Diem Kieu - Thanks for the wonderful review! Muahahahaa; I'm glad. XP I'll say this, though, that her allure is far more psychological, that I didn't rate this M or T for a reason, but I will scare the heck out of him, get some definite scarring in there . . . dang, now I'm getting all excited! :D I believe you; admittedly I feel a little unusually sinister writing this too.
Delamarth tried to keep her case going, but the eye of Sauron terrified Frodo, and he stumbled backwards, off of the ruins on which he'd climbed. He tore the Ring from his finger as he fell; he slapped against the ground, and moaned as he stood. He brushed himself off, then collected his wits—he turned to go back to shore. He had to leave as quickly as possible, for not only would Delamarth harm the Fellowship physically, but Boromir's actions proved she was too dangerous. The group would not make it in one piece to Mordor. They'd already lost Gandalf, and Frodo knew he would be faster and more subtle alone. Perhaps he could pull her focus from them; she seemed somehow obsessed with him.
He shivered at the prospect of traveling alone with her, but he had to finish this quest.
Aragorn approached him, and Frodo fearfully tried to run from him. Frodo told him of Boromir . . . then asked him: "Would you destroy it?"
Frodo held out the Ring to Aragorn, and Delamarth resisted gawking. How much did she have to do before Frodo couldn't give her up for the life of him? She decided to pull on Aragorn, irritated by Frodo's resistance to her power.
She wondered if Aragorn could tell that her focus was not on him.
You fear power, she coaxed, still watching Frodo for his reaction as Aragorn neared her. The hobbit stood his ground even as Aragorn hesitantly reached for the Ring, and decided within himself that he would not run unless Aragorn grew greedy. Perhaps she had not breached the prince yet.
The Ring continued, somewhat distracted by Frodo's intense, beautiful gaze. You need not fear it. I do not mean to harm, or to offer you empty wishes of power. I am here to tell you that Gondor is yours, that you have a heritage, Aragorn son of Arathorn. You are the rightful king, and I will not encourage you to greed. Aragorn grew slightly interested at this, but Frodo didn't move. Delamarth hastily asserted that perhaps she ought to change her approach before Aragorn tried to take her. Woo me, use me, and you will have your kingdom. You will lead a righteous rule, one that perhaps you could spread to all corners of the world. You are a leader that all of Middle Earth deserves. Use me . . .
Aragorn reached closer, and Delamarth began to grow apprehensive. But he folded Frodo's warm, gentle fingers over her, and she breathed a sigh of relief right along with Frodo: she still had the hobbit for her own. But likely Frodo would tarry too long; she yanked on the army of Uruk-hai nearby, and realized they were only some thousand feet into the forest.
"I would have gone with you to the end," Aragorn said reverently. He obviously respected Frodo, and Delamarth only grew more interested at that. She'd never noticed, but now she recognized that even kings, much less elf enchantresses and great wizards, knew what she did, that Frodo was indeed a special one.
But she smiled darkly: none of them could ever have him like she would. She would have every piece of him for herself, from his huge feet to his blinding eyes, from his obstinacy to his gentility.
She trembled in his grip, and Frodo clenched her harder to keep himself from being too frightened to bear her on his own. "Look after the others," he managed sorrowfully, staring into Aragorn's eyes for what he assumed would be the last time. "Especially Sam; he won't understand." Frodo swallowed; he would miss his gardener, the one friend he had who would sacrifice his all if he could. Butk it would be far less painful for Frodo to let Sam go home safely than to watch him, helpless and perhaps killed by Delamarth.
Aragorn swore to protect them, but then jolted away from Frodo. He stared down at Sting's sheath, and Delamarth grew anticipatory while Frodo followed Aragorn's gaze. Sting glowed a rather lovely shade of blue.
"Orcs," Aragorn hissed. He yanked his own sword from its scabbard, then urgently ushered Frodo to run. When the hobbit stood frozen, Aragorn grew more urgent. "Run!"
The Ring did not fear. She would protect Frodo if necessary, but she gathered she wouldn't have to. She goaded Frodo down to the shore; all was a blur around the hobbit, pain and wistful realization that he was leaving the Fellowship to be killed. But with the Ring's power, the orcs would only be more vicious: if he took her away now, perhaps somehow they would be stilled.
Ignore them, love, she purred casually as Merry and Pippin presumably sacrificed themselves to the orcs so Frodo could escape. Frodo stared after them longingly, but he would not survive if he went. He prayed that they would all survive, that he might see them again. It is left only to us now.
Frodo raced down hopelessly to the shore, broken by his loss. He staggered against the rocky sand, staring up at the canoes before him. He opened his hand, and there she sat, pristine and perfectly round, waiting for him to get in one of the ships so that she knew he was hers and hers alone. But he had to catch his breath, allow his mind to catch up to the dynamic of what he had just done, of what lay before him. Tears of overwhelming sorrow flooded his eyes as he stared down at the bank of the river. He considered it all: she would try to break him. Every step would be agony, agony in not knowing what the next day would bring, if the ones he loved were still alive, if he would even succeed . . . if he would succumb. Why hadn't someone more powerful taken charge of her? Why hadn't a woman done it, one the Ring could not get so easily to? Frodo admitted exhaustedly to himself that Delamarth was very beautiful and could be tender when she wished, but that only made it worse. His eyes flickered as he heard his voice in his mind, a lament he made while in the mines of Moria.
I wish the Ring had never come to me. Tears seared down his cheeks. I wish none of this had happened!
He snapped his mouth shut and swallowed when another voice joined his own: Gandalf's. So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you.
And regardless of how much time he had, Frodo knew he wanted to help as best he could in the destruction of the Ring.
Frodo's eyebrows narrowed in stone conviction. He swallowed his sorrow back, cleared his tears away, and threw the Ring into his breast pocket. She anxiously felt for his heart: it beat so beautifully with renewed strength, strength that captivated her beyond even the power of Sauron. In that moment she only began to realize how much she wanted Frodo, how right Sauron had been to call her a traitor.
But at least she still had some desire to go home.
Frodo stepped briskly forward and leaped into the nearest canoe, shoving off powerfully. Delamarth trembled excitedly; she could get him lost. She could keep him from Mordor forever, until the day Sauron was strong enough to take over Middle Earth alone, or the men were strong enough to fight him alone, or whatever happened. She didn't care for the fate of the world—if she could get Frodo lost in that maze before the marshes, he would belong to her forever. She could halt his needs, make her his sustenance.
But even as she dreamed up these thoughts, a voice behind her caused her to stiffen. "Frodo, no!" Sam cried out, racing from the shore into the water. "Frodo!"
"No, Sam," Frodo breathed. He couldn't let Delamarth kill him, much as he wished Sam could come with him. He kept rowing, did his best not to look back at his gardener.
But splashes continued behind him, and he glanced back to see Sam marching through the water towards his canoe. Frodo was almost halfway across the lake, and Sam wouldn't be tall enough to get all the way through.
"Go back, Sam!" Frodo called out. "I'm going to Mordor alone." Almost alone. Delamarth would be there every step of the way, caressing him in some manner or taunting him with her words. He wished he could take Sam.
"Of course you are!" Sam replied, and the Ring settled, thinking the hobbit had taken logic to heart and would turn back, but he didn't. "And I'm coming with you!"
Frodo grew exasperated, battling with what he knew would be safer and what would make him feel better for the moment. Then a realization halted him as he watched Sam. "You can't swim!"
But the hobbit kept moving.
"Sam!" Frodo insisted, finally turning the canoe. Then Sam slipped under the water's surface, reaching out helplessly for Frodo.
Frodo scrambled to the side of the canoe, eyes wide and heart racing. "Sam!" He hurriedly spun the canoe around, searching frantically for Sam.
Leave him, love; he's better off than if I—
"Of all the confounded nuisances, Delamarth," Frodo exclaimed hurriedly as he scanned the water for Sam, "you are the worst!" He was rarely so irked, but at that moment he knew anything less would not get her to quiet. His heart thudded as he realized he might have already killed Sam . . . until he spotted the struggling hobbit in the water nearby.
Delamarth recoiled from his mind with a solid glare. Indeed, Baggins. Then she paused as he reached down into the water and felt around for Sam's hand, finally locking his fingers around Sam's wrist. He breathed a sigh of relief, dragging Sam up into the canoe. Sam sputtered for air, and as Frodo lifted him he grabbed the side of the little craft, leaning to counterbalance Sam's weight as best he could. Delamarth stared down at Sam with disgust at first . . . then up at Frodo.
What if someone so wonderful cared for her that way? Enough that, despite all the threats built up against Sam and Frodo's insistence that he leave, Frodo would still save him, even if it meant taking him all the way to Mordor?
Thus the first pangs of longing began, longing for someone to care for her—love her, she realized—that way.
Frodo stared, bleary-eyed, at his friend as he sat up in the canoe. Water dripped from every inch of him, and he breathed heavily . . . but Frodo knew, despite that, he would not ask Frodo to take him back. Frodo's mind tore in two as he tried hastily to decide if he could afford risking Sam.
"I made a promise, Mr. Frodo," Sam managed. Tingles launched over Frodo, hopeful tingles that he didn't have to face this entirely alone, that he would have one of his best friends beside him. "A promise! Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee!"
Frodo surveyed his friend, suddenly overwhelmed. Tears welled at his eyes.
"And I don't mean to," Sam finished. "I don't mean to."
Frodo struggled with himself for a moment. "Oh, Sam," he managed. He reached forward, unable to handle it, and crushed his friend close. Sam embraced him back; Frodo didn't mind the water that pressed against his cloak. He gasped for air and squeezed his eyes closed: he absorbed the realization that Sam cared for him, that he would never leave his master.
Delamarth hissed to herself. She had to get rid of this Sam . . . but then she wondered what would happen if she studied him first, learned what made Frodo love him so much. She made a mental note that Sam risked his all for Frodo—again, something she didn't understand, but she argued with herself until she conceded to attain that trait for herself.
Frodo and Sam rowed the rest of the way over the lake and clambered to the top of a small wooded rise that Delamarth led them to from within Frodo's pocket. They soon overlooked a huge labyrinth of rock
Mount Doom rumbled in the distance. Delamarth did not react very quickly, trying to decide if she was excited or fearful. She did not want Sauron anymore, or so it felt—but she had to prove to him that she could be strong. Conflict wracked her brain, and she trembled.
Frodo admitted to Sam his fears that they might never see the Fellowship again, staring into the distance at the volcano, so menacing and yet so far out of reach.
Sam smiled at him gently. "We may yet, Mr. Frodo; we may."
Delamarth marked that as well, for Frodo smiled sweetly at Sam's statement. She wanted to trap that smile, wanted so badly to keep it. "Sam," he said. He turned back to his gardener, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad you're with me."
To attain such a thing . . . Delamarth made it her own quest to make Frodo hers.
