A/N: I confess. It's been a while since I read the books, and I'm too lazy to go back and check, so if some of the names are wrong or used incorrectly, I'm sorry.
We make camp early that night. It has continued to rain all day, and most of us are pretty soaked. We've had to bail out the boats almost constantly, and I think everyone is relieved to be on dry land, the hobbits most of all.
Sam immediately sets to work with the food. I'm very grateful to have him along most days; for such a small person, he certainly pulls his own weight, and then some.
Frodo is shivering, and he huddles up against me for warmth. I can't help the smile that graces my face. I've never been so close with another person as to share public displays of affection. But it feels...nice.
And then there's Sam, who's frozen in his cooking and is staring at us again. I pull Frodo closer to me in a protective embrace. It's a startling reflex. I know that Sam would never hurt him, but Frodo seems to have brought out my protective side.
"Strider, do you think you could get us some more firewood?" Sam asks cautiously. He's trying to do something here. What, I don't know, but for now I'll play along.
"Of course, Sam." Frodo scoots over and I stand up. I look down at him apologetically. I don't want to leave him for any length of time, but I have no choice.
I start to head out when I hear a voice. "Wait. I'll come with you." Sam again. So this is what he wanted. A chance to talk--or yell--at me alone. I have no doubt it concerns Frodo; Sam and I have never spoken two words to each other that haven't regarded the other hobbit.
I stop obediently and wait for him to catch up. He gives me a distrustful look before continuing on at my side.
"Sam, what is this about?" I ask. I would wait for him to find his tongue first, but I am impatient to get back. Something has had me on edge all day, and I don't like the feel of it.
"Well, sir, it's regarding you and Mr. Frodo." I nod. I thought as much.
"What about us?"
"I noticed that you've gotten...closer."
"Very astute, Master Samwise." I bend to pick up a good sized log. "But what of it?"
"I don't trust you." Well, that wasn't a surprise. I already knew that. But it was a bit off-topic. I wonder what it has to do with anything.
I laugh. "I'd be surprised if you did." I pick up another log.
"Just let me finish. I know that you intend to go to Minas Tirith with Boromir. I also know that Frodo's in love with you. He'll go where you go, no matter the consequences. And we both know that can't happen."
I'm startled by the hobbit's intelligent and heart-breaking judgment. He's right, of course. I'd preferred not to think about our relationship and the Quest in conjunction. They'd seemed like completely separate matters until this very moment.
"You're right." I stop. Turn to face him. "You're right. But Sam, what am I to do?" I'm suddenly lost. My decisions don't seem that great anymore. I don't like the way I've played my cards. I don't like the fact that I've been backed into a metaphorical corner. But it's too late for all of that now. And I don't know what to do now that I've reached my inevitable dead-end.
"Let him go." He says simply. Like it should've been obvious to anyone. Well, it isn't obvious to me. I don't understand how I can 'let him go'. And if he's suggesting what I think he is, I don't think I even can.
I'm sure I look as thunderstruck as I feel. "How?" I ask him. My voice sounds drier and hoarser than it did in my head.
"You know what you have to do. Me telling you isn't going to make it any easier. For either of you." Sam says calmly. And then he continues on, gathering firewood as he goes. I stand stock still for a moment, long enough for him to get a decent ways away from me. Only just realizing that we should stick together, I chase after him.
We don't say anything else to one another, but when we return to camp, he gives me a meaningful look, and I am troubled as Frodo settles in next to me. There was nothing that I wouldn't do to keep close to him. Except that now I know what I must do, and I think it might kill me, if I allow myself to think about it.
As the fire roars up, talk among the others increases. They're upbeat, despite the weather. Frodo leans up and whispers in my ear. "I missed you," he says, his warm breath tickling in the most delicious way. All dark thoughts are pushed immediately from my mind.
"I was only gone for a few moments." I whisper back, turning to face him. His sincere blue eyes catch me by surprise, just like they always do.
"It was too long. Don't leave me again," he says, halfway playful and halfway serious.
"I won't," I say and my heart and soul scream at the lie. I tuck him close to me, his head fitting under my chin. He nestles close, and though I catch sidelong glances from the fellowship, no one comments.
"I love you," he says.
"I love you," I say.
I stare into the fire. It's times like these when I hate Sam.
***
Frodo moans and his eyes roll back into his head. I quickly clamp my hand over his mouth, though I myself am having trouble keeping quiet. I slide the rest of the way into him, feeling his heat surround me. Bliss.
I forget about everything when I'm with him like this. The Ring, my decisions, the loss of Gandalf, Arwen, everything. There is nothing else when we're making love and our eyes meet. Nothing but pure heat and friction and love and sweat and come. Perfect.
I gather his torso in my arms, pulling him closer as we rock together. My mouth is slightly open, which I don't realize until Frodo caresses my lips with his soft hands. I suckle one gently, and makes a low sound that I don't stifle this time. The rest of our companions are sleeping not far away, with naught between us but space and blankets.
Frodo leans in and kisses my neck, biting softly and my eyes snap open as I come. He shudders, and I feel love coursing through me as his hot seed spills across our bellies.
I cannot even imagine being without him. But Emyn Muil draws near, and my decision will soon come into effect. I use a corner of our blanket to wipe away the mess on both our bellies. He smiles lazily at me. So sweet. So perfect. So...
Every moment seems more precious, more vibrantly accented now that I know they're numbered.
***
Orcs. Thousands upon thousands of foul creatures rising up from the gloom, mouths agape in silent and not-so-silent screams, filled with hatred for those who are not like them. Jagged rows of teeth fill their mouths, ragged and made to tear flesh and cause pain. Black skin gives off a rotting stench that makes me gag. Their yellow eyes burn with a raging fever pitch, reminiscent of insanity. They want to kill. They want to kill us all, for their own amusement.
I reach for my sword, but it's not there. Momentary panic grips me that I should have lost something so very, very precious, perhaps even given it over to the enemy.
I'm alone. I don't remember, but somehow I've been separated from the group. I hear a familiar voice calling to me, pleading. Across the void a face flits for a moment, lost and ghostly, but before I can place it, it dissipates into shadow. A whisper for Him rises and dies on my lips unspoken. He has gone away, and it is better, because I would not want Him to be here.
I try to move quietly. I don't know where I should go, though. The orcs surround me, but don't seem to notice me. Their ghastly eyes have been fixed upon something else, and now they claw towards it, ripping each other to shreds with violent claws in the attempt to make it there first. Some are somehow joined together, but this does not stop them from tearing at each other. A grotesque maelstrom of deformed limbs wends its way towards something out of my line of sight, and I stand dumb and unable to do anything.
Finally, though my feet are leaden, I press myself forward to see what could have attracted their collective attention. I catch a glimpse of something. Small. With pale skin. Not a something, then. A someone. A familiar someone.
A sudden scream claws its way out of my throat and I am running, running as fast as I can though I know there is no way I can be in time. He will be dead by the time I get there. My muscles fail me and though I want more than anything to keep going, I find I don't have the strength to move. I fall to my knees and the orcs swarm around me, ignoring me, rushing past me like a river.
A thin wail floats up, quickly drowned by the harsh shrieks of the orcs. Despair floods my every sense and I lay down and curl up into a ball. I can't save Him. I can't get near Him. He will die and I will be here, useless and unarmed, and close enough to hear his screams.
"Aragorn. Aragorn. Please help me. Please don't let me die. Please..." His voice comes clearly to me in my mind. Agony tears through me and I try to stand again. Try so hard that I almost make it before sheer pain drives me down, back to the ground.
A burst of flame illuminates the hunched backs of the orcs and the small, struggling form of Frodo. An eye in the distance, growing nearer. I know what it means. Death. Death and pain and corruption to me and all of us.
"Aragorn," Frodo screams, and the flames devour him.
***
I move from sleep to wakefullness quickly and fully. In an instant, I am awake and alert, and ready to spring to my feet and fight. Frodo drowses next to me, and it takes me only a few moments to realize that nothing's really wrong and that the feeling of danger and despair is only a feeling left over from that horrific dream. Frodo is alive. Frodo is fine. He's safe.
But for how long?
Though I know it was only a dream, it was too close to reality for my taste. The scene painted in my mind's eye might happen someday, someday soon, and the thought fills me with dread. I can taste the bitterness of fear on my tongue. My fear.
I've never feared orcs. They're animals. Wild beasts that are neither particularly intelligent or fearsome, if one knows how to deal with them.
But that is not the case now. I see them now un-jaded. Their sharp blades and the way they could cleave skin and muscle and bone from a body. From Frodo's body. They could kill him. Not even they. Just one. If one orc got a moment alone with him, he would die.
It would be so easy to let him down.
Especially now that we draw closer and closer to the heart of danger. We've been dogged by our enemies the entire quest, but it can get nothing but worse. If Frodo goes into Mordor as he surely will...
I gather him close to me, press my face into his curls as silent tears course down my face. I blink in surprise. I never cry.
But the feeling of hopelessness overwhelms me and I can't help it.
***
We have reached Emyn Muil. Everyone is on edge, and somewhere in the backs of our minds, I know we all feel the danger. The overwhelming, mindless fear that threatens to overtake us all is shoved roughly down and replaced with short tempers and sharp tongues.
Even I am nervous and jittery, maybe more so than the rest. The fellowship will break soon. I can feel it in my bones. We must all part ways, and I know that many of us will not survive to see each other again.
We've made camp, and Gimli sits against a rock, smoking a pipe. Legolas pulls me aside to warn me of the shadowy enemy that draws near. It seems a bit redundant to me. But I nod my head absently. For I've noticed something else. Boromir and Frodo are both missing. I would not say anything to Legolas, but I've noticed that the Man has been acting strangely, recently. More withdrawn. Quiet. And the looks he's been giving Frodo...
And now they are both missing. Quickly, I jump to my feet. "Frodo! Where is Frodo?" All of the hobbits look confused, and Sam looks worried. Even Gimli slowly gets to his feet, his thick brow creased in a frown.
Without waiting for an answer, I bound off into the woods. At first I have no definite plan, only dashing off in a random direction. But as I get farther from camp, I hear cries and the sounds of a struggle. No...I cannot be too late.
I curse myself even as I force myself to run faster. But when I enter the clearing where the sounds have been coming from, I find no one. I am almost ready to believe that it was in my mind, when I notice the churned up leaves and dropped firewood. There has been a struggle, indeed, but it is over now. Where Frodo and Boromir have gone, I don't know.
I move to the site of the disturbance, and carefully read the tracks. A small someone has torn out of here with great haste. Frodo.
Ignoring the other set of tracks, I head straight off after him. Boromir will have to fend for himself. My duty is first and foremost to Frodo, and Frodo alone.
I find him at the seat of Amon Hen. Laying on the ground, looking at me with blue eyes large and frightened like a rabbit's. It takes me a moment to realize that he is looking straight at me, and that the fear has not dissipated at all. My heart bleeds. He is afraid of me.
"Frodo." I plead, taking a step towards him. He scrambles away. "Frodo," I say, "Why are you afraid?"
He stands and backs farther away. "You want it too," he whispers. His eye catches mine and a sudden flash of myself and the scene at Lorien comes to mind. I tremble.
"No, Frodo. It is yours to bear." I say, and my voice is unsteady. Already a worse vision has presented itself to me, of myself taking it without a thought for him, leaving him stripped and alone on the ground. Myself, the wielder of the greatest power in Middle Earth, commanding armies of all the races, with Frodo by my side. A hundred different possibilities present themselves to me, each one with different things that I want, different ways of getting them. One thing remains the same. In order to get there, I would have to take the Ring. Take it from Frodo. A seemingly small price to pay.
"Is it? Would you take it if I offered?" He pulls the chain from his neck and holds the golden thing in his hand, nestled in the silver links of its chain. My hand trembles and I walk forward until I am close, very close. His scent intoxicates me. I could relieve him of this burden, take away his troubles, his worries. His danger.
My hand hovers over his, so close I can feel the heat from it. And then I place my hand on his, and close it for him, the Ring safely tucked inside. Now I understand. I finally understand what I must do.
"I love you, Frodo, and I would have followed you to the end. If you asked it of me, I would have thrown myself into the fires of Mount Doom itself for you. But there is no use for it now." A soft blue glow emanates from his hip. Orcs. They have come. "Go. There is danger here. Go, and do not stop."
I turn from him and draw my sword. My path is clear, and I finally know what to do to follow it. I don't look back, but I hear his scuffling feet as he runs. I know that I will not see him again.
So I turn to my enemies with a single-minded ferocity and devote everything I have into beheading and destroying the vile creatures. But before I am thrown into battle, I think of Frodo. Run fast my love, and don't look back. And above all, come back to me.
THE END