Examination by Queen Galadriel

Sam gives an account to Aragorn of that powerful moment in which he finds himself at the point of a sword controlled solely by the Ring. A birthday present for Antane.

Sam stood before the tall mirror in the largest room of the guest house, examining his various scars with great consternation. He whished he could make them all disappear. “Oh, why do I have to do this?” he groaned aloud, intending to be heard by no one. “I’m not the one as Lord Strider ought to be worrying over. He’d better be attending to all those poor wounded men…or to…”

“Don’t you dare say ‘to Mr. Frodo,’ Samwise Gamgee!” came Frodo’s teasing voice from the doorway. “And don’t look at your reflection in the glass with that expression on your face! You’re going to be fine. It’s only an examination to see that you are healing properly.”

Sam turned from the mirror, blushing furiously. “I know, Mr. Frodo. It’s just…well…I don’t want to be a bother…or have to tell…” He trailed off, not knowing how to put his fears into words.

Frodo came and put an arm round his friend. “There. I understand. I hate allowing Aragorn to examine the scar here.” He laid his hand against the still-tender scar where the Ring had lain for so long. “Would it make you any more comfortable to have a fellow sufferer to commiserate with?” he asked with a lopsided smile.

Sam returned the smile more fully, and then frowned suddenly. Frodo was the last person who ought to see so many scars; he would only blame himself for them. “Mr. Frodo, if it’s all right with you, I…I think I’d rather be alone.”

Frodo nodded sympathetically, guessing part of Sam’s thoughts. “Very well. I’ll accompany you to the citadel and then leave you in the care of Aragorn. He wouldn’t want his charge going there alone, would he?”

Sam laughed at Frodo’s cheekiness. How good it was to hear teasing words from his lips and to see that radiant smile again!

“What are you laughing at?” Frodo asked, grinning. “I’m perfectly serious!”

Sam laughed harder and took Frodo’s proffered hand. “Whatever you say, sir.”

A quarter of an hour later Sam stood before Aragorn in the kings private chambers, visibly quaking and wishing himself anywhere else. Slowly Aragorn looked him over—the burns on his back and legs, the deep, still-healing scrapes and cuts on his knees, the soles of his hardy hobbit feet, the criss-crossing scars on the palms of his hands where the sharp rocks of Mordor had dug in when he had been forced to crawl.

“Yes,” the king said at last. “You appear to be healing very well, Sam. I do not think there need be many more of these examinations. But what is this?” Gently he laid his finger against the tiny scar on Sam’s neck. “I had not noticed it before.”

No. Sam had hoped it would not be noticed at all. He knew full well how he had come by it, but he did not wish to tell anyone, even Aragorn, who was as a brother to him. But seeing that there was no way around it, he thought for a moment before answering very softly, “The Ring gave me that.”

Aragorn drew in a short, sharp breath, perceiving that Sam had said less than he meant. After a long moment of stunned silence, he drew the hobbit onto the couch beside him and put an arm about his broad shoulders. “Samwise, tell me,” he said gently.

Sam swallowed hard and thought for a moment about his words before beginning. “It was true what I said. The Ring did give me that scar. Me and Mr. Frodo, we’d stopped for a rest in Ithilien. That Gollum had gone off and come back with a couple of coneys and then gone off again. Then we were taken captive by Faramir. He…he was going to take us and hand us over to his father, once he knew what Mr. Frodo carried. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so angry at anybody as I was at him as we went towards that city, Osgiliath, he said it was.

“We trudged along as fast as we could, and poor Mr. Frodo looked all in and that distraught, it near broke my heart. I tried to comfort him, but I didn’t know what to say. All I could manage was something about ‘it’ll be all right.’ But even as I were talking to him, I saw he was slipping away. And all of a sudden it were as if he weren’t there no more, as if he weren’t my Mr. Frodo.

“Everything happened that fast after that. The Nazgul came, and one of them was so close to Mr. Frodo he could have killed him as quick as look at him. And then I saw Mr. Frodo holding out the Ring, like as if he were offering it to that…that creature! I was afraid, more afraid than I’ve ever been. So I…I threw myself at Mr. Frodo and caught him in one of them trick moves he showed me when he taught me how to defend myself when I was just a little lad. We fell down the stairs, just kept rolling over each other. I was afraid I was crushing poor Mr. Frodo, but there was nothing for it. Then we landed, and before I knew whether I was on the top or bottom, I was pinned and Sting was at my throat. I looked up into Mr. Frodo’s face, but it weren’t his face I saw. If sheer hate and malice and every evil in the world had a face, it would have looked like that. But that wasn’t Mr. Frodo; I knew it wasn’t. He couldn’t look like that. I knew the Ring had taken him.

“I cried out to him, but that stranger’s face only got harder and stonier, and the sword pressed harder and broke the skin. Then Mr. Frodo seemed to realise what he’d been doing. I don’t know which was worse: looking into that face the Ring gave him and knowing he wasn’t even there any more, or seeing how hurt and horrified he was when he knew what he was doing.

“He dropped the sword, and all the strength went out of him. I tried to comfort him best I could, and Faramir set us free and we went on. But it wasn’t the same after that. He seemed so tired, more tired than he’d been before…and by then we were all in anyhow. Sometimes it was as if I could see that Ring working away at him. He fought it, he really did…but…” Sam’s voice broke, and he wiped roughly at the tears that filled his eyes and started down his cheek.

Aragorn pulled the hobbit to him and held him close until Sam mastered himself and looked up. “The Ring had control of Mr. Frodo then,” he said shakily. “But he thinks it was himself. And that’s part of why he thinks he failed and why he keeps having those nightmares that wake him screaming.”

Aragorn took Sam’s hands and gazed into his honest eyes for a moment before speaking. “I think, Samwise Gamgee, that Frodo is the luckiest hobbit ever born. For I can read in your face and words that even while Frodo held a sword at your throat, though he could have taken you’re life, you never ceased to love him.”

“Of course I didn’t.” Sam’s voice was choked with emotion. “How could I stop loving my master, when it weren’t him as was threatening me?”

When Sam had gone, Aragorn sat for a long while in thought, gazing out the window at the city below him. Yes, he thought, Frodo is indeed lucky—nay, blessed. As are all who hold a place in Sam’s great heart. Such love he has!

He thought back to his first meeting with the four hobbits of the Shire and recalled taking it for granted that Sam was no more than a servant. But he had very soon learned otherwise. He had watched the humble gardener as the five journeyed together and in Rivendell, and still more before their paths had parted at Parth Galen; and in all his days he had never seen such tenacious devotion, such open affection. And this instance, above all else, proved that Sam was love itself incarnate. Even had Frodo taken his life, he would not have held it against him because he understood that gentle, peaceable Frodo never would have done such a thing of his own will. Sam would have loved him just the same, even as the last breath left him.

Perhaps I may consider myself as lucky as your master, dear Sam, to have such a friend as yourself, he thought with a small smile, which broadened as he added to himself, I have said so before: all the peoples of Middle-earth would do well to learn of hobbits…and especially of such very special hobbits as those dearest to my heart. Yes, I am lucky indeed.

© 2006 Queen Galadriel