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frodo-cinnamonroll · 1 year

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Hi! I know this isn't one of your prompts, but would you mind doing a Frodo x human reader fic in which she's worried that she'll succumb to the Ring like Boromir did and Frodo will despise her for it, and Sam comforts her? Whether or not Frodo hears this is up to you (plus, I feel like how the ring would affect the reader isn't really talked about enough)

Torn in Two

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: none, a little angsty

A/N: This is my first ever request and I had a blast writing it! Thank you! ♥

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“You will destroy us all! Curse you! Curse you!”

The shout came not far away. That alone was worrying, but even more, it was a voice you knew and that was worse. Much worse.

You dashed through the forest, a panic rising in your chest. Your sword was drawn. You feared what lay ahead. You knew not what you might face. Even so, you ran. At last, you caught sight of a figure kneeling on the hill. He was mumbling to himself and seemed to be greatly distraught. You stopped and sheathed your sword.

“Boromir?” You stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Boromir? Brother, what is the matter? Where is Frodo?”

Boromir said nothing. He didn’t look up.

“Where is Frodo?”

You had almost never seen Boromir so troubled. Your brother was strong and fearless. You knew something terrible must have happened.

“He’s gone,” Boromir said, trembling, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s gone.”

“Where to? What happened?” You looked into your brother’s eyes but he did not keep your gaze. Guilt and pain you saw.

“I . . .” he started. “I do not know. He disappeared.”

Your eyes widened. “He used the—it?!”

Boromir nodded and clasped your hands, pressing them to his forehead. “Forgive me! Forgive me!”

“For what? What has happened? You must ell me!”

“I tried to… no!” Boromir shook. “I tried to take it from him! I do not know why. A trance came over me, stronger than any will! I could not resist it! It was as if nothing in the world was of value except that thing. Frodo ran away. He was not hurt. But I tried to take it from him, Y/N!” And with that he wept. You were stunned. Even as you pondered these words Boromir’s face changed and he managed a smirk. “But why not? Why shouldn’t I have taken it? After all, we are doomed if the Ring is in the hands of that…rat.”

“Boromir!”

“What?” Boromir’s face was dark and fell to look upon as he stood over you. “Would you too take us all to our death? Would you march the One Ring straight to Sauron and have us all destroyed? The quest is hopeless! Yet you would counsel that we give the Ring back to the Evil One! No! I will find it! I will have it! I must have it! It is mine!”

“Boromir, no!” You grabbed at his cloak as he started away.

Boromir drew his sword, his face filled with rage and darkened passion. He lifted it high above you, gleaming in a red fire that reflected his face. Then it came down. You screamed.

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“Boromir!” You sat up with a jolt, your hand over your side where the sword had pierced you . . . or where you thought it had.

The night was dark around you and the world was mostly silent except for the invisible winds whistling quietly over the rocks and lonely clumps of grasses nearby. There was no wound and no Boromir. You sighed, laying your head in your hands. It was all a dream, well, partially. You, Y/N, a daughter of Gondor, Boromir and Faramir’s sister, was one of the Fellowship of the Ring. You had insisted on coming with your brother. Though many laughed at your attempts to fight for greater things because you were a woman and “not a warrior,” you kept on. Mainly that was because you were tired of the dreary, hopeless waiting in Gondor that grew as the days went on, but also you wanted to keep your brother in check. He was dear to you, yet you knew he could be too proud sometimes, and you were one of the only ones who could remind him and keep him steady. And you were one of the only ones he would tell his mind openly to. Yet most of those in Gondor still doubted you.

“One does not need to be a master of the sword to change the world,” you had told them, “one only needs wisdom, courage, and endurance.” Even then, you were very skilled in the ways of swordsmanship, but you did not like to show it unless the need arose. Your brothers had trained you well. Strong and mighty though they were, they still treated you with love and respect and you loved them for it.

But now you were far away from your brothers, though it had pained you to leave them. Faramir had stayed behind in Gondor under his father’s wishes. And Boromir . . . you did not know where he was. Aragorn had sent you to find Boromir since you were his sister and that you did, but Frodo had been nowhere to be found. After Boromir told you what had happened, he was too distraught to go anywhere for a while. You had gone in search of Frodo, and you had found him just before he had left. He couldn’t convince you to stay, and you, Sam, and Frodo had left the company. Now it was your second night since the Fellowship was broken.

You sat back against the cool ledge of rock under which the three of you had taken refuge for the night. Rest seemed far away, for you at least. You looked over at the two hobbits who were sleeping nearby. Sam was unmoved, snoring lightly. His sword was still on his side in case of an emergency and he needed to protect his master. Frodo slept less easily it seemed. His face looked worried, as if he were in a troubling dream. That you did not doubt. Often on your journey since Gandalf had fallen, Frodo had been disturbed by unhappy dreams. It hurt your heart but there was nothing that could be done about it. Even now he mumbled Gandalf’s name, tossing and turning slightly. You watched them, your heart ever filling with love for the small creatures. You could easily see, as you had when you first saw them, how Gandalf so loved hobbits. They were small yet had such courage as many men lacked. In fact, you believed what they lacked in size, hobbits made up for in character. You were thankful to be a part of the journey with them and the others of the Fellowship and to have gotten this far.

As you looked, Frodo turned on his back and you could barely see the cold silver of the chain that he wore, the chain that held the fate of Middle-earth. You flinched when you saw it. So easy it would be to take it and rid the hobbits of the torment and horror that might lay ahead. A valiant deed it would be. Yet, as you thought about these things, something seemed wrong about it all. If you were to take it, trust would be broken. How long could you resist the ever-growing pull of the Ring? How long until you, like Boromir, were driven mad with the desire of it and harmed the very ones you claimed you were helping? Maybe it would have been better if it had just been Sam and Frodo left to take the Ring. Maybe you weren’t meant to be here at all. Maybe . . .

“Worrying about what-ifs is not going to change anything,” you whispered to yourself. “You mustn’t despair now. They need you. It would be foolish to leave them.”

But is it just as foolish to stay? How long can you hold out? How long?

You shook your head. It was as if another voice was whispering into your ear, low and menacing yet almost sweet to hear.

Spare them the pain. Spare them. Take the Ring and spare them of what lies ahead. You know it is the only way. Maybe Boromir was right. Is there any hope with things going the way they are now? Spare them.

“No!” you said to the darkness, as if someone stood before you. “I will not. Indeed I would spare them if I could but it is not my choice to make.”

Think of Gondor. Its power is failing. Think of the deeds you could do to save your people. What honor you would receive!

“I heard what Gandalf said. Only the Dark Lord can use its power and I cannot. The Ring-bearer was chosen and it was not me for a reason. Leave me, you foul voice. Leave me in peace.”

Your head was silent once again. You felt weary in your spirit yet as if you had won a victory, though it seemed small whatever it was. You did not doubt that the temptation would come again. How long could you hold out?

You sighed and laid back down, watching the hobbits rhythmic breaths. Frodo moaned in his sleep, clutching his elven cloak. Sam was motionless and seemed peaceful. Slowly, sleep took over you and you drifted away into dreamless darkness.

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“Miss Y/N,” it was Sam’s voice that pulled you into the morning. “Miss, the sun’s up. I think we best get going as soon as we can.”

You opened your eyes and sat up. The day was dull and soundless but for the Great River roaring not far away. Sam had made a small fire and three small fish were cooking in one of Sam’s pans. Frodo was silent, watching the fire. He seemed deep in thought.

“How did you manage to catch fish?” you asked.

“I happened to find a net in my pack,” Sam said. “I don’t know what from but it’s a blessing for sure. It’s a shame I won’t be able to use it much, considering where we’re going and all, but I thought we should have a good meal before all we have is lembas. It’s not too risky to make a fire, is it?”

“If it smokes,” you looked up at the dreary sky, “but it isn’t. It might be the last fire we will get in a long while, so enjoy it. We should reach those barren hills today.”

Sam nodded and served the fish as best he could manage with the meager spices he had. The three of you ate as slow as time allowed, but you needed to be off soon. When you finished, you packed up what belongings you had and continued your journey once more. You led the way with Frodo behind you and Sam bringing up the rear, not that you knew much about these lands, for it was far away from Minas Tirith and was largely unfamiliar.

The vast terrain before you between the Great River and the Dead Marshes was lifeless and unfriendly. There seemed to be nothing but the brown-gray rock in many forms of jagged hills. You cautiously picked your way between the sheltered clefts, sheer drops, and rugged boulders. For now the Ring was forgotten to you and your mind was only focused on picking the right path, and the safest one at that. Every now and then, you would reach a dead end, some high wall that none could scale or some drop that led to an end that you could not see. However, you did not give up hope and the three of you worked your way backwards and came upon another route that seemed to have appeared only then which had hidden itself from you before. Thus, slowly, you worked towards the Land of Shadow.

But even as the day went on a fog began to grow in the deep crevices of the hills and worked its way slowly upward until it covered everything. You could not see much farther in front of you and it was only thickening. It was as if someone was building up the mist to stop you from going forward, and maybe someone was. It didn’t dampen your spirits entirely, only making the way harder and more troublesome.

Even so, the three of you spoke softly of your homelands far away. You were very interested in life in the Shire and Sam and Frodo told you of what things were like there. They told of the land, their heritage, and happenings of their childhood and whatever they could recall had happened before they left. They spoke lovingly of their home and as you looked at their faces you could see their longing to return to its comforts. Frodo especially seemed saddened and when he spoke of his home, you could see in his eyes that he feared he would never return.

Then you all fell silent for a while, walking in the ever-thickening fog. The end of the day was coming near and the light was beginning to fail. For some reason or another, your heart felt heavier as the day faded. A light rain began.

“We should find somewhere to rest for the night,” you said, peering around you in search of some form of shelter. “I don’t think we shall be able to see much further.”

“I don’t think I can walk much further either,” Frodo said. He swayed a little where he stood. Sam put a hand on his arm to steady him.

“Come, this way.”

You led them to a shallow cave-like opening in the rock and made yourselves at home to the best of your ability. After eating a little lembas, you settled into silence and laid down. Frodo was asleep almost instantly and Sam followed soon after, but you couldn’t shake a rising feeling of dread that seemed distant and near at the same time. An hour or two passed, and you looked out into the fog, waiting for something or someone dreadful to appear. Then suddenly you heard what sounded like the beating of wings coming nearer. The dread was so strong you couldn’t think at first. Forcing yourself to move, you shook Sam and Frodo awake.

“Frodo, Sam, wake up,” you whispered as quietly as you could manage. Your hands were shaking.

The hobbits started awake and the three of you crouched against the rock as far back as it would allow.

“They’ve come,” Frodo whispered.

“It’s only one,” you managed to say.

“But that’s more than we can handle,” Sam said, shaking.

Then out from the darkness there came a cry so piercing and full of hatred and evil power that the three of you covered your ears and lay on the ground in terror. Now you could hear the Nazgûl on whatever evil creature it rode not far above. It shrieked again and Frodo cried out, clutching where his old wound had been. He slowly reached for the Ring on its chain but Sam stopped him. You saw It now, right in front of you and not far from your grasp. Then, in some dream, your hand reached for the Ring under some will that was not your own. You felt the chain cold and heavy in your fingers against the warmth of Frodo’s body. Sam was staring at you with wide eyes but made no move.

Take it. Take it. The voice from the night before was back, luring you. Take it and have it for yourself. Put it on and you can run, invisible and mighty. You can escape the death that awaits. You can escape. Take it now.

Your fingers were inches away from the Ring. All you had to do was take it. But the image of Boromir in your dream flashed through your mind and another of him lying in one of the boats of Lothlorien still and unmoving, floating away to be swallowed up by the sea and stars. Then in an instant something awoke inside you and you reeled back and the voice and terror and evil will passed. The Nazgûl was gone.

You sat back against the wall, breathing heavily and staring out into the distance. Frodo sat up now and looked at you. You covered your mouth with your hand as tears welled in your eyes.

“Forgive me,” you whispered. “Forgive me.”

You stood and, without another word, walked out into the fog. You didn’t go very far, so as to not get lost, but you went as far as you dared. You sat down on a small boulder, heedless of the cold, and let tears fall down your face. You wrapped your elven cloak around you and cried softly to yourself, drawing your knees to your chest. What was the point of all this? The struggle? The pain? Why were you even here in this desolate land? Then your mind went back to the day you had left Gondor with Boromir.

“I’m still not sure about all this,” Boromir said, saddling his horse.

“There are many things we do not yet know, brother,” you answered. “I think we will learn much more in the days to come. Who knows? Maybe one day tales will be sung about us, whatever we are about to do.”

Boromir shook his head with a smile. “Ah, sister. Still dreaming of valor and tales? You may have your chance to be in one yet. But whether or not we are, we must do what is right, honor or no.”

“So you have learned a thing or two from me.”

“Indeed. I have a feeling that more than the lives of our people depend on this.”

“Then let us not forget. Let us not fail. Let us fight to the end.”

You looked back up into the fog, resting your chin on your knees. You breathed the night air deeply. Though it wasn’t fresh or pleasant, you felt a little lighter somehow.

“Miss?”

You turned around wiping the tears from your eyes. The hazy figure of a hobbit stood behind you. “Sam! What are you doing?”

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” Sam said. “It’s getting quite cold I think. Mr. Frodo’s already out. We should probably get the most sleep we can too.”

“I don’t know that I can,” you said, not looking at him.

Sam sighed and sat down next to you. “I . . . I know you think you . . . well, I know you feel bad for it.”

“For what?”

“What happened . . . with the Ring . . . when the Black Rider came by.”

You looked at Sam and then buried your face in your hands. You couldn’t stop the tears and you didn’t try.

“I’m so sorry!” you cried. “I don’t know what came over me. It was so . . . strong, whatever it was. My mind filled with thoughts of the Ring and some foreign desire made me want it! I do not want it, Sam! I do not! Yet ever since we left it’s tempted me. I understand now why Frodo told me not to come. He saw in me what I could not see in myself. I thought I could resist it, more so than Boromir, but I was wrong. I fear I may succumb to it and be taken by it and who knows what I will do then!” You could say no more and your words were buried in sobs.

You felt Sam’s hand on your arm. “Miss Y/N,” he said, “with all due respect, you seem to have missed something. I’ve noticed how it’s tempted you and made you torn in two. Mr. Frodo has too. But, Miss, you resisted it. When that Black Rider came by, you were drawn to it, sure, but you didn’t let it get a hold of you. You said no. When you did that—now don’t take me for a loon—but when you did that, I saw a light around you. It was as if you had finally overcome it’s call to you and you won, if you understand me. You don’t need to worry about it any more. And even if it does still draw you a little, you’ve got something stronger than it. I don’t know what, but it’s there. Mr. Boromir, he had strength, but he didn’t have all of what you do. It would be more than a shame if you left. I think we’ll be needing you down the road, so that’s why you’d better not leave.”

You looked at Sam in shock and admiration. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do. I may be a bit of a ninnyhammer sometimes but I’m no liar.”

“Oh, Sam!” you hugged the hobbit tightly. “Thank you! Thank you. Bless you, dear hobbit! Gandalf was right, there is more to halflings than meets the eye. Come, let us rest now.”

“Just a minute,” Sam said. “I just want to say, too, that Mr. Frodo, he doesn’t hate you, Miss. He told me just now that when you came back he was going to say something similar to what I just said now, but my poor master can hardly keep his eyes open whenever we stop for the night. He’s fond of you and I am too. Mr. Frodo and I would trust you with our lives, and everything else besides.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” you said softly. “I have never really had friends so close as I have you and Frodo. Thank you for that.”

“Of course, Miss, it’s a pleasure.”

The two of you went back up to the cave where Frodo was at rest. You felt at peace now, at least enough to get through the night. You laid down and closed your eyes, humming a song that you had learned many years before. Such a song had never been heard in those parts in many many years, if ever at all. And over the dreary hills it floated, a sign of hope sailing the wind.

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The next day came quietly, and your small group got an early start when the light was still new. The fog still lay thick around the land, but it was thinner than the day before. The misty whisps curled around the shapeless rock forms like ghostly white snakes. Although the day was just about as dreary as the last, you felt more hopeful. You had hardly spoken to Frodo and Sam at all, as there was nothing much to say. You had wanted to say something to Frodo but you couldn’t find the words. You kept glancing at him and opening your mouth to speak but no words would follow.

Just before you thought you couldn’t bear it any longer, the three of you stopped to rest. You sat on a small rock with withering moss clinging to it and looked out into the dissipating fog. You could barely see a glimpse of the Dead Marshes far away. You could smell them too. Nearer by, you could hear what sounded like a trickle of water.

“If my ears aren’t mistaken,” Sam said, breaking the silence, “I think there’s a stream nearby.”

“I believe you are correct, Sam,” you said, glancing around.

“I’ll refill our bottles,” Sam said, grabbing the three flasks you had. Not waiting, he started off with a quick look in Frodo’s direction.

An awkward silence ensued.

“Frodo,” you said at last, forcing the words out.

“Yes?”

“Please . . . please forgive me for what happened last night with the Ring. Sam already spoke with me about it, but I need to tell you myself that I am sorry, terribly sorry, for what happened. I do not think it will happen again but . . .” Suddenly, everything Sam had said the night before was forgotten to you and the tears ran down your face again. “Oh that it should be I that is your worst enemy, and whom you have most cause to fear! It would be better if I stayed here while the two of you went ahead! It would be better if I rotted alone in this desolate place than brought any harm or trouble to you!”

Frodo’s face was filled with sadness when you said this. He squeezed your hand, looking into your eyes with empathy. “No,” he said. “That is . . . nonsense, Y/N. It is a shame to me to hear such a word. I would not hear it of you, and I shall not hear it from you. May Eru judge me by my deserts, and punish me with more bitter suffering than even this hour, if by any act or will of mine anything shall ever come between us!”

“But it is not your act, Frodo,” you said, looking away. “It is mine. It is all my doing.”

“No. No it is not. It is not your fault that we are here. It is not your fault that the Ring came to me. It is not Bilbo’s fault that it came to him. I do not believe it is Gollum’s fault that it came to him either. When we were in the mines of Moria, Gandalf told me this: he said it is not for us to decide the times we see or what we face, but all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. You are not succumbing to the Ring, Y/N. If any of us is, it is me. Last night you resisted and overcame the desire for it. I wish I had the strength to do the same. You have more to you than meets the eye, a hidden strength, I think. I trust you, Y/N, and I believe I always shall. Please don’t forget it.”

You said nothing. You couldn’t. You wrapped Frodo in a hug and cried. Frodo said nothing else and patiently returned the gesture, holding back tears himself.

“So there is hope for this journey after all,” you whispered. “We just might not see it yet.”

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