Samwise

(A/N: A new chapter! thanks again to all those that reviewed the second chapter, I'll give thanks to you and I hope you enjoy this one!)

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Frodo stares at me now, stares at me as if I were a mad thing. My hand continues to carefully stroke his fevered brow, feeling it contract sharply against my fingertips as he frowns. He understands what my meaning holds. I see it in his eyes.

I summon a great source of power right then, tightening my grip against his paralysed knuckles, but without taking my eyes from his face. I spot a smear of dirt below his right temple, and I rub it away, noticing his grimace as my finger touches softly against his skin. I feel him shudder another time, though his eyes remain open.

"There is no need for fear…" I whisper comfortingly, my finger leaving his temple and tracing his hairline along the white forehead, slowly and with time one takes for reassurance, as his lips become dry with every shattering breath he takes.

"Reasonably?" he gasps out, his eyelids fluttering at my words. "I – I know not what you say. You must be mistaken." His voice narrows at his final words, and below my steady hand I feel his own quiver, as if he is not being honest with either himself, or I.

There is a tremble within his pulse. I feel it as I soothe down his palm with my fingers, once again the warmth of his blood flooding me with such desire and power I feel as if I shall go mad. I long for his trust…I need to convince. He is so troubled, so lost and afraid.

Poor, poor Frodo. I sympathise.

Slowly, as if to bring him more doubt, I lean in close so that my lips are almost touching his tangled, dark curls. I breathe in his scent deeply, hearing him groan another time, his hand persisting to pull free from my grasp. His locks carry the smell of ash, purified dust clarified with yet, a hint of fresh water.

Behold! Such a smell to my senses I have never dreamed. He squirms beneath me, his voice cracked and dry, like the valleys of Mordor itself.

"Please…" he begs, turning his head the furthest he can, his neck arching for freedom and the muscles stiff in his shoulders. I hear his breathing quicken at the sound of my inhaling air as I breathe him in, wishing I could gain his response. I laugh slightly at his pleads.

I hush him for quiet, not wanting his mercy so soon. I entwine my fingers evermore firmly around his own, hearing him almost gasp out in surprise. His chest tightens and his breaths hitched, I see the crease travels that lie in his shirt from his fist. A low, quiet drone echoes from my throat as I cease his struggle.

"Please," he asks of me again, his demands quieter now. "Please – I have nothing to say!"

I sneer a little against his hair, my voice rash and deep. "You lie." My fingers soothing his hairline now lose themselves in his curls, fasten around the limp locks and smooth them out gently. His eyes still remain open, though now I detect fright within them, a fright so sincere that it may have caused pity to the hardest of hearts.

Though mine is harder, and is not shamed easily.

"No, I - " he stammers out, a fierce shiver passing through him at the feel of my touch against his hair. He swallows hard, his lips parting feebly as he searches for an answer to bide with. I sense his heartbeat strengthens, though as I listen to his thoughts they cry out for help.

Sam…Sam…

I lower my lips from his hair and let them travel softly down to his ear, where I intend to whisper my endearments to him, let him hear me out. "You are not being truthful, Frodo love…" I sigh out, my fingers circling, making patterns in his soft curls. I hear him moan in anguish, as if the words from my mouth have brought him pain.

He once more tries in vain to force my grip from his hand, but he does not succeed. A weak grunt he releases, and in his last hope he plans to pry his hair from my clutches. But I only ever continue to comfort him, the surface of his scalp soft and smooth, like the very skin he wears.

"Ghâsh-ishi, ash gimb-dug…" I breathe, once again announcing the Black Speech into the little one's ear. ("In the fire, one finds filth…") It startles him, as I anticipated, and his eyes pinch together tightly, a whimper slipping out. His knuckles become fiercer, they tense under my own palm. A strange sound comes from his throat.

My hand worms its way out of his hair and brushes down his silken cheek. It feels so cold against the night, and another violent shudder surpasses through to my own mind from his senses. I now twist my fingers against the one that holds his shaking hand, and clench it tightly in my palm, now holding it strongly.

He has not shone tears, yet. This is indeed interesting.

Now at the mercy of his fist in my own hand, the balance seems to bring him to plead nevertheless. The lump in his throat quivers, and his sighs are pardoned as the tightness in his eyes shows through. "Leave me," he commands, although the firmness in his voice fails him so. "Please…leave me."

"That I cannot do, dearest…" I scorn, marvelling in the appearance of one so helpless. Sweet Frodo. I ask only to help you, I ask you to be comforted…to ease yourself from your pain. You carry so much, little one.

Now a piteous sigh he murmurs, and with instant fortune tries to free himself. "I beg it of you," he despairs, his voice weakening and his head drooping a little, his hand slowly limping in my own clutches. His eyes do not open, though I do not wonder of it, I now he is slipping into my trust, blinded…I add.

Sam…help, Sam, oh – Sam!

I smile coldly at the desperation in his thoughts. My hand falls from his beautiful cheek and slips past his neck, my eyes fixed on the dip once more. His throat muscles still shiver, for a fleeting moment he appears to my eyes so weak. The helplessness of his own I feel, shuddering through his body like fire, or wind.

My lips lean in towards his ear, breathing heavily. His hair rustles under my call and he gasps out another time. Slowly, my fingers trace the collarbone of his neck and sink in the dip, circling around the valleys. It appeals to me again how smooth and light he is, as if a fragile formation. He grunts under the strain.

A robust sob echoes from his throat then, it fills me with delight to hear him crumble under my will. He sighs deeply, as if holding back tears. He whispers out another time, though a little pitiful, "I beg you."

I do not answer him, I shall not. My action shall be to torment him, to bring him to my state of mind. I do not have an answer for his pleas, they sound pathetic and wretched falling on my ears. I do not feel an ounce of guilt…of sympathy. So far, I am succeeding.

I remember his thoughts, his cries for help. I feel as if that is his last shred of hope inside his tiny little body, calling out for his companion. Without the light, he is nothing. If he remained in the dark, he would diminish, would he not? If someone where to take that from him, he would have nothing more to live for.

Cannot that someone be me?

I smile pleasurably at his weakness. Lifting my fingers from his neck, I fasten my hand softly around his pure throat, my palm lying against his skin, sensing his sudden fear. He swallows hard. I will not choke him; I will not bring myself to it so soon. I must make him suffer.

Death would be a comfort to him.

"Release me…please," he breathes out, the fear trembling in his voice. The hand of which I hold shudders gently in my own, his eyes shut though not tightly. A violent twitch suddenly sounds through him, a flinch as I caress the delicate throat. There are slight filth marks in the shallow areas, and I take the time to clean them, stroking gently.

"Look at him, love…" I whisper, my stares now travelling up and away from the one I hold in my power, toward the creature lying still a few feet away from us. The light one, the one I fear may destroy my land. How he rests so calmly, as if without a care. What possibilities I could gain if I were within feet of him, I would take my chance with that one.

Frodo flutters his eyes at my words, and listens carefully. They feebly open with a glance and watch my stare, lying upon his dear friend. He gazes madly into the open, as if for a moment wanting to cry out to him, his breathing becoming stronger. I hear a soft moan dance from his lips.

I tower in closer, my words almost touching his neck. "Do you see him, beloved…?" I ask him in a dry voice, soothing his mind with my touch. I feel him gulp behind my hand and his throat tightens as he struggles against my fingers. I can feel his misunderstanding, his confusion again. And yet, I sense a battle waging within him, to fall to all and shout out the name that sounds in his head.

The corners of his eyes tense, I see that the brims of them are dampening. I smile to myself as another wave of sadness penetrates my body, brings me happiness. The tears are finally beginning to show for him, dear Frodo…cry at will, if you desire it. It will bring you comfort…ease your strain.

"What of Sam?" he whispers out, his breath cold and wavering. His eyes dart to the sides, as if he were trying to bring me into his sight. I feel the power to laugh as I stare back into them, noticing the peril that lies inside…the fear. "I see him…I do. Why do you ask this?" he says.

I lie one finger on the rim of his throat, tracing a circle. "You would not want to see him suffer…" I say coldly, my whispers harsh. "Would you, Frodo love…? You would not like that…" My hand fastened a little tighter on his neck, feeling him stiffen at my action and let loose another whimper.

"What if I were to see his end…?" I go on in a murmur. "What if this hand…was around his own throat…? What then, dear Frodo…? What then…?" I laugh in my own head at the stillness I receive from the poor, frightened little hobbit.

Again, his eyes persist to remain on my face, widening evermore at my words, washing my body again with pleasing comfort as fright flooded my soul for a relief. His breathing seemed to stop, his voice cracked and unhappy. To my delight, his brims squeeze taut to let a lone tear fall past his dirty cheek, and his words were quiet and meek. "You would never," he sobs.

I only smile at his worry. "It could be his end…" I continue, enjoying the trepidation in his crystal eyes. I do not wipe his tear away, I let it fall as it fills me with glee just to watch it trickle. My grasp softens on his throat and I feel his breaths now grow stronger.

My eyes look down towards his shirt…where my confound lies beneath. A piece of his velvet skin is exposed, where the button has parted. It suddenly seems so appealing. My hands instantly fall to it, stroking carefully and whispering endearments. Frodo struggles under my touch and a choked cough he submits, the despair and anger filling him.

"R – release me," he stammers again, his pace quickening of the heart.

"You know what he is to you…" I whisper in his ear, my fingers lying smoothly over the silken flesh of his torso, the tiny section which lies uncovered to the stars. In the brightness of my eyes I spot the chain hanging from his neck, of which he carries my keep. I eye it hungrily, and lick my lips.

"Snaga…" I hiss, letting my finger slip down the chain against his purified throat. ("Slave…") That is all the light one really is. This Sam. A slave resting in power mad eyes, surrounded by unworthiness and oblivious hatred. I see a glint in my eyes and I hold it back, the rage wanting out.

Frodo squirms in my clutches, his expression tightening in fury as I become close to touching the thing he protects. His voice slips out in another whisper. "What will you do?" he asks, trembling madly from my caress. He almost sounds demanding. "What will you do? What will become of Sam?"

I do not answer him, but continue to comfort his aching pain. His protectiveness is strong amongst all things, not just of what he owns. His heart carries a burden of its own, one he cannot hide from.

At my silence, a fire dances in his eyes. He suddenly gains the face of an angered power, determined and resolute, his face flashes almost for a moment. This does not surprise me. The faces I have been offered from many ago have been more brutal. Still, it surprises me to see him this way.

"Answer me, hear me out," he growls, his features mighty with rage. He stares strong into my eyes, without fear of his command. It seems as if he has suddenly changed. The presence of the Shadow Mountain has been known to tamper with the hearts of many…and I see for myself that it is true.

I leave him with his odium, and concentrate on the chain revealed, around his neck still. I feel my eyes pouring with hunger, my strokes still giving warmth to the pale velvet skin. I try and avoid the cloak as much as possible, basking in the softness before my fingers. "He will die, Frodo love…" I whisper.

He frowns again, his brow pierced with anguish. "No."

"He will die…and he will fade…"

"Be quiet." He shuts his eyes tightly, more tightly than he ever has done. It is as if he is almost trying to send me away, as if his ignorance will cause my halt. It is only bringing his weakness…his plan is diminishing.

"He will fail you…he will fail us all…" I breathe.

"Never. Not Sam…"

"He will pass into the Shadow…he will succumb to the darkness…" I said, slowly my hands making their way up to the hobbit's throat, feeling the heat of vigilance upon the skin. "Poor, weak…worthless fool that he is…you would be lost, nothing without him…and he plans to deprive you, I hear him, love…he is watching you…waiting for you, and when the time arrives he will abandon you…leave you alone…leave you to die if he would…"

My words are like poison to his mind. An angry sob ripples from his lips and he suddenly fights back with a new strength, his voice growing louder from his level. Tears blind me from him as they flow onto his pale cheeks. "No!" he cries out. "You shall not torment me with your lies! Leave me! Nothing will become of it! You shall not take Sam, you wretched thing! Nor shall I hear your voice any longer, you will not have me! You will not take me too…I will not go!"

His spoken mind, full of tears sounds louder against the thundering night. With a mighty growl, I swipe at his throat and hold it in my clutches, squeezing tight and ignoring his cry of desperation. I feel his fright now, now that I have him. I smile at the tears, which fall. He seems like a terror-stricken animal once again.

"Let…me go!" he chokes out, his hands now blindly trying to defend.

"Glob!" I screech in the almighty tone, deafening to those who would listen. ("Fool!") With my other hand, I grasp his own and with slow care began to move it toward my keep, my confound. He shall put It on, and all shall be forgotten. I see how he battles, how he strains. The resistance is mighty.

"No – stop!" he whimpers, desperate to be free, and attempts to pry his hand.

I persist to beckon, my mouth close to his ear and demanding my call. "You shall bide to me, love…you will not do this task…do not destroy It! The life force that It yields to is one that you shall perish! Fail the light! Keep the will strong, beloved…dearest…Frodo!"

"Sam!" he finally shouts, banishing all thoughts from his mind of risk, and crying out for the company, the aid. "Sam!" His pulse is rapid, his will-mind weakening. He is fading…this is his last chance for an egress he desires. With every heartbeat the name of his friend sounds loudly in my head, his voice racking with tears and his breathing humble.

I almost have him now…almost…his weakening form is belonging to me. My grip fastens harder around the pure neck, and I hear him choke quietly. There is no way past this malice, for poor…sweet, beautiful Frodo. He will choose either to die tonight or for another moment. I lean my lips on his hair, whispering his name.

"Your Sam will regret his idleness…" I murmur softly, as my grip deepens to bring his fist closer to my trinket, soothing the backs of his knuckles but holding with such a force that I have the advantage. This will be it, our time…tonight as I had hoped. As I knew it.

A howling wind whistled smoothly across the ash and rocks that crumble. Amidst the hobbit's foolish sobs and pleas I hear a steady rumble in the distance. The call comes to me again, it brings all to mind and as I listen, I hear calm breathing in my ears of a new.

Everything stands still for a moment. Within my sight I grimace at the view, two pools of fresh bog mud stare through to my soul and anger my spirit. I feel a rage course inside me at this disturbance, and I frown in hatred so strong it would bring disaster to the strongest flame. Then from a shallow distance I hear a confused, bland and humble voice, speaking up from the dust and dirt.

"Mr. Frodo?"

To be continued

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