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Frodo fell and found himself curled around a thick branch overhanding the Brandywine. The summer sun was high above the hobbits as they gathered around the tree. Merry and Pippin had stripped to their breeches, and were tossing fistfuls of water at Sam, who remained clothed on the bank.
This was the last of the good summer days. Merry had wanted to get one good adventure in before the fall began, when Sam would be called into long hours on the West Farthing fields. They had spent the day trailing through forests hunting for beetles and mushrooms. Finally reaching the Brandywine, Pippin had insisted they go for a swim.
This had all been before Frodo had tried to climb the oak tree next to the river. Clambering from branch to branch, he felt like a child again. A coldness seeped through his body when he looked down at the water.
“Frodo, is everything okay?” Pippin asked. Merry turned to look, a flash of concern crossing his face.
“I.. I can’t move,” Frodo stammered. His limbs were heavy, and his heart felt as if it was going to burst from his chest.
“Shit. Merry, it’s happening again,” Pippin said, worried.
“What’s happening to Mister Frodo?” Sam stood at the bank.
“Frodo’s panicking. This used to happen when he was young, after…” Merry trailed off, before turning back to Frodo, “Okay, Frodo, you need to take slow breaths. Do you think you can go back the way you came?”
Frodo felt his vision narrowing. No matter how quickly he breathed he felt like there wasn’t enough air in his chest. He felt a splinter push through his fingers as they dug into the branch.
“I’m going to go get him,” Pippin said, before Merry grabbed his shoulder.
Merry whispered something in Pippin’s ear, and Frodo made out the words “can’t take” and “both of you.”
Sam began to wade into the water. He had stripped off his shirt, and was struggling out of his overalls. Tossing the damp clothes behind him, he waded into the water towards Merry and Pippin. He looked up at Frodo, and held out both his arms.
“Mister Frodo, if you jump I can catch you!” Sam shouted. Merry and Pippin shot nervous looks at each other, and took a step backwards.
“I… I can’t do it Sam…” Frodo murmured. His body felt as if it was on fire. “I’ll hurt you…”
“It’s nothing, I’ve caught heavier sacks of potatoes,” Sam hesitated, as if he was trying to convince himself, “No other way down!”
“You can do it Frodo!” Merry called hesitantly, while Pippin put his hands over his eyes.
Frodo let out of a long breath and looked down. He had forgotten how strong Sam was, the way his shoulders sloped into thick arms. He realised the jump wasn’t that far at all, and the branch was sturdy enough to sit on. He loosened his grip and manoeuvred into a seated position on the branch. All it would take was one jump.
“Inspired,” a voice pieced Frodo’s mind like a knife.
Frodo inhaled sharply, and looked down into the Brandywine. The branch was reflected in the water, yet all around Frodo the world seems to become quiet and slow. Frodo looked at his reflection again, and watched it turn to look back at him. There was an orange tint in the reflection’s eyes, and too many teeth in it’s smile.
“Isn’t this familiar,” Frodo’s reflection said, with a voice that echoed from the darkest corners of the earth, “Frodo Baggins went too far and had to be rescued.”
Frodo looked back to Merry and Pippin. The colour had drained from their faces, and they were moving in a slow, disjointed manner. Frodo had an unpleasant memory of Hobbiton puppet shows, with painted smiles and cold, wooden eyes.
“Come on,” the reflection tutted, “you know where you are right now.”
Frodo knew. He could feel the heat of the mountain rising through his bones. He could smell the sulphur clinging to his sweat. His mouth was dry and he felt eyes watching every inch of his body.
“You’re such a convincing liar,” the reflection mused, rubbing it’s hands, “you could have made that jump. You didn’t need any help. I think I know why. You wanted to be rescued. You like it. It makes you feel… important.”
Frodo felt a weight around his neck and almost threw him off balance. “That’s not true,” he whispered, each word a struggle to get out.
“Please,” the reflection tutted, “this can be our secret. Frodo Baggins, ever the damsel. That’s why you told Mithrandir you could do this. Deep down, you knew that your friends would pick you up. You would go to the ends of the earth just to stand on their bodies.”
Frodo saw movement in the water as shapes began to emerge. The bloated bodies of Gandalf, and Boromir rose to the surface of the river. Legolas and Gimli followed, then Merry, and Pippin, and…
“No,” Frodo whimpered, “please stop.”
“I didn’t do this,” the reflection’s smile almost split its face in two, “you did this. You’ve always done this. Bagginses have always been weak.”
Frodo felt the weight of his heart. He closed his eyes, desperately trying to get back to good memories. He searched his thoughts and found nothing but fire and ash and an all consuming eye.
“Mister Frodo, I need you to trust me!”
Frodo opened his eyes. The vision was unchanged. Sam stood in the same place, the colour returned to his cheeks.
“Frodo, you’ve got this!” Merry shouted, colour rushing back to his face.
“If you choke I’m putting dibs on Bag-End!” Pippin hollered.
The reflection snarled, and its eyes began to glow ferociously. Its fingers became long and blackened, and a deep rumble began to shake the entire world. Frodo felt his heart tremble with strength.
“I am loved,” Frodo whispered.
The reflection let out a cry of fury and burst from the water. Frodo leapt from the branch. Time slowed and Frodo felt the heat of Mount Doom surge through his body. He felt something else underneath him, something stronger than the mountain. This power was gripping Frodo tight, and hoisting him into the air.
“Frodo!” Sam’s voice pierced the vision. “I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you!”
Samwise Gamgee lifted Frodo above his shoulders, and began to carry him up the slopes of Mount Doom. Frodo felt a smile crack the ashen skin of his lips, and for a moment the shadows in his mind was held back.