Frodo kept his promise. He was there under the gray and sunless sky, when Sam woke the next morning. And this time, Sam knew he had no choice. He was never going to escape these dreadful gray walls, not on his own. Surprisingly, despite this, he felt better than he had the day previous- why exactly, he couldn't say. Perhaps it was because he wouldn't be alone anymore- perhaps it was because he was still in love. Even after everything, he was still in love.

"You slept quite a while," Frodo said cheerfully, helping him fold his blanket back into his pack. The way he spoke now was domestic, much more like the Frodo from Bag End, not the...frightening thing. "I do hope you feel better, because it's a long way yet."

Sam only hummed, and thought that maybe if he didn't say too much this Frodo couldn't have an effect on him. Frodo didn't seem to notice, but as they stood to leave he did take Sam's hand in his cold one, and the sweetness of his smile then was too much what Sam had always wanted so he didn't have the heart to pull away. Had Frodo really changed in his days of absence, become more like himself before he had died? Or was this a deception? Sam didn't know, and didn't really want to think about it.

The morning passed quickly like this, with Frodo leading him gracefully by the hand through the rocky maze, and in no time at all the scenery changed- the walls fell away and the landscape opened up, revealing in the distance the mountain of fire, and before it a vast expanse of eerie mist and choked vegetation.

"These are called the Dead Marshes," Frodo told him, his expression still lighthearted and innocent. "People used to fight here- and die, of course."

"How do you know that?" Sam asked quietly, and Frodo's white eyes widened slightly.

"I don't know," he replied. "I suppose I just know it, now. And by the way, be careful- only follow me, not the light of anything else you might see. The paths here aren't...safe."

Sam gripped Frodo's cold hand a little tighter at that, almost unintentionally, and with this they left the cliffs behind.

Time seemed to matter even less than before out on the Marshes, where the air was cool but the ground was warm, unpleasantly so, and the mist though not as thick formed strange shapes in the air. Every so often Sam would start, thinking he had seen a pale figure rise from the water, only to turn and find there had been nothing there at all. Here and there little fires burned, and yet Sam couldn't quite look at them dead on, for whenever his eyes focused they seemed to disappear. Frodo, save where their fingers intertwined, seemed less tangible here as well, the pale halo of light around him making his figure insubstantial. This place was horrible. Like everything so close to Mordor, it was sick.

Before him, Frodo paused, and Sam stopped himself, unable to see what Frodo was looking at. He laughed softly, the tone once again like that of a music box, and when he turned back to Sam his expression was one of delight- and also, vaguely wicked.

"Look here, Sam," Frodo purred, and he stepped aside so Sam could see down into the water at the edge of their feet. "Do you wonder what happened to him…?"

There was a body in the water.

Sam shuddered horribly and reeled back, unable to look. It had been a man lying there, his hair drifting around his head, eyes closed in a sullen white face that had not even begun to decay. Bile rose in his throat- it was too soon, the man lay there just as Gollum had, only instead of a new death this was an old one. Dead bodies- Sam had never seen such things as these!

"Oh, I'm sorry Sam," said Frodo sweetly, and he wrapped his cold arms around Sam's waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. There was another dead body. Frodo was dead, dead, dead. Sam's own heart was beating wildly, fighting as if to make up for all the death- knowing that he was the only living thing for miles. "Don't worry. I'll never let you end up like that."

"...what do you mean?" Sam asked when he had the strength to do so, pulling out of that suffocating embrace to look back at Frodo's perfect face. He smiled slyly, a smile that crept up his face, as always never revealing his teeth.

"Well, either you'll succeed," Frodo murmured, tapping Sam's chest lightly. "...and then you'll be a hero. Or you'll fail, and then…"

Frodo learned in closer, until Sam couldn't see anything but the white of his eyes, the cold air sinking in bone-deep and overwhelming him. His breath caught in his lungs.

"...you'll be like me."

Then, Frodo kissed him.

Sam was paralyzed. This was something he had only ever dreamt of, and dreamt of many, many times. How many days working in the garden had been passed imagining what it would be like to touch Mr. Frodo's soft skin, to hold him and kiss him the way a lover did? It had been blasphemy in a sense, but the best things in life back then had been hearing Frodo hum to himself through an open window while Sam worked the hedge, or seeing Frodo smile at him as he passed by the gate. Even if he shouldn't have thought these things, because Frodo wasn't a lass and moreover was a gentlehobbit, far outside the realm of possibility for someone of Sam's stature- thought it, still, he had.

But he had never acted on any of those desires, that would have been too much. If Frodo had ever tried to kiss him back then, his heart would surely have burst, but he had never thought it truly possible...a matter of dreams and nothing else.

But Frodo was kissing him now. His lips were softer even than Sam had imagined, though much, much colder. His fingers found their way through Sam's hair, wiping away all sense and memory, even of the words that had just been said. Unconsciously Sam found himself reaching out, trying to hold on over the silky fabric of Frodo's white clothing, his mind taking away all the things that didn't feel right and replacing them with fantasy. This was the garden in Bag End, and the sun was shining and the flowers blooming with early spring, and Frodo was warm, kissing him under the apple tree. There was no Ring, the weight of it was completely gone, and everything was as it should be…

A terrible noise tore this dream to pieces- a shriek that cut the air like a blade, terribly sharp and all-consuming, a sound he had heard before. The kiss broke, and Frodo looked shocked, white eyes wide as they searched the sky- but Sam didn't do the same. Under that terrible scream he heard wingbeats, and his instincts were on fire, not wanting to see what was making them.

He grabbed Frodo's hand and ran, the rational part of his mind not working in the slightest, scrambling through the muck and shallow corpse-water to the nearest shelter- a low-growing bush with withered and deathly-seeming branches, choked on moss that grew over it, something barely big enough to hide beneath.

He was under it before he fully realized what was happening, and hadn't let go of Frodo once, so that they both were crouched there, though Sam was breathing very heavily and Frodo didn't seem to be breathing at all.

"That's one of those Black Riders," said Sam, his voice shaking. Frodo was still looking up, eyes wide, but his expression wasn't very Frodo-like at all. "It must be…"

"I know," Frodo hissed, his voice low and cutting, just like the scream- and as he started to stand again Sam grabbed him, wrapping his arms around Frodo's narrow chest and shoving them both to the ground under the bush. Overhead, the wingbeats sounded closer.

"Sam!" Frodo snapped, and he bared his teeth in a way that sank Sam's heart like a stone; from so close the glistening white edges of what had become fangs were very visible, sharp and vicious like those of a pine marten. He was struggling, scrabbling at Sam's chest, but he was too small to push away both Sam's weight and that of his pack. "Let me go-"

Sam shook his head, and above the scream sounded again, so deafeningly all-consuming that he felt it in the marrow of his bones- it tore apart his thoughts and memories, filling him only with fear, a kind of animal panic so raw it almost ate him alive. This was worse than it had been on Weathertop, this was worse than anything Sam had ever experienced, because at least before this Sam hadn't been so alone.

Frodo managed to wiggle one arm free, and he reached upward through the branches, glowing with a light more terrible than heavenly. He opened his mouth again, and with the last scrap of thought in his head Sam covered it with his palm to stifle any noise that might come out. If Frodo screamed like that, he would certainly die, and everything would be over in the worst of ways.

Frodo glared at him, an expression of such rage that he didn't seem like Frodo at all anymore, and Sam held him down, not letting anything go, even as Frodo's fingers scraped the back of his hand. Overhead, the thing in the air swooped by, coming so close that the shadow of it for a moment darkened the dim light that filtered through the branches of the bush; Sam squeezed his eyes shut, thinking that this was the end, but there didn't come another scream- nor the sound of the world being torn open, nor any pain. The wingbeats grew distant again.

The thing cried out once more, but its voice was far away, the air taking away its terrible effect. It had passed over.

Trembling, Sam opened his eyes again. Frodo had stopped struggling, and the look he gave Sam now was unreadable. The image was almost perverse, Mr. Frodo pinned to the ground under Sam's body, wearing so little it was like he was being taken advantage of- and, startled by this thought, Sam let him go, reeling back to sit down on the swampy moss beneath the bush.

Frodo raised one eyebrow, and his expression seemed rather sullen as he too sat up, impossibly brushing away the mud on his face like it was dust until he looked perfect again, clean and pure and otherworldly.

"I'm sorry," Sam said weakly. He felt too hot, and all over drained, his mind scrambled from too many thoughts. Had he really just been kissing Frodo? Not Frodo, it must have been a lie! "I couldn't let you…"

Frodo didn't say anything, turning his head to the side, and then slowly he smiled. In spite of himself, Sam shuddered at that sight. How easily those teeth were hidden when he kept his lips sealed…!

"It's alright," Frodo purred, but his voice sounded harsh in his throat, like something inside him had shattered, becoming the illusive cutting edges of broken glass. "You were just trying to protect it, weren't you?"

The Ring thumped against Sam's chest when he said that, it felt warm, perhaps it too had been excited by the passing of the Black Rider. Sam didn't say anything, but Frodo's expression became much sweeter and he leaned in, pressing cold lips to Sam's cheek.

"It's alright, dear," he murmured in that sharp, glittering voice. "You're doing a wonderful job. You've made it farther than I ever could."

"I don't know about that," said Sam nervously, still on edge, heart still beating too fast. But despite this, he did feel a little flush of pride, a warmth more pleasant than not flaring up in his chest. Frodo- the other Frodo- might have made it here or maybe not, there was no way to say, but Sam had managed more than he ever could have dreamt of back in the Shire, where kings and monsters and magic were the stuff of stories and nothing more.

"My brave Samwise," said Frodo softly, and he then laughed, which sounded like the tinkling of silver wind chimes. He wasn't the same, this Frodo, he was dangerous and corrupted-

-dead, Ringwraith, monster-

-but still, hearing him say that was...wonderful.

Sam loved him anyway. How could he not? He had always loved Frodo.