Frodo Baggins had finished packing his bag – a journey fraught with hardships lies ahead.

The road to Mordor is a rocky one, concealing many traps, dim nights, and dark creatures. But be it as it may, he shall destroy that damned ring once and for all.

He buckled the sword’s sheath, carried the pack on his back, and said goodbye to his little brother Gollum.

“Take me with you in your backpack,” said little Gollum.

Frodo laughed, and promised Gollum that as soon as he returns, they’ll play hide-and-seek, just like in the days prior to the ring.

“Why do you want to throw away the ring anyway? Give it to me. I wish I had a ring,” said little Gollum.

Little children are not allowed to wear a ring. Thank God, thought Frodo.

Accompanied by his faithful caddie, Sam Gamgee, Frodo set out to the journey.

The villagers had all gathered to praise him for his courage. They waved goodbye with the rings shining on their fingers, but secretly thought: no one had ever given up on the ring, not in our village nor in the neighboring ones. They wondered whether they’ll see Frodo Baggins ever again.

The sun shined at the center of the bright blue sky, and lit the path that’s winding between the mighty basalt rocks. The path entailed many crossroads, but Frodo was not concerned. As long as he has the ring, he’ll always know where to go. He wore it, and its light dazzled him.

“How do you keep from getting lost without a ring?” asked Frodo, not taking his eyes off the glistening jewel. Caddies, like little children, are not allowed to wear a ring.

Sam pondered upon the question for a moment or two.

“Our village is small, Master Frodo, I do not leave it often. And when I do, well, at times I assist the guidance of other hobbits, at times that of the starts or the wind. And sometimes, well, sometimes I simply like to get lost,” said Sam and shrugged.

They parked at noon in the shade of an apple tree. A red apple rested on the ground, and Frodo grabbed it. He took the sward out of its sheath and halved the apple. He thought to himself: this sword is not good nor bad in itself. It’s just a tool. Using it, one may chop an apple or an arm.

The ring is also just a tool.

A hissing voice snuck into Frodo’s ear. He looked over his shoulder, but only saw green forests and basalt.

There’s no need to destroy it, it can be used for the good.

“Have you heard it?” Frodo asked Sam, who snuggled between the many backpacks he was carrying with his eyes closed, on his way towards a decent nap.

“Heard what?” Sam asked, drowsy, and went back to snoring.

The whispering had stopped. Frodo allowed Sam to rest, placed the ring in his pocket, and sank too in deep sleep.

They awoke at dusk and continued their journey. They must stick to the schedule if they wish to reach Mount Doom by the third day’s evening and destroy the ring.

No more crossroads until the overnight parking, the ring told Frodo, so he took it off and let his eyes wash for a bit in the sky’s changing hues.

“Master Frodo,” Said Sam as they march.

“Yes, Sam.”

“Who created the ring?”

Sam had never cared for those rings, and the question regarding their origin had troubled him for many years.

“I’m afraid I do not know, dear Sam. You may ask Gandalf the Wizard, tomorrow evening. Now I must go and relieve oneself.”

Frodo found a corner between the bushes and kneed to the earth.

To save precious time, he took the ring out of his pocket and wore it. He closed his eyes, and sent a super-sensible message to all the villagers, the quest is going as planned, Sam and I are safe and sound.

The carpet of stars was shining above Frodo and the ring, and Frodo felt his loins yearning it. The ring looked deeply into his green eyes, and they made love under the dome of the sky. It was beautiful.

Frodo fell asleep in the ring’s arms. He dreamt of Gollum. He was three years old again and they played hide-and-seek, but Frodo couldn’t find him. He searched the hidden dent that’s in the laundry room, under the pile of sheets in the basement, but little Gollum was nowhere to be found.

You’re nothing without the ring.

The sun has risen.

Frodo opened his eyes and squinted. The ring was still on his finger, and he had trouble remembering last night’s chain of events.

You’re all alone without the ring.

The whispering came as if from within the dream.

You can’t make it in this world without the ring.

“Master Frodo! Master Frodo!” Sam came running towards him.

“I’ve been looking all over for you! You went to relieve oneself and haven’t come back, I thought that… I thought…”

“Everything is fine, Sam,” said Frodo and furrowed his brows, “I simply fell asleep with the ring on. I… I must get rid of it.”

They packed their bags and continued on their quest.

After having showed Frodo the path, he took the ring off and placed it in his pocket. He’ll try to remember the way on his own; in any case he must get used to it.

The second day was welcoming as well. The skies remained clear and painted the woods with fifty shades of green. Sam paused and smelled the lavender that grew wild on the side of the trail. Two foxes crossed while a golden-chest eagle was gliding above them. Frodo and Sam bathed in the silky waters of the white lake, diving and tasting the sweet liquid, splashing each other.

Frodo got out of the water, fumbled in his pocket, and watched the lake through the ring. The water was colored with the eagle’s golden hue. He pointed the ring towards the eagle and could see every single feather of the down wrapping its curved neck. Through the ring, the foxes smelled like lavender.

“Come and look through the ring!” Frodo called, but Sam pretended not to hear. He dived into the water and opened his eyes, as a colorful creature he could not identify passed by.

They packed their bags and continued walking, and Sam noticed that every few moments, Frodo is rubbing his eyes.

At twilight the two had arrived at campsite. Gandalf greeted the brave young men, and his long white hair tickled Frodo as he hugged him. It’s been long ago since he had met a young person on his way to Mount Doom, determined to destroy the ring. He was beginning to wonder whether he’ll meet such a young man ever again.

Night came, and the three had gathered around the fire. Sam took advantage of the opportunity and presented Gandalf with the troubling question regarding the origin of the ring.

“Oh, my dear boy, this question regarding the ring, is an ancient one, and has many faces,” said the wizard and caressed his beard, “yet it is a crucial one for getting to the bottom of the essence of the ring, and therefore, for destroying it.”

The flame popped and gleamed sparks in all directions. Frodo and Sam gazed at it, hypnotized. The fire poured calmness on Frodo’s eyes.

“Who made the first ring, you ask? Well, it was The Designer. The designer was a boney, bald, glass-wearing wizard, who lived in a cabin in the woods. He used to always walk barefoot and only ate fruit that fell off the trees. For many years he had specialized with the mysteries of alchemy, and wished to manufacture an artifact that will give the hobbits both absolute freedom and absolute power. He attempted manufacturing wings made of wax, a sword made of diamond and a clock made of water. The attempts had all failed; some of the objects gave the hobbits absolute freedom, and some absolute power, but never both.”

“And the ring did give them both?” Sam asked impatiently.

“So believed The Designer. Therefore, he wore the ring twenty-four seven. Towards the end, he even used to claim that the ring grants him with more than twenty-four seven.”

A pack of jackals howled in the distance.

“Towards the end?” asked Frodo.

“Yes, well,” said Gandalf, “The Designer had suddenly passed away about a year after first wearing the ring. If you ask me, the ring was the one that killed him.”

The bonfire popped and blasted.

Frodo tried to imagine The Designer’s face, but was unable to see a clear image in his mind. Gandalf poured three glasses of herbal infusion.

Absolute freedom.

Frodo stood on his feet.

“Have you heard it?”

The old wizard gazed into the young man’s fearless heart. He hadn’t heard a thing, but knew what was heard by Frodo’s ears.

“Ignore these voices, my boy. They matter not. Tomorrow night it’ll all be behind us,” he said.

Gandalf took a bowl with a yellow paste inside it, and anointed Frodo’s forehead.

“There, that ought to help. Now go to sleep,” said Gandalf.

Concerned Sam observed Frodo while he slept, and shortly after fell asleep next to him. Gandalf stayed and watched over them, while Frodo is mumbling his brother’s name, from within a nightmare, that made its way from another world, through Frodo, into reality.

The sound of thunder woke the two up before dawn.

“A storm is coming,” said Gandalf, “you must hurry.”

He packed Frodo’s backpack with provisions.

The last segment to Mount Doom is the steepest, the most fallacious one of all. Frodo had no choice but to wear the ring, so that it’ll guide them through. The clouds were as if chasing them, and they began running. Mount Doom was seen in the distance, and the red lava sparking in all directions, like an enormous bonfire.

Precious.

Frodo ignored the voice. His eyes were burning, and he thought, perhaps it’s better if the rain comes along and washes them.

Precious. Absolute power.

They kept running, inside narrow ravine caves, through steep rocks, leading to the caldera. The ring had guided them flawlessly.

I do not know where this voice is coming from, thought Frodo, but perhaps it has a point?

The two made it to the caldera.

“Go on, throw it away,” said Sam. Frodo’s eyes were nearly shut, and Sam thought, I’ll be his eyes.

Tremendous heat waves were burning Frodo’s skin, but he couldn’t see a thing besides a blurry orange stain. Such will be his life without the ring. A life of blindness.

“I need it,” Frodo mumbled.

“What did you say?” Sam called.

“I’m nothing without the ring!”

“What in heaven’s sake are you talking about???”

“It’s just a tool, I can use it for the good!”

“It’s the ring talking from your throat, Frodo!”

“It gives me both absolute freedom and absolute power!”

“Are you yet to have realized?!” Sam called, with his last bit of energy, beyond the sounds of the lava that’s raging underneath them, “It gives you nothing but absolute weakness and absolute enslavement!”

Miraculously, Sam’s crying made it to a dormant area deep inside Frodo, that belongs to the Frodo of before the ring. He began to take it off.

“No! Precious! Precious!” a wrinkled creature emerged from one of the bags Sam was carrying. His eyes were tired and red, his nails were chewed, and his head was bald.

Frodo only recognized his little brother when it was already too late.

Gollum drew Frodo’s sword from its sheath and jumped towards the ring. The boy swung the sword, chopped Frodo’s arm, and fell together with the iPhone – the ring, I mean the ring – fell together with the ring into the caldera of Mount Doom.

“Nooooo!” Frodo screamed, and the scream, as well as the jump, the cutting and the fall, were broadcast live and super-sensibly to all of the village residents and those of the neighboring villages.

The horrified hobbits then harnessed their chariots, climbed up to Mount Doom, threw their rings inside it, and they burned in the boiling magma, all of them, until the very last ring. And that sacrifice, the sacrifice of that very same little boy, will forever be remembered as the day in which the hobbits had gained both absolute power and absolute freedom.