Endurance Beyond Hope by Queen Galadriel

Chapter 1: Promise

Sam trudged over the hard turf of the Black Land, scarcely noticing the sharp stones that bit into his feet and drew blood. He felt as if he was made of lead, as if the very heart had been torn out of him. He had thought that leaving his sweet master dead there outside the spider’s lair, and then watching the Orcs carrying him away, was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But then they had said Frodo was alive but unconscious. No, leaving him outside the tunnel had not been the hardest thing; the hardest thing had been finding him in that dreadful tower and discovering that the Orcs had been wrong. Frodo was dead, beyond a shadow of a doubt, and Sam could not even return to him now. New tears came to his eyes as he imagined what the Orcs would do with his Frodo. He didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t help himself.

How would he ever get to the Mountain now, alone? The Ring dragged at him, seeming intent on causing him to fall to the ground; and if he should fall, he knew that he would have no will to rise again. His drive was gone. All he wanted to do was pursue the hateful creature who was responsible for all this misery, take his vengeance on him, and then lie down and wait to join Frodo. He knew what he ought to do; he ought to press on, destroy this accursed Ring, save the Shire. But it didn’t matter now. He tried to think of Rosie, of his gruff but affectionate old Gaffer and his sweet sister Marigold, but nothing mattered any more.

His mind reeled with endless, pointless questions. Why had they had to go off alone? Why did he have to be the only one left to do this? Why had Mr. Bilbo ever left that Ring to poor Mr. Frodo? Why had Mr. Bilbo even touched the Ring in the first place? Why had they taken up with Gollum and not killed him on the spot? Why…why…why…why…why? Why had Mr. Frodo had to die? It wasn’t fair. There was no Hobbit in the Shire like Frodo Baggins; he was the most responsible, caring, kindhearted, gentle Hobbit Sam had ever known, and now he was gone and could never come back.

It seemed he had walked for an eternity before his knees finally gave, and he crawled off the path and huddled in a hollow. Every horrible fly, every sharp stone, every aching muscle galled him as they never had before. He was sure he wouldn’t have been much bothered by such things if Frodo had still been with him. He opened his pack and took out a cake of waybread, breaking it in half before he remembered that there was no need. How he longed to look to his side and see the face of his master there. He put the food away, feeling suddenly sick, and curled into a ball of misery that shook with silent sobs.

In his dreams he thought he sat alone in the very hollow in which he slept, weeping and unable to stop. Then he felt a sudden sense of warmth at his side, and when he turned to see its source, he beheld a small but radiant figure who shone with a light like that of stars. “Mr. Frodo!” he cried joyously, his tears turning to a broad smile. “You’re back!”

Frodo smiled. “My dearest Sam, I never left you.”

“But they said you were dead, sir!”

“My mortal body is dead, but the spirit can never die.”

“Oh, Mr. Frodo, me dear!” Sam’s tears came again, and he reached out to embrace the light that was his friend. He did not feel a body in his arms, but he found himself enveloped in the warmth and light, more comforting than any embrace of mortal arms. “I can’t do this alone.”

“There. You need not. As I said, I never left you, and I never shall. I may no longer live in a body that must be looked after, but I’m still your Frodo.”

The love and gentle, affectionate touch of humour in the voice that was more felt than heard warmed Sam’s heart. “But, sir, how can you be with me if you’re not here?”

“I’m in your heart, Sam. Our spirits are joined, as they’ve ever been. That cannot be broken, even by death.

“Now. I want you to make me a promise.”

“What?”

“Will you promise to take care of yourself? Eat and drink and rest when you can? I know that you are afraid, and I know that you feel you cannot do this task alone. But you will never be alone; there is Another who loves you more than anyone else ever can. He chose us, Sam, to be the Ring-bearers and the instruments to cast down the Dark Lord. I know the curse of that Thing, and I wish it had not been laid on you. It grieves me to think of it seeking to work its will in you as it did me. No one deserves such, and you least of all. But that’s why it must be destroyed. Will you promise to try?”

Sam hesitated. How could he make such a promise when he was in such despair? Frodo was right, of course, but Sam had no will left. Where would his strength come from?

“For your sake? For Rosie’s and Marigold’s and the Gaffer’s?”

Sam’s already broken heart gave a painful lurch. He would very likely never see any of them again. He wanted them to be happy, and his love for them had always given him strength before, but no matter how he tried, he could find no aid in it now. And as for himself, at the moment he would rather die than live this misery.

He felt a little sigh go through the beautiful being of light. “Samwise Gamgee, don’t think such a thing. Very well then. For my sake. Will you make me this promise for my sake?”

For Frodo’s sake? Frodo had been a Ring-bearer for more than seventeen years of his life, up till the last moment. He knew what it was to suffer. He knew this feeling of utter despair, didn’t he?

“Yes, my Sam. I know.”

How could Sam not promise? “All right. I promise. I’ll try.”

Another sigh from the light that surrounded him, a sigh of relief.

Chapter 2: Shimmering Tears

Sam opened his eyes and stretched, wincing as his body protested by way of pops and twinges. What a dream he’d had! He’d dreamed that Mr. Frodo was dead and then came back, a glowing being of light, to comfort him. He sat up gingerly on the sharp stones and turned to wake Mr. Frodo…and found that it had not been a dream at all. Of course it hadn’t been a dream. The overwhelming feeling of emptiness and despair returned with tenfold force, and he lay back down, wishing never to move again.

No, Sam. Don’t give up. You promised, remember? The voice seemed to speak to his heart rather than his mind, and Sam looked around, seeing no one.

“Mr. Frodo?” he said aloud. “I’m cracking, sure enough!”

There was a peal of gentle laughter from the invisible presence. No, you’re not, Sam Gamgee. The Dark Lord can do many things, but making you imagine my voice isn’t one of them. Come now, time to go on--after you’ve eaten, as you didn’t before you slept.

“Well, bless me!” Sam said softly, shaking his head as he rummaged in his pack. He took out the halves of the cake of lembas and nibbled at one. Instinctively he held out the other half, though he knew there was no hand to receive it. But he was surprised when his hand was pushed back towards him.

Tuck in, now. You’ll need it.

Sam couldn’t help smiling. It really was as if Frodo was right beside him still, though he couldn’t see him.

See? came Frodo’s voice again. It will be all right, my Sam. I’ll help you as I can, and the Creator will help you more than it is possible for anyone else to do.

Sam nodded and finished the lembas. “Well, I reckon it’s time to start, then.” He shouldered his pack and tried to rise, but the weight of the Ring around his neck made it almost impossible. “Dratted thing,” he muttered as he went to his knees.

Give me your hands, Sam my lad.

Not knowing what else to do, Sam stretched out his hands, and was surprised when he felt himself being gently lifted to his feet and then steadied. “Thank you.”

There. Oh, Sam, how I wish you needn’t know the weight of this thing! Frodo’s voice was grieved.

Sam’s spirit revived still more. Perhaps he could still be of use to his Mr. Frodo after all. “Don’t you worry, Master; ain’t too heavy to carry.” And he started off again, no longer feeling alone.

*~*~*~*~*~*

In spite of his brave declaration that the Ring was not too heavy, Sam soon found himself panting for breath and leaning forward. His mouth was as dry as a desert, and the foul air of Mordor made his chest and lungs ache. The Ring hung beneath his tunic like a great stone, its weight causing the chain to bite into the back of his neck. He knew he wouldn’t be able to plod on much longer, but he couldn’t stop, not yet…

His heart froze as a faint sound from behind met his ears. Marching feet, and the shouting of Orc voices. What was he to do? There was no place to hide. He’d be caught! Could Frodo hide him?

Lie down and cover yourself with your cloak, and be as still as you possibly can. And pray.

Sam did as he was told as quickly as he could. He was sure the Orcs would hear the beating of his heart even from their distance. “Please,” he prayed silently, to anyone who would listen. “Please don’t let them see me. I’ve got to get this thing to the Crack of Doom, finish the job, I’ve got to! Please, please, please…”

The Orcs were almost upon him now, and they obviously didn’t see him. Just as they were passing by, one small, scrawny creature with bowed legs and arms that reached almost to his ankles strayed away from the end of the line. It couldn’t see him…it was going to trip over him!

The Orc fell to the ground, cursing fluently in a mixture of the Common and Black speech. “Here, Snargrish, what’s all this! Get your filthy rat hide back into line or I’ll skin you!” shouted the Orc captain.

“Look what I found!” said Snargrish, prodding Sam with one claw.

“Garn! It’s a rock, you beast!” growled the captain.

“Ain’t! It moved when I tripped over it!”

Sam’s heart sank as he felt himself being rolled over, and he looked up into a ring of leering faces. He was done for. One clawed hand lifted his foot. “Hmmmmm. Look ye, lads! What have we got here?” hissed the captain, running his fingers through Sam’s tangled foothair, causing the Hobbit to wince.

“Aha!” shrieked Snargrish. “I found it! The Master’s Halfling!”

“Are you a Halfling, little rat?” hissed the captain, leaning close to Sam’s face.

The Orc’s breath was so foul that Sam was nearly overcome. But he lay perfectly silent and still. Mr. Frodo! he cried inwardly.

I know, Sam. Be still. Just don’t move, and don’t speak. If you do, they’ll only torture you the more.

“Of course it’s a Halfling!” growled a giant Orc with a bloated head. “It’s got feet like what that other one had!”

Sam fought down a sob. What had they done to Mr. Frodo?

Hush, Sam. Be still. They could not hurt me; for they only found my body. Don’t think of it now. You must be very careful, and do not let them see your fear. Iluvatar is with you, and so am I. Think of that.

Sam drew a deep breath and released it again, trying to relax. What’s going to happen? What will become of the Shire and Rivendell and all if they get It?

I don’t know, Sam. But the Creator does. Trust Him. He knows every second of every life that has ever been and will ever be.

“Take him alive,” the captain barked.

No! They wouldn’t! In desperation, Sam struck out with fists and feet, kicking and punching with all his might. But it was of no use. The captain struck him hard on the head, and he felt himself being roughly lifted and flung over the shoulder of one of the Orc soldiers.

As consciousness fled and darkness engulfed him, he thought he saw Frodo’s shining form, shimmering tears streaming down his cheeks, and heard him whisper, “Forgive me, Sam. Please forgive me.”

Chapter 3: Comfort

Bump, bump, bumbump. Sam groaned. Why was he jolting about so, and why did his head hurt so much? He struggled to open his eyes and found himself staring at black flesh. What was happening?

And then he remembered. He’d been taken by the Orcs. What was he to do now? How would he ever get free? And what if he didn’t? They were surely carrying him to Sauron. The Dark Lord couldn’t get the Ring! A serge of wild fear gripped him, and he began to kick with all his might, beating his aching feet against the back of the Orc that bore him.

The creature grunted. “Here, you rat!” A great clawed hand came back to strike him, but Sam caught it and twisted the wrist as hard as he could. The Orc shrieked, dropping him, and as quickly as he could the Hobbit sprang up and began to run, not caring which way he went.

“After it, lads!” screeched the captain.

Sam ran faster as the Orcs gave chase. He didn’t have a chance. A few minutes, and they would have him… And then he remembered Sting and the Phial. Drawing the one and pulling the other from beneath his tunic, he turned and brandished them. The dagger glowed bright blue, and the Phial blazed forth with a radiant white light. “You shall die this day!” Sam shouted, scarcely recognizing his own voice. “For I am the Elven warrior…” He groped for a name.

Panthael, Frodo’s voice whispered.

“I am the Elven warrior Panthael! And in me lives the Power of old!”

The Orcs stood, dumbfounded, as Sam advanced on them. He shone the light of the Phial directly into the Captain’s eyes, and closing his own eyes, thrust Sting into the Orc’s heart. The others fled with shrieks of terror. Sam pursued them, felling a few more before turning back.

Finding a crevice large enough to hide him, he crawled into it and sat, clutching the Phial to his breast. Well done, Sam!

Sam suddenly began to laugh and cry, both at once. “I didn’t know what to do. ‘I am the Elf warrior Panthael’ indeed! It’s like when we were lads, Mr. Frodo. Stupid creatures, they might have known…”

Shhh. It’s of no consequence now. Orcs are not the brightest beings in Middle-earth, that is certain. But think no more of it. Rest and refresh yourself as you can.

Sam sighed and rummaged in his pack for another cake of lembas. When he had eaten and drunk a mouthful of water from his bottle, he drew his blanket and Elven cloak about him and lay down, feeling very alone indeed.

Sleep now, dear Sam. You will never be alone.

Sam closed his eyes, and as he began to drift towards exhausted sleep, he thought he heard Frodo singing. And though he could not understand the words, they reminded him of a lullaby he’d often heard as a child.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam woke, feeling somewhat refreshed. He did not know how long he had slept. He nibbled at a cake of lembas and then rose and went on his way.

Days and nights blurred into one terrible, endless nightmare. Sam plodded on, ever towards the mountain, stopping only when exhaustion made it absolutely impossible not to move. He could not reckon the passage of time or even tell dream from waking. He was soon unable to force the dry lembas down his parched throat, and thirst—or some other evil—made horrifying visions swim before his eyes.

Once, when the mountain was very near, he fell to the ground, too weary even to hide himself. He was all alone now, he knew. He had not heard Frodo’s voice in his heart for he didn’t know how long. Had his master and dearest friend forgotten him? At the bare thought he began to weep. He had no tears, but violent sobs shook him mercilessly.

And then it came, soft and sweet and as clear and warm as sunshine—the sound of singing. He choked back his sobs, trying to catch the words.

I will love you

Always.

I’ll be with you

Always,

For evermore, to the end of days.

Think of me and I’ll be near,

Near thee in spirit, my dear.

Sam forced his eyes open, struggling to cling to consciousness. He knew that voice and those words. “Mr. Frodo?” he whispered.

Yes, dear Sam.

“What…I thought…”

Oh, Sam, I would never leave you. Especially not now. Frodo’s voice was tender and sad.

Sam began to weep again. “I know.”

There, there. Come on now, let’s get you under cover. I must say, my dear fellow, you chose a very poor spot to set up housekeeping. Now the voice was light and loving, as it had often been when Frodo had spoken to Sam or his cousins when they were ill or injured and he was trying to cheer them.

Sam couldn’t help smiling a little. “I know it, sir. But I can’t move.”

I know, Sam. Lie still then.

To his astonishment, Sam felt himself being lifted and gently moved. When the motion ceased, he looked about him and found that he was between two great boulders. Not the best, said Frodo, but it will have to do, as there is nothing better at hand. Sleep now. I’ll still be here when you wake.

Now Sam smiled more fully, even in the midst of that nightmare land. “Thank you, Mr. Frodo,” he murmured as he closed his eyes.

Chapter 4: Ruin

One more step…just one more…now another…a little further. “Come on, Sam Gamgee,” he whispered hoarsely. “Can’t rest yet. Not here. Too open. Got to go on a bit more. Just a bit now…” But it was of no use. He staggered and then fell, crumpling into an exhausted heap upon the unwelcoming blackened ground. His throat was so sore and dry that he felt he could hardly breathe, and his eyes burned. He wondered vaguely how long he had been walking, how long his strength had held out. Why couldn’t it have lasted just a little longer? He just managed to roll himself onto his back and lift his hands in silent supplication, wishing for someone to take them, to help him to go on just a little further.

He could almost feel the gentle hands round his own. Come on now, Sam lad, said the familiar voice. Up you come now. That’s it.

He found himself on his feet. His head swam. “Can’t, Mr. Frodo,” he whispered feebly.

Yes, we can, my Sam. Lean on me. I will not let you fall. Come, let’s find a place for you to hide. You’ve done so well today; I’m so very proud of you. Just a little further and you will be there.

Sam leaned forward and felt his weight supported by invisible arms. He felt as though he were floating, being carried along by a kind summer breeze come out of fairer lands to bless this wilderness for a season. “How far?” he whispered.

Not very. Look! Here we are! This is a fine place.

He found himself being gently led off the path and into a deep hollow. His feet slid on the loose gravel beneath them, but Frodo’s unseen arms held him erect, only lowering him when they had come to the very bottom of the steep incline. Sam fell into exhausted sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Water. Water.” Sam’s own rasping voice woke him from his slumber.

Here, Sam dear. Arms lifted him, and something was gently pressed to his lips. Drink.

Oh, blessed water! It ran in a tiny river past his cracked lips, across his thick, swollen tongue, and down his burning throat, easing his thirst. “Thank you, Mr. Frodo,” he whispered when the water skin was gently removed.

Will you eat something?

“No. Can’t.” Even as he breathed the foul air, Sam felt the dryness return to his mouth and throat. “I couldn’t swallow it, sir.”

There was a sigh. Well then, are you ready for the last gasp? We are very near now.

Sam struggled to his feet. “Yes. Yes, the last gasp. Let’s get it over.”

He climbed out of his hiding place and turned his eyes in the direction of the mountain. It was only about two and a half furlongs away. Yes, he would finish this journey. He must. He bent his back slightly, the better to bear the burden round his neck, and trudged on, very aware of Frodo’s presence beside him.

They stopped briefly at the mountain’s foot, and when Sam felt a little rested, he rose again and began to climb, Frodo supporting him from behind. The trek up the broken, winding path seemed interminable. He began on his feet, but before very long he was crawling on hands and knees like a beast. “Up, up,” he chanted to himself. “Got to keep going up.”

By the time he came to the Sammath Naur, his head was swimming. Pale shadows shifted and danced before his eyes, and his already-blurry vision became poorer. Frodo’s invisible hand guided him into the chamber of fire, stopping him when he reached the edge of the precipice. We are here at last, Sam.

   Nodding, Sam drew the chain over his head and held the Ring in his palm. He must cast it into the fire. He must destroy it. He raised his hand and tried to cast it away, but he could not let it go. “Mr. Frodo, what do I do?” he whispered. But Frodo’s presence was gone. He was alone in this place of death.

“No, my own, my bearer, not alone, for I am with you.”

The soft, fell voice made Sam’s very bones shudder, and yet…and yet he loved that voice. It was so beautiful. No! his mind screamed. Throw it away!

Sam halfheartedly raised his arm to try again, but was unsuccessful. “I can’t,” he said to the empty air. “I can’t!” he repeated more loudly.

Almost before he thought, the Ring was on his finger. A rush of power surged through him, so strong that it was overwhelming. Then many things happened at once. The air was split by two voices crying out, one in despair, the other in gleeful triumph. The first was Frodo’s; the second was the scream of a Nazgul’s steed. The power gone, Sam stood, feeling very small. He trembled as he waited to see what would happen. What had he done? What could he do now?

“Give us it, little Hobbit. Give us the Precious.”

Sam whirled at the sound of the soft, hated voice hissing in his ear. Gollum was perched upon a ledge which Sam had not noticed before, his green eyes burning with the fire of lust. “No,” Sam whispered back.

Without warning, Gollum sprang, attacking Sam, groping for his hand. Sam’s invisibility gave him no advantage over this foe. Soon they were locked in one another’s arms, grappling for one another’s throats like bloodthirsty savages. Both thought only of the Ring, the Precious. But all the light went out of Gollum’s eyes as the shriek rent the air and the fell beast filled the doorway of the chamber. Its rider dismounted and approached them, laughing as he stooped to pluck his lord’s treasure from Sam’s fist. In one swift movement, Sam rolled over, towards the lip of the crack of doom, Gollum still in his arms. Not quite far enough. He rolled again, and then they were falling, falling…Heat rose up to meet him. In a moment all would be over. What had he done? With what breath was left in him, he uttered a scream, and then all went black.

Chapter 5: Eternity

There was light all round him. He felt it before he even opened his eyes. When he did, he saw the source of the light; it came from before him, encircling him as arms might, and he knew that he was standing before the Creator himself. “Well done, good and faithful servant.” The voice that spoke to him was so infinitely powerful and loving that it filled his entire being. Joy such as he had never felt rose up inside him until he felt he would burst with it. He heard gentle laughter. “Go now, beloved child, and be reunited with those who await you.”

He turned in time to see a shining being only a little taller than himself come running—or perhaps flying—toward him. “Sam! You’ve come through!” Bright arms were flung about him, and joyous, familiar laughter filled his ears.

“Mr. Frodo!” he cried, returning the embrace and beaming into the starlit eyes of his heart’s brother.

“The battle is won, Sam. You did what I perhaps could not have done in your place, though I might have tried.”

“And you were with me all the way. How, Mr. Frodo?”

“When I found myself here and realised I had left you behind and what a monstrous task now lay before you, I went to Atar himself and pleaded for the grace to be with you in spirit, to comfort you as I could. But I had to leave you at the last, for I was told that the destruction of the Ring was no longer my task, not even to aid in it, which I longed to do. I feared for you, but Atar knew that you would be strong enough, with His help.”

“I almost wasn’t.”

“But you see, there are no ‘almosts’ in Atar’s will. Now come and join the Great Feast, or I shall have to call both our mothers to come and persuade you themselves!”

Sam laughed. “Lead me on, then!”

And they went forth into the eternal rest together, hand in hand, and as they ran, they joined the song that greeted their hearts and ears and filled them with joy.

“Ye who have seen the night

And wakened to the new day,

Ye children of the Light,

Come now and join our glad lay!

All ye who now rejoice,

From earthly pain set free,

Oh, sing now with one voice

Through blest eternity!”

And to the eyes of those who stood below and grieved for the passing of the Ring-bearers, it seemed that the stars flared with silver and golden light and danced in the heavens, mirroring the joy shared by two of the most beloved ever to grace Middle-earth.

*END*

A/N: I had thought to end this tale with Sam waking up and finding that the nightmarish journey and the horrible way the Ring was destroyed was all a fevered dream, but when I really thought hard about it, it didn’t make sense . A dream surely couldn’t be that clear and vivid, and besides, it would come off corny to the extreme. I have been, perhaps, very bold in this chapter, trying to imagine, in short, what heaven would be like. I am far off the mark, I’m sure, so let this stand purely as the product of my imagination and nothing more. I have borrowed a bit from Larner with the dancing stars at the end. Thanks to all of you for sticking with this, the hardest story I’ve ever written, and I hope the end of the journey was worth your wait. *smiles*

Atar is Sindarin for Father.

Text © Queen Galadriel