The hot wind raged brutally against the two hobbits as they struggled across the rocky plains of Gorgoroth. The Orc armor they had donned made it difficult to move and their tired legs wouldn’t permit them to walk very quickly. Sam led the way, carefully stepping over the sharp rocks while Frodo came slowly behind him, dragging his feet wearily over the uneven ground.

            Sam was greatly disheartened by the bleakness of this land and the harsh light that came from the ever-seeing Eye and the fires of Mount Doom. At this thought, he turned his gaze upwards and stopped in awe. Orodruin loomed ahead in the distance, its height intimidating and its fires flaring menacingly.  

            How in the name of the Shire can we ever climb that? Sam thought in despair. But he didn’t have to consider the climb just yet. They had to reach the foot of the mountain first. He turned to make sure that his master was still following him.

            Frodo was still coming, but he was moving so slowly, pulled down as if a great weight was draining him of all energy and strength to move. One of his dragging feet caught on a sharp rock and he collapsed on the bumpy ground. Sam quickly returned to him as Frodo pulled the helmet off his head, gasping for breath.

            Sam knelt down beside Frodo and gripped his shoulder firmly.

            “Mr. Frodo…”

            But Sam’s voice died in his throat as Frodo turned his head wearily toward him. Sam’s heart broke as he saw the intense darkness and pain in his master’s blue eyes. He had always seen the lingering shadows there, ever since Frodo had been stabbed on Weathertop. The despair had become more pronounced as they drew closer to Mordor, and Sam knew it would remain until the Ring was destroyed. And that would only happen if they kept on going. He took a deep breath.

            “Mr. Frodo, we have to go on. We can’t do nothin’ if we stay here.”

            Sam felt cruel, like he himself was depriving his master of much needed and greatly desired rest. He knew that his master realized the need to continue, but—

            “I can’t, Sam.”

            Frodo’s voice sounded hoarse, parched, exhausted. Tears formed in his eyes as he leaned against Sam.

            “I can’t manage the Ring, Sam. It’s such…such a weight to carry. I…can’t go on.”

            Sam put his arms around Frodo, holding him closer. He knew his master couldn’t really mean what he said. Frodo had never been one to give up. He was just tired. The Ring was making him tired.         

            “That’s just gruesome thinkin’, Mr. Frodo. You just need to rest a bit, that’s all. Here—“ Sam glanced hopelessly around for some sort of shelter, anything to hide behind. They couldn’t be spotted by the Eye.

            “Over there, Mr. Frodo. Over by those big rocks. Come on, you just have to make it over there and then you can rest for a while. Come on, Frodo. Sam will help you.”

            He cast off his helmet as Frodo had done, then stood up and offered his hands to his master. Frodo grasped them in both of his own and Sam pulled him to his feet. Together they traveled the short distance to the far side of the rocks, away from the harsh light of the Eye. Once hidden, Frodo threw himself on the hard ground, his breathing heavy and laborious. He rubbed his neck and Sam saw that the chain had cut into his skin, leaving it burned and raw. His throat grew tight and he went to sit down next to his master. He drew Frodo’s head gently into his lap. He had already fallen into a dark sleep, moaning softly as the shadows of the Ring invaded his dreams. Sam knew that Frodo’s nightmares had gotten worse as they had drawn closer to Mordor, but he was grateful that they weren’t so terrible that Frodo couldn’t rest.

            Sam brushed Frodo’s dark hair softly from his face, which was as tormented in sleep as it was when he was awake. He hoped the journey would be over soon. He had promised Frodo that the darkness would not last. He had to help him destroy this Ring, if not just to fulfill his promise.

                                                            **        **        **

            It was cold. And dark. So very dark. He didn’t know where he was, but knew that he didn’t want to be there. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything. But they could see him. They knew exactly where he was.

            A great fear overcame him as a gigantic wheel of fire burst into life before him. It drove away the darkness, but not the deep shadows of fear that plagued him.

            There was nothing between him and the fire. He was going to be taken. It was over. He couldn’t stop it from happening. He watched in terrified despair as dark arms reached for him, muttering evil words in a gently seductive tone. It would be so easy to obey them, to give up. It was too hard to resist and he was tired…so very tired…

            Frodo awoke suddenly when he heard Sam’s voice. It was time to go on. He gathered his strength together and grabbed Sam’s arm to pull himself up. He had to keep going. They were almost done. And then he could rest.

                                                            **        **        **

            The hobbits had cast away their remaining Orc armor and all other unnecessary items, including Sam’s beloved cooking pots. They had wearily traveled the remaining distance across the plains and had reached the foot of Mount Doom. Frodo insisted on a brief rest before attempting the treacherous climb and Sam did not object. Exhaustion was weighing him down, such that it seemed that he too, carried a great weight, though not as great as the burden of Frodo. But Sam was confident that, after some rest, they could summon enough strength to climb the mountain.

            Sam settled himself down against a great rock and Frodo dragged himself over to sit next to him, laying his weary head on his shoulder. Sam put an arm comfortingly around his master’s shoulders as Frodo descended into yet another anguished dream of shadows and despair.

            He knew it wasn’t safe for both of them to sleep at the same time, so he would wait until Frodo could gain enough strength to stay awake so he could sleep too. So, as his master slept, Sam thought. The trek across the plains had been long and arduous, but they had made it. They were halfway through.

            Frodo whimpered in his sleep and Sam’s arm tightened around his shoulders. His confidence in their ability to climb ebbed away. They were both so incredibly exhausted. Frodo was having a terrible time of it, and Sam wasn’t sure his master would be able to gain enough strength to continue. He hadn’t reckoned on the Ring getting so heavy. Or the plains to be so rough. Or the wind so terrible. Or the mountain so tall. But one thing he was sure of now: Frodo had been right all along. This was their last journey. They would not return from this land of shadow. On the slopes of Mount Doom, their doom was to be decided.

            With this despairing realization, he felt a surge of love and admiration for Frodo. Sam looked down at his master’s head, which rested on his shoulder. Frodo had known that this quest would destroy him. He had confessed this to Sam long before entering Mordor. He had known, yet he had continued. This hobbit from the Shire was giving his life so that the rest of Middle Earth could live in peace and safety, away from dark and evil shadows. Sam only hoped that, when it came time for the great sacrifice, that he would die alongside his master. He could not bear to live without his Mr. Frodo and to attempt the long journey home alone.

            Sam sighed. He had spent the entire journey in fear of what lay ahead. Now he didn’t care. He just wanted it done and over with. Frodo stirred fitfully next to him, lost in a terrible dream. Sam felt tears form in his eyes as he planted a soft kiss on his master’s curly head. They had to see this through to the end. They had to get rid of the accursed thing torturing Frodo. Sam no longer feared their fate—he knew they were both going to die, and the Ring would die with them. It wasn’t the ending he had first expected, but at least in death, Frodo would finally be at peace.