Diem Kieu: They'll get better . . . I think . . . XD Yeah; I figured T could be safe. :)
*happy dance* IwinIwinIwin! That's exactly what I wanted! I owe you things, like reviews and magicalness and anything else I have that is good to give you. :D
It's a good thing I'm following you, then, 'cause I'm flippin' watching for updates. XD This'll be exciting! I wish you luck with the muse . . . the "mess" I'm tempted to call it.
Well, the series is done, but I'm still writing other things. XD
This is the best chapter. O.O I hope you guys like (muahahahahaa).
Frodo carried her for some time before her legs grew substantially strong (she kept the healing process away as long as she could), but he did not look and she did not tell him. She remained there for the rest of the day before Sam said it was time to rest, which Frodo minded nothing of. He set Delamarth down against the stone and bid her a good night, confused by how much he'd wished to hold her. He shivered at the thought, certain he did not truly want her.
Delamarth watched him longingly, and didn't let it go for long. She waited until Sam and Smeagol were asleep, then slipped across the rocky ground to Frodo's side and curled up at his back. He was not yet asleep and so stiffened to her touch. He abruptly rolled over; she didn't look guilty at all, but he felt as though she should have.
"You can walk acceptably now, it seems," he muttered.
She nodded. "Now I can, yes. To an extent." She exhaled slowly, reaching up to hold his cheek. "Oh, Frodo, I almost lost you."
"And what does it matter to you?" he protested. "To avoid Sauron simply because he believes he's your master? What is it that you want?"
Delamarth's eyes widened, then narrowed. She sat upright, and Frodo followed. "To avoid Sauron? All I'd have to do is get back with Smeagol to avoid Sauron! That little sneak could take me up north and conceal me in the darkest caves, better than you've attempted or even thought of doing."
"Indeed," Frodo replied, his words building up heatedly within him. "Admittedly I have no intention of hiding you; the Dark Lord would come after anyone who attempted to keep you away, and you would return eventually. I don't know your motives for returning to Mordor, but they can't be good, and they can't be to serve Sauron if you are so adamant. So why? Why go back?"
"Because I had control!" She stood, and Frodo got to his feet as well. It was working, she assured herself . . . "Sauron obeys me, and commands the armies of Middle Earth itself. His enemies are weak, always have been. The only times he has failed he refused to listen to me. My persuasive powers, my very essence, is most useful when one knows incredible power. So the fact that I'm still here with you and you are not begging for mercy or the ability to control me is an astounding feat for a little farm hobbit."
Frodo's eyes narrowed. "I only intend to do what is best for the world as a whole. Not every creature in this world needs power to be happy."
She shook her head, amazed. "Then what would you suggest in place of power? Power would grant you the liquidity of want that you could never fill otherwise."
"Love, Delamarth," Frodo insisted, as though it were only too obvious, which it was to him. She stiffened. "The capacity to care for another being more than yourself!" He settled, remembering Sev very starkly. He shook it away, moving to lie down again. "As if you did. I suppose power is the best substitute for a creature of darkness like you."
Delamarth desperately grabbed his shirt collar, and he jolted to his feet. Unfamiliar torrents of raw pain and desire bubbled up within her as she slowly walked towards him. He backed into the rock behind him as she progressed. "Love?" His fingers nervously gripped the stone. "You're right."
Frodo stared at her, disbelieving. "You think I would be deceived by you? You know nothing of love. Greed is your paradigm."
Now it all bubbled over. She released his collar and swung her wrists, and the cuffs of her hands bound Frodo's close to her. He writhed, trying to break away, but she locked him against the cliff. Pebbles and loose rock skittered around him at the force with which she shoved him up by his back. "Nothing!" Delamarth shook her head. "I gave you water, carried you for an hour only to dig it out of the ground with everything I had. I smashed a serpent, a source of power in my own land, to keep you from being killed. I dragged you from the stairs before you could plunge to your death off the side. I fell before that boulder, smashing my own body—," with this she pointed to her legs, slowly stepping closer to him, "—and I didn't do it because I want you to be the one to destroy me." Tears built in her eyes, and for the first time in her life they began to race furiously down her cheeks. Emotions, tearing and ripping through her wildly thudding heart, flooded her with thoughts and painful sensations she'd never known. For the first time she knew she was telling the truth with every fiber of her being."I didn't do it to get back to Sauron. I didn't do it to prolong misery for a little farm hobbit. I didn't do it to prove a point, and I didn't do it for me, Frodo Baggins, I did it because I love you!"
Frodo stared, wide-eyed, at her statement. He didn't believe her one bit. He shook his head, but she looked serious. The shimmer of tears against her perfect skin sold it more than anything. He crumpled in place, eyes watering slightly with the pain of realization. He could see her in the lava again, as he often envisioned her, crying out in pain . . . begging him to save her.
"No," he whispered. He felt as though he'd already failed.
Delamarth's gaze softened only for a moment as her tears dried. "No?" She reached forward, tipped up his chin. Her voice cracked. "You do not believe me? What more could I do to prove it to you?"
He shook his head, slowly, then wildly. "No. There must be some trick to it. You've twisted my mind, I swear."
Delamarth sighed shakily, not quite feeling fully resigned to this moment. She would finally have him, and if this did not subject him she would knock him unconscious and take him north herself. She couldn't abide to have him taking steps towards her demise, to the demise of them both.
"I suppose there's only one thing I could do to show you."
Her tone rebounded like a dark growl through the stone around them. Frodo scrambled back, not wishing to know what she would do, but she had him up against the cliff, and stood very close to him. He could go nowhere.
Delamarth released his wrists with her hands, but she wrapped her chains solidly around them and stepped on the ends, locking him down. He struggled, but could not move. She then lifted the chain extending from her collarbone and wrapped it slowly around his neck, feeling every bit of the moment. She awakened her senses, exhaled in a long breath. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut; she looked frighteningly apprehensive, and he didn't really want to know why.
She grabbed both ends of the chain around his neck, and Frodo stared hopelessly; nothing short of agonized terror flooded his eyes. The cold metal carved into his skin, refused to let him back away as she studied him intently.
"Please . . ."
Delamarth reached forward, not oblivious to his plea but almost wishing she was. Her lips neared his, and Frodo staggered against the stone wall. She breathed softly; her words came out a whisper, trembling with anticipation of what she knew was more real and true than anything she'd felt before.
"Frodo, my Precious."
She brushed a light kiss over his mouth, only to be flooded with an indescribable wave of tingles. Fire erupted in her blood, warming her fingers and soothing her injured legs. She let out a soft sigh: it was a short kiss, but it filled her with nothing she could ever have imagined. Taken aback by the sudden gentleness of her lips, Frodo stared up at Sam. Realization hit him like a rockslide; his eyes widened. His pulse escalated with fear, and he accordingly breathed desperately. He had to get out of here. Right now Delamarth looked nothing short of stunned, her eyelids flickering and her jaw limp.
"Sam!" he cried out, terrified. But Delamarth would not have it; his exclamation snapped her out of her paralysis. She yanked down on the chain, and her lips trapped Frodo's. He protested, straining to escape. She clamped her fingers in his hair, locking him in place as she kissed him intently, turned her head restlessly and kissed him again. Her arms surrounded his shoulders and gripped them fast; she could not have him enough. He scrambled back with nowhere to go and no way to get there. She at last pulled away, gasping for air, and Frodo did the same, trembling and shaking his head.
Delamarth reached forward and kissed his gentle lips once more; his desire to breathe left him. "Oh, Frodo, my love," she whispered—such a miraculous touch, that kiss was. She grabbed him around the waist, held him close, as she trailed kisses along his jaw, pecked his forehead. She owned him, and she knew it. "My Precious, my very own."
Tears raced down Frodo's cheeks, and her lips traced across them. "Please!"
She shook her head, locking her forehead against his. "No," she hissed. "No, you are mine, Baggins. You are mine."
"Sam!"
Sam awakened at last to Frodo's cry and scrambled to his Master's side. Sam couldn't see Delamarth as a woman, so as she lowered Frodo to the ground his companion didn't detect any immediate danger.
Frodo breathed heavily, his eyes strained and his cheeks flooded with tears. Delamarth crouched behind his back, unable to leave him for how he fascinated her, and for how heated her emotions were regarding him. She had never felt so passionate about anything, not even her hunger for power.
"Sam . . ." Frodo managed. He bit his lower lip, defeated. The sting of her desperate, dominant kiss still lingered there like a burn. She'd branded him forever, marked him as her slave in a way he would never forget. Even if he destroyed her, her affection would be something time could not erase and light could not heal. He'd never been kissed before, especially not like that, but something deep within knew her actions were too dark and insistent to be normal.
His gardener approached gently. "What's wrong, Mr. Frodo?"
Delamarth hissed as Sam lowered to his master's side. Frodo jolted at the sound she made, suddenly afraid of what she might do. He remembered what he'd told her when the Fellowship divided: she could do what she wanted with him if he left Sam alone.
Please, don't hurt him. You can do what you want with me.
She paused: she hadn't considered killing Sam in that moment, but realizing that Frodo cared about Sam more than he did about her, she badly wanted to strangle the hobbit herself. She held herself back—if she killed Sam now, her chances to get to Frodo were completely lost. He would never forgive her, never smile that tantalizing smile again, never have that light dance in his eyes like he used to in the Shire. She didn't know how to initiate those things in him herself, but she would learn.
Frodo would have to get rid of Sam.
But that thought didn't stop her from being jealous of Sam and protective of Frodo. Sure, Frodo would never love Sam like he could love Delamarth, but she didn't know how to show him that.
Sam reached for Frodo's hand, and Delamarth hissed louder. Frodo turned back to stop her, but she pinched Sam's skin; a flame sparked from her fingers, just to singe the gardener's hand. Sam cried out and fell away from Frodo. Delamarth protectively wrapped her arms around Frodo's torso, squeezing him close before he could follow the other hobbit. Frodo scrambled desperately, but in vain, against her grip.
"Sam! Sam, are you all right?!"
The Gamgee nodded, staring in wonder down at his hand: there was no mark where he could have sworn he felt a sharp, burning sting. "I'm all right, Mr. Frodo," he said absently. He glanced up, and then his face paled. Frodo's eyes sank shut; he had no doubt Sam could see Delamarth.
Delamarth glared darkly at Sam. She allowed herself to slightly fade into view, almost like a ghost in his vision, hanging on possessively to his master.
"Get back, you!" Sam cried, standing abruptly. Frodo attempted to warn him off, but not before Delamarth's hand cupped Frodo's neck, her fingers bracing faintly. He swallowed and wished he could be away from this nightmare. He didn't care if he didn't survive the quest, just as long as he could escape this; her thumb traced over his neck.
The Ring's eyes blazed, and Sam hesitated with his hand on his blade.
"Don't touch him again, gardener." She numbed Frodo's ears to her voice. "Or I will crush you. I will force him to be rid of you, and you will live with his rejection for the rest of your life."
Sam did not back down despite her warning. After a moment's shudder, he knelt by Frodo's side.
"Come here, Mr. Frodo," he said gently, extending his arms.
Frodo stared up at him. "Sam . . ." He pulled away from Delamarth's slackening grip, landing solidly in Sam's embrace. The gardener calmed his master, squeezing him close. He stared up darkly at Delamarth, angry at how she had terrified Frodo so—but then he shuddered at the horrifying threat in her eyes. She fumed watching them; friends though they were, she burned to be something more to Frodo.
You have sealed your fate, Samwise Gamgee.
