Letting Go

Frodo fell to his knees, clutching his hand as blood dripped and slopped over the stump of his finger. Gollum, for now Sméagol was utterly conquered, had tossed away the bitten-off finger and was dancing around, holding the Ring up in the air. As he capered madly, a sudden wave of rage and jealousy rippled through the hobbit’s heart. This was his Ring! How dare that thing keep it! Frodo staggered to his feet and rushed at Gollum, toppling both of them over the cliff. Gollum’s claw-like fingers curled around the Ring, an expression of sick happiness playing across his features. Frodo clung to the rock face with his good hand, the sudden danger bringing him to his senses. The Ring floated on a cooled patch of lava, the delicate script beginning to encircle the band as it warmed. Frodo, slipping, looked with an almost longing expression down at the torrent of flame. “No!” cried Sam. He reached a hand down to Frodo, who closed his eyes, the Ring’s voice ordering him to save it from the molten fury on which it sat. As if from a great distance, Frodo heard Sam’s voice: “Don’t let go, Mister Frodo! Don’t you even think about letting go!” The Ring’s commanding grew even louder as it began to melt, and Frodo knew that he would give in. There was nowhere to go, dangling over the precipice of heat. In his mind, Frodo saw himself, Master of the Ring, overthrowing Sauron. However, the image quickly changed to one of a shadow, bringing the whole world grovelling and the mighty Valar cowering and bowing at his feet. The Shire burned. Bodies of hobbits were strewn on the dirt, and in Rivendell, Lorien, and Mirkwood, all of the Elves lay slain. Ships anchored at the Grey Havens blazed. Merry, Sam, Pippin, and even Bilbo and Sam’s beloved Rosie were tortured and killed, Frodo laughing over them. Aragorn cried out, orcs using him for target practice. The valleys and streams of Rivendell ran red with blood, the Balrog of Moria hewed a path of murder through Lorien, and in Mirkwood, Dol Guldor grew to dark heights as spiders and orcs overran the realm of Legolas’s father. Frodo looked up at Sam and shook his head. “No, Sam. It’s too strong. I already claimed the Ring. I would save it from the Fire. It would claim me.” He loosened his fingers and fell. Sam stared in shock as Frodo’s body hit the liquid fire. He lay there on his back, oblivious to the burning heat. Images of the Elves filled his mind, and he closed his eyes, hearing musical voices raised in song. As he sank into the fire, he whispered, “Goodbye, Sam.” Then he smiled as the lava closed over his head; the voice of the Ring was silent.