Diem Kieu: Muahahahahaaa . . . my plot worked. X) Yep; intense and-well, I'm a sucker for kissing scenes. There you have it.
Cirith Ungol has been covered in writing, not yet uploaded, but that said, she's more ecstatic to see him than anything; I'll probably tweak it a little bit. :D Perhaps, but I won't be the one to make that designation. :) I suppose I'll let you make the comparison when it comes out.
Yep; I'm putting my bets on I die a happily hypnotized little ginger author. O.o
Whoo! Keep going; I read!
She let Frodo alone at night while they ascended the remaining stairs. But as they walked, she circled him, lowering her chain around his neck and tugging back lightly. Frodo writhed against it, dragged against her every touch in an attempt to move forward without giving in.
"Turn back," she whispered. "Take me far away from Mordor. Save yourself, love." He couldn't have known how much she meant that, but she had no intention of attempting to be sincere: he threw her off when she tried that, kissing him.
He shook his head, tears flooding to his tired eyes. "No. Leave me be . . ."
She dragged harder, then yanked once. Frodo stumbled back into her arms, and she wrapped one desperately around his torso. She kissed his cheek. "Be with me; be my Precious."
"No!" He shoved away from her, smacking against the rock. She wished to be concerned, but hardened herself. He did not care for her yet, and it only made her boil deep inside.
Obstinate hobbit. She didn't touch him then, and he carried on, struggling to take every step.
Gollum managed to get rid of Sam that day. Delamarth ignored her guilt as she watched Frodo tell Sam, his voice stone hard, to go home. She felt an indescribable pang in her heart at the terrifying, empty gleam in Frodo's eyes as he carried on without his best friend. Delamarth swallowed, ashamed of herself for looking back at Sam's sobbing form on the ground: he and Frodo cared about each other. And she claimed to love Frodo when all she could do was hurt him.
All the way up to Shelob's lair, Delamarth mourned her own miserable existence. Desired by the entire world but the one she wanted; she remembered Sauron going through the exact same difficulty when he fell in love all those years ago. She hissed it away—she didn't want to go back to Sauron and didn't want to think about how incompetent he was after knowing Frodo for so long. When she compared allowing Sam to remain and having Frodo alone, she realized bitterly that perhaps the latter was better anyway.
But as they walked up the stairs, she released Frodo from her influence a little bit. She hadn't realized she was psychologically hanging on to Frodo for dear life, and now releasing him allowed him to walk a tad bit faster.
Smeagol led Frodo through Shelob's lair, and suddenly Delamarth snapped into the reality of the situation. She eyed Gollum warily, and the moment he disappeared she melted down Frodo's vest and grabbed his shirt collar. Obviously Smeagol was angry enough at Frodo to betray him; she should have recognized that sooner. She wanted to go strangle the little creature, but first she had to get Frodo to safety.
"Frodo, you have to turn back," she said hastily. "You have to get out of here!"
He glared at her and shoved past her, not willing to say anything and put himself at risk again. She tapped her foot, angered and frightened, and yanked back on his chain. He struggled when she grabbed him; despite her urgency, she paused to feel the solid strength of his shoulders and arms. He scrambled away, wrenching back into the wall. He then jolted away from that—something remarkably tough and gummy trapped his skin, something latched to the stone cave.
"It's sticky!" Delamarth approached him, but he shied away from her, looking for Smeagol. "What is it?!"
Delamarth growled at Gollum's next words: "You will see! Oh, you will see."
Frodo fearfully marched forward. Delamarth hissed irritably and yanked back on his chain, digging her heels into the ground.
"Frodo, what are you doing?! You're going to get yourself killed!"
He bit his lip hard. "Delamarth, I don't trust you," he managed, throwing himself forward. "I've told you multiple times that I am prepared to die, and you are only attempting to get me away from Mordor . . . whyever you would, I'm uncertain." He attempted to distract himself by looking for Smeagol—and then realized the creature was nowhere to be seen.
"Frodo, we can go to Mordor!" she cried, leaping in front of him. He barreled on ahead, frantically searching for Smeagol. "Back to the Black Gate, around the stairs, please, anywhere but here!" She grabbed his shoulders, but he would not meet her gaze; his eyes were wide with fear and realization. She shook him. "Frodo, listen to me. Faramir was right: this place is too dangerous. Smeagol betrayed you, brought you here." Her tongue loosened a little bit as she finally could see images in her mind . . . images of Frodo wrapped in webbing, dead on the ground and stung by a poison even Delamarth hadn't access to.
No. Shelob couldn't have him.
But he adamantly moved forward, as though she had said nothing, until he realized she'd said something about Smeagol.
"He betrayed me?" Frodo whispered softly, finally staring into her eyes. That was a mistake: solid, hard gold stared back at him . . . with tears flooding it. He cocked his head, brow furrowed.
"You heard me," she whispered wonderingly. Frodo tore his eyes from her fleetingly, but couldn't ignore the sincerity of them. "You believe me!" She grabbed his collar; he struggled to back away without much luck. "I'm so sorry! Please, let's go. I wish I hadn't sent Sam away!" Her voice grew to a bit of a yelp, strained with honest pain. "I didn't mean to hurt you so much! Frodo, I'm so sorry!"
Frodo settled back. "Sam is gone. We cannot turn around." But tears pricked his own eyes. "Oh, Sam . . ."
Delamarth felt the spider's presence, but she thought she could protect him. She reached forward and embraced him. To her surprise, he complied, squeezing her close to him as though she were Sam. For a quiet moment they both understood a bit of the terror of the situation . . . of losing Sam, of losing Smeagol . . . of soon losing each other.
For a moment Frodo realized that perhaps she truly cared for him.
She pulled away. "Come. I can lead you away from the spider. Just put me on."
He turned her off immediately after that. The spider found him quickly enough, and he lit the light of Earendil to ward her away. Delamarth cringed at the light and couldn't function correctly in its presence; it fought her heavily, and she assumed with a slight sigh that it would fight Shelob as well.
Delamarth ignited furiosity—and a need to survive—in Frodo when Gollum revealed his treachery. She didn't do it on purpose, quite. Rather she wanted to kill Gollum herself, and nearly got Frodo to do it. But then his own feelings took over, refusing her call to strangle the frail creature before them. Gollum attacked Frodo, and Delamarth abruptly shifted into a woman, throwing Gollum into a nearby chasm herself. Frodo stared at her, horrified, as Gollum disappeared into the blackness.
"Cursed creature," she hissed. "He'll probably survive, I haven't a doubt of that. He's been through worse."
Frodo stared up at Delamarth, somehow suddenly afraid that she would do the same to him. But she leaned down to him and extended a hand.
She waited an impatient minute. "Are you going to take it or do I have to be the one to drag you to Mount Doom?"
Frodo's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"The quest!" she exclaimed. "Have you forgotten the whole reason you're dirty and in tatters?"
He shook his head. "You don't want to go back," he said slowly.
Delamarth sighed, exasperated. "Frodo . . . of course I don't." She swallowed and cupped his pale cheek. He didn't have the strength or motivation to resist. "But maybe—maybe if you—if you go . . ." Delamarth swallowed it back, closed her thoughts off to him as she considered what to say. Maybe if you go and destroy me you will be a beautiful hobbit like you used to be. Maybe the burden of me will be gone. Maybe you can be back with Samwise Gamgee, find a sweet hobbit lass and be married with a family. Maybe you can save Middle Earth like you want and be celebrated across all corners, the world shouting your name in praise like it should after all I've done to you. I don't deserve you, do I? And you know it. You always knew.
No.
She abruptly knelt by his side and grabbed his shoulders. Frodo's eyes widened, but he didn't have time to react before she crushed her lips against his. A yelp of protest rose in the back of his throat; his consciousness flickered. He found he could breathe again when she broke away. He mangled his own conviction arguing to himself whether or not her kisses excited or devastated him.
"If you go to Mordor, I will show you why you want to turn back," she whispered desperately. "I will prove to you that I do not want to be with Sauron. You will not fail your quest; we will destroy Sauron together."
"But he carries on through you," Frodo managed.
Delamarth shook her head wildly. "We will find a way. I will eliminate him for you, and only for you, erase his soul from whatever pieces not of him I have in me and gain strength later." Then her eyes shot open. "Frodo, if I destroy him permanently, will you take me back to Bag End? Will you marry me, be my Precious forever?"
Frodo opened his mouth to refuse, but she abruptly kissed him again, desperation flooding her every move. She squeezed him close to her, bunched his rough Elvish cloak in her hands, ran her fingers over his shoulders. Finally she pulled away and stared into his pained, exhausted eyes. "I know you would say no," she hissed, "but you don't understand: if you don't agree, it will happen anyway. Your quest will fail. I will turn around this moment. I will knock you unconscious and carry you to a land you know not just to have you. Sauron will grow strong without his Ring and conquer your friends; you will not watch them suffer, but I have no doubt your thoughts will dwell on them until I give you a glimpse of their pain, of the realization that they are all dead or gone." She flashed an image in his mind of Sam, beaten and dead on the ground, of the Shire burning at the hands of orcs. He gasped audibly, shaking. "Do you doubt me, love?"
He trembled for a moment. For Sam, he tried to assure himself. For Bilbo, in Rivendell. For Gandalf. For the Fellowship, lingering somewhere hopefully far away from Mordor. For Sev, back at the Gaffer's home in the Shire. Could he abandon a courtship with her to marry this Ring?
He doubted Delamarth could destroy Sauron without destroying herself, and if she did manage to live, Frodo would throw himself in the lava instead. He would never mend, never could, from all he had seen and done . . . all he now desired. Some growing, wicked piece of him wanted to have her for himself. It gnawed at him through all of the thoughts he knew were actually true.
"I do not," he breathed. She neared him, but he refused to kiss her. "If you can destroy Sauron," Frodo whispered, turning away from her, "I will. I will be yours."
Delamarth smiled slowly. She would not fail him; she could easily be rid of Sauron.
"I am not doing this for you," Frodo muttered darkly. His eyes narrowed as he stared up at her. "And I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing this for Sam." He half had to convince himself that he truly did not want her—this need for her was not natural, and he liked none of it.
She nodded, trying to be gentle about it. "I understand." Then she brushed her lips against his soft ones once more, expecting him to kiss her back, but he had not as yet done any such thing and had no desire to now. She spoke against his skin, and he forced himself to recoil. "You will be my Precious, Frodo." She rubbed her cheek on his. "My Precious, my love . . . my Ringbearer."
Frodo curled up into himself, dreading her very presence for how she made him want her, how he wanted both to feel the perfect, warm metal surrounding his finger and how he desired just to hold her close. It had to be her power and nothing more; again it struck him as odd how it was less her as a woman, and more as an object of power.
She finally backed away and pulled him to his feet. They continued on from there; at a point of desperation, when Frodo realized how he had wronged Sam and how Delamarth scarred him with every step, Galadriel told him this was his task; no one else could do it. He determinedly accepted to keep going. Soon he could see Mordor just ahead of him. Delamarth shivered with chills—she could destroy Sauron and be with Frodo forever. She could stretch his life, turn invisible with him when he was worn and fade into the throes of awakening night with none other. He would never let her go, not if she could tie the last few knots binding him to her. To rip them apart would be to tear some of his own soul.
But then she felt a chilling, familiar presence.
The spider.
She turned before Frodo, pushing on his shoulders to hold him back, but then the spider's stinger scraped her shoulder on its way to plunging through Frodo's. The hobbit jolted against Delamarth and swayed on his feet. His vision tingled away to blackness, and he slacked over to the ground.
Delamarth fell with him, horrified. "No! Frodo!"
The spider scooped them up. Delamarth refused to leave him, and couldn't for how she was still bound to him by chain. She clutched his chest and shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut as the spider wrapped sticky, thick webbing around them. Had she been a mortal woman Delamarth would have shuddered at the slick roping at her back, but she did not care: the spider had killed Frodo. She turned to trembling, hopelessly frozen with the lifeless body of the one she loved until Shelob sucked the life from him.
But suddenly Frodo collided with the ground below her. Delamarth's eyes shot open . . . and then she heard a shout, a challenge.
"Samwise!" she cried.
The spider shrieked, although specifically at what Sam had done Delamarth didn't know. He fought the spider for some time; all the while Delamarth's hopes faded again. She nestled her head against Frodo's heart; it had stopped beating.
She didn't want to carry on.
Carry on where? She didn't want Sauron. She didn't want Middle Earth. She didn't want Smeagol, she didn't want armies, and she didn't want Bilbo. She didn't want the one she loved to be dead, gone. She wanted him. She wanted him to love her.
Her tears trickled against Frodo's skin. He was so empty, cold, dark.
"What have I done to you, my Precious?"
Finally Sam cut them loose. He was surprised to see a woman curled in a ball against Frodo's torso, and he slowly dragged her off of his master.
"What are you doing in there?" he demanded.
Delamarth weakly protested against Sam's vicelike grip on her wrist. She stared down at Frodo, her lips fluttering in disbelief as she tried to form coherent words. He stared up blankly at the distant, dark sky. "I . . . Frodo . . . the spider . . ." She broke down with a cry, burying her face in Sam's shoulder. She gripped him hard, sobbed as though she had no life to live.
Sam paused, then patted her back very reservedly. "It's all right, Miss . . ." He didn't know her name.
"Delamarth," she managed. She'd never been so agonized in her life. "Samwise, he's dead! Frodo is dead!"
Sam shook his head hurriedly. "He can't be," he whispered. He reached forward, desperately lifting Frodo into his arms. Delamarth couldn't halt the tears as Sam tried to coax Frodo back to life—but, of course, it was no use.
"Who are you?" Sam asked finally, glancing up at her through his red, puffy eyes.
She sniffled again. "Frodo called me Delamarth," she whispered, unable to tear her gaze from his dead form. "I am the Ring, the One to rule them all." But I don't want them. He's gone. She felt sick; she'd never been nauseated before. This surprised her only for a moment: no other pain was fitting enough for her realization that Frodo no longer lived.
"The Ring," Sam whispered. Then he stared down at the chain around Frodo's wrist and reached forward with a shaky exhale. He unclipped the cuff from his master's wrist. Delamarth had ensured that Frodo would not take her off. Her head shot up when she heard the click, and her eyes widened in horror as he sealed the cuff around his own wrist. "I guess I'll have to take you, now that Mr. Frodo is gone." He bit back another sob, lightly kissing his master's forehead.
Delamarth stared at him. "No!" She reached forward for Frodo, but Sam glared up at her.
"You did this to him, you . . . you . . . you demon!" He grabbed the three chains spreading to her neck and wrists and stood. She knelt by Frodo's side, dragged him up into her embrace. Sam yanked her away. She strained against him violently, and Sam buckled in surprise. He then reinforced his grip in the ground, dragging back until he had her coming back towards him despite her powerful struggle.
"Frodo!"
