Diem Kieu: That was one of my favorite scenes to write, actually, one of the first I considered doing fanart for. But Mount Doom is so much better . . . aaaanyway, not getting into that yet. XD
Four years! But alas . . . I have not been so fortunate. :D My obsessions are very . . . not fickle, but they fluctuate. I hope I don't move on soon; I have eight more ideas for Frodo romances that I haven't started writing yet. But seeing as I've finished writing three, I think I can make it.
I will; thanks so much for the support! Sometimes I upload just because I enjoy your reviews. X) They make me smile. Yeah! I wants to read it! I await the upload . . .
When they climbed up the stone hill overlooking the Black Gate, Delamarth shoved harder on Smeagol. He began whimpering, locking into himself. She probed him, learned that he was battling with his loyalty to his Master and his desire for the Ring.
She pressed to him that there was another way into Mordor. The stairs of Cirith Ungol: if she didn't get rid of Sam and Gollum before then, the spider's cave would be a prime place. She communicated to Smeagol that perhaps he could steal the Precious back if they went to Cirith Ungol, and Smeagol's eyes began to grow hard. Satisfied, the Ring released him: they wouldn't go in the Black Gate now, for Smeagol was too stirred.
At first the Gate was not open, and Delamarth hoped it would stay that way. But an army of Mordor marched to the entrance, and after the blow of a loud horn, the Gate began to creak open. Delamarth dragged back on Frodo, but he ignored her.
Sam ended up peering too far over the hill's edge and tumbled down the side in an avalanche of rock. Frodo raced after him; both Delamarth and Smeagol began screaming at him, insisted that Sam wasn't worth risking Frodo. But the hobbit ignored them both, sliding down the rocks. Delamarth didn't stop frantically scrambling until after Frodo shielded Sam and himself with his cloak, but then she inhaled and stuck there. She felt Elvish magic drifting through the canopy of fabric far above her, and only hoped it would conceal Frodo as four armor-shod feet approached the hobbits.
She tensed and cooled against Frodo's skin, and he shuddered slightly. The Ring tried to fight the soldiers back, but the Elvish magic blocked her influence somewhat. She realized before her power stretched too far that they would sense her presence and take her back to Sauron; she recoiled, lingering in place, already calculating a plan for how to get Frodo away if they captured him. She waited a breathless moment . . . and then the soldiers turned nonchalantly from the hobbits.
Delamarth stood frozen.
A genius move, love, she said slowly.
Frodo didn't reply, still frozen with fear. His heart let its last thuds of strained anxiety flow away, and then he whipped the cloak off of himself and Sam. The Elvish magic dissipated into the air, and Delamarth found she could breathe easier.
She had to get rid of that cloak.
But before she could focus on that, Frodo dragged Sam out of the pile of stone and yanked him towards the Black Gate. Delamarth growled to herself, then calmed: the orcs could help if necessary. She didn't like the idea of them touching him . . . then realized she could take Frodo to Barad-dur as a woman, then hide him until she finished assisting Sauron.
"I don't ask you to come with me, Sam," Frodo asserted, staring at the terrifying gate. They were sure to be seen, the fact of which Sam confirmed. Frodo inhaled, then exhaled on a single word. "Now!" He and Sam sprang to their feet, and Delamarth's heart thudded. But Frodo and Sam stumbled back. Delamarth wondered what miracle kept her away from Sauron, until Smeagol spoke and she remembered.
"Don't take her!" Smeagol pleaded shrilly. "Sauron wants the Precious . . ." He crawled to the face of the rock, staring into Mordor. "He will see! And the Precious wants to go back to him!" he added. Then his eyes narrowed, and Delamarth shivered pleasurably at his sudden protectivenss of her. "But we mustn't let her."
The last of Mordor's army marched through the Black Gate, and despite Smeagol's protest Frodo leaped up again, knowing the gate would close soon. Smeagol hastily grabbed Frodo's cloak, partially at the Ring's yank on Smeagol.
"No, don't!" Smeagol wailed. Frodo turned to protest, but Delamarth quickly reminded Smeagol of her excuse. "There is another way! A dark way!" Smeagol insisted.
Frodo breathed heavily. The horn had been blown, the signal for the gate to be closed. He was running out of time. Then he paused, staring at Smeagol. "Are you saying there's another way into Mordor?"
By some miracle, Smeagol convinced Frodo and Sam to follow him to the stairs above Cirith Ungol. Delamarth realized, however, that Sam's skepticism of Smeagol's proposal and Frodo's trust of the creature bore both good and bad news: Sam would be easier to get rid of if events slowly undermined his morale and loyalty, but Frodo was developing a deeper connection with Smeagol. Delamarth had to snap it, but she didn't quite know how.
As Frodo ascended the rise he had come down to rescue Sam, she stared back at the Black Gate, breathing deeply when it closed her off from Sauron. Despite that assurance, his hiss pierced her ears, and she trembled angrily.
You cannot hide, traitor. You will be mine again.
I was never yours. I ruled you . . . and I will rule whom I chose, Sauron.
But I made you. Sauron glared deep into the fibers of her being. And I have control over you that even you cannot fight.
Somehow not himself, Frodo acted aggressive towards Sam once. It shocked Delamarth when Frodo defended his possession of the Ring against Sam, telling him that she (as a burden, unfortunately) was his, his own. He walked off . . . and really wasn't of his own mind the rest of the day. His voice sounded different as well. He didn't even speak to Delamarth, confused at his own actions and hurt by his own thought processes.
A pang stabbed her. She couldn't abide seeing him like this, broken and dark. She thought she would love to see him twisted, shattered, but she really didn't want it, not now that she'd seen what he could be like when he had the capacity to love, to forgive, to be bright. He treated her well when he was himself, once he got over his initial fear of her. She found herself wishing that she could be what he needed, a creature he wanted in spite of her ability to ensnare him if she so desired it.
She wanted him to love her.
*Later that night, as Sam slept, Frodo kept her enclosed in his hand. She melted into his grip, spreading across the ground beside his cloak. "Frodo," she whispered, tracing her finger down his jaw.
Frodo tossed, then awakened with a slight moan. His eyes flickered open, and they lit up when they saw her . . . but it was not a pleasant light. He looked hurt, confused . . . possessive.
"Delamarth," he said, trying to be polite despite his sudden urge to grab her fiercely and hold her close. He shook the thought away. It was only her as a Ring that drew him in, only her innate ability to persuade and destroy.
Or perhaps her as a person?
She tsked and brushed her fingers through his hair. "You were so open and sweet just a few days ago. What happened?"
Frodo's eyes narrowed, then settled tiredly. He didn't even bother to dodge her touch; it now required too much effort. "I don't understand, Delamarth," he admitted, flicking his gaze away from her. He sat up after a moment, and Delamarth braced his back with a hand to help him stay up. He almost initially thanked her, then threw that away. "I do not know what to think of you, for my desires fight every last fiber of my being." He sighed, staring into the distance. "It is rather wearying."
Delamarth was careful not to make her sidling obvious. "Well, what are your desires, love?"
"They are not human," Frodo interjected before that gnawing voice in his mind could explain. He stared down at her almost coldly; speaking them coherently, outside of the blurry confusion of his mind, Frodo knew the things he wanted were false. "I think you initiate them with whatever sorcery you've been made with, and I will not pursue it."
She bit her lip, staring at his hands crossed over his knees. She wanted those fingers; she needed them. "You still have not answered my question, love." She admittedly just wanted him to keep talking—leaning this close to him, his voice resonated through his shoulder. Not only could she hear him, she could feel him when he spoke.
Frodo relaxed, lowering his gaze. "I suppose not. But I do not feel I should, for you would only use that knowledge to your advantage."
Delamarth pursed her lips, deep in thought. She had a few options: she could keep going in her pursuit, and that could possibly cause some stir in him, or she could try and get back to Sauron before he lived up to his threat at the Black Gate . . .which she still didn't entirely understand. Or she could break Frodo as she had always intended.
Somehow those last two options were not very appealing for how logical they sounded.
She swallowed, still eyeing his hands. He followed her gaze and folded his arms rather self-consciously. "My advantage? What do you take me for, Frodo?" Her head cocked slowly, staring at his torso where his hands had disappeared to. Why did they seem to entrap her? Perhaps, she decided, because she was a Ring and was meant for the hand. But she'd never even wanted Sauron's hand this much.
"I take you for what I've always told you that you are," Frodo said, his voice escalating slightly as he watched her golden eyes. He shifted away from her, but could only go so far: she'd wrapped her chain around her torso, keeping him close. "And I have no desire to be ripped apart by you. You are using some form of trickery that I don't understand to make me want you for myself—," Then he stopped abruptly. He hadn't meant for that to come out.
Delamarth's gaze sharpened, and she looked up. Frodo scrambled back, and she methodically followed. "You what?"
Frodo shook his head wildly, then stood and held out his hands as though to keep her on the ground. "No, please . . . I didn't—I didn't mean it. It is your doing, not mine."
She stood as well, but did not follow when he backed a pace away. She didn't quite know what to think. Had she been like she was just a half a year ago, she might have tried to suck him in. But now he looked so afraid, so desperate, and this was not what she wanted.
Delamarth sank to her knees on the ground. "I won't rip you apart," she said softly, letting her decision set itself in her mind. "I'm sorry for what I've done." She bit her lip, glancing at the ground. Frodo stared at her, frozen, wondering what kind of strategy she was letting simmer in her mind. Whatever it was, it worked. She glanced up at him again, feeling a sting in the back of her eyes. She blinked it away; she did not recognize it, had never felt it before. "I am. I'm sorry." She crunched back into her Ring form, so confused and torn.
"Delamarth!" Frodo reached for her condensing form, but she clattered against his neck before he could do more. He sighed heavily and slapped down against the ground. He shivered, unable to sleep. He almost wished she would come back. That glimmer in her eyes looked like tears; he'd never seen her so distraught before.
Frodo slipped the Ring out of his shirt, into his palm. He fell asleep with her clutched in his hand—she only troubled him with every move she made.
It took a great deal out of Frodo, the next few days, as they were captured by warriors of Gondor. He learned of Faramir, the brother of Boromir, and learned that Boromir was dead. Delamarth couldn't have cared less about the warrior, but that glimmer of despair in Frodo's gaze sickened her greatly.
Then she realized, with a jerk of her instinct as a creature of the darkness, that perhaps Faramir would be as gullible as Boromir. She began tugging on him, although Frodo did not reveal his quest to the warrior, so it didn't come out with the results she wished for.
Her own heartlessness surprised her over those days that they were in Faramir's company, particularly when Smeagol was captured and tortured by the men. She heard his screams endlessly following the experience, felt Frodo shudder uncontrollably but not visibly. She wondered at the tremors of his heart, at how he had grown to care for Smeagol. Her spirits brightened when she realized that this was to her advantage. Livid excitement bubbled in her very core: Smeagol would betray Frodo at last, if she could inspire enough hatred within him.
They were already going towards Cirith Ungol, anyway. That would at least get rid of Sam.
Delamarth did not pay much attention to what was going on around her until she heard Sam referring to her. She perked up.
"Use the Ring, Mr. Frodo!" She hoped she would feel a thrill of excitement in Frodo, but she received nothing more than a hurt shiver as he stared up at Sam skeptically. Sam crept closer to him. "Disappear; you can escape! Just put it on this once."
Sam was beginning to appeal to her. Come, Frodo, she whispered. Escape, please!
Maybe they could get out without Smeagol or Sam. She could take him back to the Shire, escape Sauron herself with Frodo nigh intact.
Frodo slackened against the stone. "I can't."
Forget the quest, she hissed. Frodo, get us out of here! Get back to the Shire!
Of course, she should have assumed his chivalry would be an obstacle. While he did not mention his need to complete his quest, it did suddenly occur to her as he spoke.
"If I put it on . . ." Frodo managed, staring into the distance, "he will find me. He will see." He glanced forlornly at his friend. "You were right. The Ring has taken me, Sam."
Delamarth hesitated, letting her words fall away. Frodo sounded so . . . broken. She'd done it. She'd snapped Frodo for good; he would never recover from her influence. But then why did that make her feel so sick? What about that could possibly cause her stomach to flip uncomfortably, as though the realization that she could not undo what she'd done was a horrid thing?
She slipped out of Frodo's shirt with the intent to morph and apologize again, tell him she hadn't meant it, that if he gave her to Sam the gardener could take her to Mordor and she would go willingly—but then Faramir stepped in.
Frodo stood abruptly and backed against the wall. Faramir had his sword raised and his stare hanging greedily on Frodo.
"So," he said, his breath shaky, "this is the answer to all the riddles." He stepped forward slowly, and the Ring initially pulled on him. His desires melted like snow at her touch, but then she tried to shy back. He would kill Frodo if she pulled anymore, but she could not take back the impact she'd already laid on him. She scrambled helplessly against Frodo's chest as Faramir lifted his sword. The tip brought her away from Frodo's skin, lingered against the hobbit's heart as though ready to pierce it.
She turned her attention on Frodo, begging him to save himself, to save her. But her pleas only made themselves manifest as dark whispers of an evil lord, stinging Frodo's head uncontrollably. His eyes sank closed, fighting his desire to have the Ring. But he could not do it for long; horrid voices whispered to him of what Faramir would do. He would rip her from Frodo's neck, would possess her for himself.
Finally Frodo had it. His eyes snapped open dangerously. "No!" He clenched his fingers around the Ring and ducked away from Faramir. His breath heaved possessively; his fingers tightened and loosened around her, trying to calm himself by her presence in his touch. She tried to revive him to the best of her ability, but it wasn't helpful in any way. She finally shifted, slipped into the crevice behind Frodo, and yanked Frodo up with her. His eyes had grown empty like Smeagol's, and she shivered. Then she shook it away.
*"Frodo!" she hissed. Frodo's eyes bulged, and he studied her disbelievingly, knocked away from his consciousness. It hurt her horribly to see him like this; she shook her head, biting back the wish to crush him to her. She only resisted that for a moment before squeezing him in her arms. He squirmed against her, fighting, trying to reach back and hold her for his own. She trapped his arms easily.
"Frodo, my love, calm down, please!" she cried softly. She buried her fingers in his curls. His pulse slowed under her touch. "Don't let the darkness get to you. I don't want you to change; I only ever wanted to have you!" She swallowed, a little afraid of her own admittance. But assuring herself that it was true helped just a little.
Frodo stared up with uncertainty, trembling uncontrollably until he slowed. He only had a moment to feel somewhat comforted before confused skepticism set in, and then a pair of rough hands yanked him out of the cave. Delamarth sucked back into a Ring before he was completely taken away, but it did startle the guard for a moment.
She almost shifted into a woman to fight them off . . . until she realized they were dragging Frodo towards Osgiliath. They were not going to Mordor. She'd influenced Faramir enough that he was trying to take her back to his father, or so she gathered.
Delamarth felt rather optimistic about the situation until the moment they came into view of Osgiliath. Frodo stared down at the city hopelessly; his pulse slowed with dread, and Delamarth started to worry just a little. She peered up only to see tears, glassy and tragically beautiful gathering in Frodo's eyes. She might have been excited, knowing he was in so much pain, but it hurt her as well. She whimpered, then shook her head emphatically; the Ring did not simply whimper.
But something about him cut off her need to be a warrior.
And if that part of him failed so would she.
"The Ring will not save Gondor," Frodo said, his eyes swelling with tears. He turned back desperately to Faramir; he wished the warrior would only believe him when he said that Delamarth had nothing like good intentions within her. "It only has the power to destroy. Please! Let me go."
Delamarth blocked her ears to Frodo's cries when Faramir refused to release him. She couldn't abide them; she needed to stop them.
