In Fire Born
Disclaimer: I do not own Sam or Frodo or Gandalf or any of Tolkien’s characters. I merely rearrange their world to suit my own whim.
Author’s Note: What if Frodo died to destroy the Ring? This short little ficlet ponders that particular question, without really coming up with an answer. Sorry about that!
*"When Sam awoke, he found that he was lying on some soft bed, but over him gently swayed wide beechen boughs, and through their young leaves sunlight glimmered, green and gold. All the air was full of a sweet mingled scent.
"He remembered that smell: the fragrance of Ithilien. ‘Bless me!’ he mused. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ For the scent had borne him back to the day when he had lit his little fire under the sunny bank; and for the moment all else between was out of waking memory. He stretched and drew a deep breath. ‘Why, what a dream I’ve had!’ he muttered. ‘I am glad to wake!’
"[Then] full memory flooded back, and Sam cried aloud: ‘It wasn’t a dream! Then where [am I]?’
"And a voice spoke softly behind him: ‘In the land of Ithilien, and in the keeping of the King; and he awaits you.’ With that Gandalf stood before him, robed in white, his beard now gleaming like pure snow in the twinkling of the leafy sunlight. ‘Well, Master Samwise, how do you feel?’ "*
pg. 246 *The Return of the King*
Ignoring the question, Sam mumbled, ‘Frodo…Mr. Frodo finished it,’ his voice and eyes dull now that his dream was become reality. His hands plucked wearily at the coverlet as he continued, ‘He did what he came to do.’
‘And…’ Gandalf prompted, his voice gentle, as were his eyes.
‘And he finished it,’ Sam repeated, unwilling--or unable--to voice the rest. ‘He finished it.’
Gandalf nodded, knowing plain in his eyes, and weighing heavy upon him.
Sam turned over in the bed, as though every bone and muscle in his body hurt unto death, and faced away from Gandalf’s friendly gaze. He didn’t want to talk any more. Didn’t think he *could* talk any more. Not now, and not about this. Not about Mr. Frodo.
Once again, Gandalf nodded, turned away himself, and left the room.
Sam sighed. ‘You should have done it, Samwise Gamgee. You *could’ve*,’ he muttered to himself, once the room was empty of all but his own body lying limp upon the bed.
‘You should’ve done it,’ he muttered once again, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that threatened to overcome them. Tears he did not deserve to shed.
*The heat of the flames flaring at the end of the tunnel struck Sam full in the face, as did Mr. Frodo’s declaration that the Ring was his, just as someone--some*thing*--bowled Sam over from behind. His head cracked hard against the stony path and the darkness all about him became full, not even the fiery red of the flames penetrating its dank shadows.
Waking shortly later, Sam pulled himself first to his knees, then to his feet, shaky though they were, and blinked the blood from his eyes. Gollum and something--some*one*--invisible fought at the edge of the abyss. Frodo. Mr. Frodo.
Back and forth Gollum swayed, a macabre dance with an invisible partner. His hands raised themselves near to his mouth, fangs widening in the instant before they snapped down and bit, and Frodo, Mr. Frodo was suddenly visible again, crashing to his knees at the very edge of the fiery chasm.
Gollum danced a pattern about the fallen Ring-bearer, the Ring, with a finger still thrust within its circle, held close within his greedy grasp.
The Ring shown with a fire all its own as Gollum capered about, shrilling ‘Precious, precious, precious! My Precious! O my Precious!’
And even as Gollum raised his eyes to the Ring to gloat over his victory, Frodo crumpled himself into a blood-smeared ball and, as Gollum stepped closer to the edge, threw himself at the creature’s feet as Sam, devining his Master’s intent, shouted ‘No! Mr. Frodo! No!’
But even as Sam yelled, Gollum toppled over the edge, his last shrieked ‘Precious!’ dying with him, and Frodo, eyes closed and teeth clenched, fell along behind.
Sam rushed to the edge of the abyss, stretching out a hand for his Master to grasp, but only managed to watch, helpless, as Frodo, falling fast on Gollum’s tail, drowned in the flames spouting up higher and higher as the Ring melted in the fires of its creation.*
Sam blinked tears from his eyes, as he’d blinked blood from them before, and sighed once again. ‘Frodo. Oh, Mr. Frodo, I’m so sorry…so, so sorry.’
He did not remember the journey away from the Cracks of Doom as they fell away all around him, did not remember the flight, himself borne aloft by Landroval, or was it Meneldor, or perhaps great Gwaihir himself, he who carried Gandalf up and away. He remembered nothing save Gandalf’s question--*‘Well, Master Samwise, how do you feel?’*--and his own pain, his own pain for Frodo, poor Mr. Frodo, and Mr. Frodo’s lost finger, and mostly of all, Mr. Frodo’s lost life.
‘It need not have happened,’ Sam whispered. ‘Gollum would have gone over himself, without your help, Mr. Frodo. Or I, I would have done the deed for you. Yes, I would have,’ he insisted, though only to himself and the empty, empty room.
‘Yes, I *should* have, should have done it, and then you would still be here with us. Instead of now, where you are lost for ever and ever. For ever and ever.’
And ever.
Author’s Note: What if Frodo died to destroy the Ring? This short little ficlet ponders that particular question, without really coming up with an answer. Sorry about that!
*"When Sam awoke, he found that he was lying on some soft bed, but over him gently swayed wide beechen boughs, and through their young leaves sunlight glimmered, green and gold. All the air was full of a sweet mingled scent.
"He remembered that smell: the fragrance of Ithilien. ‘Bless me!’ he mused. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ For the scent had borne him back to the day when he had lit his little fire under the sunny bank; and for the moment all else between was out of waking memory. He stretched and drew a deep breath. ‘Why, what a dream I’ve had!’ he muttered. ‘I am glad to wake!’
"[Then] full memory flooded back, and Sam cried aloud: ‘It wasn’t a dream! Then where [am I]?’
"And a voice spoke softly behind him: ‘In the land of Ithilien, and in the keeping of the King; and he awaits you.’ With that Gandalf stood before him, robed in white, his beard now gleaming like pure snow in the twinkling of the leafy sunlight. ‘Well, Master Samwise, how do you feel?’ "*
pg. 246 *The Return of the King*
Ignoring the question, Sam mumbled, ‘Frodo…Mr. Frodo finished it,’ his voice and eyes dull now that his dream was become reality. His hands plucked wearily at the coverlet as he continued, ‘He did what he came to do.’
‘And…’ Gandalf prompted, his voice gentle, as were his eyes.
‘And he finished it,’ Sam repeated, unwilling--or unable--to voice the rest. ‘He finished it.’
Gandalf nodded, knowing plain in his eyes, and weighing heavy upon him.
Sam turned over in the bed, as though every bone and muscle in his body hurt unto death, and faced away from Gandalf’s friendly gaze. He didn’t want to talk any more. Didn’t think he *could* talk any more. Not now, and not about this. Not about Mr. Frodo.
Once again, Gandalf nodded, turned away himself, and left the room.
Sam sighed. ‘You should have done it, Samwise Gamgee. You *could’ve*,’ he muttered to himself, once the room was empty of all but his own body lying limp upon the bed.
‘You should’ve done it,’ he muttered once again, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that threatened to overcome them. Tears he did not deserve to shed.
*The heat of the flames flaring at the end of the tunnel struck Sam full in the face, as did Mr. Frodo’s declaration that the Ring was his, just as someone--some*thing*--bowled Sam over from behind. His head cracked hard against the stony path and the darkness all about him became full, not even the fiery red of the flames penetrating its dank shadows.
Waking shortly later, Sam pulled himself first to his knees, then to his feet, shaky though they were, and blinked the blood from his eyes. Gollum and something--some*one*--invisible fought at the edge of the abyss. Frodo. Mr. Frodo.
Back and forth Gollum swayed, a macabre dance with an invisible partner. His hands raised themselves near to his mouth, fangs widening in the instant before they snapped down and bit, and Frodo, Mr. Frodo was suddenly visible again, crashing to his knees at the very edge of the fiery chasm.
Gollum danced a pattern about the fallen Ring-bearer, the Ring, with a finger still thrust within its circle, held close within his greedy grasp.
The Ring shown with a fire all its own as Gollum capered about, shrilling ‘Precious, precious, precious! My Precious! O my Precious!’
And even as Gollum raised his eyes to the Ring to gloat over his victory, Frodo crumpled himself into a blood-smeared ball and, as Gollum stepped closer to the edge, threw himself at the creature’s feet as Sam, devining his Master’s intent, shouted ‘No! Mr. Frodo! No!’
But even as Sam yelled, Gollum toppled over the edge, his last shrieked ‘Precious!’ dying with him, and Frodo, eyes closed and teeth clenched, fell along behind.
Sam rushed to the edge of the abyss, stretching out a hand for his Master to grasp, but only managed to watch, helpless, as Frodo, falling fast on Gollum’s tail, drowned in the flames spouting up higher and higher as the Ring melted in the fires of its creation.*
Sam blinked tears from his eyes, as he’d blinked blood from them before, and sighed once again. ‘Frodo. Oh, Mr. Frodo, I’m so sorry…so, so sorry.’
He did not remember the journey away from the Cracks of Doom as they fell away all around him, did not remember the flight, himself borne aloft by Landroval, or was it Meneldor, or perhaps great Gwaihir himself, he who carried Gandalf up and away. He remembered nothing save Gandalf’s question--*‘Well, Master Samwise, how do you feel?’*--and his own pain, his own pain for Frodo, poor Mr. Frodo, and Mr. Frodo’s lost finger, and mostly of all, Mr. Frodo’s lost life.
‘It need not have happened,’ Sam whispered. ‘Gollum would have gone over himself, without your help, Mr. Frodo. Or I, I would have done the deed for you. Yes, I would have,’ he insisted, though only to himself and the empty, empty room.
‘Yes, I *should* have, should have done it, and then you would still be here with us. Instead of now, where you are lost for ever and ever. For ever and ever.’
And ever.