A/N: This is just one of those things you start writing really late at night (or early in the morning- take your pick) and have no idea where it came from or what to do with it. This is just a little bit of the beginning of an idea I had for a story. It's really rough right now- I didn't have much time to edit it. Is it anything worth continuing? Please respond!

Disclaimer: Sadly I am not J.R.R. Tolkien so obviously I do not own any of these characters, places, etc. (or is it ect.?)


Pain. It was the single remaining thought resonating in his wearied mind. Every muscle in his worn body burned as though each sinewy fiber was being stripped from the bone in turn by cruel daggered claws. His limbs screamed in suffering protest. One stumbling step after another a cumbersome shield bashed into a bruised knee. His cut and bleeding feet were nearly numb as they struck heavily the unforgiving stones to the frantic beat of the drum that was his own pounding heart. The breaths of foul air that he so desperately gulped launched iron spears of agony shooting through his side. Cold sweat slowly trickled down his back in tiny rivulets and beaded upon his brow; plastering to his white skin damp chestnut curls beneath the heavy helm he wore to conceal his face.

But the pain greater than any he had ever known was what hung from his neck on a fine silver chain. Such a pretty thing it was to innocent eyes. A simple trinket. A golden ring. It beat so harshly upon him, burning into his chest. Etching it's malice into his flesh. It sought to corrupt him. To drag him into the earth and back into the dust from which he was made and into which he must return. To take him as a prisoner to its spell so that he would be just another puppet in its journey home.

He felt that it was the very weight of the world dragging him steadily to the ground. And indeed, that is what it was. The weight each life, each free life, of every pure heart crying out in despair as they drowned in the darkness that flooded their souls. Even as his hope faded, he still held the hopes of all that still clung to what now was swiftly failing. And in the palm of his trembling hand he knew he held the fate of those he held so dear and the knowledge that was an everlasting torment. That one wrong step would be their last.

It was as well the burden of being alone, so said the wise, "For to be a ringbearer is to be alone." To wander in the realm of solitude woven in the mind. Yet in this one thing was the Lady Galadriel wrong. For should all the world forget him in his time of need, should he himself no longer recall his own name- one would. But he would be no good in reminding the world for even now, Samwise Gamgee would forever remain at his master's side…


Well… what do you think? Sorry it's so short- the rest of the chapter just didn't tie in properly so I'll post it later. PLEASE REVIEW!