Disclaimer: I don’t own anything relating to the Lord of the Rings in this story, which would be everything.  It all belongs to the brilliant JRR Tolkien.  Every quote from this chapter is taken from the Two Towers,  Choices of Master Samwise.

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“Don’t trust your head, Samwise, it’s not your best part.”

                             - the Two Towers: the Choices of Master Samwise

Chapter Four: Follow your Heart

Setting: the Passage of Cirith Ungol; March 13, 1419, Shire-Reckoning

Pain.  That was the one enemy that he wished to escape, but he could not, it was the first thing of which he became aware and it greeted him like an executioner desperately in need of a life.  It was worse than any broken bone, worse even than the wound inflicted by the morgul-blade, in a way. That pain had been ice-cold, rendering portions of his body numb.  He had considered it to be curse at the time, but now he realized it for the blessing that it was, and desperately wished it to be returned to him. He tried to move, but his body refused to cooperate and the burning pain of his neck was of such intensity that it felt as though a match had been lit beneath his skin leaving him both weak and restless.  He couldn’t move, try though he might; his limbs were heavy as lead and of no more use than dead weight.  He could feel his strength abandoning him in the form of a well-supplied stream of blood, which flowed down his neck and onto the cold-stone floor beneath him. 

What happened? he wondered absently.  He had no recollection of what had occurred but surely something had.  He felt like he was suffocating, smothered in some tight, stringy material, almost as if he had been wrapped with several balls of yarn.  He could barely breathe, and his body gave up trying when his heart skipped a beat as memory came back to him like a sudden flash-flood: the Spider monster!  It had attacked him from behind, and… wrapped him up?  But why…?  Unless…  No!  It couldn’t!  But he couldn’t long deny it.  Sam had shown him why spiders were so useful in the gardens to get rid of the parasitic bugs that destroyed his beautiful flowers.  How they wrapped their prey with their silk, rendering them helpless… before they ATE them.  ATE??  Frodo began to swoon at the thought of being eaten alive, of something savoring parts of his innards as his heart continued to beat, and as air continued to flow agonizingly slow through pierced lungs.  Without a conscious effort he began struggling as adrenaline surged through his body.  But for all of his desperation, he was powerless against the poison that coursed through the veins.  The growing nausea limited his movements and his screams seemed to him hardly more than a hoarse whisper as the poison coaxed his vocal chords into a betraying sleep. 

The poison of the spider’s venom slowly dragged the stubborn and frightened Hobbit down into a pit of dreamless sleep, promising a simple passing.  Come to me, the Darkness whispered. You have no chance of living, but I will give you what peace can be had.  You will sleep through your pain, never to awaken. Though Frodo was loath to admit it, it was a tempting offer.  He had had more than his share of heartache and hardship in his life, and to be spared the pain of what would otherwise surely be a slow and agonizing death would be bittersweet end.  He longed to give into it.  But the stubborn Tookish streak in his blood would not allow him to surrender to such hopelessness so readily.  He had fought for his life so often that now it was almost second-nature.  His mind would not let his body give-in to what it so desired, it was that simple.  The two warring parts of consciousness were not in conflict for very long before a Light seeped through his wrappings and greeted him with its blinding beauty, instilling him with a renewed sense of hope.  But even more welcome than the Light of what Frodo quickly identified as Galadriel’s Phial, were the Elvish words which were shouted in defiance by its bearer.

*“Gilthoniel! A Elbereth!

A Elbereth Gilthoniel

O menel palan-diriel,

Le nallon sí di’nguruthos!

A tiro, nin, Fanuilos”

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, yet alien at the same time.  He could only think that it had to be Sam, his one true companion left along this hopeless quest.  But no, it could not be.  Sam’s Elvish, though greatly improved in Rivendell, and further still in Lothlórien, could not be compared with the fluency of the one who had now come to his aide.  It must have been Legolas, or Aragorn; perhaps they had trailed him through the Wild all of these days and had returned just in time to rescue him.  But it was not so.  His former suspicion was confirmed by his rescuer’s next words, which were bereft of any Elvish influence in either word or tone.  “Now, come, you filth! You’ve hurt my master, you brute, and you’ll pay for it.  We’re going on; but we’ll settle with you first.  Come on, and taste it again!”

            Frodo felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as far as the thick bindings would allow. He would be all right.  His Sam was here!  Had not Lord Elrond said that nothing could separate them?  And had he not also charged at the Ring-wraiths in his master’s defense?  Of course, he had, and his blessedly stubborn hope and determination would see him through to the end of this fight as well.  That much was already evident from what Frodo imagined to be gurgling screams of pain from his attacker.  It won’t be long now, Frodo thought, and allowed his body to succumb to the poison and embraced the dark and painless existence of unconsciousness that awaited him.  Everything would be fine.  He could sleep off the initial shock and pain of the wound and then he would wake up all the better for his rest, knowing that he would not be eaten in the meantime, now that Sam was here.  His Sam wouldn’t let anything happen to him!

           He let go of all conscious thought and was vaguely aware of a ripping sound as the bounds were cut and not a moment later of Sam’s calloused hand stroking his cheek supplying the comfort that only a dear friend could.  He reveled in the comfort of his dearest friend and self-appointed bodyguard, and at last allowed himself to surrender all control of his body to that blissful thing called sleep. 

                But Sam had no such reassurance as he stroked his master’s cold face, bereft of all warmth, which the poison stole as greedily as a thief raids a well-supplied treasure chest. So thorough and final was the poison that it rapidly stole away any sign of heat, and the burning at the sight of the wound which had so tortured Frodo, existed only within his nerves, leaving his skin pale and cold.  To the untrained eye he would appear lifeless, and so it was this deception that propelled Samwise Gamgee to both retrieve the One Ring and to leave his master’s side.  He stumbled down the cliff-side, weary of the Ring’s incredible weight, tears blinding his eyes as he prepared to honor his duty as the last of the Fellowship.  The appointed Ring-bearer may have been dead, but not all hope was lost.  The Quest would not fail, and if he was the only one left to rid Middle-earth of the accursed Ring, then so be it!  He knew that he would likely die in the attempt, but at least he would die honoring his promise to his beloved master.  He turned around one last time, his heart begging him to return and defend his master’s body against the approaching Orcs, but he would not allow his feet to move.  He could not let his heart and its desires over-shadow his better judgment.  How could he abandon all of Middle-earth – all of the Shire – for the sake of one dead Hobbit, no matter how dear to him?  No, he couldn’t turn back; his master wouldn’t want the whole world to suffer on his behalf.  And thus it was that the rational side won the war over his mind and he determinedly turned southwards toward Orodruin, his decision made and his goal within sight.

~ To Be Continued ~

Author’s Note: Yes, I did break away from my original game-plan.  This way makes it easier for everyone because it eliminates the need for two chapters to have flashbacks of the same scene from different POVs.  In other words, it will save you people a headache.  Right now, I have 2 Frodo chapters coming up (one of which being the promised “Frodo Brandybuck”) and the second one being where Frodo leaves for the Gate, then back to Sam, and the Frodo arrives AT the Gate.  So all told now that equals 8 chapters.

If this gets too confusing then, if the populous deems it necessary, I’ll make a 2^nd version all in real-time without flashbacks.

*A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel, le nallon
O Elbereth Starkindler from firmanent gazing afar, to thee I cry

sí di-nguruthos! A tiro nin, Fanuilos!
here beneath death-horror! O look towards me, Everwhite!

I can count the number of Elvish words I know on one hand, therefore, Sam’s quote from the book was translated, not by me, but by an anonymous someone who posted their work on www.ardalambion.com

Go to the link labeled "A Elbereth Gilthoniel" (Sindarin) listed under Corpus Texts Analyzed.  I found the link to this site on the StoriesofArda.com Resources.