The Mage of Middle-Earth - CH - 88

The air was heavy with fog as the narrow trail wound its way out of the mountains. For days, the craggy peaks had held them in their jagged grip—endless gray stone, steep ledges, and treacherous paths. But now, a faint glimmer of moonlight filtered through the mist, and before them stretched a vast plateau, the land sloping downward toward a distant, dark horizon.

Samwise Gamgee tightened his cloak around his shoulders, his eyes constantly flicking toward the wiry, hunched figure that padded ahead of them.

Gollum.

The creature moved with eerie ease over the rocks, his long limbs almost boneless as he slithered from stone to stone.

“This way, precious, yes, this way,” Gollum hissed, turning to glance over his shoulder with eyes that gleamed silver in the moonlight. “We knows the path, we does. Old paths. Hidden paths. Safe paths. No nasty orcs, no sharp eyes, not yet…”

Frodo followed closely, stepping carefully over the loose gravel. He was pale and thin, wearier than he had ever been, but his eyes were clear with purpose.

Sam followed last, his hand near the box in his coat pocket, the one that held the Ring.

And he didn’t trust Gollum. Not one bit.

“Frodo,” Sam whispered once they paused for a rest beneath a rocky overhang, “I still say we can’t trust him. He’s up to something, I know it.”

Frodo glanced at Gollum, who crouched nearby on a flat rock, muttering to himself and staring at the stars with that haunted look.

“He’s helping us, Sam,” Frodo said softly. “We would still be wandering circles in those peaks if not for him.”

Sam frowned. “Maybe so. But he’s not helping us out of kindness, is he? It’s the Ring he wants. He’s always talking to it—precious this, precious that. I catch him starin’ at my pocket every time we stop.”

Frodo looked at his friend, eyes shadowed with understanding. “I know he wants it. But I also think… a part of him wants to be free of it, too.”

Sam shook his head. “You always see the good in people, Frodo. But I’ve seen Gollum watching me while I sleep. I ain’t letting my guard down.”

As the night wore on, they moved further through narrow gullies and winding paths hidden by thorns and stone.

Gollum proved surprisingly knowledgeable. He led them through a collapsed tunnel barely big enough for hobbits, whispered warnings about watchtowers on the hill, and skirted hidden pitfalls in the ground.

“There,” he hissed one night, pointing through the trees at a broken statue buried in vines. “See the stone man? Old border. We’s out of the mountains now. This land is dangerous… very dangerous…”

They passed ruins and old roads, broken bridges and ancient towers covered in moss. Gollum never faltered. He remembered them all.

“Used to live in these caves, we did, before. Before they chased us, yesss. Before they took our precious...”

Sam caught Gollum creeping too close one evening and sharply snapped, “Step back from me, you slippery snake, or I’ll bash your skull in with my pan!”

Gollum recoiled, hissing. “Not hurting the hobbitses! Just looking, yes, just looking!”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sam growled. “You keep your nasty fingers to yourself.”

Frodo gently placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We need him, Sam. For now.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Aye. But we’ll sleep in shifts from now on.”

Later that night, as Sam sat awake watching the fireless camp, Frodo slept lightly, and Gollum rocked himself in the shadows beyond.

“We helps them, yesss, we leads them… But we hates them too. Filthy hobbits, tricksy hobbits…” he muttered to himself.

Then his voice softened into something almost tender, almost broken. “But they’re like us. Small. Alone. Not orcs. Not elves. Maybe… maybe not so bad.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed as he listened.

He looked up at the moon and sighed. “Maybe there’s more of Sméagol left than I thought. Or maybe that’s just another one of his tricks.”

But even with doubt heavy on his shoulders, he pressed his hand against the small box in his pocket.

The Ring rested inside, silent and cold.


The wind had long since stilled, and the sky overhead was a lifeless grey. A heavy mist clung to the land, swirling over the stagnant water and clumps of broken earth. Before them stretched a wide, desolate marshland—its pools glassy and unmoving, its air thick with the scent of decay.

Samwise Gamgee stood at the edge of the mire, looking ahead with a wrinkled nose and a deep frown. “Are you sure about this?” he muttered, not even trying to hide his suspicion.

Just ahead, Gollum crouched on a rock, his eyes unnaturally wide, flicking between the hobbits and the bog.

“Yes, yes,” he hissed. “Through the marshes, precious. The safe way. The hidden way. No nasty orcs, no soldiers. We knows the tricksy paths, yesss…”

Frodo, his face drawn and pale from exhaustion, nodded. “It’s either this… or we go back and lose weeks we don’t have.”

Sam scowled. “Weeks we might survive, I’d wager. This place looks cursed. I haven’t heard a single bird chirp, nor seen a rabbit print. Even the air feels wrong.”

Gollum giggled, crouching lower. “Because they all died here, precious. Long ago. Men, Elves, orcs—all dead. All in the water now. Yesss.”

Frodo looked at the bog with a haunted expression. “The Battle of Dagorlad… it was fought here. Wasn’t it?”

Gollum nodded eagerly, licking his lips. “Dead faces in the water… don’t look, no, precious… not into the lights…”

Sam stiffened. “Lights?”

Gollum only smiled, then leapt ahead onto a strip of mud that looked no different from the rest.

“This way, this way!”

The journey into the marsh was a miserable one. Every step threatened to sink into the soft mud. Frodo and Sam used their walking-sticks to test the ground ahead, stepping carefully between tufts of grass and flat stones barely visible under the murky water.

The silence was near unbearable.

No birds called. No insects buzzed. Only the quiet slap of their feet in mud and the occasional whisper of Gollum muttering to himself broke the stillness.

Hours passed, and the mist thickened.

The land looked the same in all directions—mounds of moss-covered earth and pools of green water stretching endlessly. Even the sky seemed far away, the fog blurring everything above and ahead.

“We’re going in circles,” Sam muttered, looking around anxiously.

“No circles, no circles,” Gollum snapped. “We knows the path, we do. Clever, sneaky paths. Trust Sméagol!”

Sam gripped his coat tighter, checking the pocket where the small silver box lay. “Aye, I trust you about as far as I can throw a troll.”

Gollum sneered but said nothing.

As twilight approached, the fog began to glow with an eerie light. Strange flickers—blue, pale green, and white—danced across the waters, hovering just above the surface.

Frodo paused, mesmerized.

“Look… lights,” he said softly.

“No!” Gollum shrieked, darting in front of him. “Don’t follow the lights! They tricks you! They pull you in, yesss… make you look down, look into the faces—”

“Faces?” Sam asked, squinting at the water.

He stepped forward and looked closer into one of the pools.

Beneath the surface, a pale shape floated. A face, twisted in agony, its eyes open wide. Another floated nearby—an orc, maybe. Then an elf. All glowing faintly from within the water.

Sam stumbled back, nearly retching.

“They’re dead!” he gasped. “Down there! Dozens of ’em!”

“Hundreds,” Gollum muttered. “Thousands… all dead. Long ago. They never left. They wait… but don’t look at them, no, no. You’ll join them if you do.”

Frodo said nothing, but his face was pale and distant. He glanced once more at the water—then quickly looked away, shaken.

They camped that night on a rare dry patch of ground, surrounded on all sides by stagnant water.

Gollum crouched nearby, happily gnawing on a wriggling marsh-worm he’d plucked from the mud.

“Deliciousss… fat and juicy…”

Sam turned away in disgust and opened his pack, pulling out a piece of lembas bread wrapped in a leaf.

“I don’t care what he eats,” Sam said. “But if I have to see one more worm, I swear—”

“You should eat something,” Frodo said quietly. “You haven’t had much.”

Sam broke the lembas in half and offered it to Frodo. “Better than worms.”

Frodo took it with a small smile. “Not by much, I think.”

They chewed in silence, the thick bread dry but strangely filling. The light of their candle was dimmed by the fog.

Later, Sam sat watch, eyes fixed on Gollum.

The creature was muttering again, rocking back and forth, eyes on the darkness.

“They wants it. Precious. They both wants it… but the fat one keeps it hidden, yesss. Nasty tricksy hobbit…”

Sam’s grip tightened on the hilt of his cooking pan. The Ring was still safe in the silver box. Still protected.

“You so much as breathe near me while I sleep,” Sam muttered, “and I’ll introduce your skull to a frying pan.”

Gollum only hissed and turned away.


The wind howled across the barren slopes of the hilltop as Samwise Gamgee dropped to his knees behind a jagged rock, his breath caught in his throat. Beside him, Frodo Baggins crouched low, his pale fingers clinging to the stone’s edge. Both of them stared in stunned silence at the monstrous sight before them.

There it was—the Black Gate of Mordor.

Set between two great mountains, the gate loomed like a gaping wound in the world, flanked by towers topped with burning braziers and iron spikes. A sea of orcs in dark armor stood in formation beyond, dozens of banners fluttering with the Eye of Sauron. Drums beat with slow, terrifying rhythm.

And then came the giants.

They lumbered forward from inside the mountain pass, immense beings taller than the gate itself. With thick arms like tree trunks and chains wrapped around their torsos, they placed their hands upon the massive slabs of iron. The ground shook as they pulled, groaning and heaving until the gate began to creak open.

A long black column of soldiers—men in black armor, twisted beasts, and orcs—marched forward into Mordor.

Sam’s heart pounded. “They’re goin’ in,” he whispered, gripping Frodo’s arm. “This could be our chance, Mr. Frodo! If we run now, we might slip in behind them—”

But Gollum's thin hand lashed out, grabbing Sam’s sleeve.

“No, no, stupid hobbit!” Gollum hissed, dragging him back behind the rock. “Don’t be fools, no! We’ll be seen. We’ll be caught! They’ll take it, precious, take it and crush us both!”

Sam jerked his arm free. “You filthy sneak! Always whispering and crawling. You’d rather we sit and starve than take a chance!”

Frodo held up a hand. “Sam, wait.”

His voice was calm but firm. He was watching the gate as it slowly shut behind the last soldier. The giants grunted, pushing the iron doors closed until they sealed with a heavy boom.

“It’s too risky,” Frodo said at last, his eyes still locked on the gate. “He’s right. One look from a watchtower, one patrol spotting us, and it’s over. Everything we’ve done—all we’ve lost—it will be for nothing.”

Sam looked between Frodo and Gollum, torn.

“But… it’s the only entrance we’ve seen. And we’re so close. Isn’t it worth the risk?”

Gollum was trembling, teeth chattering, but his eyes were hard. “No risk. Only death. Yes, precious. That gate is for armies. We’re not an army. We’re dust to them. There is a way to enter with no orcs.”

Frodo turned to Gollum. “You said there was another way. A secret way?.”

Gollum nodded quickly, crouching low like a frightened dog. “Yes. Secret stairs. Cirith Ungol. We knows the way. Up, up the stairs, and in. They don’t watch it. Not like the gate.”

Sam folded his arms. “And what’s the catch, eh? No guards, no watchtowers, but just as easy as walkin’ through a field of daisies?”

Gollum grinned. “No catch. Just… dark. Very dark. But safe.”

Frodo looked down at the ring-box hidden in Sam’s coat. He was pale, eyes sunken, but calm.

“Then that’s the path we take. We can’t afford to gamble everything. Not now.”

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, but at last nodded. “Alright then. Lead the way, you slimy git. But if I catch you turning us in circles again—”

“No circles,” Gollum croaked. “Only stairs now. Steep and narrow. But they will take us in.”

They rose from the hillside and began walking eastward, skirting the outer mountains of Mordor. Behind them, the Black Gate stood closed once more, and the last of the army disappeared into the dark lands beyond.

The Eye had not yet seen them.

But the road ahead was darker than any they had known.