Chapter 76. I witness a curious battle of sorts

~ S.R. 1419, 14 March, afternoon to early evening ~

My Sam stands quivering, his fist clenched so tightly and for so long, now, I can almost feel an ache permeating the joints of his hand. The idea comes into my head that he is fighting a silent battle against the Thing he clutches so fiercely – desperately... tormentedly comes to mind, as if his thoughts are tormenting him... or perhaps his burden is torturing him... 

...tempting him? I do not know where the thought comes from; not from within, or so it feels, but somehow from Outside myself, hovering in the air around us.

...but my Sam is muttering, as if to himself. Samwise the Strong...

Despite the sense of caution I can feel that is filling me from an unknown Source, I cannot help nodding. My Sam is the strongest of my hobbits.

In the midst of this tense moment, I can sense someone – but more; I might even say Someone – I can sense, as through a veil, a Personage smiling at my love for my dearest hobbit, and then I seem to hear Someone or Something observe that Youngest is strong of wit and courage, while his Merry is strong in both intellect and understanding, and Master... for all the weakness of his body, his strength stems from his heart, in his kindness... his capacity for pity... the innate goodness that infuses his spirit and his very soul...

But my Sam! I argue, foolish as it might be to do so with a Being of such Power.

The reply, though soft as a whisper, sets my head ringing. This Gardener may dream of commanding the vale of Gorgoroth to become a garden of flowers and trees, bringing forth fruits sweet as wildberries and richer than the tended fruits of the finest gardens in the Shire, surpassing even the efforts of the Elves.

I look about but see only my Sam and myself. As I turn my eyes back to my hobbit, I hear him mutter, Hero of the Age. His tone, though low, is dark and ominous. He presses the fist that prisons the Dread Thing – or does it prison my Sam? a fearful thought, indeed – tight against his breast and draws his sword suddenly, startling me.

Yet I am able to stand firm as if anchored by that Other Who is here with us in this perilous moment. I have an odd feeling, as if a Voice – still and small, I might describe it, but infused with infinite power nevertheless – holds me in place. Steady, Great-Heart. For now is the moment of Decision, and the fate of all Middle-earth hangs in the balance.

But my Sam, I breathe.

The blade of the sword that my hobbit holds aloft shines with Otherworldly fire. His lips move, though no sound issues. Somehow I understand the words, though they do not sound like my Sam at all. Follow me! Follow me to victory!

We stand frozen in place, my Sam and me – and perhaps that Other, though I am not sure of the latter, for all I perceive is a Voice – more a sensation, really, as far beyond my Voices as They are beyond me. Such things are far beyond a pony's understanding, and so I am putting it badly. 

A long moment passes; time stretches, becoming eternity. Though I am not a creature that can hold its breath, unlike Hobbits, or Men or Elves for that matter, a breathless feeling grows in me as if I have stopped breathing altogether.

Then I see the shining blade waver; and then, quite slowly, even deliberately, my hobbit lowers the sword and sheathes it, hiding the blue glow away. Of a wonder, he chuckles, though the sound is low and somehow sorrowful. He looks down and addresses his clenched fist. 'Is that the best you can do, you accursed Ring? Well you forgot something, you did... Have you forgot my master already? After he bore you so long and so far? Have you not even the least inkling of gratitude for all he did for you?'

He ducks his head and shakes it with a snort, then raises his chin again, his face grim. 'Yet you left him out of all those visions you conjured to cheat and betray me – to entice me to betray him and all else that I love and cherish!'

The whiteness is leaving his knuckles, as if he no longer has to grasp the Dread burden with all his strength in order to resist its fell designs. 'One small garden of a free gardener is all my need and due, I warrant – certainly not a garden swollen to a realm. And my own hands are mine to use; but it seems to me that the hands of others are not mine to command, no matter what a cursed trinket might try to make me believe.'

The unseen Other's smile washes over me, dispelling the chill in my heart like a warm breeze that caresses the budding plants on an early day in Spring and coaxes them to bloom.

But your Sam, I hear as if in answer to my earlier protest. Your Sam, now – his strength lies in his stubbornness, his determination, and – most of all, in point of fact – in his loyalty and in his love.

I hardly hear the words, for I am listening to my Sam, who is thinking aloud as he often does when facing some thorny problem, or so I have noticed. '...all these notions are only a trick. He'd spot me and cow me, before I could so much as shout out.'

Though I do not know who He might be, my companion's tone is chilling, making a shiver run down my back. I shake my head at the dreadful notion he has voiced... but my hobbit has not yet finished thinking through the problem. I listen closely as he goes on. 'He'd spot me, pretty quick, if I put the Ring on now, in Mordor,' he mutters, and adds, 'Well, all I can say is: things look as hopeless as a frost in Spring. Just when being invisible would be really useful, I can't use the Ring! And if ever I get any further, it's going to be nothing but a drag and a burden every step. So what's to be done?'

And then, as if in answer to his own question, he shrugs his shoulders, shaking loose – or so it seems to me – his doubts, and the surrounding shadows, along with the notions and tricks of the Ring, I think he called it, that remains entrapped in his now-loose fist.

Slowly, he begins the descent. 

Slowly and cautiously, I follow after.

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Author's notes:

Some phrasing used in this chapter was drawn from 'Three Is Company' and 'The Tower of Cirith Ungol' in The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.

For the purposes of this story, when dreaming, Bill is connected to Sam (at least while Sam is the Ring-bearer) by the power of the Ring which is able to amplify the bearer's aims, values and affections in Its quest for control.

In one of his letters, if I am remembering right, the Professor suggests that Sam is the true hero of the story. This chapter came out of and reflects that idea.

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