Snippets of Writing

9.

Here, at the End of All Things

Frodo held the Ring on its chain in the sweltering heat of Orodruin, the Mountain of Doom. Below him lay a bubbling pool of magma, and behind him lay the only exit. Here, at the end of all things, he would make his choice: whether to destroy the Ring and bring down Barad-Dur, the Dark Tower, or to keep it for himself and become the lord of all lords.

Frodo stared at the Ring. It entranced him, lured him, whispered to him. No, he told himself. I will not be ensnared. I will no be tricked. I will not be deceived. I will not be like Gollum.

But there was another voice, a voice that came from the Ring itself. Take it, it whispered. Make it your own. With the power it will give you, you can cast down Sauron yourself.

"Frodo!" came a cry from behind him. Frodo turned, slowly, to see Sam, his faithful friend through many perils.

"I'm here, Sam," he said.

"Destroy it!" Sam shouted over the roar of the wind. "Destroy it!"

Frodo slowly turned to see his friend standing there, leaning against the gateway, slowly making his way through the steam and smoke. He lifted the Ring on its chain.

"Go on! Now! Throw it into the fire!" Sam urged. Frodo hesitated. It was what the voice in the back of his head told him to do. But... the other voice, the one that came from the Ring ordered him not to. It was a fair voice, fair and beautiful. It would be a shame to disobey it, he thought. "What are you waiting for? Just let it go!"

Yes, he could do that... he could just let the Ring go. He was standing at the end of the ledge. He could let it go, and it would be melted by the molten rock below. But... it really would be a shame to hurt something so beautiful, so... precious. No, he told himself. No, he would not destroy it. He turned around, faced Sam. "No," Frodo growled. "The Ring is mine." And then, as Sam watched him, he slipped the Ring over his finger.

Immediately he felt the effects. An Eye was watching him, burning him. And a malevolent presence was lurking behind him. He was naked, naked in the darkness, with no veil between him and the wheel of fire.

"No!"

Frodo heard Sam's last cry of anguish before he was gone.

And then, a great weight. Something, no, Gollum, was wrestling with him, trying to take the Ring. Frodo desperately tried to buck him off, then keep the Ring away from him. To no avail. The hobbit felt a great pain in his hand as Gollum fixed those nasty sharp teeth around the index finger and gnawed it off. Thrown to the ground, Frodo clutched at his injured hand.

Through a haze, he saw Gollum leaping for joy, finally reunited with his beloved precious. "Yes!" the malformed creature screeched. "Yes!"

Frodo shook his head. 'No,' he thought dimly. 'This couldn't happen. This couldn't happen! The Ring must be destroyed.'

With great effort, he stood up. And walked to Gollum. Tried to take the Ring from him. Drove him toward the ledge. And with a final push, both of them fell over the side.

Gollum fell down, down, down, still smiling when he hit the lava.

Frodo held on.

After a few agonizing seconds, he saw Sam's face over the ledge. Sam reached out to Frodo, but unable to reach him. "Take my hand!" he screamed. With pain, Frodo reached for his friend's hand. It slipped away. "No! Don't you dare let go!" Frodo's face was etched with pain as he reached up. "Don't let go. Reach!"

With his last vestige of strength, Frodo reached up and gripped Sam's hand with his own four-fingered, bloodied one.

short story/retelling from 'the lord of the rings'.
originally published elsewhere.