Diem Kieu: Thanks so much! :D I'm glad you like it; I hope it stays good. I'm a bit of an unpredictable nutcase . . . ;P

Frodo resolved to be alone as little as possible from that point on. Something about the way she kissed his hand had changed her, and he didn't like it. He did not fear her so much physically as psychologically, although via physical things (relatively minor ones, he assumed) she could impact the rest of his life.

He counted down the hours to the council. He loved Rivendell and the elves that resided there—he felt at home. He found Bilbo there, and was more than excited to see him. Bilbo showed him his book, the Red Book of Westmarch.

"A Hobbit's Tale, by Bilbo Baggins!" Frodo surfed through the pages out on a stone balcony in Rivendell. Delamarth listened while he mused over them: she didn't realize he loved books so much, but supposed he could have received tastes from Bilbo. "This is wonderful," Frodo added as he thumbed through the diagrams, drawings, maps, and text.

"I meant to go back," Bilbo said; he sounded frail, and the Ring realized with a start that she'd let go of him rather abruptly. But she cared not, not really. "Visit Laketown, see Mirkwood, go to the Lonely Mountain again." He sat down beside Frodo with a sigh. "But age, it seems, is finally catching up with me."

She would have cackled to herself if Frodo didn't begin to speak wistfully; that trapped her attention.

"I miss the Shire," Frodo admitted, staring down into the Red Book at a map of his home. "I spent all my childhood pretending I was off somewhere else . . . off with you, on one of your adventures!" He smiled at Bilbo, but then his expression grew solemn, sorrowful. Delamarth wondered at his change in tone, the change in his pulse so close to her, the chill racing through his Morgul stab: did she feel guilty or pleased? She did not know. "My own adventure turned out to be quite different." Frodo turned his gaze to his lap, resisting reaching up to finger his wound. He closed his eyes. "I'm not like you, Bilbo."

Bilbo gave him an apologetic glance. Delamarth hesitated, wondering at how much Bilbo cared for his nephew. Never before had either been in a situation where this sort of pity had broken the surface of words and glances, leastwise not in her experience.

Frodo told Sam that the Ring would be safe in Rivendell, but even Frodo was unsure. He presented her to the council a few days after they arrived at the Elvish city; she sat perfectly still on the little stone table in the center of the gathered council, biding her time. Frodo apprehensively stared at her, knowing that things would be fine from here on out despite the stirring deep within him.

As the council progressed, the Ring listened, probed the personalities around her for those that would be most permeable. She found a man from Gondor, Boromir, that had a great deal of pride to him, and she didn't even have to pull to have his loyalty. He had good intentions, optimism about all that was wicked, leastwise what he deemed powerful enough to be helpful. That worked to her advantage. She was also interested then to learn that apparently Isildur had been married before meeting the Ring, for he had an heir: Strider, or Aragorn, son of Arathorn, at the council. He didn't seem easy to conquer, but if she got beyond his barriers he would be simple. Most of the rest of the council had a typical temperance against or for her, loathing her purpose but easy to reel in. Then she came back to Frodo, and her voice sweetly entered his mind. He shivered, gripping his forehead.

You can't leave, love, she gushed. Look at you, frozen in place and unable to tear your eyes from me. Dear, I'm so flattered . . . it's a shame they'll take me away.

The dwarf, Gimli, attempted to destroy her with his axe. She laughed as he swung his weapon back to crush her; the laugh echoed throughout Frodo's head, and he leaned forward to warn Gimli. But the dwarf struck, although Delamarth didn't even have to brace herself against the blow. The dwarf's axe crashed into a thousand pieces, flying in different directions. She threw the dwarf back, and when the pressure of his weapon cracked on her she slapped Frodo with a vision of Sauron's eye.

Stung, the hobbit grappled for his head again. He couldn't but stare at her: she frightened him so much. She sneered back at him.

I'm indestructible, Baggins. I'll never leave you be.

Elrond stated gravely that the Ring would have to be taken back to Mount Doom, destroyed in the fires from which she was forged. Oh, back to Mordor at the hands of the elves themselves . . . Delamarth sighed somewhat excitedly. No one would have the strength.

An argument arose, for she stirred Boromir with a simple flicker of her golden curve: he insisted that no one could get into Mordor, for the land was well guarded by Sauron and his followers, and dangerous to venture through. He wanted to use her to assist his men at Gondor. Oh, he was too easy to handle. After being denied by Frodo, it almost sickened Delamarth that some creature could be bent so easily to her will. She scoffed at this Boromir, simultaneously reeling him in with her empty promises.

Conflict ensued, between elves and dwarfs, the men and Gandalf joining in. Delamarth spun them around, dizzied their very intellects, brought them to war. She laughed lowly. She could see a vision of fire upon them; she would have to do no real work save make them angry enough to conquer each other. The world was hers for the taking, with or without Sauron. She felt so powerful, so glorious . . . so beautiful.

But she slowed when her attention turned back to Frodo. Despite the thick darkness in the air, Frodo had not stirred—save to harden his glare. Delamarth glared back, challenging him. He could see what would befall the world if she lived.

What are you going to do about it, love? She tried to sound snappish, but in that moment she realized that if anyone in the council had the strength to carry her to Mount Doom, it was this little Bag End hobbit whose icy eyes were trained so intensely on her now. She shook her fear away as best she could, but it would not depart her fully. You're just a halfling. You can change nothing.

Frodo did not trust her enough to believe he could do nothing. He saw the vision of fire, the destruction she would bring upon all if he did not sacrifice everything he had to destroy her. He might not have believed in himself if he didn't see the horror in her. Even though she sat still on the stone table, her golden eyes never left his mind: he could see her face on a constant basis.

But Delamarth feared him. The One Ring had given Middle Earth a chance, even if it came in the smallest of packages.

Now he knew what he had to do.

Frodo remained, frozen, in his bedroom most of the day following the council. At least all of his hobbit companions, Gimli the dwarf, Legolas the elf prince of Mirkwood, Gandalf, Strider (or Aragorn, as Frodo understood his true name to be), and Boromir of Gondor would be accompanying him, but Frodo still felt a little sick. He knew it could be no other way, unless he found some other that the Ring feared.

Perhaps she did not fear him. Perhaps it was a ruse, an attempt to suck him into her grasp by gaining more time to do so.

*She approached him that evening as he sat, numb, on his bed. She reached from behind him over his shoulders with both hands, joining them around his neck. Her head laid against his own; he struggled and broke free of her grasp. He didn't dare remain sitting, for she would follow.

"Come now, master," she taunted. Her eyes glinted wickedly. "We are to be the closest of companions in the coming months! Would you truly push me away?"

Frodo rubbed his upper arm. "As if I've done anything else," he muttered. "What do you want, Delamarth?"

She cocked her head innocently, then traced her fingers on the bed pole as she approached him. He scrambled back into the wall. "I want to help you," she said, letting her gaze travel to him. He kept his own stare off of her, but to instinctively protect himself he periodically looked back to make sure she didn't come any closer.

"Help me?" Frodo's brow creased. "Admittedly I do not believe you."

Delamarth shrugged, slowly drawing closer. Frodo circled her towards the door, but she reached out to bar his way. "Hear me out." At the sudden, business-like intensity of her tone, Frodo halted in place. Her eyes narrowed; she knew what he expected her to do to him, cornered like this, but she only wanted to make a suggestion that would ostensibly work to his advantage.

She waited for Frodo to relax. "Good." Then she stood upright, still bracing her arm up ahead of him with a slight drop. She let her opposite hand drift to her side, where within her dress pocket she had a trinket from Bilbo. She lifted it into the air, shivering with anticipation. Frodo eyed it warily as she held it out to him.

"A chain?"

She nodded. "Bilbo used to wear me around his neck. I can change size on your finger, if you don't recall him telling you that." Then Delamarth paused. "I hope he told you that . . . regardless, this makes it easier to keep track of me. Here," she said, reaching forward when he didn't take it from her. Frodo stumbled back into the corner of the wall, then accepted it hastily from her. She kept one hand on the chain, bringing her hand close to his heart when he recoiled. She casually twirled the links around her fingers, then bent down close to him. He shivered at her closeness, stiffened at her hissed whisper.

"Put me on it, love, and I'll show you everything it does." She had to hide a smirk as she shifted back into her Ring form, clattering to the floor. Frodo hesitated, wondering if he wanted her there. He swallowed; he didn't trust her so close to his chest, to his heart. She could kill him or kiss him—but only as a woman. He reached forward very slowly, then plucked her off the ground. She reveled in his touch as he slipped her over the chain, then looped it around his neck.

She made the change again suddenly, melting into a woman. It was the first time Frodo had seen that aspect of the transformation, and as she trickled down his vest he slammed up against the wall, shocked. The chain stretched and morphed with her, latching to her wrists and neck. The chain dripped from around his neck and locked in a cuff around his own wrist. The fine chain links wound around his fingers and secured them in a grip on the chain. He stared up at her, and she stepped back so he could survey her.

"Oh, don't be so surprised, love," she said irritably. "I told you I was trying to help you."

Frodo swallowed again. "I didn't think you meant it." Then he glanced down at the cuff on his wrist, how it connected to complete and total control over her that she couldn't wrench away. He relaxed away from the wall, and she took that as her cue to step forward. He dodged her towards the door.

"Not now," he said hastily. "Bilbo intends to grant me with some gifts before I go."

Delamarth's eyes narrowed; how did everyone manage to show her up in his eyes? She rationalized that Frodo wasn't exactly in a prime position to desire her, and had too much light to succumb to her presently; if nothing else the kiss to his hand should have proved that. She nodded slowly. "Indeed." Before he could add anything, she shifted back into a Ring. She and her chain sucked into their compact sizes around Frodo's neck. He inhaled shakily when she thudded against his heart—not hard, but definitely there.

As he walked, he waited for her to speak. Sure enough, he didn't even reach the door before she began speaking with her taunting, hissing voice.

This is much better than your pocket. I can hear your heart, love. She sucked in a breath pleasurably, and Frodo staggered against the wall. Faster and faster . . . keep going, keep my love living and afraid.

Frodo shook his head, straining to Bilbo's bedroom. When he crossed the threshold, Delamarth quieted at last. Bilbo greeted Frodo and immediately presented him with his sword, Sting. He then removed a shirt of mithril from the bed and held it up for Frodo. At first Delamarth hissed to herself at the sight of it . . . but then she wondered how Frodo would look in it. She bitterly resolved to snitch a tad of revenge on Frodo for resisting her earlier, and she stretched out her fingers to Bilbo.

He asked Frodo to try it on; the Ring couldn't wait for that, but she knew now was not the time. Frodo began to unbutton his shirt, but then Delamarth dragged Bilbo's gaze to her. He gasped, and Frodo glanced up worriedly.

"My old ring!" Bilbo said excitedly. Delamarth snickered as Frodo stared hopelessly at his uncle. "Could I hold her?" Bilbo reached forward slightly. "Just one last time?"

Frodo eyed his uncle suspiciously, then folded his shirt back over her. Bilbo's expression grew quickly furious, and he hissed, swiping at Frodo. The hobbit backed away, grabbing at the Ring while Bilbo calmed himself.

Dare to resist me, love? She laughed bitterly at Frodo. A vision snapped into Frodo's mind of Delamarth grabbing his shirt collar again, and he swallowed. You aren't the only person I have to hurt to get to you. Every ally, every friend, every supporter of you, everyone you love, is only one more way I have control. There is nothing you can do to escape me.

I am all that awaits you.