THE SHIRE | The Westfarthing | Paul Lasaine

Frodo and Sam observe the landscape.

'Despite everything, it's still you'

You follow your friend across all continent. You run from spirits that are chasing you and want to harm you both, you go through mountains, snow, water, and even underground — places you have never went to, and never would have gone to, had it not been because you were following him.

You’re hungry, and tired, and scared, and you know than that’s not even a third of what your friend is feeling. Your friend has been stabbed, and almost died. Your friend has been tasked with carrying an object with a great malice, that does nothing but hurt him, and it was out of his own will, because he’s just such a good person that he decides to take on that burden so no one else has to.

Your friend is different. He barely talks. You can see him wilt, like one of the flowers from his garden. So, you take it on yourself to take care of him. Wherever he goes you’ll follow. You’ll protect him from all the horrible creatures and monsters you find on the way, all of which want to hurt both of you. You’ll feed him, even if he’s less hungry every day. You’ll sleep alongside him, even if the circles under his eyes never disappear. You’ll get into a lake to reach him, even if you drown.

You meet this strange creature, tormented too by the object your friend is carrying, and he tries to kill you both. You hate him. How dare he try to kill him? How dare he try to gain his sympathy? And he does. Your friend is compassionate and kind and refuses the kill him. Not only does he spare his life, but he takes him in, and takes care of this creature. You want to shake him, to tell him to open his eyes. He’s plotting against us, you want to say. Don’t you see? But you also feel pity for the poor thing, a shadow of the hobbit it used to be, all because of that cursed thing your friend carries on his neck. You want to get rid of it, as soon as possible.

That creature ends up betraying your friend’s trust, of course it did, you already knew it, but you can’t tell your friend that, not when he’s dead. He died. You fight a monster for him, you cry over his corpse. His kindness killed him. He volunteered to carry that dammed ring, and it killed him. He spared that creature’s life, and he murdered him. You decide to get rid of that ring on your own. Even if this “revenge” against the thing that killed your friend doesn’t feel good, because he’s not there with you.

But you discover he’s alive, so you’ll go get him. You’ll fight orcs and run up several stairs, and when you sing, he’ll complete your song.

You walk around hell, he can barely lift his head from the weight. You’ll carry him if you have to. You feel almost hopeless, he’s barely conscious. With your last strength, you remember your past life, how you used to be, how he used to be, before the life got sucked out of him, out of you both, and you lift him up. You carry him. You always knew you would.

That thing got such a hold on him that he refuses to destroy it. The creature comes back and bites his finger off. You get away from the flames, and, yes, fuck, you’re both going to die, aren’t you? At least you’re together. But you survive, and you go back home, and he spares the life of the tyrant controlling and oppressing your neighbors and family, because he’s just that compassionate. He doesn’t want any more death.

Life goes on, you get married, become mayor, have a child. He’s writing all the journey you both did on a book, but he doesn’t find happiness, at least, not like how you did. His wounds still ache, even if they’re already healed, and his eyes are still glazed over sometimes. You live together, but it feels like he’s on a whole different world, no matter how much you try to be there for him.