadow mixed with the sunlight. The man bowed his head in the presence of the Lady who came.

“I do not choose,” Boromir heard Frodo whisper over and over. “I do not choose. I do not choose.” As Boromir listened, the Ring-bearer’s tone changed each time he repeated the words as Nienna guided him to truly hear and understand them. “I did not choose.”

Frodo’s breath exhaled as a great weight rose from him. He turned his back to the Fire and returned to the foot of the Mountain. He did not look back as he strode away. He opened his eyes and looked at Boromir with a smile. “I did not choose.”