Diem Kieu - Hey, it's fun for me to hear from you too. X) Ha! Puns are awesome; that just made my day. Well . . . I'll put it this way: the canon-esque part of the saga will DEFINITELY be more "interesting" as you put it (if I'm guessing what you mean correctly XP), but there are a couple of . . . optional books, I guess, that follow this one, completely off-canon that sort of end this story if you like that wonky sort of thing. :D
The quest began the next morning. From the moment they left, Delamarth knew she had to grow stronger quickly. They would make progress towards Mordor faster than she wished (assuming she wanted stronger power over Frodo), and she couldn't bide her time, accustomed to freely spending her power over lifetimes.
Gandalf noticed her strength growing before the mouth of Moria (particularly regarding Boromir; she didn't even have to work on the Gondor warrior for him to fall under her spell), and he confirmed it with Frodo. He warned Frodo that the Ring would gain sway over the other members of the Fellowship, and told Frodo only to trust himself. Delamarth didn't mind that; then perhaps Frodo would go off alone and allow her to take him.
They lost Gandalf in Moria, and almost Frodo. When the cave troll stabbed him the Ring didn't know whether to scream for shock or deeply embedded satisfaction. If he died, no one would have the strength to take her to Mordor . . . but she would lose the only creature in history to drive her deepest passion that she'd never discovered before. For a moment she felt empty, hearing that blade slide into the mithril by his side, completely terrified and unsure how to react.
But when she realized he was wearing his mithril coat she relaxed.
Pain would not leave Frodo in Moria, and Delamarth's presence wore down heavily on him. Gollum pursued them through the caves, and Delamarth felt a hint of possessiveness for Frodo. She didn't want Gollum to come back; she wanted Frodo to herself.
When Gandalf collapsed into the abyss, the Ring celebrated to herself. One less troublesome meddler in her affairs concerning Frodo; while it struck the hobbit beyond anything he'd felt since his parents died almost 24 years before, she couldn't have cared less in that moment. He was weak, vulnerable.
They had no time to mourn, moving quickly on to Rivendell. The Lady of Light spoke to Frodo alone, showed him the consequences of potential failure to complete his quest. Delamarth cackled in his ear when he saw his beloved Shire torn and burning. Somehow her reactions to his pain alternated, as though Sauron himself battled her wish to be sympathetic with Frodo.
She could feel her own soul tearing in pieces, unsure if she wanted Frodo or power.
Did she love him?
He attempted to give her up to Galadriel, and that distracted her temporarily from her inner turmoil. She didn't appreciate Frodo's repeated attempts to give her up, but seeing another powerful but permeable candidate, Delamarth couldn't resist dragging Galadriel into her influence. The Lady grew suddenly ambitious and powerful, relishing in her vision of glory before telling Frodo that the task was his, that the Ring would be taken to Mordor by none else.
This piqued Delamarth's interest very highly: those with prophetic powers beyond the Ring's even thought Frodo the best candidate to take her to the mountain. She anticipated, then, that no one would bear her instead.
Her path to Mordor would equal her path to her awakened ambitions for this hobbit.
Galadriel bestowed gifts upon the Fellowship before they departed the shores of Lorien. Frodo kept fingering the glass vial she'd given him, the Light of Earendil. Delamarth loathed the sight of it, hissed at it. It would only take Frodo from her, if anything, and she asserted that she would not let him use it.
As they sailed, she spoke to him very softly.
Mordor is not near, love.
He tried to block out her words with Galadriel's, but what the Lady had told him only made him more apprehensive towards the Ring, more on edge . . . potentially weaker, more susceptible to her will.
We have time. I have time. If you dare to resist me, it will only be stalling the inevitable. No one can help you now; Galadriel was right, for to be a Ringbearer is to be alone. Then she paused. To be a Ring is to be alone as well, she admitted. You do not know what it is never to be loved. You think yourself unfortunate for being my bearer, to have me against your heart for so long . . . She lifted herself, thudding against his chest. He reached up and gripped her to keep her from moving. But in truth, it is more than comforting for me. Sauron was not so warm, so welcoming. You call me Delamarth, but he never called me anything. You wear me because I ask—he wore me for his own benefit.
Frodo paused, not sure what she was getting at. But he didn't entirely want to know: she sounded like she was trying to make him think her more akin to him than to her own master, the one from which her soul was taken. He doubted that, and so ignored her words as best he could.
But only thoughts of her filled his mind. Home, Sev, Sam, would not last if he did not carry this burden. Bilbo wouldn't, and Gandalf was already gone. Muddled pain flooded Frodo's mind.
When they reached the shore, Frodo stumbled over the side of the canoe. Sam tried to help him, but Frodo felt so horribly hopeless, so sick. Sam sorrowfully turned away from his master, for Frodo spelled it out gently but clearly: Sam could do nothing to help him, not this time.
*Delamarth waited until all were asleep before she shifted into a woman. She could not leave Frodo, luckily enough, and he could not pull away from her. She laughed slightly—he would not rest well, whether or not she remained by him as a woman.
Frodo's eyes shot wide open when he felt her materialize. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, still facing her. He would let her in if he moved, and he couldn't let her.
"Well, Frodo?" she said tauntingly. "Tomorrow is only another day; why not call it at least a truce, take me to my demise while at least doing something for me? So far all you've done is take my favors and refuse my affections—I shouldn't be helping you, but I am."
Frodo glared at her. "Helping me? Perhaps with the chain, but I can think of nothing else you have done save haunt and destroy my very being."
"I haven't kissed you yet," she pointed out darkly . . . "strangely attractive as you are." Frodo stiffened, backing away from her, but she followed him across the rocks, locked to his wrists at a close proximity. Frodo suddenly realized why she must have given him such stewardship over her, and he closed his eyes, swallowing slowly.
"You kissed my hand," he said, shaking as he remembered the experience. "Surely that is enough for you."
She sat upright suddenly, and he scrambled over the rocks away from her. "Never enough," she hissed, grabbing the brooch clipping his cloak together. Frodo inhaled sharply and braced his hands against the rocks under him. She thumbed the leaf at his neck, staring at it, studying it. She did it partially to intimidate him . . . but there was always that strangely sincere interest within her, that need to be near Frodo. She inched closer to him, and he bit his lower lip as though to protect anything of him that he could.
She cocked her head. "Not tonight, love," she said thoughtfully. She released the brooch, but only so she could cup the back of his neck. He swallowed and rolled his head out, away from her grasp.
Delamarth watched him as he averted his gaze, lying down on the rock. He folded his arms across his torso again.
"How do you do that?" she murmured.
Frodo eyed her worriedly. "How do I do what?"
She laid on her stomach, her nose nearly touching his own. She left one of her wrists as far back as it could stretch, and it kept him from moving away. The chain connecting to her neck draped over his collarbone, and he shuddered. She fingered the hair out of his face very gently. "How are you so infuriatingly stubborn? How are you so powerful in so many different ways?" She inhaled slowly, taking him in. This close to the hobbit, she felt irresistibly drawn to him. Suddenly Sauron did not matter; pain did not matter. Power, getting home . . . none of it mattered.
Frodo squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, only to the extent of slits.
"Pray, leave me be," he whispered.
Delamarth cocked her head, wondering why she should ever leave him alone. She conceded then that perhaps it could wait. She wanted him to be willing not only to accept her, but to show her he cared about her as well. She stroked his jaw.
"Very well," she said slowly. "I suppose I did tell you I would wait." Then she leaned down closer, her lips a breath away. Frodo didn't dare take that breath, or try to cross it. He lifted his other hand to push her off, but it halted on her shoulder. "You're only ignoring what will happen anyway. Take the agony now, and let the rest of it ride pleasurably beyond the useless lessons you think you've been taught."
Frodo's eyebrows drew together, and he pushed her back solidly. "And what will happen? What is it that you want?"
Delamarth paused. She wasn't entirely sure what she would do to him, or what she wanted. She decided on the first in moments.
"I will simply convince you that I belong to you, that you are truly my master." She dodged a lump in her throat as she realized just how little she'd always meant that . . . and how, regarding Frodo, it was becoming more truthful. Sauron never ruled her, but this little hobbit had just convinced her to hold off something she greatly anticipated simply because she promised that she would.
Then it came to answering what she wanted. She didn't want to respond to that, for something answered that she wanted Frodo and Frodo alone, that conquering the world meant far less if she could not have him.
Perplexed, she didn't say another word before she condensed into a Ring and clattered on the stone by his neck. Frodo exhaled powerfully, slumping against his cloak. He didn't even try to make himself comfortable: it wouldn't work. He hoped he could at least sleep a little bit.
Delamarth lay horribly confused all night long, and she couldn't abide it. She set her conviction hard . . . or so she thought. She just had to get back to Sauron: Frodo was taking her there anyway. And she happened to be in a swing of so much anger that she wanted to break him every step of the way. She just had to get him alone—having the rest of the Fellowship in company with them quickly grew inconvenient.
When they set out in their canoes the next morning, Delamarth saw Uruk-hai from Saruman the White on the river's eastern shore. If the Fellowship were all killed, that would make her life easier. She only hoped the wizard had ordered them to leave at least Frodo alive, for she did not want him killed mercifully and quickly. If they kept him prisoner, it would be the complete opposite of a hasty death.
Frodo felt the traces of sadistic pleasure in the Ring around his neck long before they landed. He skittered about in place, anxious to be gone, restless and afraid. The moment they came to shore he slipped quietly away from the Fellowship, into the woods.
Something shoved on him, something harsh and dark from behind. He started running, trying to throw off whatever forces the Ring had summoned to pursue him. His vision grew blurry, and finally he collapsed to the ground with the weight of the world on his neck.
Delamarth shifted into a woman there. She sat up on her knees beside Frodo's trembling form, then gripped the hood of his cloak. He scrambled away from her, but she had more initial strength; she dragged him to his feet and backed him up against a thick tree. He yanked this way and that, exhausted but not willing to be manipulated.
"Frodo!" she snapped, jolting him in an attempt to still him. She clamped his toes down on the ground with her heel, but one of his feet escaped. "Frodo, I'm not going to hurt you."
Frodo slowly stopped his struggling, staring at her with disbelief. She'd done nothing but hurt him since she'd met him, scarring him in one way or another in every instance together whether alone or not. He swallowed, surveying her carefully.
She laid her hands over his shoulders, pushing him slightly in to the tree. "I'm not going to hurt you," she repeated. The lad was insanely stubborn, too resistant. She'd been so close to kissing him, she wanted him to initially seal the gap—but he wouldn't do it. She'd frightened him too much, and somehow she couldn't decide if she preferred it that way.
Delamarth breathed slowly, allowing her eyes to sink closed. "You see what I have done to you," she said, trying to sound practical. Frodo would not agree if he thought she had an ulterior motive. "You see what I have done to Boromir, to Aragorn. They stir with fear."
"Why are you telling me this?" Frodo said hurriedly. He wanted her to leave him alone. "I know what you are. This is not going to convince me of anything to your advantage."
She nodded. "I know; I'm helping you."
His grip on the chain in his hands tightened and loosened. "The last time you told me that you trapped me," he muttered.
*One of her eyebrows arched; chills attacked Frodo as her lips stretched into a triumphantly wry smile. "So you figured that one out." She snaked her fingers up to the cuff at his wrist, and he abruptly dropped the chain. But he could do nothing now, not while she gripped the silver shackle latching him to his quest and bane.
"Indeed," he managed, backing into the tree. "Any more help you offer will be resisted; leave me. Please."
Delamarth mused over that for a minute, studying his wrist and fingers. He stood, clammy and limp, as she rolled his hand around—she studied it so casually from all he could see, but she felt impossibly possessive.
"No." She glanced up at him. "I'm certain you would agree with me on this one, love." She twirled the chain in her fingers, entwining her hand with his own. She locked him in place; he struggled against her grip, but she refused to let him go. Writhing he might have been, but his skin was too soft for her to simply release. She leaned forward, resting her jaw on his chest. She stared up at him from her vantage point, far too near and sinister for his liking. He looked away.
"As I was saying," she said quietly, "you've seen and felt what I can do." Her lips neared his ear. "You wouldn't want me to do this to your dear Samwise, would you?"
Frodo stiffened with horror.
Her smile curled back into place. She kissed his cheek very slowly, and he began to tremble. "Oh, poor Pippin and Merry . . . how long would they last? And that dwarf—he may have a thick neck, but it would not be difficult to squeeze the life out of him too." She brought her fingers up around Frodo's neck, tensing and relaxing them. He swallowed instinctively, trying to keep himself from blacking out entirely, trying to convince his body that she wouldn't kill him, not right now. She couldn't afford it. She kissed his cheek again, repeatedly and relentlessly, taken aback suddenly by how fulfilled it made her feel. He tried to shy away, but she didn't let go of his neck. He would choke if he backed off. "Legolas, impaled with his own arrows. I'm not a bad shot, you know. Boromir and Aragorn . . . I think I'll take them to battle, make them feel so proud of themselves, and squish them under the feet of the orcs. They would all be prisoners if I didn't kill them quickly. Orcs aren't merciful, Frodo Baggins. Your companions would be destroyed piece at a time, and they would beg for death before the end." She solidly pressed her cheek against Frodo's, and the back of his head hit the tree. He squeezed his eyes closed and bit his lip; she starkly opened up visions to everything she'd just told him. Frodo writhed in place, breathing harder and harder. Sweat slickened his palms as he scrambled against the tree. Delamarth lowered her hands from his neck, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her cheek did not leave his; she remained obstinately locked there.
"Leave them, Frodo," she demanded, "or I will destroy them all. One . . ." Her hand snaked around his back to his shoulder. "By . . ." Her other hand came to his heart and gripped his shirt collar. Her voice dropped to a solid hiss. "One."
Frodo's eyes flickered. Pain throbbed in every corner of his body as he surveyed this demon before him: her golden irises shimmered with simmering . . . not hatred, but something far, far worse. Some sort of dark obsession stared back at him, a selfish desire unrivaled by anything he'd ever seen. He assumed it was the need to get back to Sauron, but it didn't look right.
"What do you want?" he breathed at last. "Why would you do it to them? Why now?"
Delamarth tightened her hold, flexing her fingers over his shoulder and shirt collar. "Does that truly concern you, Frodo?" Her lips neared his own, and he bit the lower one back. "Do my desires and intentions alter your decision? Is that what you're telling me?"
Frodo sealed his eyes shut. "Perhaps it is. If you're telling me to leave them to their deaths, I will not go. I would rather die with them than complete my quest, for to finish it with them dead is to give me no one to fight for, and to abandon them to destruction is to say I haven't the courage to face anything. I will not have the strength to journey on without them."
The Ring glared at him, slowly releasing him. He settled slightly while she backed away. She didn't understand his dedication to his companions, not when he had the creature every being in the world desired to some extent before him. She had to isolate him; she had him alone for now, but she needed more time.
"All right. I shan't kill them," she muttered.
"You are not honest in any way!" Frodo snapped, now strengthened by the distance between them. "Can I trust you at all? I shall not leave them, now that you've suggested it."
Delamarth grabbed the chain and yanked on him. Frodo stumbled forward with the strength she threw into her pull, and she skillfully wrapped the shackles around his waist thrice, locking his arms in to his sides and his legs together.
"Leave them, love," she hissed. "I will forget them if you take me back to Mordor."
Frodo glared at her hard, but she could see something within him crumbling at her closeness to him. "I'm not taking you there so you can be joined to Sauron." He strained away from her hand, which strayed over his shoulder. "I'm taking you there to destroy you."
"I know that," she said, rolling her eyes slightly. "I simply assumed you knew exactly how powerful I was . . ." She paused, eyeing him very carefully. "You do not doubt yourself, do you? You think you can accomplish this quest. Well, then, if you do not turn back from Mordor I will leave your friends alive. But they cannot come with us."
Frodo opened his mouth, then closed it. "I don't believe you."
Delamarth narrowed her eyes. "Oh, indeed. Then I will prove it to you tonight. You will find Sam nothing but a pile of bleeding tatters scattered all about the campsite." Then she froze. "No . . . no, I'll awaken you and chain you to a tree, then you'll watch me summon orcs and beasts to tear him to pieces. You'll hear his dying screams, Baggins, and never forget them. I will never kill you, will prolong your life for eternity—," She braced his jaw with one hand, keeping his eyes locked on hers. "So you can always remember Samwise's priceless last words splitting the air." She then kissed his cheek, and he scrambled in place. "And my kisses will accompany his strained, helpless little voice; so long as I am by your side the pain will be stark."
If he didn't believe her attempt to help, he certainly believed her words now.
"Actually," she murmured, "that sounds better. Then you'll take me to Mordor in nothing but pain." Fascination slowly overshadowed her desire to hurt him, and she thumbed his soft lips. She studied them, surprised; tingles raced up her arm. Frodo struggled, but she pinned his feet to the ground. He crumpled, suddenly having lost balance, and slammed against the forest floor. Delamarth swallowed hastily; she hadn't intended to let him fall, and she conceded it was his own fault. She quickly knelt by his side. Frodo attempted frantically to roll over, but she clamped down on his shoulder to keep him in place.
"You may be in pain," she continued, "but I think I rather would enjoy kissing you. I've never done it to a soul, you know." She leaned over him, and he shook his head wildly.
Frodo knew jolting wouldn't do any good much longer, and no one was coming for him. Her present words didn't sting or haunt him as much as what she'd said about poor, sweet Sam. "I'll leave them behind!" he cried.
She paused. "What?"
Frodo swallowed as she released him. "I'll come with you if you promise to leave Sam alone."
Delamarth arched an eyebrow, but looked suitably pleased. She nodded assertively. "It's a deal, then." She wrapped her arms around him and sat him up. He couldn't go anywhere, for his arms and legs were still bound. The moment she lifted him to his feet and attempted to kiss him, Boromir came striding into view burdened with sticks. The Ring smiled deviously at Frodo; she brushed her lips against his forehead, and he stiffened as she shifted back into a Ring.
Good luck to you, love.
Boromir began somewhat suspiciously in talking to Frodo . . . told him he shouldn't be out alone. Then he started arguing that the Ring could be used for good, and quickly grew aggressive. Frodo turned away from him, certain Delamarth was manipulating Boromir just to prove a point; she wasn't doing it for that reason, but she tugged hard on Boromir, driving his ambition at a deathly rate. She did so, that is, until Boromir attacked Frodo, tackled him and demanded the Ring. Delamarth screeched at Frodo.
Put me on your finger! Oh, you cursed hobbit, just do it!
Frodo scrambled to obey her, certain nothing else would save him or the world's fate from Boromir. The warrior halted when Frodo vanished before his eyes, and received a slap to the face from Frodo before he sprang away frantically.
He could faintly hear Boromir calling after him while he ran away, but he didn't dare go back. He turned around fleetingly, trying to keep his thoughts off of the Ring. But wearing her altered the world, made his vision gray and blurry. He raced up a stone set of stairs that appeared suddenly before him, hoping to escape Boromir.
Delamarth settled against his finger . . . then felt a familiar tingling as Sauron dragged Frodo to Barad-dur, at least in his mind, and they rose up the tower. Sauron eyed her angrily.
"What have I done, master?" she said reverently.
Sauron's eye burned brighter.
You want him, he hissed. Traitor.
Delamarth's eyes widened. "No! No, I do not! Sauron, you are my lord and my soul; of course I do not want him!"
Traitor!
A huge thank you to all those that have reviewed; they are always loved, I enjoy hearing from you guys! :)
