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The heat of the mountain burned behind them, the rocks scorching under bare feet. Sweat poured down their backs as Sam and Frodo made their way up the mountain, squinting up at the slopes that seemed to stretch endlessly before them. Dark clouds hovered overhead, the sky lit only by the bright orange eye hovering above the tower.
Frodo stumbled once again, catching himself on the rocks with torn palms. Sam offered his hand, pulling his friend up once again.
“We’re almost there, Mr. Frodo. Just a bit further,” Sam said. He would have to keep hope for both of them. The exhaustion of the journey weighed on them both, but the ring was taking its toll on Frodo even more. “Just a bit further, Mr. Frodo,” he repeated. Just a bit further.
Frodo nodded, looking up at Sam with wide eyes. He held tightly onto Sam’s arm for a moment, before forcing himself to let go. They could not linger here. Their journey was almost done.
And as Frodo looked up the rocky path before them, he found this was closer to the truth than ever. A cave led into the mountain before them, the faint glow of magma from inside casting eerie shadows across the blackened rocks below. Each one looked like a lurking monster, waiting for the two of them to drop their guard before attacking. More than ever, Frodo was glad he was not alone upon this mountain, else he knew he would have given into the ring’s allure days ago.
Just a bit further. Just a bit further. Sam’s mantra played over and over in Frodo’s mind. They clambered over rocks, scraping worn skin on the jagged edges. The summit slowly grew closer and closer, the ledge before the cave that marked the end of their journey almost within reach. Sam pulled himself over the edge, turning back just in time to catch Frodo’s hand as he slipped.
“I’ve got you, Mr. Frodo. I won’t let you fall.”
They stumbled down the path, into the mouth of the cave, huddling closer together in fear of the shadows. But the path was short, and soon they stared over the edge of a crumbling cliff. Molten lava bubbled beneath them in a great lake, an earthen mirror to Sauron’s eye. The narrow ledge stretched before them.
Frodo recalled the similar bridges through the Mines of Moria, flinching at the reminder of Gandalf’s fall to the Balrog. He squeezed his eyes tight and took a step back from the path, raising a hand to touch the ring around his neck. “I can’t, Sam. I can’t go on.”
Sam placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “You can, Mr. Frodo. I’m right here with you.”
Frodo took a deep breath, drawing strength from the weight of Sam’s hand on his shoulder. He took one step forward, then another. He stumbled again, legs shaking too much to carry him, and knelt to crawl the last few feet. Soon he was at the end of the ledge, just a sliver of rock between him and the fires of Mount Doom. Frodo’s hand reached up again to touch the ring, pausing to look between the caldera below, and Sam behind him. Sam.
Sam, who had willingly followed him from the waters of Nen Hithoel to the scourged lands of Mordor. Sam, who kept him from giving in to the ring’s power even in his darkest moments. Sam, who was there for him always with no regard for the dangers of the journey. His Sam.
Frodo pushed away from the ledge, staring back at his friend who was worn and filthy from the long travels. It reminded him of the handprints painted on the faces of the Uruk-hai, the dirt and blood smeared on Sam’s face like a sign of his devotion to Frodo. Sam’s straw-like hair was scraggly and coated in ash, but lit by the soft glow of the magma, it seemed as fine as gold. Frodo’s heart skipped a beat at the sight. “Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked, staring back at him and reaching out. “It’s alright, Mr. Frodo. It’s time to give up the ring.” “I know, it’s just… There’s something I need to do first.”
“What’s that, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked, a slight tremble in his voice revealing the fear he tried so hard to keep hidden. They had made it so far, Frodo couldn’t give in to the ring’s power now.
But Frodo’s mind was elsewhere. He cared not for the ring’s whispered promises of glory and power. He had what he needed, right in front of him this whole time.
It had taken a long journey to realize it. Through swamps and caves, meetings and partings, Sam had been an ever-present companion at his side. He knew this loyalty ran deeper than a simple promise to Gandalf.
Frodo pushed himself up from the position he’d taken, crawling across the ledge. He turned his back on the fires of Mount Doom, on his duty to the people of Middle Earth for just one more moment. He knelt upon the ledge, looking back at Sam. He pulled the ring from his neck, hand shaking as he tossed the chain into the flames below.
“Mr. Frodo?”
“Sam,” Frodo said with a soft smile. “My Sam, you have followed me to the ends of the earth. And I—I fear this may be the end. But here at the end, if this is the end of all things, there is no one I would rather share it with.” Frodo’s hand unfolded to reveal the shimmering gold of the One Ring resting in his palm. “Samwise Gamgee, will you marry me?”
Sam took a step back, with a sharp inhale as his eyes grew wide. He lifted a hand to his chest, fingers finding the metal clasp of his Elven cloak. “Mr. Frodo? I–” He paused, looking down at the rocky ground below them. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before glancing up to meet Frodo’s eyes. “I never thought—that is, I didn’t want to assume… but—” Sam laughed, despite himself, despite what seemed like the inevitability of their deaths, this moment was more than enough to make the long journey worth it.
“Of course I’ll marry you, Mr. Frodo. Of course I will.” Sam pulled his friend, no, his love, into a tight embrace. Frodo was laughing now too, relief filling them both. They pulled away after a long moment, Frodo taking one of Sam’s scarred hands in both of his own. Gently, ever so gently, he slipped the One Ring onto Sam’s finger.
Sam’s breath caught, waiting for the power of the Ring to overwhelm him. But it did not come, not in the way that Frodo had described it. The Ring began to glow with warmth, shifting to fit Sam’s finger.
“Mr. Frodo, the Ring… something’s happening.” Sam’s voice wavered, unable to look away from the ring and Frodo’s fingers wrapped around his own.
Frodo lifted Sam’s hand, watching the metal swirl as amber words rose to the surface, lingering in Elvish for just a moment, and then slowly shifting to a language the two lovers could read.
“One Ring to end the war,” Frodo read, cautiously. “One Ring to unite them…”
“One Ring to defeat the darkness,” Sam continued.
“And in the light bind them,” the two of them finished together. They slowly looked upwards, their eyes meeting at last.
Frodo cautiously reached his hand out, cupping Sam’s chin, his eyes asking a silent question. Sam was quick to answer, leaning forward, his mind focused on nothing but the warmth of Frodo’s hand against his face. Slowly, ever so slowly, their eyes slid shut and their lips met. It was light, like the touch of a dragonfly on water, but all the sweeter for it. They pulled apart soon after, the calm of the moment overshadowing the chaos outside.
As they broke apart, they turned towards the mouth of the cave, and saw the dark clouds that shrouded the land of Mordor beginning to lift. The ever-present glow of Sauron’s eye faded, as the sun illuminated these cursed mountains for the first time in this Age.
Frodo and Sam smiled, laughing again from the relief of it all. They stepped out into the sunlight, marveling at the warmth on their worn skin. The two of them stood close, and Sam reached out for Frodo, who quickly fell into his side, as if he was always meant to be there. Turning his head, Sam leaned over to press a soft kiss to Frodo’s temple.
“We might make it out of this after all, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, turning to Frodo with a gentle smile.
“I think we might, Sam,” Frodo whispered, leaning his head into Sam’s chest. “Just a little further, and we’ll be back home.”
“Just a little further,” Sam agreed. Whatever challenges this new Age brought, they would face them together.