Frodo Doesn't Know His Sam
Faramir's keen, green-fletched arrow struck the fell beast dead in the heart. The creature released a mighty bellow that shook the crumbling stone of Osgiliath, and its wings beat the air like a hurricane as it propelled itself upward once more. So much for the fearsome Nazgul's steed; one well-placed arrow was enough to take it out of the fight, to pry it away from its near-possession of the One Ring. (Yeah, it doesn't make much sense to me either.)
Sam hurtled every ounce of his bulk into the bewitched Frodo, who stood proffering the Ring to the Nazgûl, and he knocked the smaller-framed hobbit toward the stairs. They landed in a scuffle, and ended up rolling head over heels down the stone steps, where Sam found himself back to the ground with Frodo straddling him awkwardly.
"Gahhhhhh!" screeched Frodo, pulling Sting and holding its point at the ready above Sam. He had a crazed look in his eyes that reminded Sam of the time that horrid Sméagol had been carried away by Lindsay Lohan in Ithilien.
"It's me!" pleaded Sam. "It's your Sam." When Frodo didn't seem to move any closer to sanity, Sam tried again. "Don't you know your Sam?"
"Arggggggggggggghhhhhh!" said Frodo in a rather pirate-like fashion, as he ran Sam through. He then fled Osgiliath in search of more mushrooms.
THE END