Chapter Two:  Help From Above

Frodo did not look back when he left the city. His doom was before him and in him. He concentrated solely on keeping one foot in front of the other. He would do this for Sam, so no one else would have to endure what he was. Faramir and a dozen of his men followed him. Frodo refused to eat except a little at night and only drank when he was so dizzy from dehydration he could no longer walk. He stumbled more as day grew on and would have fallen more than once had not invisible hands reached to steady him.

I love you, came the voice that sounded so much like Sam’s. Frodo gasped in new pain and fresh tears flooded down his cheeks. The wind or what seemed to be the wind dried his cheeks in a gentle caress.

So they walked many miles until each night Frodo collapsed from exhaustion. The Rangers were amazed at his endurance. He didn’t speak to any of them, except to give soft thanks for the bowl of food Faramir gave him each night. Sometimes the men heard him murmuring in his sleep, usually to Sam. Each night, they watched new tears track down the little one’s cheeks, but also each night they watched him sleep as though curled around an invisible guardian. It was the only time his features looked a little less strained, a little more peaceful. He seemed to glow softly as though lit by moonlight, but there was no moon, no sun, only a pale, grey light. Each morning, Frodo was the first to wake at dawn, anxious to continue on.

He had not tried to kill himself again beyond the one time Faramir had woken from a sound sleep and seen Frodo staring fixedly at one of the Ranger’s own swords that the little one held across his lap, stroking the blade slowly. The man had started to sit up and open his mouth to stop the halfling, but then Frodo stopped on his own, as though he had come to a decision within himself. He laid the sword aside and lay down on his side and fell asleep. Faramir watched him for long time, retrieved the blade, then fell back to sleep again himself. He made sure after that Frodo had no access to any of the weapons he or his men had and a guard was placed around him, but the Ring-bearer did nothing more than sleep.

Torment continued to burn in Frodo’s eyes and soul, but there was steely determination there also. It was most obvious in the struggles the Ring-bearer fought with his burden. It was there that the little one showed his strength best, strength the Rangers knew they would be hard pressed to match, if they could at all. Faramir didn’t know what would happen when they reached the Fire, but he had no doubt that they would.

The captain spent long hours on their march watching Frodo, admiring and respecting him ever more, even beginning to love him, as he hadn’t loved anyone but his brother. He surprised himself by discovering he had found a new hero to emulate. They exchanged few words, but they recognized shared pain and determination in each other’s eyes and shared much with just a glance.

"Sam was my best friend," Frodo said one night as they watched the stars on a rare night the heavy clouds parted for a moment. "He was my heart."

Faramir looked at the Ring-bearer, startled, as those were the most words Frodo had spoken since they had left Osgiliath, but then he wondered whether his friend was even aware that he had spoken out loud. Pain still poured in a great gout from that little one, more than it would seem possible from such a small being, but there was fondness and love in those words too. Frodo wrapped his arms around himself. "He is my best friend," he amended softly, then lay down to sleep, wrapped in more than just his cloak.

Faramir and his men saw other instances in which it seemed the Ring-bearer had more aid than what could be seen with their eyes. The most dramatic was witnessed by the whole camp when one night the gangly creature Faramir had hoped never to see again suddenly reappeared and had been very stealthily moving toward the sleeping halfling whose hand was wrapped around the Ring. Faramir, sleeping near Frodo, had woken just as that other creature had reached out to touch that hand. He pointed his sword at Gollum’s throat. "I would stay away if I were you," the man said very quietly.

Gollum hissed and leapt first away, then rushed at an angle at the Ranger and managed to put his hands around the startled man’s throat. Faramir fought to release himself but the grip was too tight. Frodo startled awake when Gollum suddenly cried out in alarm and terror and roused the whole camp. They all saw the creature trying to choke the Ranger captain, then watched as against the twisted thing’s will, his fingers began to release the choke-hold as though being pried apart by an invisible but irresistible force.

Gollum howled, then they all watched the amazing spectable continue as the miserable wretch wrestled with his unseen opponent and then was finally thrown down by it. One of the Rangers got close enough to bind the creature’s arms and legs. Frodo lay back down and fell asleep again. There was a slight smile on his face.

The days smeared into each other, a hazy memory of exhaustion at best for all of them and for Frodo, a bright shaft of pain at his center, growing no better as the weight of the Ring grew more and more. There were times he could not even lift his head, but continued to stumble along at the punishing pace he had set for himself, a pace that would have tested the strength of any well-bodied man, let alone a hobbit whose feet were so blistered they left trails of blood behind. Frodo ignored that pain as well as that in the tortured muscles of his legs. It was barely noticeable in the agony that burned when his heart had been and in the torment as the Ring burrowed deep into his mind. He fed on the strength he was given moment by moment, not just by Sam but from a Source he could not even name. More than once he collapsed in the dirt and lay trembling, face down in the ash, then before Faramir or any of the men could reach him, he extended his hand as if expecting the help of another and continued on his way.

Gollum seemed the most unnerved by this and tried more than once to get away, but more than the rope around his waist, held him bound to the Ring-bearer’s side. Most times he tried to stay as far away as he could from Frodo himself. At other times, he was pulled to his side, drawn and repulsed at the same time. Frodo saw that and wondered whether his former guide was somehow aware of the Other he was only vaguely aware of himself. That awareness, though, seemed to have the opposite effect on the ruined hobbit as it did on him. But aren’t we both ruined? Frodo thought.

It was near the end of March when they at last reached the Fire. Frodo stopped a moment to behold the red storm that had been consuming him already for months, the fiercest part of it still burning as it had been for days and days. He only looked at it a short while, then continued on his way toward it. The Rangers paused longer and marveled anew at the courage and resilience of the halfling they protected, wondering where he was getting his strength. Not even the terror in the tunnel had been able to stop him, though it and the orcs they had encountered in the tower had cost them half their complement. Frodo apologized to Faramir for those deaths. The Ranger captain had argued in vain that it was not Frodo’s fault. He could only watch helplessly as the halfling who was now so dear to him added the weight of those losses to the already heavy burden he carried.

Frodo knew, though, where his strength came from. He had spoken truly when he had told Faramir that he was already burning, but along the way he had become slowly aware that the nature of the flames was changing. As much as he felt that the fire of his desolation and loss would never go out, he also knew the fire of Sam’s love and that of Another he couldn’t name would never be extinguished either. He would be able to complete the Quest.