"Rincewind had always relied on running away.
But sometimes, perhaps, you had to
stand and fight, if only because
there was nowhere left to run."

― Terry Pratchett, Interesting Times

47. Mountain of Doom

They were very close to the mountain now, and the air was thick with the foul smell of rotten eggs. In her present form, Kat's nose rarely divided smells into good or bad, but this reek was strong enough even to bother her.

The grey desert was empty; the last orcs had passed by days ago, which made it possible for Frodo and Sam to walk quite in the open. As exhausted as they seemed, that was their small luck. Moving stealthily required a certain measure of energy.

"No food. No food for poor Sméagol," Gollum whined. "Why are the stupid hobbitses going this way?"

Kat didn't pay attention to him. She was hungry too, and very thirsty, but at the foot of the volcano she saw one of the visions from Galadriel's Mirror play out: Sam taking Frodo on his back, preparing to carry him up the steep slope. Seeing it happen for real gave her an ominous sense of foreboding, that she was nearing the end of her adventure.

She distantly heard Sam's voice, echoing across the rocky, deserted ground: "Come, Mr Frodo! I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you and it as well. So up you get!"

"Up?" whispered Gollum. He was crouching behind a large boulder to hide from the hobbits' view until nightfall. "He carries it up?" Suddenly a dangerous glint alighted in his large eyes. "Why would Master carry the Precious up a mountain of fire? Tell me that, elf-cat!"

A trickle of fear ran through Kat at his tone of voice. He must have realized the truth at last.

"Curse him! Curse him! Wicked Masster! He wants to hurt the Precious!" He grabbed Kat by the scruff of her neck, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You knew," he accused.

She hissed and showed her claws threateningly until he dropped her.

"Wicked elf-cat. Wicked Master. Tricking poor old Sméagol." He muffled his cough with his arm. "We must kill him. Yesss... Kill him."

Kat shook her head vigorously. If only she could speak! Then at least she could try to make him understand that with the Ring destroyed, he might heal from whatever it was doing to his head.

"I don't listen to you," he mumbled sullenly.

She glared at him, but then pushed down her annoyance and did the only thing she could, something she knew would calm him and perhaps make him think less violent thoughts. She sat in his lap, and purred.

After a while he became less tense, and began stroking her back like she knew he would. "If Master burns it, nobody can have it," he mused. "Not the hobbitses, not the Black One, not poor Sméagol."

Yes! That's it exactly! Kat buffed his hand with her nose encouragingly.

"The nice hobbit was kind to me." But then his voice changed in the way Kat had learned to hate, becoming cunning and evil. "No, he wasn't, sweet one. He tricked uss, remember?"

"But if he burns it, I can be free... When Precious goes I'll die, yes, die into the dust."

The other voice replied scornfully: "Free? They would bind us, and beat us, and put us to rot in a damp hole. We killed, remember? We are a murderer."

Gollum's lip began to tremble. "No... No! It was my birthday."

"We murdered our friend. There is no forgivenesss for us. None. We might as well kill the hobbitses too, and then we takes what is ours. Our own. Our Preciouss!"

Kat desperately tried to intervene, struggling to get his attention. She nudged his hand until he finally looked at her. "What iss it?"

Standing on her hindlegs, she placed a paw on each of his slim shoulders and met his gaze with all the kindness she could muster. There is always forgiveness.

He could not have heard her, but somehow her expression must have gotten through, for his large eyes became misty and his shoulders sank tiredly.

"I will never murder again."

_,._
(Ó ︵ Ò)

The Black Gate loomed above Legolas, tall, dark, impenetrable. It looked deserted, but he felt the evil presence of the Nazgûl hovering nearby, just waiting.

He had almost enjoyed going on this last mission. To be doing something. If, against all odds, Kat, Frodo and Sam were alive beyond that gate, the Host of the West would help them. The Dark Lord would be distracted by Aragorn's presence, and hopefully his troops become occupied.

If he took the bait, that was.

Legolas felt strangely light-headed. He would soon die on this shore, which was relieving in a way. It seemed fate would not have him sail west, but take him there in another fashion. To be reborn from the Halls of Mandos.

That place reminded him of Kat. Maybe she would be there too? Perhaps they could exchange a few words before she continued to the mysterious fate that awaited humans in their afterlife. Heaven, she had called it.

Beren had waited for Lúthien that way, Legolas recalled, and then the Valar had bestowed the Gift on her. Making her a mortal like she wanted.

"Well then," said Aragorn. "Time to move." Riding ahead of the army in majestic grace, with Gandalf on one side and Halbarad raising his banner high on the other, he began to chant, and soon everybody fell in: "Come forth! Come forth! Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!"

This didn't make the Dark Lord leave his tower, but the Gate opened slightly to let out a messenger with a small following of guards. He rode on a hideous, horse-shaped monster that had a black skull for head and glowing eye-sockets. The rider was human, as far as Legolas could tell, but twisted and evil, with a raving mad mind.

The man called himself the Mouth of Sauron and spoke with Gandalf at length. Legolas was too far away to hear what they said, but he saw with perfect clarity the objects the wretched man held out.

Frodo's mithril shirt, Sam's sword, and a Lothlórien cloak.

So the quest had failed, after all.

Numbly, Legolas thought that it almost didn't matter anymore, here at the end of all things. They had to continue. They had to resist, this one last time, or die like cowards.

For the Host of the West would be wiped out, and Middle-earth would fall into darkness. Those who weren't killed would either be taken slaves or forced to live under the tyranny of Sauron's servants – under the likes of this so called Mouth.

Then Gandalf's staff began to shine bright like daylight, and somehow the light chased away Legolas' fear and dismay. Hope returned. If Sauron had caught the hobbits, he would have found the Ring, and Legolas was certain he would feel it if that were the case. No. This must be a ruse. Perhaps Frodo and Sam had been forced to drop a few of their belongings for some reason, and enemies had picked them up? That meant they were still alive. Kat might be with them, and Gollum. The four of them could even have teamed up to destroy the Ring together. It wasn't likely, but possible! If they succeeded, the Dark Lord's realm would wither from within and Middle-earth be safe. None of their sacrifices would have been made in vain.

The Mouth covered his face and shrunk back from the blazing staff, and Gandalf snatched the items from his suddenly limp hands.

"Get you gone," he yelled ponderously. "We did not come here to waste words in treating with Sauron, faithless and accursed; still less with one of his slaves. Begone!"

The fury in the messenger's face turned into fear, and he fled back towards the Gate at a gallop.

His guards followed, but they blew their horns, and on their signal a large host welled out from the now wide-open Gate. The horns rang again, and another host began to advance from behind, and a second and third from either side.

The Host of the West would be surrounded on all fronts, outnumbered manifold by a dense mass of orcs, Easterlings and trolls. And then, circling above and shrieking bone-chillingly, came the remaining Nazgûl.

Sauron had taken their bait in jaws of steel.

Legolas regarded his friends' grim and determined faces, and his heart sang with purpose. He saw Aragorn proudly raising Andúril, the sword that was broken, every ounce a king. Gandalf, dazzlingly white on Shadowfax, looking fierce and kind at the same time like only he could. Prince Imrahil surrounded by his sons. Théoden of Rohan with his arm in a sling, and Éomer close beside him. Halbarad and the Dúnedain, next to Elladan and Elrohir. Pippin on a pony, and his new friend Beregond on a horse that looked too elegant to be used in battle. And lastly, always by Legolas' side: Gimli. True and reliable like the solid rock under his feet.

All of them were there, together in this final battle before the Gate.

They would not go down silently. Until the last drop of blood, he and his friends would fight. For Frodo and Sam! For freedom! For everything that was good in this world.

For Kat...

Gimli hefted his great axe and gave Legolas a wistful look.  "I never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an elf."

"How about side by side with a friend?" He drew his knife.

"Aye... I could do that."

And then they charged.

ʕll'ಠ‿ಠ'llʔ

When the last light of day was gone, Gollum and Kat continued, and this time he didn't keep the usual distance but continued until he was quite close to the hobbits. On silent hands and feet he was soon climbing right below them.

Kat heard their quick breaths, and the occasional whimper from Frodo as the two of them struggled upward, crawling slowly like old turtles. The air was very warm, and very dry.

"Go on... go on," urged Sam. His voice was weak and hoarse.

Frodo coughed feebly, choking on the sulfurous fumes.

Strangely agitated, Kat wondered if she should alert them of hers and Gollum's presence. Despite his words earlier, she didn't trust him to keep his promise; if he got the opportunity he would try to take the Ring, and then there would be a fight, and someone would get killed.

But what if she showed herself, and in result Frodo and Sam turned on Gollum? Then he might get killed, which was exactly what she was here to prevent.

She decided to wait, though it was exhausting to remain so tense and constantly ready to intervene.

After an indeterminable amount of time spent climbing at the same slow pace, they intercepted a path that wound its way up the mountain. It was surprisingly well kept, covered in gravel and clean of lava rocks. Sighing with relief, Sam began walking along it – and again, he lifted Frodo onto his back. What kind of secret source of strength did that hobbit have? It was impressive.

The path ended outside a black opening in the rock wall. A deep, very low rumble came from within, and Kat had a horrible sense that the mountain could see them and was growling a warning.

Sam set Frodo down. "This is it," he mumbled, squaring his shoulders purposefully.

Frodo only nodded tiredly in response, touching the chain around his neck as if drawing strength from it.

Then they went in, and Gollum and Kat followed suit like two shadows.

It was very dark inside and hotter than a sauna. After a short tunnel they came out on a narrow ledge, like a finger pointing across a cone-shaped bowl. The rumble grew louder, and a flickering light painted the sooty walls a dull red.

Kat perceived the vast emptiness on either side and stopped as a familiar dread filled her. Why must there always be heights?

Frodo and Sam had stopped too, and Gollum lingered in the dark tunnel behind.

"We are here, Mr Frodo," prompted Sam. "It's time. Drop it."

Frodo peered over the edge for a brief moment, but then he turned his gaze back to Sam. A very hungry gleam had appeared in his eyes, making him look a lot like Gollum. "I do not choose to do what I came to do," he said slowly, calculatingly. "I will not do this deed."

"What? But–"

"The Ring is mine!" And just like that he pulled it from its chain, put it on his finger and took a step backwards.

"Noo!" gasped Sam, groping blindly in the empty air where he had been.

"Noo!" wailed Gollum, jumping forward from the shadows.

But Kat was faster. Despite the Ring she could see Frodo. It had never made him invisible to her eyes.

No, she thought grimly. With a smooth leap she landed on his back and dug her claws deep through fabric and skin. Frodo screamed and desperately tried to shake her off, but she held on tight. Then Sam was there too. He used Kat as a guide to see where his master was so he could throw his arms around him, trapping him in the resemblance of a hug.

They began to wrestle. Sam was stronger and managed to force Frodo to kneel, his arms still locked against his sides. Kat struggled to keep her grip, but now Gollum joined in as well. "Give it to me! I wantss it. I wantsss it!" His long fingers brushed over Frodo's body as he tried to feel his way to the Ring.

Kat shifted so she could hop onto him instead.

"Get off me! Nassty elf-cat!" He caught her necklace and pulled until the leather cord snapped. Helplessly she watched the picture Legolas had carved for her fall into the molten lava.

That distraction was enough. Gollum tore her off and she landed close by the edge. The gravel was loose, making her slide. Far below, flames danced over swirling red, paralyzing her, weakening her limbs. She would burn just like her image.

A second ticked by. The hobbits and Gollum fought noisily. Kat slid a little further.

Holding her breath, she crawled slightly backwards. One centimeter. Two centimeters. The gravel held. It worked.

Little by little she made her way up until she had finally reached a safer spot, and there she crouched, eyes squeezed shut, heart pounding madly.

Still recovering from her shock, she sensed a familiar dread. That horrible weakness and mind-numbing terror. She knew what it meant: the Nazgûl were on their way. Frodo's action had alerted them of where the Ring was, and now they were coming for it.

Kat wanted to cry. She couldn't do this anymore. The black wraiths were near, and the ledge was not safe, and she was afraid of heights. And she was just a small, weak cat! Sam would have to manage on his own.

No. Angrily she shook herself out of her fear. No! she repeated. She would not let a stupid phobia stop her when she had come this far! There was still time before the Nazgûl came. Time to stop this once and for all.

She determinedly crept closer to the fighting hobbits and Gollum.

The three were still tumbling over the rough ground in a struggling heap of arms and hairy feet, biting and clawing and pounding each other with their fists. Frodo and Gollum growled curses at each other between clenched teeth, and Sam tried to reason with his friend in a tense, terrified voice.

"Please, Mr Frodo! Throw it away! Throw it away before it's too late!"

Unable to intervene in that chaotic jostle, Kat could only watch. Their fight was dangerous; any moment one of them might fall to their death, and soon the Nazgûl would come. The volcano seemed alive too, it roared and hissed below.

She prayed, sending up a wordless plea for a miracle. Anything. Anything at all.

A calmness filled her then; a strange confidence that everything would work out. She was in the right place, at the right time. She just had to wait.

The hobbits and Gollum fought. Mount Doom rumbled. Outside, the Nazgûls' winged beasts screeched.

Kat waited.

Something small caught her attention. Gleaming red in the light of the volcano, it rolled away from the combatants and steered towards the exit – almost as if it were alive.

The Ring had abandoned its master.

Gollum tried to jump after it, but Frodo was not far behind. "It's mine," he yelled.

"No, mine!" hissed Gollum.

Kat said nothing. Her cat's reflexes had kicked in, and almost leisurely her paw flicked out.

It felt like time passed in slow motion. She saw Gollum's and Frodo's shocked faces, heard Sam's hopeful gasp. She felt the cool metal against her skin, sensing its taint and malice. The earth began to tremble, as if the very lands had discovered what was about to happen deep in the belly of Mount Doom and wanted to prevent it.

In that moment of clarity Kat knew. This was what she was meant to do; this was her task. Her sole reason to be in Middle-earth.

With a sweeping motion she sent the Ring across the edge. It spun in the air as it fell into the abyss.

The One Ring melted, and was gone.

A/N:

Finally... No more Ring, no more Sauron, and at last Kat's purpose is revealed! Without her presence, Gollum would have taken the Ring and fallen to his death, and apparently Námo needs him alive.

We are nearing the end of Kat's quest and many things will soon be explained to her. What do you all want to know? Perhaps something you think she should ask Námo – if she meets him again? I have many answers planned, but there might be things that are less clear to the readers than I thought. :)

Image Credits:

Screenshot from The Lord of the Rings movies.