The wheels of the carriage turned slowly on the uneven ground and Rombard's white steed trod her path carefully. It was anything but comfortable for Frodo and Sam as they sat behind the Gondorian in the back of his open carriage, although they both had to admit that it made a pleasant change from walking. The tough, leathery nature of hobbits' feet rendered the wearing of shoes unnecessary but Frodo and Sam had undertaken considerably more than their fair share of walking in recent weeks and were only too glad of the opportunity rest their feet and ride instead.
"I'd love to soak in a nice hot bath, Sam", murmured Frodo as they rode along. The hobbits had discovered that as long as they talked quietly there was no risk of Rombard overhearing them. "Me too", added Sam, thinking longingly of gallons of hot soapy water lapping around his sore, tired body. "But it would be even better if we could have one together".
Frodo gazed at Sam adoringly. He knew that Sam longed for intimacy as much as he did. The thought of sharing a lovely hot bath with Sam was almost more than he could bear. He laid his head on Sam's shoulder, arousing in the other hobbit the intense protective feelings which were never far from the surface.
The two of them leaned against each other as the carriage jolted along. Rombard had made few attempts at conversation since they set out and the hobbits guessed that he was embarrassed about the way he had behaved at the Henneth Annűn council. They had learned a little more about him as their journey progressed. He'd started life as a mere stable hand before entering the Gondor Regiment as a lowly apprentice and the hobbits gained the impression that his family were immensely proud of his subsequent achievements. Frodo and Sam were beginning to realise that there was more to Rombard than met the eye and the struggles and prejudices he'd faced in his early life could be the reason for the rather aloof and arrogant exterior he now projected.
It was early afternoon before they stopped for a break. The sun blazed down upon them and both Sam and Frodo were grateful for the chance to escape its burning rays. They sat down, along with Rombard, under the shade of an ancient oak tree.
"How far are we from Minas Tirith?" asked Frodo, as Rombard offered food and water to both hobbits. "Our journey has some way to go yet", responded Rombard, breaking a piece of bread. "I trust it has not been too uncomfortable for you?" "It's been fine", replied Sam. Sam was not being entirely truthful in his answer but at the same time he had no desire to hurt Rombard's feelings.
The three of them ate in silence for a little while and the hobbits were surprised to see that Rombard showed no signs of tiredness. He went out of his way to be kind to them and they were beginning to look upon him with respect. After they had refreshed themselves they took up their places in the carriage and resumed their journey.
Sam wrapped his arm around Frodo as soon as Rombard's back was turned. He breathed in the scent of Frodo's hair, drowning in the memories of how it had felt to make love to him upon the soft green grass of Ithilien. He held Frodo close and thanked the heavens for granting him the joy of being able to express the love he had kept pent up for so very long.
Dusk was soon upon them. They had ridden for many weary miles and Sam and Frodo wondered how much further they would have to travel. Surely the White City couldn't be much further away?
Frodo felt strangely tense as they rode along. He clutched at Sam's hand and Sam was alarmed to see that Frodo's eyes had become wide and glassy. Sam held Frodo close as an unseen but eerily-detected fear spread its icy fingers over both of them.
Rombard pulled up his horse and cast his keen eyes swiftly to his left and then to his right. He peered into the darkening gloom, straining his eyes in the half-light. The Gondorian, like Frodo, had sensed the presence of someone - or something - and was climbing out of the carriage in order to take a look around.
A deafening blanket of silence had been thrown over them and was suffocating them with its heavy weight. Rombard gestured to the hobbits to get out of the carriage, which they did. Frodo and Sam crouched to the side of it and strained their eyes for signs of movement.
Frodo became more and more uneasy as they waited in the suspenseful, darkening silence. Sam noted with alarm that Frodo's breathing had quickened and he himself became more apprehensive as one tension-filled moment stretched unbearably into another.
Then came a sound which struck terror into the hearts of Sam and Frodo.
Thud, thud, thud.
Heavy hooves resounded upon sun-hardened ground. A black figure, mounted on a huge black horse, loomed in front of them.
It was a Ringwraith.
Rombard drew his sword and at the same time Sam shouted in horror. He wrapped his arms protectively around Frodo. "You won't get him, you monster". Sam spat out his words venomously and unsheathed his own sword. His normally calm and gentle features were distorted with hatred and he meant what he said. Sam would protect his mate at all costs. He was vaguely aware of Rombard shouting something but had no idea of what he was saying.
The Nazgűl drew his evil poisoned blade and advanced slowly towards Frodo.
Frodo was transfixed. His eyes had become glassy pools of emptiness as he stared helplessly at the Ringwraith's black presence. Terror gripped his heart and squeezed it mercilessly, choking the life from him, rendering him paralysed. Inky blackness wrapped itself all around him and an even blacker presence was gliding inexorably towards him.
The most horrific nightmare imaginable was once again upon him. Frodo was back at Weathertop.
Faramir and his men were making good progress. Their early start had paid dividends and the long strides and disciplined marching of the tall Men of Gondor had enabled them to eat up the miles which lay between Henneth Annűn and the pass of Cirith Ungol in double-quick time.
They became more and more wary as they approached the pass. Unlike Frodo, Sam and Gollum, these men would not be able to gain access to the pass under a cloak of stealth and invisibility. Each and every one of them, artfully disguised so as to resemble Sauron's own foot soldiers, was alert and vigilant. They knew that much depended upon the actions of the prisoner who had marched with them and that a single false word on his part could betray the true purpose of their mission.
Faramir pressed a knife into the prisoner's back as they approached the pass. Tensions ran high as an orc guard appeared. The hideous creature studied the company suspiciously before uttering a few questioning words in the harsh, guttural language of Mordor. The prisoner replied promptly. Although none of the Gondorians understood much of the Black Speech, the prisoner's words seemed to have done the trick as Faramir's company was allowed to proceed unhindered.
The prisoner, in fear of his life and desperately hoping for the much longed-for reward of being able to eventually return to his own land, had not let them down.
Faramir was uneasy as he and his men marched on. They had negotiated their first major hurdle with surprising ease but he was all too aware of the eyes of the orc guard following them. Had it been a little too easy for comfort? Only time would tell, but for now Faramir and his men were free to proceed along the stairs and passages of Cirith Ungol.
Frodo lay still. He stared upwards, although whether it was the sky or the ceiling of a room above him he knew not. Everything was swirling; even their air itself seemed to be rushing around and forming itself into whirling, dizzying shapes. Frodo didn't even know whether he was asleep or awake; conscious or unconscious; dead or alive. Everything he saw was shadowed or indistinct; there wasn't a single shape he recognised.
"Frodo".
A word. A sound. A piercing of his consciousness.
"Frodo, my love, it's your Sam here. Come back to me, my love, come back. I love you. I need you. I don't want to live without you".
Sam. Love.
Frodo stirred. Those two words - spoken by a voice he knew and adored - had touched him. Someone was there. Someone warm and comforting, someone who cared for him. Someone for whom Frodo cared in return. Someone he loved more than his own life.
"Sam?"
Frodo had managed to speak. Slowly, his eyes focussed on the face which hovered above him and the warm arms which gently held him.
There was no mistaking the relief on Sam's face as he watched his beloved leave behind the paralysing world of terror which had taken possession of him. Little by little, Frodo began to float back into reality.
"I'm here, my love", said Sam. Tears had filled his eyes. "You're safe. No-one's going to hurt you. Not while your Sam's here".
"Sam".
Frodo gazed into the eyes he loved and reached up. His arms felt leaden but he still managed to wrap them tightly around Sam's neck. "I love you so much, Sam", he said, squeezing Sam close against him. Sam returned his embrace, smothering Frodo with the kind of love which was so great that it had the power to change the course of a whole world.
Sam helped Frodo to sit up and the two hobbits clung together as life and relief surged through them. Closeness enveloped them in its loving warmth and brought with it the knowledge that they were together and they had each other.
"What happened, Sam?" asked Frodo warily. Alarm gripped him as he recalled what had happened. "There was a wraith. Where did it go". Sam grimaced. He took Frodo's hand in his and kissed it. Frodo looked at him questioningly, fearing the worst. Sam's eyes wandered sadly to an inert figure on the ground nearby.
Rombard. Frodo struggled up and ran over to the figure. His face immediately clouded over. "He's dead".
Frodo's voice was blank as he knelt at the side of the dead Gondorian's body. When Frodo had been attacked at Weathertop, the Nazgűl's blade had missed his heart and the healing power of the elves had saved his life. Rombard had not been so fortunate. This time the Ringwraith's weapon had found its target. The remnants of the crumbled Morgul-knife lay upon Rombard's chest. This man had followed Faramir's orders to the letter and had paid the ultimate price.
"He died protecting us", said Sam, choking back the tears as he spoke. "He was so brave. Told me to drag you out of the way then he went at the devil with his sword. But Captain Rombard's weapon made no impression on the wraith".
Sam and Frodo both knelt at the side of the dead Captain. They looked at him and then at each other. "How many more have to die, Sam?" asked Frodo, his voice reflecting the deep and bitter sadness in his heart. "How many more innocent lives will be claimed before this is over?" Sam looked at him despondently. Frodo was not expecting an answer, for he knew there was none.
"Rest in peace, Son of Gondor", said Frodo, touching his right fist to his forehead and then to Rombard's forehead, a ritual which Aragorn had once described to him. "You gave your life for us, which is more than we are worthy of. If we reach Minas Tirith safely, I will do everything in my power to ensure you are given the honours you deserve".
Sam and Frodo pulled Rombard's body under some bushes and then arranged it in a dignified form before laying his sword on his breast. They placed his shield behind his head. Finally, they covered him with his cloak, wishing they could provide him with a better funeral.
Despite their grief, Frodo and Sam knew they could not linger in the area. Sam told Frodo of how the Ringwraith had climbed back on to his black horse and rode off after stabbing Rombard. "I think the wraith realised you no longer had the Ring", said Sam. "After it killed Rombard it didn't seem concerned with us anymore". Frodo felt numb as Sam spoke. "What happened to Rombard's horse?" he asked. "She was frightened by the Nazgűl steed", answered Sam. "She broke free from the carriage and galloped off".
The carriage had overturned and its contents had spilled onto the ground. It was far too heavy for Frodo and Sam to move and there was little that could be done with it anyway. The hobbits took as much of the food and water as they could carry and did their best to camouflage the carriage with leaves and branches which had fallen from the trees.
Once again, Sam and Frodo found themselves travelling on foot. Their hearts were heavy as they set out along the path. An innocent man had lost his life protecting them and that weighed heavily upon both of them. Their bodies felt weary as they trudged along and the sights which greeted them did nothing to improve their frame of mind.
Dead bodies were dotted around here and there; either singly or in small mounds. As far as Sam and Frodo could tell, some of the bodies were Gondorians and some were unmistakeably servants of the Dark Lord.
Both hobbits knew they'd be lucky if they reached Minas Tirith safely. Every step they took brought them closer to danger, for all the signs were that the armies of the enemy were converging on the city and preparing for an assault.
All manner of alarming noises filled Frodo's and Sam's ears as they crept along. Cries, gradually becoming louder and louder, became more prevalent as they drew nearer to the White City. "Look, Sam, I think we are nearly upon Minas Tirith", said Frodo, pointing to what looked like the towers of a large castle way in the distance. "That is where we must go".
Sam nodded grimly. He didn't like the look of what he saw. He and Frodo were completely unprotected and that bothered him terribly. They crouched under some bushes and watched warily as a group of Sauron's garishly-clad soldiers marched by. They were a fearsome sight, even under cover of darkness, clearly visible in their tall helms and war paint made vivid under the glare of their torches, a sight which made Sam and Frodo's blood run cold.
They travelled a little further, stopping every time they heard anything suspicious. The undergrowth was thick and difficult to negotiate; both Frodo and Sam stumbled from time to time as they followed their laborious path.
On and on they walked, grateful for the cover of night's darkness which, in their elven cloaks, rendered them virtually invisible. They walked across a furrowed field, pocked with the hoof-marks of many horses, and then stumbled their way across a fast-running stream, hurting their feet on the many sharp stones which lay, unseen, beneath the dark, swiftly-flowing waters.
They were moving closer and closer to the towers of the White City. It looked ever nearer in their sight and that was something which brought them some comfort. Neither Frodo nor Sam allowed their thoughts to linger on what they might find once they arrived at the city; they busied themselves for the time being in simply taking one step at a time. Once they arrived at the gates of Minas Tirith their plan was to ask for an audience with Lord Denethor.
It was still dark when Sam and Frodo decided to rest awhile. Their legs would carry them no further and they slumped, exhausted, under some bushes. Holding each other close, the two hobbits snatched a few hours' rest before taking stock of their situation at break of day.
Dawn broke early over Minas Tirith. It cast its rosy glow over the White City, giving its walls a warm, pinkish tinge, a pretty colour which belied the horror of the situation outside. The terrible sounds of battle awakened Frodo and Sam from their slumber. Immediately alert, they clutched each other protectively, looking all around them for signs of disturbance. Although they were both unbelievably sore and weary, they were anxious to set out on the final leg of their journey, the journey which they hoped would take them to the gates of the White City.
But as soon as they peered through the branches of the bushes Sam and Frodo knew that things were not going to be that simple. The assault upon Minas Tirith had already begun and the hobbits found themselves very much in the thick of it.
Faramir and his men made their way up the same steep, treacherous stairs which Frodo and Sam, led by Gollum, had climbed not so long ago. Faramir marvelled at the resilience and stamina of the hobbits; these steps were not easy to negotiate and must have presented a stern challenge to the two small halflings.
The company rested awhile when they reached a suitable platform. They had marched long and hard that day and Faramir was not insensitive to the needs of his men, hardy though they were. With two of the men keeping watch, the remainder of the company settled down to sleep.
They were on their way again a few hours later and the long and weary climb of the stairs continued. Faramir led the way with Mablung and Damrod taking charge of the prisoner, who by now was offering no resistance whatsoever.
It took several hours before Faramir's company neared the chamber where Sam and Frodo had encountered Shelob. They approached the area in silence and with extreme caution for it had become apparent that they were not alone.
Heavy footfalls echoed through the passages as Faramir and his men trod their silent step. There was a good deal of thudding and banging and the sounds were growing louder. When Faramir and his men reached the chamber, the sight which greeted them filled them with horror and dismay.
Pressed against the walls of the corridor lest their presence be detected, Faramir and his company witnessed many orcs milling around the chamber. A large group of them were standing in a corner and conversing in the Black Speech. Faramir, his face taut and grey, looked at the prisoner questioningly, making it clear he expected a translation. The prisoner looked back at him blankly.
A further brigade of orcs emerged from a tunnel leading off from the far side of the chamber. Their eyes were evil and gleaming. Faramir's heart lurched as he watched them for this was the passage which Sam had advised would lead to the chamber where the giant spider had fallen and into which the hobbit had thrown the Ring.
The orcs streamed past, their boots thudding so heavily that the ground shook. One by one they ran past until the last of them emerged from the passage. He threw something to the ground as he followed his companions.
Faramir turned round and looked at Anborn. The other man's face, creased with fear and worry, reflected Faramir's own thoughts and, indeed, the thoughts of all the men present. There was only one conclusion to draw.
The orcs had found the Ring. They were taking it to Sauron.
Frodo and Sam embraced as the battle raged all around them. A sense of fatality had overtaken them in recent moments; they knew that their lives could end at any minute and neither of them wished to depart this life without declaring their love one last time.
We'll need a miracle if we're to get out of this alive, thought Sam glumly. He held Frodo in his arms and tears fell from his eyes. After all they'd been through, all they'd faced together their lives were about to end. At least we'll be together when we die, thought Frodo, holding Sam tightly. United in life, united in .....
Something nudged them, nearly pushing them over. Frodo and Sam fell apart, startled, and found themselves looking at Rombard's beautiful white horse. "She must have followed us", said Sam. He stroked the mare's soft muzzle.
Frodo watched as Sam petted the horse. "You always had a way with animals, Sam", he said, smiling fondly. "And I can't help but wonder if this horse represents our best chance of getting out of here". Sam nodded. Precisely the same thought had crossed his mind. He continued stroking the horse; she seemed pleased enough to see Sam again but the problem was her size. Both Sam and Frodo were capable of riding ponies but this animal was huge in comparison.
Frodo looked around him for something to climb onto. He pointed to a large tree stump nearby. "Look, Sam, perhaps if we climb up there we'll be able to mount the horse". Sam led the horse over to the stump and handed the reins to Frodo. "I'll climb up first and then you climb up behind me. Then we'll have to hope we can manage to ride her".
Mounted upon the large horse, with Frodo behind him and holding on to him tightly, Sam urged the animal forward. The hobbits felt as though they were sitting atop a huge lolloping barrel as the horse began to walk. Sam urged the creature to pick up her pace and she broke into a trot.
There were a considerable number of horses and riders converging on the area and many of them were galloping at breathtaking speed. Sam and Frodo clung on for dear life as the mare broke into a canter and then into a much faster gallop. The air rushed past them at dizzying speed and the surroundings became a blur.
With considerable effort Sam managed to rein in the horse as they neared the city gates. His heart was pounding wildly as the horse slowed but the only thing which mattered to him was that Frodo was still clinging to him. Arrows were flying all around them. Men who were only a few yards away from the hobbits fell dead as arrows pierced them.
Frodo and Sam half slid and half fell from the horse but before they had a chance to take stock of their situation they came upon a sight which rendered them wide-eyed with amazement. "Look", shouted Frodo, his voice hoarse with excitement. He grabbed Sam's arm and pointed. "It's Merry!"
Faramir and his men watched forlornly as the orcs filed out of the chamber. Despair flooded into their hearts yet they knew that far too much depended upon them for them to give up their quest, even though the situation seemed hopeless.
"We must follow the orcs", said Faramir quickly, once Sauron's creatures were out of earshot. "We are hopelessly outnumbered but we must make an attempt to seize the Ring". He looked at his men, wishing he did not have to order them to undertake so vile a task. "We have our wits, gentlemen, and we have our intelligence. We may have to resort to subterfuge to get what we want. But we cannot give up. Follow me".
Faramir turned and made ready to lead his men after the orcs but as he did so he stumbled upon something. He looked down and saw that it was the object which the last of the orcs had thrown down before leaving the chamber.
Faramir's eyes widened as he peered downwards. "It is the creature which accompanied the hobbits on their last visit", declared Anborn, staring at the thing. "The creature known as Gollum. Dead, by the look of it". "Indeed it is", said Faramir, frowning. He leaned forward, studying Gollum's stinking, decomposing remains in the poor light. He looked thoughtful. "With respect, my Lord, I feel we should make haste to follow the orcs", suggested Anborn. "The speed at which they can travel is not to be underestimated and ....."
"Wait". Faramir raised his hand. He continued studying Gollum's remains. The conversation he had had with Frodo about this creature was very much in his thoughts. He noted Gollum's staring eyes and, in particular, his wide open mouth. The crushed skull led Faramir to believe that Gollum had been savagely attacked.
"Cut the creature open", he commanded. Damrod stepped forward and drew his sword. He slit open Gollum's body from throat to abdomen and pulled the flaps of skin and flesh apart. A foul stench filled the chamber, causing many of the men to wretch.
Faramir covered his nose and mouth with a cloth and even though he examined the insides of the dissected body closely he saw nothing. But drawing upon a sudden moment of inspiration, he took Frodo's gift - the Phial of Galadriel - from his pocket and held it over the body. Something immediately caught his eye. Something which glittered evilly, even though it was covered in foul-smelling gastric juices. Something which would never be overlooked or ignored.
Faramir plucked it from Gollum's entrails and as he held it up there was a collective sharp intake of breath, for all the men knew beyond doubt what it was.
It was the One Ring.
Frodo and Sam surged forward; they had seen Merry and wanted to be near him. Something quite remarkable had just happened for on the floor in front of him lay what looked like the crumpled black cloak of a Ringwraith. A tall, beautiful lady with long golden hair lay on the ground nearby. She was clutching her arm.
"Merry!" yelled Frodo, rushing forward to embrace his cousin. Meriadoc Brandybuck looked up and a huge smile spread across his face before he lost consciousness.
Sam and Frodo gathered up Merry's unconscious form and carried him towards the city gates. Pandemonium reigned everywhere; all around them lay dead and wounded people, some of whom were being dragged to safety and some of whom, through necessity, were left to their fate. Frodo and Sam, along with many others who were bearing the bodies of the injured, found themselves ushered inside the city gates.
Much later, after he had been assured that his cousin would to make a full recovery from his injuries, Frodo, leaving Sam in the healing rooms with Merry, sought an audience with Faramir's father.
Lord Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, was a strange-looking man who bore no resemblance to either of his sons. He regarded Frodo with curiosity as he received him and Frodo detected little or no warmth in the man's welcome. Denethor's unwillingness to look him in the eye bothered Frodo.
"Greetings, Lord Denethor, I come with news of your son", said Frodo, bowing his head in acknowledgement of the position which Denethor held. "My son?" responded the Steward, a wild look flaring in his eyes. "This cannot be. My son is dead". "It is the Lord Faramir of whom I speak", continued Frodo calmly. "And he is very much alive, I assure you".
This caught Denethor's attention. He fidgeted nervously as Frodo delivered his tale and glanced several times at a small plinth which stood to his left. Frodo, in accordance with Faramir's wishes, told Denethor the story of the Ring from beginning to end. Wishing to spare Denethor unnecessary pain, he gave as little detail as possible about how Boromir had lost his life.
Denethor stared straight ahead once Frodo had finished speaking. He breathed heavily and seemed agitated and worried. "So perhaps what I have heard ..... what I have seen .....", he began, staring at Frodo wildly. "I understand you not, Sir", responded Frodo. He frowned as he tried to make sense of the old man's strange words. "What you have seen where?" "No matter", said Denethor, breathing heavily. He shook his head from side to side and once again looked at the plinth. "My son ..... my younger son", said Denethor, silently musing to himself. "Going to Mordor. This cannot be; I have not seen this".
Frodo looked at the old man with sympathy. He presumed that the death of one son coupled with the imminent danger faced by the other must have addled the Steward's brain. "Sir, perhaps you should rest awhile", suggested Frodo. He stepped forward and offered the Steward his hand. "No, no", moaned Denethor, shaking his head. "I must think carefully. What you tell me is something I have not seen, yet my heart tells me it is true. I must know if you speak the truth". "Why, of course I speak the truth, Sir", said Frodo kindly, not taking offence at the old man's question. "Why do you doubt it?" Denethor's watery eyes looked around the room wildly before once again coming to rest on the plinth. He looked blankly at Frodo but did not answer his question.
Frodo saw no point in continuing the interview. Denethor appeared lost in his own world and did not even notice when Frodo left the room. Once the hobbit had gone the Steward gave his full attention to the object which lay on the plinth. His eyes blazed as he grasped the edges of the cloth which covered it.
Frodo was puzzled as he made his way back to the healing rooms. The behaviour of the Steward of Gondor mystified him and he could not quite believe that it was all down to concern over Faramir's safety. Frodo made up his mind to pay Denethor another visit shortly but for the time being there was every reason for him to be overjoyed.
Not only was Merry now sitting up in bed and talking animatedly to Sam but sitting by the side of him was Frodo's other cousin Pippin. Frodo ran across and hugged both of them, grateful beyond belief that they were alive. All at once he and Sam were bombarded with an incredible story about escaping from the orcs and being carried along by walking, talking trees.
"It was incredible", said Merry, his eyes wide. "Treebeard carried us all the way to this place called an Entmoot ....." "And you should see Gandalf now", cut in Pippin. "He's ....." "Did you say Gandalf?" asked Frodo. He and Sam looked at each other in disbelief. "Gandalf's alive?"
"Indeed I am". A familiar voice boomed behind them. Resplended in heavy white robes and pointy hat stood the old wizard.
"Gandalf!" The wizard stooped to embrace both Frodo and Sam. He laid a kind and gentle hand upon both their heads and looked at them with twinkling grey eyes. "My dear, dear hobbits, it gives me immeasurable joy to see you both alive", he said warmly. "I had feared the worst after hearing of how the two of you set off alone. There must be a very long tale to tell, I am sure". Frodo nodded gravely. "There is indeed much to tell, Gandalf", he confirmed. "And it is to be hoped that all is not lost".
Gandalf drew himself up to his full height. Not only were Sam and Frodo overjoyed to see him alive but his very presence seemed to fill them with an optimism they had not felt for many a day. But Gandalf's face was grave as he spoke. "There is much work to be done", he said, a myriad of worries flickering across his aged visage. "A battle rages all around us and I am about to rejoin it. Frodo, please walk with me and tell me of your adventures".
Frodo glanced backwards at Sam as he and Gandalf headed out of the room. The two of them longed to be together but they knew that, for the time being at least, they would have to put their own needs to one side and concentrate upon helping others.
Frodo's articulate speech enabled him to bring Gandalf up to date with events quickly. The wizard frowned as he learned of Faramir's involvement. "Let us hope he can do what his brother could not", he remarked grimly. Gandalf took a deep breath. "Frodo, there is no time for me to linger here for I have work to do on the battlefield and I must leave you now. But I cannot leave without saying once again how overjoyed I am to see you alive". He glanced towards Frodo's chest. "The wound inflicted by the Morgul-knife, Frodo, does it trouble you?" "It's nothing I can't handle", Frodo assured him. "There are people here who have far more serious injuries". He hesitated a moment. "And Sam is helping me to deal with it". Gandalf smiled knowingly. Frodo wondered whether the old wizard suspected that the relationship he had with Sam had deepened into something more than just friendship. "As long as Sam is by your side, Frodo, you will be able to cope with anything". Gandalf's eyes twinkled.
Frodo watched fondly as Gandalf strode out of the castle. He was right. The wizard did know about him and Sam. Frodo smiled to himself before rushing off to find Denethor again.
In the meantime the golden-haired lady who had been injured on the battlefield had woken up and Sam was by her bedside. She smiled kindly at him. "You are not the first halfling whose acquaintance I have had the pleasure of making", she said. Her voice was as pure and as beautiful as her appearance. She glanced across at Merry as she spoke. "Pleased to meet you, Miss", said Sam cheerfully. He handed the lady a cup of water. He had never seen a female wield a sword before. She drank in silence for a moment and then introduced herself. "I am …owyn, sister-daughter of Théoden of Rohan", she announced. "My name is Samwise Gamgee, son of Hamfast", responded Sam. He treated …owyn to a smile which warmed her heart.
"Begging your pardon, Miss", continued Sam. "But I was wondering how you and Merry managed to slay that wraith", he said. "Frodo and me encountered one of the devils earlier on and we had Captain Rombard with us. He was a big, tall man, like, much bigger than you and stronger than you and Merry put together, I wouldn't wonder. Not meaning to be impertinent or anything but with you just being a maid, how did you kill the thing?"
Although …owyn smiled, there was a sadness about her which touched Sam's heart. "That was no ordinary wraith, Master Gamgee", she said softly. "He was the Witch-king of Angmar, otherwise known as the Lord of the Nazgűl". Sam's eyes widened. "The legend tells that this entity could never be slain by a man. I, as you have observed, am no man and neither is your friend Merry. That is how - or perhaps why - we were able to slay the Witch-king". Sam swallowed heavily as he absorbed …owyn's story. Things were beginning to make sense at last.
He spent some time talking to …owyn and she seemed pleased to have his company. Sam told her much of his adventures with Frodo and noticed how her eyes seemed to light up whenever he mentioned Aragorn's name. But she was filled with sadness at the same time and Sam wondered precisely what had happened to make her so unhappy.
"I hope you get to meet Lord Faramir when he comes back", he said, doing his best to cheer her up. "Such a brave and handsome man. Wise too. I think you'd like him". Sam told …owyn of Faramir's brave mission. "I should very much like to meet this Lord Faramir", she said after listening attentively to Sam's story, and then she fell asleep.
In the meantime, Frodo had found his way back to Denethor's chamber and he did not like what he saw. The old man was crouched before his plinth and was grasping the edges of the cloth which covered it. Frodo was unable to make out what lay on the plinth other than that it appeared to be a round object.
"Sir, I know not what lays beneath that cloth but I believe it is affecting both your health and your reason", said Frodo in a slow, even voice. "Please give it to me. I will take it and put it somewhere safe".
Denethor panted wildly and his claw-like hands continued to grasp the edges of the cloth. He gave no indication that he had heard Frodo speak. Frodo waited a few moments more then decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. But before he could get near the plinth Denethor lunged towards it and knocked it over. A large glass sphere fell to the floor.
Frodo dived on it quickly and covered it with the cloth. He snatched it out of the way before Denethor could pounce on it but not before a deeply disturbing image flared within the sphere.
Frodo's heart was pounding as he clutched the object. He knew what he had just seen. He looked at Denethor with sorrow. The poor old man wailed piteously as Frodo turned and walked off with the object which, for a very long time, had ruled his life.
Frodo walked quickly back to the healing rooms. He sought out Sam and quickly told him what had happened. "Look after this", he said, handing the wrapped sphere to Sam. "Put it somewhere safe but do not look at it for it is dangerous. I will give it to Gandalf when he returns".
Sam nodded gravely as he took the sphere from Frodo. Their hands touched briefly as the object was handed over. The sight and feel of Frodo's fragile hands made Sam's heart lurch; he was overwhelmed with the need to take Frodo into his arms and hold him close.
"Perhaps soon we will have some time alone, dearest Sam", said Frodo softly. His yearning for Sam was every bit as strong as Sam's was for him. He cupped Sam's face gently in his hands. "I love you, Sam, I love you so much".
Tearing themselves away from each other, when they desperately yearned to be close, was painful for both hobbits. They longed to be able to steal away to somewhere quiet, somewhere they could be alone together. Their love was so deep and so intense that being apart, even for short periods, caused them much distress.
Frodo put on a brave face as he headed back to Denethor's chamber. He knew that the old man was suffering and he also knew that the sphere which he had confiscated from him was the cause of his misery. He was determined to do something to help Faramir's father.
Faramir stared at the Ring. His men watched him as he held it between thumb and forefinger and most of them marvelled and rejoiced at how the orcs had somehow managed to overlook Gollum's dead body as a possible receptacle for the Ring whilst carrying out their search in the spider's pit.
But Faramir's expression was odd. Anborn, who had known Faramir since childhood, had never before seen such a look on his colleague's face.
Anborn cleared his throat. "Sir, do you not think that we should continue with our journey and take the Ring to Mount Doom?" he suggested, watching Faramir's reaction closely. Faramir continued to stare at the Ring. "Hmmn?" Faramir looked up. "The Ring, Sir", continued Anborn. "I think we should be on our way with it". "Oh, indeed, yes", said Faramir. He looked at the Ring once again and then placed it carefully in his pocket. "Perhaps I should take charge of it first", said Anborn firmly. "It was agreed that you, Sir, would take it last of all, don't you recall?" Faramir looked sheepish. "Indeed I do", he conceded. "Thank you for reminding me, Anborn". He reached into his pocket and handed the Ring over to Anborn. "Here, wrap it in a cloth and hide it. It will change hands at dawn tomorrow. Any man who refuses to hand it over will be killed".
A heavy and ominous silence, brought about by the Ring's presence, had fallen upon the men as they trudged along. Anborn was particularly troubled by Faramir's behaviour. He was well aware of the fact that he would be the one to accompany Faramir to the Crack should the company reach Mount Doom safely and the idea was already making him uncomfortable for he had already been given orders to kill Faramir should the other man falter when it came to disposing of the Ring.
The company's march across Mordor began. The journey met with incident almost as soon as they set foot in the Land of Shadow and had it not been for the prisoner in their midst Faramir's men would almost certainly have faced certain death at the hands of a patrolling company of orcs.
Faramir and his company spent the night amidst a similarly clad brigade of soldiers and were forced to join in with their manoeuvres so as to avoid detection. He and his men were hot and uncomfortable beneath their disguises yet none of them faltered as again and again they were called upon to answer duty's call.
They were stopped several times as they made their tortuous way across Mordor. Each time the men counted themselves lucky to have escaped detection and each of them knew that their prisoner had allied himself with them and had turned his back upon the forces of the evil.
The men were in a surprisingly buoyant mood as they approached the foot of the tall, imposing Mount Doom. It towered ominously above them and belched poisonous fumes into the already unpleasant atmosphere; all the men in the company were affected by the fumes and many of them had developed hacking coughs, something which they feared would give them away in the early stages of their journey.
The Ring had changed hands each day as planned and this morning it had passed to Damrod. He placed it in his pocket, much as his predecessors had done, and was watched carefully by the other men as he secreted it about his person.
The final leg of their journey was about to begin. Faramir had successfully led his men to Orodruin and now they had only to find their way to the Crack of Doom and destroy the Ring.
The days spent in Minas Tirith were busy ones for Frodo and Sam. Frodo spent much time with Lord Denethor and, through patience and careful questioning, eventually learned the secret of the palantír, the spherical object which had caused the old man so much torment and misery.
Frodo was shocked when he learned the truth. He knew beyond doubt that he had seen the Eye of Sauron flare in the palantír on the occasion he'd been forced to look at it and the thought that Sauron may have seen him and recognised him as the former ringbearer was a worrying one. Frodo hoped that it would not jeopardise Faramir's mission in any way.
"You have quite possibly saved the old man's life", said Gandalf, nodding wisely as Frodo told him the story of Denethor's palantír. He took the object from Frodo. "I now have two of these seeing stones in my possession". "Where did the other come from?" asked Frodo, curious to know more about the things. "From Saruman", answered Gandalf sadly. "Sauron is adept at seeking out sick or weak minds. Saruman and Denethor were ideal targets for him to corrupt".
Frodo was pleased that he had been able to do something to help Faramir's father. The old Steward, whilst still not in the best of health, was slowly recovering from the madness which had taken hold of him as a result of much time spent gazing into the palantír and much of this was down to Frodo.
Sam, for his part, busied himself in the healing rooms where his skill with herbs and plants provided much-needed assistance in caring for the sick and the wounded. His expertise brought comfort to the men who had been hurt in battle and he spent many an hour talking to them and doing his best to bring them some cheer. Some of the soldiers were so badly injured that they would never leave the healing rooms and for many of them their last memory of this world was the presence of a small, cheerful hobbit whose selfless warmth and kindness did much to ease the pain and suffering of their final hours.
Sam and Frodo heard of Merry and Pippin's many adventures and Frodo's cousins, in turn, learned what had happened to Sam and Frodo after they became separated from the rest of the Fellowship. It all seemed so long ago now. Frodo and Sam were delighted to learn that Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas were safe but the fact that so many innocent lives were being lost on the battlefield weighed heavily upon them.
"This has got to end soon, Sam, it's simply got to". Frodo and Sam were standing on one of the castle's south-facing balconies. Gandalf was there, as were Denethor, Merry, Pippin and …owyn who was now well enough to leave the healing rooms. All of them wore the same anxious expression as they looked in the direction of Mordor.
"It's all down to Faramir now", said Gandalf pensively.
Frodo and Sam looked at each other, each having the same thought. Hand in hand they slipped away from the others and went back into the castle. They had had no proper rest since their arrival in Minas Tirith but right now rest was the last thing they had in mind. They both knew that if things went badly with Faramir they could be dead within hours.
The bed they found was built for men rather than hobbits but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered to Frodo and Sam at that moment except that they were together. They sat close together on the edge of the big bed and, for the first time since the green grass of Ithilien, experienced the joys of being able to open to each other in a proper kiss.
As their tongues entwined blissfully, Frodo and Sam drifted into another world, a world in which only their love mattered. Their need for each other had never been greater than at that moment. Their movements were frenzied yet tender as they removed each other's clothing and the way they held and touched each other spoke of the eternal love which burned within each of them.
Frodo arched his slender body to Sam's loving caresses; each and every touch was an expression of the deepest love imaginable, a love which was so overwhelming that it reduced them both to tears. The knowledge that their lives could soon be over added and even more desperate, poignant quality to their lovemaking.
Had Frodo and Sam died there and then they would have had no regrets. Wrapped in each other's arms, they were exhausted as they drifted into a deep slumber, a slumber from which they knew they might never wake.
The heat was intense as Faramir and Anborn stood above the Crack of Doom. The fire below raged angrily and the two men, standing far above it, could feel its heat scorching their skin.
Faramir drew the Ring from his pocket. Anborn fidgeted uncomfortably, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He wanted this business to be over. Faramir had the Ring in his hand and had only to drop it into the flames for evil to be destroyed for good.
But Faramir seemed to have other things on his mind and that troubled Anborn greatly, for he had no desire to kill the noble man who was not only his commanding officer but also his life-long friend.
"Do you not think it strange that the entire fate of Middle-earth should rest on so small a thing?" Faramir spoke in a slow, staccato voice, the tone of which made Anborn shiver despite the heat which flared from the crevasse below. "It must be destroyed", replied Anborn boldly. "I suggest you to it now, Sir. Destroy evil for ever".
Faramir appeared not to have heard. He stared at the Ring as it lay in the palm of one hand and caressed it with the forefinger of the other. Faramir's face bore the same strange, unreadable expression which Anborn had witnessed when Faramir had plucked the Ring from Gollum's stomach.
Anborn was distraught as he watched Faramir. Instead of allowing the Ring to drop into the crevasse, he held it up and continued to stare at it. "It's mine, Anborn, all mine", hissed Faramir. His eyes glittered strangely in the malevolent, shooting firelight.
Anborn drew his sword.
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The Alternative Choices of Master Samwise by Amanda
Chapter notes: Faramir has elected to take a company of men into Mordor to locate the Ring and destroy it. Sam and Frodo, under the protection of Captain Rombard of Gondor, are on their way to Minas Tirith.
Finally: I know this was supposed to be in four parts but I've discovered that I can't finish it in less than five. It's turning out to be far longer than I envisaged (and this section is particularly long).
