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A Gardener's Dilemma
And then all the clouds rolled away, and
the white sun shone, and at his command the vale of Gorgoroth became
a garden of flowers and trees and brought forth fruit.
He had meant to mention it, really he had, but the ruckus the orc
made coming up the ladder had completely driven it from his mind in
lieu of more immediate concerns. Finding Mr. Frodo alive, of course,
had been all he had thought of at first, and he felt as if he could
have held him cradled in his arms in perfect happiness for the rest
of his life. Mr. Frodo seemed that content, too, and only saying in
a hoarse voice, “Oh Sam, it was you, after all,” he held him
clutched tightly to himself and buried his head against Sam’s chest,
even with that foul-smelling orc jerkin that he had on.
Matters such as the reason they were there in the first place were
far from the mind of both hobbits, as they held each other in an
unaccustomed embrace, only conscious of each other’s heart beating,
and trying, quite unsuccessfully, to hold back their tears of joy.
And then the orc appeared, or at least the top of his flat misshaped
head. Sam caught a glimpse of it, out of the corner of his eye, and
bit back a curse. The orc was taking his time, not expecting to find
anyone but an unconscious prisoner in the tower, and that gave Sam
his chance.
A rapid glance about them revealed a fairly stout stick, the purpose
of which Sam did not dare to consider, and with a quick one-handed
grab and amazing accuracy, Sam let it fly, and gave a grunt of
satisfaction as it careened resoundingly off of the unsuspecting
orc’s head. The orc, with a startled huff, immediately followed by a
heavy thud, disappeared from view, and Sam realized that they had to
make their exit in the very near future, or matters would become
dire indeed.
So there was no time to waste in explanations, but quickly
scrambling to his feet, and helping a still somewhat shaky and quite
bare Frodo to his own, he motioned to the hole from which descended
the ladder.
“Only way out,” he muttered tersely, nodding his head in its
direction. “Best take our chances now, Mr. Frodo, afore that rat
comes to.”
Frodo immediately saw the wisdom of this plan, so after Sam took a
cautious peek down below, assuring himself that the orc was still
out cold, the both of them descended the ladder, Sam going down
first. He stopped for a moment, beside the unconscious orc, and with
a shudder of distaste, rapidly stripped the orc’s uniform, similar
to the one he himself had on, off. “Not what I’d choose t’be wearin’,
no ways,” he muttered, tossing it over to a grateful and slightly
shivering Frodo, “but I suppose we can’t be that fussy now, can we?”
Frodo was in absolute agreement on that point, and quickly tugged
the uncouth garments on, rolling it up where necessary to adjust it
a bit more to hobbit-size. With a quick jerk, Sam removed the helmet
as well, and handing it over to Frodo, pulled the one he had dropped
on the floor, in his haste to make his way up to Frodo, back on his
head again. “A proper pair we are,” he surveyed Frodo with a grim
laugh as Frodo completed his own disguise. “Can’t say as I wouldn’t
like to spring this on Ted Sandyman sometime, t’be sure. Scare him
out of a year’s growth, no mistake.”
Frodo gave a rather unsteady laugh at that thought. “That would be
quite a treat, indeed. Now, Sam, what’s the fastest way out of this
wretched place?”
&&&&&
They had ducked and feinted, had tagged at the back end of a
bedraggled troop of orcs being grudgingly pushed into battle
formation, and then had faded into the dusky day at the first sight
of cover on the hard road from the fortress of Cirith Ungol.
Stumbling away from the road, in the convenient confusion of a
couple of the feistier orcs having a spirited disagreement regarding
the ownership of a particularly coveted piece of meat, the origin of
which neither hobbit cared to consider, they made their exhausted
way to the cover of a prickly stand of gorse, and crept under it.
They lay there, as still as possible, listening with dread and
fiercely beating hearts for any sound of pursuit, but heard none. A
bone-deep exhaustion took them both over at that point, and they
fell into the deepest and most dreamless of sleeps.
Sam awoke first, with only a moment’s disorientation. But then he
realized that it was a sleeping Frodo whom he held tightly in his
arms, his back tucked snugly against his chest, and his heart gave a
jump of joy. No matter how dismal their position might be at the
moment, he was no longer alone, and that realization made him so
happy that he tucked his face against Frodo’s roughly clad shoulder
and tried his best to blink back his tears of joy.
Then Frodo sleepily stirred, and Sam immediately loosened his grip,
and almost unwillingly turned to the matter of where they were, and
what was to be done next. Trying his best not to fully awaken Frodo,
he lay him gently on the ground, and cautiously crawled out of the
gorse, and looked about.
It was night, and even in the smutty grimy air, the familiar moon
hung pale, full, and free high overhead, illuminating the forsaken
land. But even as he watched, with the faintest bit of hope in his
heart, the dark streaks of cloud began to cover the silver orb, and
he felt that unexpected hope begin to fade once again. Just then,
however, a hand was laid tentatively around his shoulder, and he
heard a soft voice, near his ear, murmur, “So here we are again,
Sam. But to what purpose now?”
Startled, he turned to Frodo, realizing that he had had no time to
tell him of the events that had happened to him. As he studied
Frodo’s ashen face, however, with the strain of the past few months
lifted from it despite their precarious position, he made an
unexpected decision.
“The purpose hasn’t changed, my dear master,” he spoke softly,
studying Frodo’s face, so close to his, carefully as he spoke. “I
never let them have It. All of that lot though, and that Stinker
too, for I caught a peek o’him just afore those orcs caught you up,
still think as you have It.”
“But you do,” Frodo breathed, his face going strangely still.
Sam quite carefully did not acknowledge this truth, but continued on
impassively, “ ’Twill be a bit safer this way, and I’d be more than
glad t’turn It over to you the moment we get there, no mistake.
You’ve a Gamgee’s promise on that.”
Frodo said nothing at first, but his hand stole unconsciously up to
his neck and gingerly rubbed the sores that the chain had worn into
the tender flesh. “I’ve never known a Gamgee’s promise to be
broken,” he said at last, his voice barely audible. “And what you
say makes a good deal of sense. Just don’t let me see It, Sam, I
think it will be better for both of us that way.”
&&&&&
The sound of voices on the road ahead alerted both of them to duck
under cover once again. It had been two days of weary trudging since
they had left Cirith Ungol, and the great fire-spewing mound in the
distance that was Mount Doom seemed to be rising higher each day, as
they drew nearer to it. Fortunately, the several small battalions of
orcs that had passed them thus far had not had any particular need
to move quietly, and were therefore not difficult to avoid. They
crept under an overhanging ledge near the road, conveniently
screened by a thorny bush of some sort, and Sam studied the faces as
the latest batch trooped by. “Sickly lot, ain’t they?” he mused as
he and Frodo made their way down the road again. “I’ll wager they
ain’t never had a tater in all their lives.”
“I doubt if they’ve ever had much that grows in the ground to eat.”
Frodo’s voice held a hint of amusement. “This isn’t exactly the lush
farmlands of the Shire hereabouts, as you may have noticed, Sam.”
“Aye, t’be sure,” Sam gave the hard ground alongside of the road a
critical glance. “But now that dark soil looks promising enough, and
there is a bit of water here, murky as it is. You’d think this great
lord’d do better for his folk,” he sniffed. “He don’t deserve t’have
all these creatures doin’ his bidding, that’s what I say.”
“So you would have treated them better, I see,” the trace of
amusement in Frodo’s voice had definitely strengthened, and he gave
Sam very nearly a smile, as he glanced sideways at his companion.
“That I would,” Sam jaw jutted out with that declaration, but then
he stopped short in the middle of the road, and stared from the road
into the barren valley falling down below them. “Don’t seem right,”
he murmured, and his hand stole into his pocket. “The Shire’d be
right enough, alus is, but mebbe this’d help this place out a bit.”
With surprise, Frodo watched him draw the small wooden box Galadrial
had given him, the day they had left Lothlorian, from his pocket.
Before he could think of stopping Sam, he had opened the box, and
taking out a pinch of the earth contained within, cast it out into
the dry wind.
“Don’t know as it’d do much good,” Sam muttered rather sheepishly,
thrusting the box immediately back into his pocket, “but worth a
try.”
“I’m not sure if the orcs feel the lack, Sam, but it was a kindly
thought,” and now he gave Sam a warm unmistakable smile, and clasped
his shoulder fondly. “But you really should guard the rest. I’m
quite positive that is not the fate Lady Galadrial had in mind for
her gift.”
Sam shrugged in a rather embarrassed manner and looked down the road
ahead. “Gettin’ darker. I expect the sun’s going down somewhere in
the wide world beyond,” he commented noncommittally. “Three or four
days more should get us to that mountain, don’t you think?”
Frodo sighed, his attention immediately diverted to grimmer topics.
“I suppose you are right, Sam. No sense wasting time; we best be
moving on.”
&&&&&
The next occasion on which they were forced to hide for another
snarling and wrangling band of orcs, being cudgeled towards the
front, to pass by, Sam examined them carefully, as Frodo leaned back
into the shadows, closing his eyes in exhaustion.
“Have you never noticed their teeth, Mr. Frodo?” he asked after they
had passed, as Frodo blinked his eyes open in astonishment.
“Well, they certainly seem sharp, and extremely nasty,” he frowned,
“but I can’t say I’ve made much of a study of them. Whatever put
that thought into your head, Sam?”
“Ah, well, it just popped in there, so to speak,” Sam turned a bit
red under the grime on his face, as they cautiously emerged from
their hiding place, and set off again. And as Frodo continued to
give him a perplexed stare, he tried to explain himself further. “It
just seemed t’me that a folk as depends on hard, tough food such as
themselves should mind their teeth a bit better. I know I’m just
being a ninnyhammer, but I couldn’t help thinking that some apples
would do them all a great deal of good. ‘Twas my mam as alus said
they’re the best for your teeth as is.”
A quick glance in Frodo’s direction couldn’t help but reveal that
his jaw had dropped in surprise. “And so you think Sauron should be
providing apple orchards?” Frodo tried to recover his power of
speech, after several moments’ stupefied silence.
“Well, seems t’make sense t’me,” Sam defended himself, jamming his
hands awkwardly into his pockets. This action, however, seemed to
suddenly lighten his face again, and he carefully withdrew the
treasured small wooden box from his pocket once more. “And right
here,” he eyed the patch of bare ground near the graveled road they
had been following. “This rock wall would protect them from the
winds, and look, there’s a stream not far off, or at least I think
it’s a stream,” he added uncertainly, peering doubtfully at the
moldy crevice, “so it would do as a roadside orchard, I’d guess.”
And before Frodo could open his mouth to emphatically disagree, Sam
had unlatched the box, and let another precious pinch of earth fall
upon the wasteland.
Frodo shrugged, and gave an inward sigh. This had been a long and
strange journey, to be sure, and perhaps neither of them was as
sharp-witted as they had been when they had started off. However, it
was Sam’s gift, to do with as he pleased, and the fact that there
was no point in arguing with a stubborn Gamgee when it came to a
matter of the soil was a truth he knew all too well.
&&&&&
Thus by the time they reached the jagged boulders at the foot of
Mount Doom, Sam’s wooden box had become quite empty. It had seemed
absolutely pointless to Frodo, and the waste of a perfectly good
gift, he was sure, although it did seem like rather ordinary dirt,
he had to admit. But it was Sam’s, and if it amused him to fantasize
lush rolling green fields, and stately luxurious groves of trees in
this bitter desolate land, well, Frodo felt that it was his right to
do so. He had been having some odd fancies of his own, for that
matter.
The struggle up the rocky cinder-strewn slope was exhausting to both
of them in their greatly weakened condition, and Frodo knew that he
would have given up completely if it were not for Sam’s gritty
determination to see the job through, and the uncomfortably growing
doubt in his mind regarding Sam’s promise to him. He had been trying
his very best not to think of it, at least not yet, but the dilemma
of what he would do if Sam was unable or unwilling to fulfill that
promise was gnawing at his heart.
So it was almost a strange sort of relief to him when Gollum lunged
unexpectedly out of the shadow, and clawed at his throat, and the
two of them rolled their way past an astonished Sam. It didn’t take
long at all for Gollum to rip the bedraggled shirt from his
shoulders, and discover that which he so desperately wished to
recover was not there.
“The fat hobbit,” he hissed, sending Frodo reeling with an
unexpectedly strong clout to his chest. “The hobbitsses think they
are so tricksy, oh, yesss, precious, but they cannot fool us. No,
the fat hobbit mussst have it now.”
Even as Sam gave Frodo a quick worried glance, and saw with relief
that he was picking himself up with no apparent serious damage, he
could not help turning to Gollum with a snarl. “I’d be no fat
hobbit, you nasty sack of bones! Just you give it a try, you sorry
worm, and you’ll find out what’s fat and what ain’t.”
With an enraged cry, Gollum hurled himself at Sam, but Sam was ready
for him. With the dexterity of a champion wrestler, which, indeed,
he had been back in the Shire, he planted his feet shrewdly and
stood his ground, and Gollum went flying off the side of the rocky
ledge, landing with a rather sickening squelch far below.
“Come, now, Mr. Frodo, no time t’waste,” Sam never looked down after
his adversary, but extended his hand out to Frodo, picking himself
up on the rocky slope below him. “He ain’t through yet, but mayhap
that gave us a bit o’time.”
“Well done, Sam” Frodo puffed, still trying to regain his breath, as
he scrambled up the treacherous hillside, grabbing Sam’s strong hand
in his own. “It’s only a bit of time that we would need, for I’m not
sure how we will ever get back once the deed is done.”
Sam froze then, for just the barest of moments, and Frodo could feel
the rough hand tightening around his. “Do you really think so, Mr.
Frodo?” Sam gave him an odd look then, and Frodo felt his heart
tighten in foreboding. “I’m not all that sure if that’ll be the way
o’it.”
“What do you mean, Sam?” Frodo’s voice finally came haltingly, after
a moment’s stillness that seemed to last an eternity.
Sam smiled then, an odd thing to do under the circumstances, but
Frodo held his breath at the sight and wondered how he could have
traveled for so very long at this quiet hobbit’s side, and yet not
know him very well at all.
Sam gave him another pull up then, and they stood on the ledge
before the entrance into the heart of the mountain itself. The wind
tossed them about, and the hot cinders and ashes of the hostile
mountain landed on their hair and bare flesh, but neither noticed.
“I promised you, Frodo,” Sam said softly, his eyes holding Frodo’s,
and his hand still clasping his tightly. “I’ve never broken a
promise to you yet, m’dear, and I never will.”
And before Frodo’s shocked mind could quite grasp what Sam had just
called him, Sam’s hand left his and made a quick motion, and Sam was
gone.
&&&&&
Frodo reeled into the mountain in a daze. Sam must have put the Ring
on, and why? And what had he meant? Forlorn and desperate, he cried
out with despair, “Sam! Oh, Sam! Come back, where are you? You
promised me, Sam!”
But it wasn’t Sam who answered, as with a snarl, he was knocked off
his feet once again, by an enraged and bloodied Gollum. “Where issss
it? Nasssty hobbitsses, we hatessss you! Give usss the precious!”
With a cry of rage of his own, however, Frodo had had enough. “It
will never be yours, Gollum,” he snarled, giving Gollum a well-aimed
kick and springing warily back to his feet again. “Sam was right
about you all along, you are hopeless. There’s nothing you care
about, other than It.”
“And what about your precious friend, my dear?” Gollum leered, with
a hideous grin, and carefully circled Frodo, looking for his
opportunity. “He’s not here, now, is he, preciousss? What does he
care about, then?”
“Wrong again, Stinker,” came a voice suddenly at Frodo’s side and he
glanced over with a jolt to see Sam at his side, giving him a rapid
grim smile. “But ‘tis naught that you’d understand, no ways.”
Gollum charged them both then, with a shriek of rage. He hit Sam
full force, and Sam staggered to the edge of the precipice. Frodo
lunged towards the two of them, and grabbed Sam’s arm just as
Gollum, with a cry of triumph, jerked the chain from Sam’s neck and
clutched that which hung upon it to his breast, with a crow of
ecstasy. There was never another sound from him, either, as he
slowly, leisurely fell back, off of the ledge, and down into the
molten river far below.
The two hobbits watched, in a trance, as Gollum slowly sank in
absolute silence into the river of fire, but then the sudden
explosion, and grating sound of shifting rock, brought them to their
senses. “Quick, Frodo,” Sam exclaimed, looking around them in alarm,
“there’s no time t’waste!”
Scrambling to their feet, they ran desperately for the opening,
dodging tumbling rock and leaping yawning chasms that opened below
them as they dashed for the open air. Gasping for breath, they found
themselves on the ledge just outside the mountain once more, hands
tightly clasped together. The mountain above them had begun to fall
in on itself, and the red molten rock flowed in great torrents down
its sides. But Sam had spotted a higher ridge, and motioned to it,
yelling, “There, Frodo!” above the cacophony.
With a last desperate effort, they scrambled down the rocks and
leapt across the fissures to find themselves safe for the moment, in
their temporary refuge. “What a marvel,” breathed Sam, his hand
still tight around Frodo’s, looking about them in astonishment.
“Yes,” Frodo replied, but it was not the landscape upon which he was
gazing. “A marvel indeed, my dearest Sam.”
Sam turned to him at his words, and even in the uneven light and
ashy sky, Frodo saw that slow dear smile that he had come to know so
well start to creep across Sam’s face.
“Why, Mr. Frodo,” he murmured, and Frodo could have sworn, as
impossible as it seemed in this dreadful place, there was a tease in
his voice.
“That’s not what you called me a few moment’s ago,” he carefully
replied, and held his breath.
Sam’s smile only deepened then, and he replied tenderly, “You mean
Frodo? Or my dearest Frodo? For ‘tis that’s what you are to me, and
no mistake.”
“Then that’s all that really matters, isn’t it, Sam-love?” Frodo
sighed happily, and hungrily found Sam’s mouth waiting for his.
&&&&&
It was only as the eagle lifted him aloft, and his eyes blinked
wearily open, that he saw. There were impossible patches of green
below them already, living and thriving where nothing wholesome had
ever existed before. Desperately blinking to see before the great
bird bore him up through the clouds, he saw trees improbably grown
stately and majestic in the course of mere hours, verdant hills and
clear running streams where nothing but filth and waste had ever
been before.
“Sam,” he smiled dreamily, closing his eyes as his heart sang with a
great thankfulness. “My dearest Sam.”
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