The Fellowship of the Ring

OR

Delamarth: The Shadow of Mordor

Thus progressed the next couple of years. The Ring remained silent, and Frodo courted Sev with originally only intentions of pitying her and perhaps protecting himself from the watchful gossips and matchmakers amongst his peers and elders . . . but even as holding her hand grew more and more sentimental for him (although he saw her little outside of their typical daily conversation), he found himself slowly feeling more and more intently that he wanted something deeper, a true courtship.

The night of his 33rd birthday he wished to ask her. But she turned up for little of the party; Sam said she didn't feel healthy. Truthfully Sev wanted to leave Middle Earth as soon as possible, not only the Shire. It quickly became apparent to her that Frodo never wanted to take their relationship beyond a friendship/fake courtship. She couldn't abide it however much it protected him: it stung like a swarm of hot knives every time his fingers entwined with hers, snapped like the jaws of a pack of wolves every time his lips touched her cheek in sweet (but obviously public) greeting or farewell. She wanted his affection to be real, and while his gestures softened over the years she crushed her hopes into a paper ball and threw them in a despairing fire, watched them crackle mercilessly into ashes and blow away in her ever darker imagination.

Gaffer sent her, the night Frodo came of age, to go to Rivendell for healing. He didn't know what was wrong with her; he only knew she'd always had pain, ever-present agony that had nothing to do with her life in the Shire, or so he asserted. She wished Frodo a happy birthday and left the party, not telling him that she was going to the Elves. She couldn't bear the sight of him, old enough to marry with no desire to have her for his own.

Not that he could have cared. Bilbo stood up right after she left to give his speech, fingering the Ring at his side. He'd told her he planned to go with the Elves, and somehow she found herself agreeing. She almost anticipated the day Frodo Baggins would become her master, as though she wanted a challenge.

As though she wanted him.

The Ring waited patiently, but as Bilbo's speech carried on his movements grew frantic and frightened. She rolled her eyes inside; It's all right, Bilbo. I've got this all covered. Just put me on your finger when the time is right; I can handle the rest.

Bilbo stiffened confidently. "I regret to announce," he said, anticipation building up within him, "that this is the end. I am going now." He looked deliberately at Frodo, whose expression grew quickly epiphanic. Bilbo hesitated, remembering that Gandalf had reminded him earlier that Frodo was very fond of him. Bilbo shook it away; Frodo would be fine.

"Goodbye," he whispered to his nephew, although the boy sat some few hundred yards ahead of him. The Ring slipped over his finger, and he vanished.

Frodo's eyes shot open wide: Bilbo's ring. He stared after where Bilbo had disappeared, but couldn't follow him for the crowd of party guests that suddenly attacked him, demanding to know what had happened.

Bilbo cackled his way back to Bag End before slipping the Ring off of his finger. She laughed when she turned back into a woman, and they danced around for a moment before he lifted her by the waist into the air. Then he sucked in a breath.

"I suppose I'm not as young as I used to be," he managed, rubbing his spine.

The Ring clapped his shoulder. "No, sir. Come, let me help you pack."

Truth be known, she just wanted him gone. She couldn't wait to see him off, to begin again with a younger target. She might have convinced Bilbo to take her to Mordor, but she focused too much of her recent attentions on getting through to Frodo. She'd only broken into Bilbo, not possessed him completely. The kiss on the hand really helped, but he didn't seem as attracted to her—age had assisted with that, she conceded. She realized those first thirty years without Frodo would have been a prime time to catch Bilbo . . . save that Sauron was not strong enough then.

She exhaled slowly as she realized she'd offered enough of her soul to Sauron. He had life.

He spoke to her that night while Bilbo packed.

My Precious, he whispered. Oh, Precious . . . I have sent my Nine for you. Barad-dur is rebuilt, and Saruman the White is now with us. He breeds new warriors in his palace at Isengard. You would be proud of all I have done.

Chills ran down her spine as she realized just how much Sauron worshipped her. She whispered back tauntingly. Wonderful, love. You make great progress; I will be back as I see fit. Do not worry, my lord, it will not take me long. I see our forces will be great enough to take Middle Earth soon. Old dreams trickled into her mind, sadistic desires she had not felt for ages. Thirsts built up within her throat and heart. She stared around Bilbo's hole; such a short span of possession for all the world held. If only she could have convinced this hobbit that there was more to life than a simple hole and some antique treasures, then perhaps he could have been the Dark Lord by her side.

But only Sauron had the grand vision of conquering Middle Earth.

The Ring closed her eyes, envisioned Barad-dur in her mind. Sauron's eye, burning lidless and furious, remained trapped between two spires at the top of the sleek, spiked tower. He watched her greedily.

Hurry, Precious.

She cut him off, not ready to speak with him yet. Sauron was dark to the core, but for the present she felt like darkening her master. She could only darken the pitch-black by taunting them, by making them feel worse than they did. She would play around with Frodo as she drew him on towards Mordor . . . unless the Nazgul arrived first. Then she would travel back with them, leave Frodo betrayed and dead in his home.

She called to them. But they knew: they knew to come to the Shire, to the house of Baggins.

Bilbo struggled in letting her go. She gloried in that, and internally growled at Gandalf for impeding on her tugging of Bilbo's mind and emotions. The hobbit called her his Precious. She shivered: how far Sauron's endearment of her had gone. It amazed her. She was precious to all—and therefore to none.

She threw off the last sentiment. Sauron truly believed her to be Precious, but she had to repeat that to herself at her sudden shudder.

Bilbo walked out the door without much ceremony. She waited on the floor for Frodo to arrive; he would be her last slave before going back to Sauron, and while she had done little with Bilbo she planned to enjoy this little excursion. She craved watching this creature of light burdened with her presence; most hardly noticed or didn't mind the change of being hers, but oh, he would notice and he would care.

Gandalf tried to pick her up that night. He knew something was wrong with her, and she didn't want that. So when he reached down and his finger shakily brushed her curve, she bit back, flashing Sauron's eye into his mind. He snapped back, and she cackled at him. He frowned before he turned away.

The Ring settled again until she heard Frodo's voice behind the closed door of Bag End, and she tingled with anticipation. Part of her sadistic desire, she realized, lay in the fact that he scared her so; she didn't like how he intimidated her, and she had to put it all to a halt. Oh, how she longed to see that shadow in his eyes, know that nothing stood in her way when she had a will.

Frodo broke through the front door calling out for Bilbo, but when he saw his uncle's ring on the floor at his feet he knew what had happened. He carefully picked her up, and she stiffened at his gentle touch. His skin was far softer than any of her slaves before, and he had a younger, finer way of moving around. Elf-like, but not entirely painful for her as elves were. She intended to savor this one.

"He's gone, isn't he?" Frodo stepped numbly towards Gandalf. The wizard sat before the fire, smoking his long pipe in a bit of a stir. The Ring tingled, waiting for Gandalf to leave. She would appear to Frodo the instant she could.

Gandalf and Frodo spoke for a small moment, and the Ring patiently waited for Gandalf to leave. But then Frodo slipped her into an envelope. She nearly began to transform to get out, and might have made it if Gandalf didn't abruptly seal the Ring inside by stamping a wax blob on the back. She distinctly felt Gandalf hand the envelope back to Frodo, who accepted it somewhat uncertainly.

Frodo wanted to ask the wizard to help him set up his stewardship over Bag End, but Gandalf stood suddenly and said, "I must go."

The hobbit followed him around the small burrow, insisting that he stay, asking him why he had to leave.

"There are questions . . . questions that need answering," the wizard responded cryptically.

Frodo followed him right to the door, not dropping the envelope with the Ring inside. "But you've only just arrived! I don't understand."

Gandalf halted, then turned to face the hobbit. "Neither do I." He knelt down, placing a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Keep it secret," he whispered. "Keep it safe." Then he whirled around and vanished into the night.

Frodo stared down at the envelope in his hand, wondering what this ring meant . . . if it had anything to do with Gandalf's departure.

The Ring stared back up at its new master (or slave, depending on how much one knew of the situation). Gandalf obviously suspected her, and would likely find out. She sizzled with anticipation: no doubt she would be on her way to Mordor any day.

Frodo buried the Ring in a chest and soon forgot all about her. Sev arrived back in the Shire some time after Gandalf left, looking rather numb. Frodo happened to be walking back from the market then, and he saw her shambling from her horse in the front of the Gamgee home down to its front door. He raced up to her, trying to be as quiet as possible until he got close.

"Sev!" he cried.

She spun around and brightened a little. Frodo slowed when he realized her eyes were dry and red. She smiled weakly; her hair looked awfully messy, and she felt sick. She stretched out a hand to greet him, and he abruptly dropped his load. She smiled more sincerely, and he dragged her into his arms, embracing her gently. She felt so soft and fragile in his grasp—when she hugged him back he realized just how much he'd missed her.

He squeezed her close, hoping she knew that he meant it. She knew no such thing, rather felt a stab of longing. She could imagine coming home to him at Bag End, being the mistress of the home. She could envision him sweeping her off her feet and kissing her . . . but she cut the thought off.

"Sev, it's good to see you," he said, pulling away. Her hands remained limply locked around his neck, a force of habit. He deeply kissed her cheek, nearly adjusting his initial reach by a matter of inches to really kiss her. Sev stiffened at the tender touch, waited for him to break away so she didn't feel those pleasurable tingles over her skin anymore. He slowly pulled back to survey her. "Where did you go?"

Sev shrugged. "Sam is almost of age. I went to find out where I would travel to." She glanced behind him at his abandoned sacks on the road. "Do you need help?"

Frodo shook his head. "No, I'm just taking these up to Bag End." He moved to scoop them up, but he hung them all on one arm so he could hold out the other for her to take. She obliged, sliding her fingers into place along his elbow. The movement was so familiar, but she wanted it to change, wanted it to come across to him as truthful, deeply felt affection. She bit her lip, wondering how she would live without him when she left.

She bitterly asserted to herself that it might actually be easier to handle life without him than with him and without love from him.

He led her on to Bag End. "I suppose you haven't been around for a little while; Bilbo and Gandalf are gone."

She nodded, staring at the ground as he led her up the steps into his home. "Gandalf spoke with me the night of your birthday. I knew of both departures."

Suddenly Frodo remembered: he was going to ask her if she would truly court him. He moved to bring her into the house, but she shied away.

"What's wrong?" he asked, still on the threshold. He didn't step inside, simply set his food down on the walk. "Sev?"

She shook her head. "Gaffer and Sam don't know I'm home. I must go see them before I talk to you."

Frodo almost told her that what he intended to do now would mean more than simply greeting Gaffer and Sam, but then he realized she might not take his offer. After all the time they'd spent together, she still wanted to leave the Shire. He swallowed; even now she looked obstinate. She wouldn't be remotely permeable until she talked to her family.

He nodded. "Go on. I will join you soon."

Sev turned away, then paused and ascended the step. Frodo startled when he heard her approach; she glanced over him, then reached up and kissed his cheek.

"It's good to see you too." She turned slightly pink. "I missed you . . . a lot." Then she spun abruptly and raced down the step, back to the Gamgee house.

Frodo reached up and fingered his cheek disbelievingly. He realized after a moment that, even after these few years of a feigned courtship (not to mention real friendship), she had never kissed him before; he took care of all of that. Her lips were gentle, soft, light, far more pleasant and tender than her cheek. He stared at her as she entered her home—he had a sudden feeling that things were not what he'd imagined before. He leaned his head against the doorway behind him. He suddenly felt twisted, confused, but he had no one to turn to: he always went to Sev or Bilbo with his troubles, and now one was gone and the other was the source of his problem. He pinched the ridge of his nose with his finger and thumb, rubbed for a minute before stepping inside.

The Ring stayed hidden in her envelope. She couldn't transform, for ripping the paper would not grant her the room to spread. Her gold would melt between the objects in the box and create quite a mess. She could wait.

She felt the Nazgul reaching out for her, and she pulled hard. They were still so far away. Incompetent men; they don't even know where the Shire is. They may be reckless and brave, greedy and black, but they can't find their way from a tree to a river in broad daylight . . . or so she sarcastically told herself. They would find her. Truth be known, they didn't receive the information they needed until recently, and were tearing as quickly as they could across Middle Earth to find the Shire, almost on the opposite side of the Arda continent from Mordor.

A miraculous moment arrived when she could feel objects shifting in the chest above her. Frodo frantically scrambled through the box, searching for her. Gandalf had somehow turned up at his home and demanded to see the Ring. Frodo quickly yanked out the envelope the moment he spotted it; Gandalf looked worried, and Frodo didn't like it when the wise were concerned so deeply about something.

Gandalf threw the envelope in the fire, and the Ring nearly gasped with delight as the flames tickled her curve. The paper peeled back and allowed her to sink into the logs. She lost her concentration, remembering how her soul would dance with the light of fire when she stood near her lord Sauron, draining his essence for her own growth.

"What are you doing?!" Frodo stared down into the fire as the envelope popped and peeled back to reveal the Ring. Frodo nearly exclaimed that she was human, that she wouldn't survive through fire, but she did not look harmed. He paused as Gandalf reached into the flame, plucking the Ring from within the wood using a pair of tongs.

Gandalf stared down at the Ring. She looked back, refusing to show him her lettering; it would come out when she wanted it to, and not sooner. Gandalf told Frodo to hold out his hand, and she allowed the heat to escape, beginning to etch out her script from deep within. It would take a moment to surface.

Frodo held out his hand, for Gandalf told him it was not hot. The ring dropped into his palm, and he startled with the chill of it.

Gandalf stepped away. "Can you see anything?"

Frodo hesitantly glanced back at the wizard, wondered if Gandalf knew there was a woman inside. He didn't want to touch her, not after what she'd done to him, but Gandalf said nothing more. Frodo sucked in a breath and began twisting it over in his fingers, searching for any abnormality Gandalf could be looking for: a scorch mark, perhaps a sign of some sort, a chip in any piece of the ring.

She moaned pleasurably. Frodo had such a fleeting, gentle touch, and he wasn't holding her for himself, she could tell that much. She slowly stretched out the fingers of her hold, ready to grab him. But the barriers of his mind were strong.

Perhaps a kiss to his hand would do the job well. And she felt she would enjoy it too, if she got around to it before the armies of Mordor found her.

"Nothing," Frodo said, relieved, after a moment. "There's nothing." Gandalf also settled.

Finally, the Ring's etchings breached her surface. Nothing, Frodo Baggins? She laughed to herself.

Frodo peered down at the metal; a bright light carved into the sides. "Wait." Gandalf tensed, waiting for what he had to say. "There are markings." It looked like an Elvish language, very old, written with fire in the sides of the ring. "It's some kind of Elvish," Frodo said. "I can't read it."

Gandalf exhaled resignedly. The Ring shivered; her day was come. And she intimidated all in this room with no reservation. The shadow of her mind filled the space of Bag End until Frodo could hardly breathe. "There are few who can," Gandalf admitted gravely as he turned to Frodo. "It is the language of Mordor, which I will not utter here."

The Ring laughed pleasurably as Frodo's eyes doubled with horror. "Mordor?" he breathed.

"In the common tongue it reads, 'One Ring to rule them all.'"

The Ring spoke it with him, slipping her soothingly sharp voice into Frodo's mind. The hobbit jolted. "One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them."

Frodo couldn't wait to put her down, setting her at the end of the dining room table while he heated some tea for Gandalf. Gandalf explained her history; finally someone understood where she came from. How he learned her secrets she did not know, but now only deeper fear instilled in those aware of her presence accompanied her imminent return to her master.

Epiphany crushed Frodo as he surveyed her. She was the One Ring. Bilbo had found her in Gollum's cave; Sauron remained alive because of this Ring, and if he ever got it back he would have the strength to conquer Middle Earth once again. How she was an Enchantress, the bane of Isildur, Gollum, and even Bilbo. She had prolonged Bilbo's life.

And now she sought Frodo, or so he felt. He shuddered, remembering her wicked fingers stroking across his hand.

Frodo snatched the Ring off of the table, unable to bear the sight of her. The terrifying Elvish words on her had faded away, but he still couldn't shake the impact of them. "All right, then," he said, "we put her away! We never speak of her again!" He searched his burrow for a place to hide her. She cackled in his hands as he tried in vain to hide her. "No one knows she's here, do they?" He halted abruptly as she planted a thought in his mind, a memory that was not his own. He turned slowly to face the wizard behind him. "Do they, Gandalf?"

Even as Gandalf spoke of Gollum being found by the enemy, the Ring planted Sauron's vision to her in Frodo's mind. He could hear and see Gollum being tortured by the orcs . . . and the words he heard came out of his mouth.

"Shire," he said numbly. His voice escalated. "Baggins!" He stared at Gandalf, horrified. "But that would lead them here!"

The Ring shivered. The wraiths had reached the border of the Shire lands.

Frodo abruptly lifted her into the air, holding her towards the wizard. "Take it, Gandalf!"

The Ring nearly screamed. No one gave her up, especially not now. Not to a wizard like that . . . she supposed she could make the best of the situation. She turned to Gandalf in her mind; perhaps he would be a powerful asset.

But Gandalf denied the opportunity to take the Ring. Frodo's refusal to keep her still irked her—he held her, and he was willing to give her up. It was the kiss on the hand; she had to get to it immediately, before Frodo let her go. Unless the armies of Sauron came to her aid first, then perhaps she could let him go, watch him bleed to death on the floor.

"I would bear this Ring with the intent to do good," Gandalf said shakily, eyeing the Ring, "but through me she would do evil too great and terrible to imagine."

Touché, the Ring thought sarcastically. At least you know I'm more powerful than you are; you're not as demented and dull as you look.

"But she cannot stay in the Shire!" Frodo insisted.

Gandalf shook his head, agreeing vocally. "No. It is not safe for her to be here."

The Ring shuddered with sadistic delight as Frodo closed her in his soft fingers. He swallowed; she spread a sickening warmth from his fingertips into his entire body, warming and warning him. Apprehension cluttered his mind, but he knew he had no choice.

"What must I do?"

He put her in his pocket as Gandalf ordered him. He would leave the Shire and go by the name Underhill; Gandalf told him to meet him at the Prancing Pony tavern in Bree. When he told Frodo he planned to see the head of his order, the Ring laughed sourly. Oh, Gandalf was in for a nasty jolt when he discovered Saruman had turned to Sauron's side.

When Gandalf finished helping Frodo prepare, he surveyed the hobbit. Such a small, bright little creature, completely naïve to the dangers he held in his pocket but willing and brave enough to do anything for the benefit of the world.

"My brave lad," Gandalf said gently. "You can learn all there is to know about hobbits in a month, and after a hundred years, they can still surprise you."

Frodo beamed up at him with a sweet, actually somewhat excited smile. He felt the thrill of adventure just a little, although hadn't expected the fate of the world to be so closely tied to him via a small trip to Bree. But it would be his first time out of the Shire, and that interested him more than anything.

Sam ended up joining them, scaring Frodo nigh to a heart attack when he rustled in the bushes outside the window. For a brief moment, before Gandalf dragged the hobbit up from behind the windowsill, the Ring thought the wraiths were there to take her away, and her heart flared; they couldn't take her from Frodo, not yet. When it turned out to be but a humble hobbit, the Ring angrily asserted to herself that she didn't really want to stay with Frodo and grew livid at her reaction to perhaps being saved from this Shire.

They left close to dawn. Frodo asked Sam if they could have Sev come along, but Gandalf cut him off. This was no adventure for a lass, he told Frodo. Frodo asked if he could say goodbye, but Sam said she didn't like goodbyes. Besides, they had to get moving immediately before the dark forces could catch up with the Ring.

And so they left the Shire without telling a soul.