Lust and Temptation

by British Child

Spoken from the PoVs of Frodo, Sam, Gollum and the One Ring itself. The binds of seduction are strong and fastened with mighty ropes of allure and comfort. When four small characters collide on the slopes of Mordor, will they be able to hold?

Category: The Lord of the Rings

Title: Lust and Temptation

Authors: Crystal Charmer, Shooting Starlight, British Child, Micks

Genre: Drama/Horror/Angst/Supernatural

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Some mild non-consensual references, mild violence

Summary: Spoken from the PoVs of Frodo, Sam, Gollum and the One Ring itself. The binds of seduction are strong and fastened with mighty ropes of allure and comfort. When four small characters collide on the slopes of Mordor, will they be able to hold?

Disclaimer: All characters recognized in The Lord of the Rings books are under copyright of J.R.R Tolkien. Chapter 1 is written by Crystal Charmer.

-oOo-

Chapter 1 – Prisoner of Rest

Night settles in, closing around the clouds and sky. I pull the blanket closer to my chin to shut out the mild chill that seems to be dancing in the air. The silence here is eerie and worrying: no chirps, no whispers through long grass. I have become rather familiar to these surroundings by now; as quiet as death but as deafening as thunder.

I find myself rolling onto my back, staring up at the fading stars. They seem to be growing fainter and fainter when I set my eyes upon them, a thought that rather frightens me. The stars have always given me hope, but when the lights burn out, and leave me in the darkness...what hope is there left?

Lying on my side once more, I find my gaze fixing on Sam, as he sleeps peacefully beneath the ebony clouds. I sigh heavily and rub my weary eyelids.

O, Sam...How I hope that I may dream of autumn skies and crisp brown leaves once again as you do.

My sight never leaving Sam's resting body, I gently try to close my eyes and drift into slumber, although my lids feel rather sore and there is a dry feeling present in my mouth. As I sense shadows casting over me, I suddenly feel a smooth brush of ice and stone brush across my breast:

The Ring.

A tiny gasp of desperation flutters from my lips as my seeking fingers grasp it tightly, protecting it from peril. I cannot afford to lose it – not now.

Relief washes over me like a wave of crystal as I hold it to my heart tenderly, my eyes finding relaxation at last in a wonderful blend of darkness and heat. I use my free hand to pull the elven cloak around my chest as I snuggle into the blankets.

I must keep it safe...Gandalf told me to; I must keep it safe...

These thoughts continue to swim inside of my head as I feel sleep eventually overpower me, trapping me in a world of fire, wind and shadow, washing any chance of dreams and happiness from my soul and smudging a frown to my brow.

-oOo-

Inky gloom devours my thoughts and my mind as I lie there in absolute stillness, no sound or movement. I listen for a sign of breath or murmur from either Sam or Sméagol, but I hear nothing, not even the sigh of the air. I clutch the Ring tighter in my fist, a swallow falling down my throat.

I feel warm air upon my cheeks; a mild breeze. It whispers through my ears and I shiver despite the heat of it.

"Frodo, love..." I hear it call, now all around me.

I flinch under the blankets at the cold, haunting tone. I find that my heart begins to pound, as the voice seems to close in around my arms and chest and hair. I cannot help but moan weakly as space around me grows thinner.

What is this? What is happening? I don't – Sam...Sam, where are you?

I shrivel into myself, searching for my dear friend in this mist of nightmares. I struggle to open my eyes but find that they are too heavy to comply with my wishes. I hear the wind again, nearer than before:

"Sweet Frodo," it soothes, and now I sense a touch caress my cheek, and I stir a little. The darkness almost seems to grow. I can feel it. The contact is so warm...so smooth. My breath escapes me in a silent sigh of comfort as I move into it. It reminds me of the soft, flickering heat of a flame when palms are placed to it.

The voice brushes against the side of my face now, sweeping across the lobe of my ear. A shiver flies across my back as the voice seems to change, hissing sinisterly. I curl into myself in an effort to send it away, but it only responds by speech.

"Sssh, sleep, Frodo...beautiful Frodo," I hear it say. "So cold... Zogtark burzum-ishi..." It chuckles, gentle although haunting.

I find myself wincing as the sound of the sharp language fills my head, and a sheet of nausea covers my soul. I begin to struggle in my sleep: at last I recognise the voice!

The Black Speech of Mordor – the tongue of the Dark Lord! The Ring...it is the Ring!

"No," I murmur quietly, as I fight It off blindly and feel something soft and teasing wind itself over my shoulders and around my waist, the touch similar to that of hair: made of velvet and gravel. It seems to be pulling my body closer.

"Hush, Frodo, love," It soothes once again, running long, finger-like strokes through my curls. "Do not be troubled. Sleep...relax..." The touch moves against my scalp as it caresses. I feel gentle scrapings; as if nails were icing my skin. It feels so enticing...

...but, no! No – I cannot think such things! That is what it wishes to hear...!

"Leave me," I choke, my dry throat bringing pain into my words. "Don't touch me, curséd thing..."

"Sssshhh," It hisses gently, the voice rippling like the ironing of velvet between lazy fingers – or the calm ripples on the Brandywine on a hazy, summer morning. "Do not send me away, dear one."

No...no, I...I do not want...

Silence falls upon my ears. All I feel are the continuing circlets of fingertips as they comb and wind themselves into my curls. I swallow my words, a shallow pant unwillingly tearing away. It is so quiet. I close my eyes, snuggling back into the blanket.

Perhaps It has left me.

A firm tightening around my middle and a touch of smoky skin on my cheek. A sharp, talon-like nail traces sinisterly down my jaw line and I flinch. My sight returns to me and I sit up sharply, turning to face whatever is haunting my sleep.

All at once, the veil of darkness passes, and everything is clear. Hazy, blurred images overpower my eyes as I glance around, taking in the black sky; the smoky air, the coal rocks. I turn my attention to notice Sam...my Sam, lying not so far away from me, riddled with his own thoughts.

A sprinkle of relief covers my body. "A dream," I sigh, closing my sore eyes against the wind. "Merely a dream."

The swirling ash; like a thick fog smouldering the land, begins to billow, whispering through my ears and smothering. I cough, rubbing at my eyelids as the cruel sand bites them. I cannot continue thinking what a foul place this is.

"Uh –" I suddenly gasp as the Ring's weight hangs from my neck more fiercely. I feel a burning seize as I know the chain is rendering my flesh. Glancing down, I faintly see the crushed blood; re-opening scabs tearing through my skin. I gnaw my teeth and attempt to force the pain to the back of my mind.

I cannot be thinking of such things. I must continue. I must keep moving.

For all depends on me.

-oOo-

Hours pass. Nothing changes. All is quiet around me, isolating me from the remaining world. The only sounds are the gentle breathing of Samwise's slumber, and the threatening rumble of the storm clouds heading our way.

I cannot find rest. However, due to unwanted practise at this I have learned that time passes slowly. Every second feels almost an eternity, and the cold metal cuts deeper. I find myself squatting there with sunken eyes and gazing enviously at my resting companion.

Companion. The word sounds in my mind, and on reaction, I stare about, attentive of Sméagol. I sigh gently. I have also noticed that he has not been straying too close to our company. Instead, he prefers to crouch among the rocks, keeping himself to himself and muttering incoherently. I do not know what is his intent. However, at times like this...

...I cannot help but feel the same way.

I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders, and, in an almost involuntary action, feel the smooth, warm metal of the Ring brushing against my fingertips. I dart my gaze downwards. I am fondling It again.

No.

I grasp It tightly in my fist and banish all ideas of caressing that chiselled glass. It is becoming more and more difficult to hide my desire from It. I release a deep breath of frustration and hide it behind my shirt, fastening the buttons as tightly as they will go.

I cannot waver now.

I could only see the mist to begin with. The blackened mist that has been clouding my eyes for days now.

A movement comes from my right. As a reaction, my breath catches and I fumble for the Ring. I feel a blaze of protective fury ignite in my heart and my teeth clench. I cannot let It be taken from me – I will not let it happen...I must protect It –

"It's mine," I choke out, my words clogged with the embrace of dirt. And then I stop...frozen in place.

What have I said?

"No," I murmur; laying the golden trinket beneath my torn shirt, close to my pounding breast. "No. You will not take me." Another breeze of acidic wind brushes my cheeks, stinging and burning. I cup my head in my hands, breathing deeply and trembling as small rivulets of sweat escape my skin.

What am I doing? I ask myself, gnawing at one of my many torn fingernails as I glance across the landscape with paranoid eyes. I must let no harm come to It, yet...I must let it be.

"Why must you, beautiful thing..."

I flinch on the spot, feeling blood spill into my mouth. I grip the blanket tightly between my fingers and enclose it around myself, attempting to reflect any sort of terrible force away. I cannot waver.

"W-who are you?" I cough, hoping that my threat would sound precarious; unlike my heart feels.

Silence. The air grows thicker, blocking my lungs with soot. I clear my throat.

"Speak," I command, louder this time.

My eyelids sting with the searing dust. I bring my bruised knuckles to them, rubbing furiously with the intention to clear. However, instead of banishing the cloud, it almost seems as if a figure arises from the dust, growing and moving closer with a beckoning finger.

My eyes must be deceiving me. I blink profoundly and brush at them again with fingers. Perhaps I am still dreaming.

Gold. As soon as my lids open that is what greets me. Gold threads of velvet hair dance on the scorching breeze and tickle my jaw. Sheaves gather and lace around my fingers and waist. Pleasurable scratches from smoked flesh trace between my toes.

I start at the sensation; what I presume is the soft touch of fingernails brushing against the leathery base of my foot. The prickling on my nerves surprises me and my toes curl.

"Stop it," I gasp, uncontrollably backing off.

"Huushhh," the figure whispers – its voice is like melted honey. "Do not fear me. I come to comfort you. I see your heart...you desire me."

I frown a little, suspicion enveloping my thoughts. I know this voice. I have heard it for many nights. I hear it in my dreams – it never leaves me be. In the beginning, it always reminds me of an angel's voice...that from a distant, holy land. It speaks with such authority and grace. And yet...there is a certain...harshness present that I can't quite grasp.

"You have said this before," I reply, remembering; staring deeply into the mouldings of ebony brass. "Yet you lie. You bring me no comfort. Not here."

The fingers of smoke unfold and reach out towards me, brushing my cheek – and suddenly...it is no longer seems to be dust and ash, but the touch of skin. Warm skin.

What is this!

"Get back," I order weakly, using my forearm as a substitute shield. "Stay away...don't touch me –"

"Hush," the voice replies, sterner. "Do not fight me. Be at peace...relax." At its words, the strands of woven silk entwine around the inside of my thighs, gently squeezing. It brings its face to mine, gently raking through my curls with an almost...hungry smile.

"You carry the scent of the wind, little one," it murmurs into my ear. I shiver.

"Please..."

Soft, warm hands graze the flesh of my chest, where the skin is exposed. The soft raking scratches down; painful but yet seductive. I find my lids flickering shut...I can feel the pleasure flowing through my veins.

"Oh..." I moan, gentle waves of desire coursing through my fingers and elbows. My toes curl in delight. I bite my lip, tasting coppery blood. It is soft...and gentle...alluring...

"Yessss," the voice hisses in satisfaction, turning attention to my feet, stroking them also. "Relax, dear Frodo. Succumb to the passion. Become venerable to it...beautiful thing." At those words, I feel the finger-like strokes attaching themselves beneath my shirt, digging a swift tunnel until the skin touches. Then it begins to travel.

Downwards. It brushes the tops of my hips and yet it still continues.

"Wait –" I start, but I do not finish my protest. Instead, my head falls back on my shoulders, my mouth opening to a feeble circle of unspeakable need. How long I have wished to be touched here! How long I have yearned to experience such pleasure in so grim a place!

Why deny its access now, when I need it most?

"Hush, Frodo-love," it coos. "I just wish to see you. All of you."

The gentle touch teases me along this forbidden patch of skin, and excitement courses through me like nothing I have felt. I am curious for its touch...I wish to be touched here...

"Oh," I moan again, longer this time. I faintly open my sore, dusted lids, gazing up into the ebony sky. I see no stars. It fills my heart with despair at the disappointment I receive whenever I look into that sky. Instead, my sight dances over to the activity happening near my knees. And then I see them.

Talon-sharp nails, like knives, clawing at my legs. I notice now that small threads of blood are escaping from minor abrasions on my kneecaps and thighs.

And it hurts. They burn.

That is when I realise that I have been screaming all along, but have been muffled by a scolding compress on my lips. I struggle wildly as the vision passes, and then I realise that I am not searching for stars. I am staring into those fiery, golden eyes.

The Ring's eyes! And they are smiling.

O, what devilry! It placed a dark veil across my sight – curséd thing!

"Let me go!" I try to scream, although my cries are blocked by that palm of rendering skin. I struggle wildly, but my muscles are weak, and the pain from my knees causes my eyes to trickle like water from a source. I am in It's clutches now.

White hot burns brand my neck, where the wound has reopened and wine has escaped. O, such pain! Through my squeezed lids and soundless howls of agony, I see long, sharp nails hoeing into the skin, becoming coated in dark, red blood.

Why is It doing this!

"S...STOP IT!" I finally shriek, finding my voice. "Let me go – IT HURTS!"

I feel the long, cruel fingers gather mine into theirs, entwining them together and forcing my palm high above my head. The other claws in the dirt beside me, be-riddled with the pain that my body is suffering.

My heart feels ready to charge out of my chest. It is pounding so hard it grips my ribs in a freeze. My fingers urge themselves to break loose, writhing...opening and closing as the spiteful fingers hold them captive.

My screams are still muffled as the fiery sensation targets my hand, seizing it in a torturous flame.

O, Sam...dear Sam – please help me!

I feel a lone tear escape from my eye as I struggle against this force as best I can. My fear is burning inside of my heart...I wish to scream, but my throat will not let me. It's fingers entwine into mine again and they grip so tightly – oh, It is so strong!

"Let...me go..." I croak, fighting to pry my trembling hand away from It's grip...but It seems to tighten it. I sound out a gasp of pain, feeling my eyes snap open as the sparks of pain running across my fingers feels like fire...burning fire...

It burns – oh, how it burns!

"Sweet Frodo..." It hisses seductively, as I strain for my freedom. A grunt of despair flies from my lips and travels on the wind.

No! No! Let me be! Oh...get away...

I feel my brow knitting from the flickering pulsation of the Ring's hand enclosed around mine, the fingers threaded together...as if holding mine down in place – unleashing them on fire and I am unable to stop It!

"Please..." an uncontrollable whimper comes from me, and it is delivered before I can snatch it back. I do not want It to see me this way, beseeching and grovelling so It may have It's way with me...but what can I do? I know no other way to stop this from happening to me!

I don't know what I must do to make it stop!

A silent scream utters from my mouth, and I can feel my eyes straining invisibly from the flames that are unmercifully licking at my fingertips. The look on It's face is satisfied. It seems to be smiling from my pain.

Perhaps the Ring can feel my pain.

"Bide to me, dear Frodo..." I hear it whisper, like a cold gale billowing through golden leaves in autumn. It's grip becomes fiercer. "Come...fail the light, yield to my world..."

"NO!"

"Hush!" The Ring scolds, enraged flames connecting our stares. "You would not wish for harm to come to your beloved Samwise, now!" It's words are serious.

I feel my lip trembling with despair. W-what? Harm Sam...my own Sam...? Tremors of shock vibrate my heart.

"What...?" is all that escapes – a whisper.

I almost see the Ring smiling. A slow, sinister...calculating smile. "Ah, yesss," It murmurs ominously. "I see the patterns of your heart, little one. I see...the love that burns inside...the desire. Foolish, futile Samwise Gamgee...you care so very deeply for him."

I close my eyes. Yes. Yes – that is true. I do care for Sam.

"You do not wish to cast pain on him, do you...my beauty?"

I glance over at the sleeping body of my dear friend. His brown fingers lie gently across his chest, breathing softly. His expression is one of peace. The shadows dance across his gentle cheeks and I squeeze my eyes tight shut.

"No. I do not." A tear falls.

It grins. A grin that I dislike. "Do not scream. Heed to this – scream not in pain, and your Sam shall not be harmed."

My Sam? Harmed?

Another tear spills without a blink and I cannot hear it fall. I clench my teeth against the pain and silently beg for it to stop. I stare into It's fiery, burning red eyes and feel my breathing become heavier.

I am doing this for you, Sam. I am doing this because I...I...

It wants me to succumb...It is bringing me unto the edge, until I plead for my comfort...

An angry sob parts from my lips and I find my voice at last, though it sounds dry and distant. "No...no!" I cry out, and with my lasting strength I sharply try to free my aching fingers from the terrible hold. "You shall not take me! No! Let me go! Release me!" I feel more tears stain my flesh. "I will not go with you! Let me go!"

All at once, the pain ceases. I free my breath with a weak sigh as the flames die down, and seem to be going out. I cannot halt my heavy breathing. I am still trembling slightly from the pain...and the desperation. My heart feels as if it is being squeezed my some powerful fist.

Now I realise how fast it is beating.

A cool, calm sensation drifts over my tensed knuckles. I blink a little in surprise, and see It's long fingers carefully tracing over my wavering hand, taking It's time as the smooth fingertips run over my fingers and the back of my fist, soothing the pain.

I flinch a little from the icy chill of the skin, but at the same time...oh, this is a relaxing touch! How It takes such care over the damage It has caused!

"I am sorry, dear one," the Ring soothes, kissing my knuckles. "Forgive me. I merely yearned for some comfort for you."

I sighed, closing my eyes. "Let...me..." I began, but lost my words to finish. What was I going to say?

"Relax, Frodo love..." the Ring whispers to me, It's voice comforting and warm. I feel long, gentle fingers run through my hair, entwining and twisting around my curls. The touch of It's smooth, cold fingertips run over my scalp and sit there, caressing and massaging.

I sigh blissfully, feeling a twinge of a smile touch the corners of my lips and settling.

How wonderful this feels, how splendid...

With the other hand, the Ring begins to stroke the creases in my neck; the dips in my throat. It smoothes them out, rubbing away the dirt...cleansing me. I let out a low moan in my ecstasy at the touch that seems to be tickling my senses at times, and bringing me nearer to the brink of desire.

"Relax..."

They are my own words.

"Frodo, dearest Frodo," It speaks again, a soft touch of lips brushing my ear. My eyebrows twitch. "Doth my desire to console please you, love?"

O, yes, indeed. You carry feelings of pleasure I have not felt since I began this bitter journey...

Mesmerised by the touch, I merely nod yes.

A soft kiss keeps my cheek warm. The fingers return to my curls again, winding into them; leading them into tiny waltzes of merriment. The river of ash flows down my own throat and lays a fiery pit on my chest. The flicker of icy cold pierces my flesh for a second. I gasp.

"I see great power in your heart," I hear It chuckle. "Great power, indeed."

I feel my brow falling. Power? I don't have power...

"Yess," It hisses, the slicing raking across my goose bumps. "A power of such devastation...such control." I feel smoky breath caress the tip of my left ear. "Power matching the will of Lord Sauron."

My eyes dart open. "Sauron?"

I – I must destroy...the Ring! Where is the Ring?

I freeze inside as I feel my blood curdle. I slowly dart my vision to my chest where It is touching – fondling – where the chain lays bare! And then I feel my own touch graze cold metal...

It is slipping the Ring into my hand! It wishes for me to become entranced!

The soft hum of the Ring's song calls and beckons to my ears all of a sudden. I feel the gentle wave of sleep ensue...washing over me. I am plummeting...I am falling to it...I cannot let it – I must not let it...

I cannot be Sauron – I cannot wield the Ring!

"Be mine, Frodo...let our souls be one..."

Oh, yes...I wish for that...perhaps more than anything at this time...I wish to rest...

"Let me comfort you, Frodo-love...let me warm your tired body..."

Yes...

"We belong together, dear one. We do not have use for others. We do not need Sméagol...or Samwise."

N...No. No! Sam! Sam! I have need for him – NO! I will not let him be harmed – I will not let him alone in this place!

I hear my own voice, raspy and dry from the dust, as I pull and wrench my limbs away from that golden touch; my eyes are throbbing. "SAM! SAM!" I scream, wanting my pleas to be as loud as thunder in the clouds. Instead, I can barely hear them.

A wave of gentle fury immediately coils around my fingers, squeezing gently. "No, no, dear Frodo," It whispers yet again, prickling the tips of my ears. "Relax – do not struggle now...calm yourself – huushhh."

Yet still I struggle. "SAM! Sam, help me!" I reach for his distant body with trembling fingers. "Please..."

"Hush, I say!" Now the voice is fierce and threatening. The grip around my skin grows firmer. I wince.

It is burning again!

I scream in pain. "SAAAM!"

Whap! A stinging slap restrains my cries and drags my body further away from that of my aid – my Sam! How can he not hear me cry for him? Does he not care? He must care...

I care for him – I suffered for him!

"Quiil!" It bellows in my face, the sharp tongue of the Black Speech cuts my senses open; tearing them and leaving scars. "Fool! I shall harm Sam if you disregard my orders – did you not hear! I shall render his bones and you shall be alone!"

I feel hot tears on my chin. My body is shivering.

"You are alone."

It is then that I cease, relaxing my arms and legs in a bundle. I hear the last spoken words and feel a heavy weight grip my stomach.

It is right. I am alone. Sam is not here...I am alone. I am fighting in my own, private battle. Sam can do nothing to help me. He does not understand. He does not understand all that happens whilst he dreams – so peacefully.

He carries his own weight whilst I carry mine, and bear the scars that it leaves on my heart.

He does not understand.

It is then that the fog shifts once again, and for the first time on this dreadful night, I see myself staring into two warm, brown eyes, and imploring hands are squeezing my fingers...gently.

"Mr Frodo?" asks a hushed whisper, as breath kisses my cheeks. The face is a blur. "What is it?"

I sigh deeply against the smothering palm, my eyes swimming into his; moulding together...blues and gold and browns, as if to struggle and find yet another method to explain to him – to tell him of my capture in words that he may understand...! But then I realise.

No. He does not understand. You cannot help me, Sam. I have come too far to be held back now. Leave me in my own sins.

It is too late for me.

- To be continued -

-oOo-

Black Speech Dictionary

Zogtark burzum-ishi: Naked in the dark

Quiil: Quiet