Seduction

(A/N: Oh, I might have forgotten to mention…I don't have any disclaimer for characters used in Tolkien's work. I feel guilty enough already, lol. Thank you for those who reviewed in one night! I feel quite honoured.)

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The night continues to shudder, violently now like an earthquake. My sight has not departed from the figure who lays before me, sleeping steadily as if a child. He seems so lost from this world…so insecure. He needs comfort from my mind.

I smile gradually as I study his face. So perfect, as if porcelain. He seems so fragile; I could break him with my coils. But I shall not. I shall help him. I shall make him understand.

I arch myself gracefully away from the crumbling formation of dust and earth, stepping slowly with light-hearted steps towards the slumbering hobbit. He continues to lie and only breathe, not knowing the warmth he will receive amidst this cold dominion. I lick my lips again from the dust.

"Frodo…" I call to him softly. He never stirs.

I take another step, the dirt circling around my toes. My distance becomes nearer, our time has almost arrived. I plan to calm his senses, take him into my world. As every waking second passes, I feel his desperation as a halo, dancing around his innocence, as if he can sense my presence somehow in his dreams.

He struggles, as if warning me away. Stirring at last, in his slumber. He senses my arrival, he feels my entry. Poor Frodo. Sleep well, and be peaceful. He has only been good to me, I feel as if I should repay him for his care.

I close my eyes softly, summoning my inner power and strength. I hear his deep breaths ever more clearly in my mind, soft and moaning. My hair floats about me as the control flows through my soul, reaching out toward the resisting hobbit.

Relax, Frodo love.

I reach his side at last, and look down upon the dirtied figure. A smile of satisfaction crosses my lips as I see his white hand clutched tightly around my confound. More protection. I see his struggle, his strain.

Breathing deep, breathing in his troubles, I settle myself beside him, my eyes upon his filthy brow. I detect one crease line as his forehead does battle with his spiriting thoughts, his hand shaking madly as it tightens around his shirt.

He is so small.

I study his cloak, his silver clothing hanging from about his pure neck. It carries a brooch of Elven kind, which sickens my heart for the while. How I long to unclasp it from him, throw away his need for protection and offer my own. I hold out a still, unwavering hand and brush it slightly against his shoulder, though the material of the cloak feels almost as hard as sandpaper to my touch.

I sense the feel of his arm, the warmth of his skin from beneath. I continue to stroke his quivering arm, hoping to reduce the tension and help him further. There is nothing to fear, he must know this. What he carries is something not to shrink from, but to hold for plenty of worship. He will understand.

I notice with a resolute glance that his feet are uncovered and exposed to the night. Taking time and with care, I pull the blanket in which he lies upon up and over his toes, protecting them in the way he would want. I take this as a reason to let my fingers pass through the dark, curling hair upon them, stroking and soothing.

"Frodo…"

I hear my Master calling again, calling from the Tower. I shall not go to Him. Not yet. It is what I desire, I know. But for the latter, I choose to help this little one. Behold how beautiful he is.

I bring my hand now to rest upon his back, a distinct heartbeat I can feel as he steadily breathes. He has heard my final voice, I see him stirring now with an awakening force. Smiling from his sleepiness, I bend down low towards his ear, my hand tenderly fondling his back, though the touch is brutal to my fingertips from the cloak material.

"Arise…Frodo, love…awake…" I command, my voice deep and hollow, whispering dearly to him. A moan is uttered as he begins to rouse, and for further hope I place my hand over the one in which he clutches his possession, soothing and kind, stroking down the fierce knuckles and releasing him from pressure.

He swallows, his lips parting barely as his soft eyelids begin to peep. Even now as I watch him awaken, I notice a shard of splintered colour protruding from the slit of his opening eyes. The shade is that of a colour I usually hide from, but in this way it endears me, brings power to course.

I run a gentle finger down the crease of his eye line, where his eyebrows make contact with his skin. His touch is soft, smoother than the terrible Elven cloak. I see a slight frown form as he detects my presence, burying my finger against his brow.

"Arise…"

He revives quickly, harshly. Bolting his eyes open as if he were a frightened animal, startling only himself as he gasps. His curly head rises from the dirty ground a few, looking about himself in alarm, his hand still grasping his shirt…and mine upon it. His breathing has suddenly quickened, he has not felt the presence of my touch upon his back. I run a finger slowly down the base of his wrist.

He starts. Turning his head, he looks with fearful eyes into my own, as if they were pleading and confused. The frown returns as he stares upon me, though no tears lie in the brims. He seems almost lost, as if he is trying to place me. He glances down at my hold on his hand for a moment, before staring back up at me.

I smile, deeply. "It is I…Frodo, love…" I breathe.

He tightens his expression, as if in pain for a while, and then swallows hard. Shuddering the slightest against my stroking touch, his voice begins to whisper. "What is this?" he shivers.

I soften my features, holding the back of his hand and running a slow finger down the knuckle on his wrist, feeling him flinch. No, don't be afraid. I lean ever closer, the touch on his back deepening, though my fingertips despise myself in pain.

"It is I…" I repeat steadily, caressing the blanket material between his toes and enjoying the looks he is offering, as if every touch brings him to alarm. He has never seen this vision before, I come to him tonight out of balance. I have come to Sméagol several a while, also. He must learn the soul of what he carries.

His eyes open again, so deeply that it feels as if the crystal water from those wells has washed the flames from my body. He demands to speak, to hear out what he has to say, but I can feel his struggle.

Hushing him silent, I lift my tortured hand from his back and raise it slowly towards his throat. I take an eternity to reach, at last tracing my fingertip down the tension in his neck, drawing circles around the lump in his throat, and feeling more of his shudders up my body. His lips part slowly, I see them dry as he fights.

No, Frodo. Be comforted.

"I…I know your voice," he manages. I notice how he studies my face, finding his own explanation for this. Perhaps, I wonder…he thinks he dreams of it? No, Frodo love…this is for real.

I smile gratifyingly, stroking the tender neck with my fingers and leaning in closely. I persist to care for his trembling hand, my eyes boring into his and feeling a power surge through me from his own sensation. My hair continues to float around me in the howling wind, at times tickling the hobbit's jaw.

"It is your Precious…" I sigh.

He relaxes at my words. A slow smile creeps into the corners of his mouth, though his eyes still reveal confusion and misunderstanding. The tension grip on his shirt is released, and his body appears to almost go limp in places. He moans slightly and breathes out his fear, though I still sense it within him. "So it is," he says.

I begin to hum. A deep, influential call which rises above the ash but is unheard to abiding souls. I only allow Frodo to hear it as I continue to stroke my fingers against his tender neck, circling once again around the pensive parts and staring deeply into his shining eyes.

They roll back to shut, a symbolic trance passing over his face as I persist to call. I hum ever so softly now, almost a whisper to those if they heard. His breathing slows and his sighs can be listened to faintly.

"Listen to my call, Frodo…" I command softly, my fingers leaving the lump on his throat and burying gently in the dip of his neck. Lo! How smooth and light he is, as if made out of glass. I slip out a fragment of a sneer as I watch him swallow again, the fear brought down through to my own spirit.

"Krimp-burzum-ishi, love…" I whisper into his ear. ("Bind in the darkness, love…") The Black Speech seems to terrify him, I feel his beautiful blood pulsating madly in his veins. He does not understand that everyone will speak this way. He must be familiar with it, so.

I hear him gasp, cry out softly. I soothe his brow, my fingers entwining with his own as I have not moved my other hand from his grasp. My hair persists to billow under his neckline, teasing his nerves.

I feel sweat under my fingertips and notice that his forehead is clamming. Softly I comfort his pain as his brow contracts with pressure, and his eyes are now tightly closed. The hand of which I hold begins once more to reach for the shirt, tightening the muscles in his fingers and his knuckles straining.

I sneer calmly, my breath rushing against his hair. "Ease yourself…"

He grunts, shuddering under my touch. "Let me…let me be," he gasps, his fingers desperately searching for my trinket behind his shirt, though by and by his sight is blinded, as he does not open his eyes. A tiny bead of sweat sits upon his brow and I rub it gently into his skin.

"Thrakulûk burzum-ishi…" I breathe. ("Bring them all in the darkness…") As I speak my Master's tongue, my voice deepens and sounds non-bland against the night, though only the hobbit can hear it.

Frodo struggles with his thoughts, I hear them deep in my own mind. His eyes tighten at the sound of my bottomless voice and his breath rate slows evermore, though the beating of his heart grows stronger. "No," he shudders. "What do you speak of?"

I tangle my fingers in his dark curls, wanting his trust. I feel him taut from my contact and he groans in despair. I half expect him to shed tears of mercy, but he does not. I run a soothing palm down his ashen cheek, hearing his hitching breaths. "Be free of your troubles, little one…" I sigh. "You are the only importance…"

"Do not tell me of importance," he growls, his shivering fingers attempting to break free from my hold. "Let me be, I say." I notice how his voice breaks with difficulty, as if he is balancing on the brink of distress. I can feel his sadness radiating past his skin.

I soothe down his nimble knuckles, in some way forcing my own kindness. I am his friend…he knows this. Slowly I tighten my grip, not out of anger but as a calming remedy. I lean in close toward his ear, my other hand lost in his hair.

"Do not be discontent with your fear…" I tell him warmly. "I see you struggle every day, love…I feel your pain…" I ran a gentle hand from his hair, down past his neck and caressing his throat. It felt so delicate, I may just as well have broken it in two right there.

"I can be trusted…" I hiss in his ear, my coils tightening. "Trust me, Frodo…"

He relaxes for a while, lost in the touch of my presence. A numb sigh he did release, until it was destroyed by a hefty sob. "You have been only a bother to me," he quivers, his eyes opening. He had not opened his eyes in a while.

I smile coldly. "Now, now…no need for that…" I whisper dryly, my finger once more lying in the dip line of his pale neck, his bright eyes feebly staring. I stroke it tenderly, taking a moment to bask in the softness of his skin. "You hold so much pain within yourself, love…let me help you…"

"No," he interrupts suddenly, trying to pull away, as if he is fighting only himself. He twists his head away, stealing my touch into emptiness. The action angers me a little…I feel the rage coursing through my soul.

"Frodo, love…" I try to reason.

Again, he shuts his eyes, breaking all vision. He does not try to break free from my grasp; it almost appears as if he is commanding me away with his mind. His voice is wavering, soft and cold. "I – I do not wish to hear your voice," he stammers, his lips dry. "I do not ask for this…what is your purpose?" his words sound frightened.

Sneering casually, I slip my hand further into his and embrace the trembling palm, feeling the clutched woven material of his shirt and hearing his breath sharpen. "Only to help…" I reply, staring down into his crystal eyes, entrancing him gently. "I need your advice, dearest…I need your loyalty…"

"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice shaking.

I wipe his brow soothingly, my lip curling. "It is only a matter of time, beloved Frodo…" I sigh. "A time to make a decision…you know of what I speak. So let us be calm…relax…and we will discuss it reasonably…"

To be continued

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A/N: Poor Frodo. I hate myself.