Sam paced up and down, over and over again. He was so agitated that he hardly knew how he was managing to place one foot in front of the other. Walls, walls all around him, dirty stinking walls closing in on him, trapping him, forcing thoughts out of his head, making him come to a decision.
The monster had slunk away. In a fit of rage, grief and a hatred he never even knew he possessed, Sam had slain the creature which had killed his beloved. His eyes crept back to the silent, sleeping figure on the floor, the deathly still figure of his love.
His love.
His master. He who Sam had sworn to serve and never to leave.
And never to lose. Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee, the wizard had said, long, long ago at Bag End on the night before he and Frodo had slunk away like thieves in the night.
Alabaster skin, always so pale, had now taken on an even whiter tinge. Frodo lay there, unmoving, as beautiful in death as he had been in life. Sam looked at him, blinded by grief, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again. His world had collapsed, he felt as good as dead himself for his reason for living had ceased to be.
Sam couldn't bring himself to use the word "dead". It was unthinkable. Frodo wasn't dead, he was just sleeping. As long as Sam kept telling himself that he'd manage to keep himself alive. Sure in the knowledge that his master would wake up soon, probably not knowing where he was, and Sam would be there, as always, to take care of him.
Despair flooded through Sam's veins, coursing through him with a vengeance which was terrible, almost wicked, in its intrusion into his consciousness. Sam swallowed heavily. His throat hurt but he wasn't aware of it. No physical pain could trouble him now, so intense was the pain in his heart.
Frodo.
Sam knelt beside the silent figure, his head shaking slowly from side to side in denial. Denial of what he saw, what he knew, what he feared to believe.
Frodo was dead.
Sam's head dropped and rested on Frodo's unmoving chest. Sam's body was wracked with sobs as he knelt there, tremors tore through him again and again until his grief exhausted him. Laying his head on Frodo's body, Sam drifted into a world which was not quite sleep yet not a state of wakefulness. He forgot where he was, who he was, forgot everything except the enormity of the distress which had been thrust upon him.
Arising from his state of unearthly nightmare, Sam lifted his head. Pain overwhelmed him once more as the suddenness of his situation rushed back into his consciousness.
At last, drawing upon a strength which had helped see him and his master thorough many previous difficulties, Sam managed to gather himself together. "Mopin' around here won't do no good", he said aloud. His voice was shaking but it was as good as he could manage in the circumstances. "Must get Mr. Frodo to safety. Don't want them nasty orcs messing with him".
Sam leaned forward and, with the kind of gentleness which is borne out of only the deepest love, he lifted Frodo's body in his arms.
Before he had a chance to take even a single step, Sam received a sharp and painful reminder of his reason for being where he was.
The Ring.
Secure on its silver chain around Frodo's neck, the thing slipped out from behind Frodo's shirt and lay, gleaming gold and seemingly innocuous, against Frodo's deathly pale skin.
Sam stared at it, transfixed. He ought to have remembered it sooner. He'd lost track of time -had lost track of everything - had no idea of how long he'd been there with Frodo's body or how long before that they'd entered the wretched place.
The One Ring.
Sam lowered Frodo's body gently to the ground. In his grief, he'd quite forgotten about the Ring. It had ceased to exist, nothing had existed except his master's dead body and his own misery.
Cradling Frodo's inert body on his lap, Sam found the clasp and undid the chain. Holding it in his hand, he eyed the Ring sullenly, blaming it for the death of his Master. One thing was for sure, his master wasn't going to be burdened by it for any longer.
Sam stuffed the Ring and chain into his pocket. He lifted Frodo up again but then hesitated. The Ring, the Ring ..... they were supposed to destroy it. They were supposed to travel to Orodruin and hurl it into the fiery depths in which it had been forged many, many years ago.
Sam closed his weary eyes, eyes which ached through lack of sleep, eyes which ached with the hurt of staring at a vision which had only existed in his worst nightmares - the dead body of his beloved friend and master. Fresh tears filled Sam's eyes as he rested there, half sitting, half kneeling, with Frodo's precious body cradled against him. Blinded by grief, Sam kissed his master's forehead, feeling not warm, vibrant skin but skin which had been touched by death's icy fingers.
At that moment, amidst the tumult and wretchedness of Sam's inner thoughts, one voice rang out loud and clear:
Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee. Don't you lose him.
At that moment Sam made up his mind. Gandalf -dear, beloved, kindly Gandalf, of whom Sam was slightly afraid - had made him promise never to leave Frodo on the night they'd set out on their long, tortuous journey and Sam saw no reason to take a detour from that path now. Nothing would separate him from Frodo now, dead or alive, of that he was certain.
Laying Frodo gently down on the ground, Sam stood up. He looked all around him, trying to focus in the blackened gloom. A trail of filth and slime -still glistening - led off along a corridor, a place where the spider monster had limped after Sam had dealt it its fatal blow. Sam wondered whether the thing was now dead or still laying in agony, unable to move.
Pushing aside such thoughts as no longer relevant to his situation, he drew Sting from its scabbard and turned around to follow the trail of slime. He used Frodo's light - the gift he had received from Galadriel - to light his way. Fresh vigour flowed through him as he powered on, deeper and deeper, further and further, until he came to an abrupt and very steep drop.
He could not make out what was down there, for even the Phial of Galadriel would not cast a light so far a distance, but instinct told Sam that the spider monster lurked down there somewhere. Perhaps the thing had fallen, too crazed with pain to prepare itself for the steep drop.
Sam held the Ring in his hand for a moment and stared at it. He knew of the Ring's power. He'd seen Frodo's desire to keep it near him at all times and knew of the effect it had had upon Bilbo and Gollum. Sam turned it over in his hand once and then allowed it to drop into the blackness of the chasm.
He turned on his heels immediately and made his way back to the chamber where his master lie. Frodo was still there, unmoving, undisturbed, and Sam lost no time in gathering him into his arms.
"Right, it's time we got ourselves out of here", said Sam, once again speaking aloud. The reassuring sound of his own voice served to fortify him as he slowly began the long task of retracing the steps they had followed on their way into to this accursed, wretched place.
It was a long, bitter and painful journey for Sam.
Burdened with the dead weight of his master's body, every step he took was borne of a desire to ensure that his beloved master came to no more harm in death than he had in life. Sam held Frodo's body in his arms as he trudged one weary step after another. Feeling his way in the dark, hoping he had guessed correctly and, in a moment of panic and desperation, even wishing that the despised Gollum was there to act as his guide, Sam picked his way down the long, never-ending stairs until he arrived at the place where he and Frodo had rested a while before continuing on their journey.
The place where Frodo had slept with his head in Sam's lap.
Grief stung at Sam as he took a moment's rest. Misery wrapped its tortuous arms around him as he sat there, once again cradling Frodo in his arms but this time cradling a dead Frodo instead of a living, breathing Frodo.
It hurt Sam more than anything had hurt him before.
He forced himself to think ahead, to make plans. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he had an idea of making his way back to Ithilien with Frodo and to find some nice little spot to finish off what he'd planned to do as soon as he'd realised that his very reason for living had ceased to be.
A distant but very ominous sound roused Sam into a state of tension. He strained his ears against the near-silence. Orcs. Sam knew that the sound, as yet, emanated from some way off - quite possibly from the chamber where he and Frodo had encountered the spider-monster - but he knew only too well how fast orcs could travel when they put their minds to it.
The thud-thud of their heavy-booted step was still some way off and, mercifully, was not growing louder. Sam held Frodo close against him, relieved beyond measure that he had not left him at their terrible mercy. He looked around for a hiding place, just in case the orcs decided to come this way. Sam was relieved he had left none of their belongings behind. He carried what was left of Frodo's pack, as well as his own, on his back and he was satisfied that they had left nothing whatsoever for the orcs. The orcs would never know they'd been there nor would they know of the place where Sam had disposed of the Ring.
The footsteps were receding, something at last for Sam to draw small comfort from. Satisfied that they had retreated, he stood up and made ready to resume his journey.
Sam didn't even consider food or drink as he trudged along. It was, perhaps, fortuitous that his mind did not think of such things. There was a reasonable amount of the food given to them by Faramir in the packs but of water there was perilously little.
Sooner than he had anticipated, Sam found himself at the dark crevice where they had rested and ate some food on their inward journey. For the first time in what seemed to be an eternity, Sam felt the wind on his face. He breathed deeply, relieved to be free at last from the dank, dark passageways which had robbed him of the love of his life.
Sam allowed himself a few moments rest as he sat there. Lowering Frodo's body gently to the ground, he unfastened the pack which contained most of the food. He took a few mouthfuls of his sparse water supply and then a slice of cold meat, some dried fruit and a small piece of lembas.
Darkness was falling rapidly and Sam knew that this was no place to linger, no matter how quiet it seemed for now. He re-fastened the packs and once again took Frodo's body into his arms. Tears pricked at his eyes but, with a supreme effort, he forced them back.
It was hard for Sam to fight off feelings of despair as he trudged his weary path. He knew that it was a long, long way back to Ithilien and that he'd need every ounce of his strength to make it there. But resourcefulness was one of Sam's greatest qualities and he'd make it somehow, of that he was sure.
Sam was in a state of extreme exhaustion when he reached the white bridge. He knew that even he, for all his physical strength and mental determination, would have to find some place to rest once he had safely crossed it. He drew his elven-cloak around him and pulled up his hood. The glaring tower had eyes on each of its evil faces and now would be no time to get caught.
Sam crossed the bridge and knew he could go no further. He hid himself and his master under an overhanging ledge and pulled both their cloaks over them. Clutching Frodo's body close against him, Sam quickly fell into a deep sleep.
It was dead of night when Sam heard the sound which very nearly caused his heart to stop.
"S...S...Saaaam".
Sam was immediately alert. It was with a mixture of disbelief, joy and incredulity that he gaped at Frodo's face.
"S...Sam".
There was no mistaking what he saw. Frodo's lips were moving, or at least trying to move. His eyelids were flickering too, as if he was trying to rouse himself from a sleep which had lasted a hundred years.
"Sam".
This time Frodo managed to form the word he needed to say, the first word which came to him as he began his slow return from the dead.
Sam, still cradling Frodo in his arms, looked at him with widening eyes. He laid his finger against Frodo's neck and, to his joy, found the faintest flutter of a pulse.
Frodo's lips were still trying to speak, still trying to form words which would not come. When he had spoken Sam's name it had been little more than a weak, ragged whisper. Sam rested his forehead against Frodo's and pulled him close. "Your Sam's here, Mr. Frodo. Your Sam's here. Everything's going to be alright, just you see".
A glimmer of a smile touched Frodo's parched lips.
Sam stroked Frodo's face with a gentle finger. His skin was not so cold now, nor quite so pale. "Mr. Frodo, can you open your eyes?" breathed Sam softly, his face only inches away from his master's. "Try and open your eyes, Mr. Frodo".
At last, Sam was rewarded.
Sam could not describe the feelings which leapt tall in his heart as he found himself gazing down into Frodo's drowsy eyes. The two of them gazed deeply into one another's souls; it was as though all the need and mutual dependence which had developed along their journey had deepened into feelings of such intense devotion that mere words were no longer necessary to describe them. Their love for each other was openly declared in those soft, velvety moments. Even the stars above twinkled brightly as if to express their approval.
Tears fell from Sam's eyes and onto Frodo's face as they lay there. Sam made no attempt to hide either his joy or his love, for he knew that it was no longer necessary. He entwined a finger in Frodo's dark curls with exquisite tenderness and then ran the same finger gently over the sweet miracle of Frodo's face, marvelling at the joy which filled his heart. He held in his arms everything which was precious to him, everything which he had ever cared for. His labours had brought him the greatest reward possible. Not only was Frodo alive but he also returned Sam's love.
Frodo, smiling, looked up at him with gentle eyes, eyes which expressed the joy he felt at being held in Sam's arms. Very slowly, Sam leaned forward and touched Frodo's lips with his own.
It was the softest, gentlest kiss imaginable. It was a kiss which, although soft as the touch of a butterfly's wing, expressed the immense depth of love which Frodo and Sam had never before dared to express. It was a kiss which contained a delicate promise of the love which was still to come.
A love which was as pure and sacred as time itself.
They remained thus, safe in the warm glow of their embrace. Sam took Frodo's cold hand in his and rubbed it gently. Frodo was still not fully recovered from his enforced slumber, Sam was quick to notice, and reviving him would be a top priority.
"My limbs feel so cold, Sam, so stiff", said Frodo. He held up his other hand which Sam quickly took between both of his. He rubbed Frodo's arms, legs and feet, desperate to give him back some feeling. Mercifully, Frodo was soon feeling much better and, although Sam would not yet let him stand, he was able to move and flex his arms and legs with relative ease.
Sam reached inside his pack for one of the few remaining water bottles. Frodo's lips were dry and parched, a state of affairs which Sam was anxious to remedy. He cradled Frodo with one arm and held the bottle to his lips with the other. Frodo managed to take a few mouthfuls of water and Sam urged him to take more - as much as he needed - being prepared to go without himself if necessary. Now was certainly not the time to remind Frodo of how short their water supply was.
Frodo took a few more mouthfuls and continued to lean against Sam. Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo protectively, feeling glad with every fibre of his being that he had not abandoned Frodo in the tower. His blood ran cold as he considered what might have happened to him had the orcs taken him prisoner and colder still as he imagined the terror Frodo would have experienced had he woken up in the midst of those vile and brutal aberrations of nature. It was best this way, Sam thought, and Frodo nestled closer to him.
"What happened to the Ring, Sam?"
Frodo lifted his head and looked inquisitively at Sam. It had not taken him long to realise the Ring's disappearance.
"I got rid of it", replied Sam simply. "We don't have to bother with it no more".
A wild look sprang up in Frodo's eyes but died away rapidly.
"Oh".
Frodo gazed at the darkened horizon and said nothing. A worried frown creased his brow.
"I threw it where no-one will ever find it", continued Sam. "That monster that hurt you, I stabbed it. I followed the trail it had left as it slunk away to die. I threw the Ring down where it had fallen, a chasm, like. No one'll ever find it. No one will ever go there".
Frodo looked troubled. "But it hasn't been destroyed, Sam. We were meant to destroy it. Mount Doom, that's where we were supposed to go, remember?"
Sam nodded. "But we aren't going there anymore", he said. "We can't go there now. We haven't got the Ring with us. The Ring has gone".
Frodo laid his hand gently upon Sam's. "Sam, I want you to tell me everything that happened in that tower. I need to know how I got here and what led up to it".
So Sam told him everything. How Frodo had turned his back on the spider monster and been stung in the neck by it, how the filthy monster had bound him in web spun as thick as rope, how Frodo had given every appearance of being dead. Then Sam told him how he'd remembered Gandalf's warning that he must never leave Frodo's side and how he'd decided that he had no choice but to relieve them both of the burden of the Ring. Finally Sam told Frodo of how he'd crept back through the dark tunnels and steep stairs until he'd eventually found his way out and across the white bridge to where they were now.
A plethora of feelings coursed through Frodo as he listened carefully to Sam. Deeply touched -although not surprised - by Sam's love and devotion, he still felt an ominous disquiet about the Ring. The realisation that he had failed as Ringbearer weighed heavily on him and the knowledge that the thing still existed and was laying virtually under Sauron's nose made him feel agitated and uneasy.
Sam sensed his disquiet; he knew Frodo took his duty seriously and that he would never have discarded the Ring had the choice been his.
"No-one knows we were there", he said, trying to calm Frodo's fears. "I made sure I left no trace of us behind".
He gestured towards the two packs.
"Oh dearest Sam, how you must have suffered", said Frodo. He took Sam's hand in his and holding it close to his face, kissed it several times.
"I don't care nothing about that", said Sam. "And I'm sorry about the Ring. It's just that ..... well, enough is enough, like, we've done the best we can with it. So we didn't get it to Mount Doom but who's to say we'd have got there anyway?"
Sam paused for a moment as tears filled his eyes. "I thought you was dead", he said, his voice wracked with taut, painful emotion. "And I didn't care about the Ring no more". Sam sobbed as he spoke. "All I wanted was to get you - your poor body - away so those wretched orcs couldn't get at you. I didn't want them hurting you, even though you was dead".
Sam's body shook with sobs. Frodo wrapped his arms around him and held him close. "Don't worry, Sam, I don't blame you", he said in a soft-reassuring voice. "It's done now, we've just got to make the best of it". Sam returned his embrace and the two of them held each other, invisible against the darkened terrain.
"But we've somehow got to get word of what has happened to the others", said Frodo, the burden of the Ring still very much evident upon his face. "Faramir will need to know. We've got to do something, Sam, we can't just sit back and do nothing. The Ring may have gone but it's still our responsibility".
Sam realised that Frodo spoke the truth. Both of them were deeply troubled as they held each other in the darkness and the matter of the Ring was still a burden they had to bear.
Back in Shelob's lair, Gollum was at work. He had witnessed the attack of Shelob upon Frodo and, unlike Sam, knew that Frodo was not dead but paralysed. He had seen Sam's display of grief and his subsequent indecision and had also seen him take the Ring from around Frodo's neck. Gollum had followed Sam, unseen by him, as he followed the trail left by Shelob after she had flung herself down into the pit of darkness in which she had been conceived. Maddened with pain and rage, she knew that her own death was only a matter of time.
Gollum's pale, lamp-like eyes had gleamed as he witnessed Sam casually throwing away the object which had been his sole desire for more than half a millennium. He'd scarcely been able to contain himself as he saw Sam retrace his steps back to the chamber where his lover slept. Gollum had witnessed the way they had looked at each other, the way they touched, on many occasions and had no doubt as to their true feelings. It had made him jealous for one brief moment but nothing could compare to the love and desire he felt for his Precious.
Once Sam's footsteps had died away Gollum lowered himself into the pit. He alone knew that there were many ropes by which an agile enough person could lower themselves into the pit. They were not, in fact, ropes, but web spun by Shelob over a period of many hundreds of years. Making careful use of the web-ropes, Gollum cunningly found his way to the bottom of the pit.
It didn't worry him in the least that it took him several days of groping in the stinking darkness to locate that which he desired. He was mad with delight when at last he found it, and he jumped up and down chanting "Sméagol's got the Precious, Sméagol's got the Precious" over and over again.
But, unbeknown to him, Shelob had not yet taken her last breath. Not quite. Had it not been for Gollum's groping around and his constant talking to himself she may have died in her sleep without another thought but she had been roused for one last time and she was angry. She saw the creature who had led many victims to her lair but did not recognise him. All she knew was that she resented his presence, his intrusion upon her quiet death-bed.
Gollum was holding the Ring close to his face as Shelob made out his dim presence in what was left of her eyes. He kissed it, he touched it, he licked it, he played with it. He slipped it on and off his finger, slipping in and out of invisibility.
It was when Gollum was holding it to his lips that Shelob attacked. With the very last breath of her body, she kicked out at Gollum with her powerful foreleg causing him to lurch forward and swallow the Ring in a single gulp. As he was choking and spluttering, Shelob's mighty foreleg crashed down from a great height and crushed him to death.
Gollum and Shelob both lay dead. The Ring was inside Gollum's stomach.
Frodo and Sam slept in each other's arms. Drowning in their love for one another, their joy at being able to sleep so closely entwined was immense. Sam was in a state of bliss as his arms encircled Frodo's precious warmth and he knew that from now on they'd always sleep together.
Some of their other dreams, however, were anything but comforting. Frodo was tormented with visions of Gandalf rising up out of the black pit of Moria. It was not the kindly Gandalf he knew and loved but a huge and terrifying figure who pointed his staff at him and accused him of allowing the whole of Middle-earth to fall into peril.
Sam's dreams were no less disturbing. He saw the Shire, blackened and ruined, over-run with orcs and uruk-hai, whipping and beating the terrified hobbit-folk into submission. Each and every one of his kinsmen turned accusing, angry eyes on Sam. It was clear, even in the swirling torment of his dream, that the Shire-folk held him responsible for their terrible fate.
Frodo and Sam had discussed their plans before falling into their uneasy sleep. They would try to make their way back to Ithilien, eking out their meagre food and water supplies in the hope that they would last until they found Faramir. They would tell Faramir what had happened and he would then no doubt call an emergency council meeting to discuss what could be done.
Beyond that, Frodo and Sam were unsure of their plans. They had no idea of what was taking place in the lands which lie between Ithilien and their home in the Shire. Frodo was reluctant to return to the Shire for the Nazgûl were well-acquainted with the names "Baggins" and "Shire" and it would only be a matter of time before they hunted him down again. The fact that he no longer had the Ring in his possession would make no difference; those terrifying black riders - slaves to the One Ring for as long as it existed - would not cease searching until they found it.
Frodo and Sam had talked about settling in Rivendell, but even if they were able to reach that beautiful haven of serenity in safety, for how long would they be able to remain there? For how long would anywhere be safe?
Sauron did not have the Ring but the Ring had not been destroyed.
As Frodo and Sam slept, Sauron's forces practiced their manoeuvres.
Site Info
We are the home of 1292 authors from among our 2553 members. There have been 2904 reviews written about our 3820 stories consisting of 10734 chapters and 29400445 words. A special welcome to our newest member, Lerina.Categories
Skin Change
Donate
Help us keep one of the oldest running LotR archives available to all. Even the smallest donation helps!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
The Library, elsewhere
Other projects
The Alternative Choices of Master Samwise by Amanda
Story notes: Feedback: Appreciated
