Samwise the Brave

Disclaimer: I do not - nor will I ever - own any of these characters nor do I make any money off of them!!

***

“What are you waiting for…”

Sam stood back, his heart pounding and watched. His master was motionless at the lip of the chasm. Sam could see a glint of gold in Frodo’s palm. The Ring.

He saw the hesitation in his master’s posture, could sense his will crumbling.

“Just let it go…” he cried, sweat mingling with a few helpless tears on his face.

Frodo started Sam’s words buffeting him through a haze of uncertainty. He caressed the Ring absently plucking at the chain of mithril which spilled like a pool of silver moonlight around the golden circle.

*Just let it go.* Frodo echoed in his mind. *Oh Sam. You have no idea how easy that request seems and yet how difficult it is to manage.*

His fingertips grasped the chain. Determined he raised it from his palm, dangling it before him over the fire that raged below.

It sparkled, glittering in the harsh light of Mount Doom. Whispers enveloped him caressing him like the heat from below. The words praised him, cajoled him, promised him so many wonderful things. It spread tendrils into his heart – into his soul – claiming him as its own.

Sam could see his master struggle as he pitted his own will against the seductive power of the Ring. His heart nearly stopped when Frodo turned and stared helplessly at him, his lower lip trembling. The Ring, still dangling in his grip winked and sparkled as if it were a thing alive. Then, like the breaking of a spell, Frodo spoke, powerfully and clear, his voice rising above the noise of the mountain around him

“I have come,” he said, “but I do not choose now to do what I came to do.”

His face changed then, the mask of indecision falling away to reveal a countenance at once, impassioned and hungry. Sam knew even as Frodo spoke those fateful words that the evil had taken him at last.

“The Ring is mine!”

Frodo ripped the Ring from its chain. He grinned – a savage sight that made Sam shudder – and slipped the golden circle onto his index finger. In the space of a heartbeat, Frodo had vanished.

“Frodo…No!” Sam cried out in horror. It seemed impossible after all this time, to have come so far only to have it end this way.

His eyes scanned the place where Frodo had been, searching for any sign of him. At first, Sam saw nothing, only waves of radiant heat and misty vapors rising from below.

“Mister Frodo, please,” he pleaded, shuffling nervously, feeling suddenly alone. “Frodo…”

Looking down, he scanned the ground for any sign of his master. It was then that he saw it. The print of a single foot in the dust, a hobbit’s foot, large and bare. And by the print’s location Sam knew he yet stood between his master and cavern’s entrance. Despairing, he knew that somehow he had to fix this.

“Frodo,” he whispered, holding his arms out to block as much space as he could. “Please don’t do this. Don’t let it end this way.”

Silence answered except for the beating of his heart and the growling thrum of the mountain.

“Master…? Frodo? Why don’t you answer me…?” Tears trickled down his dirty cheeks. “Frodo…”

“It’s over Sam,” Frodo whispered, close to Sam but not yet past him.

Sam pivoted toward the sound. “No, Frodo…it can’t be.”

“The Ring is mine. I will not destroy it.” Frodo’s words were decisive, his tone said he would tolerate no argument.

“And what about your Sam?” the young gardener asked, his heart twisting inside. “Will you desert me now? Will you desert the love we’ve managed to find here in this dark place?”

There was silence and Sam felt an instant of panic. Had Frodo somehow slipped by him? But then he heard a quiet sigh and felt soft fingers touch the tears on his cheek. For a moment he felt hope rekindled.

“Oh Frodo.” He leaned his face into the invisible hand that caressed him and wept openly. “What am I to do? How can I help you master, if you won’t let me?”

“This time you can’t, my sweet Sam. This is beyond your reach.”

“No Frodo…”

“Go home, Sam,” Frodo urged. His words were gentle, yet filled with pain. “Go back to the Shire. Go back to your life. Have children. Grow old. Forget about me.”

“Forget you, Frodo?” Sam exclaimed staggering as the floor pitched below his feet. “Beggin’ your pardon, master but that would be like forgetting how to breathe.”

“Oh Sam…” Frodo murmured, distantly, “You must. It can never be the same again. What we’ve shared on this long journey is ended.”

“Please Mister Frodo, after I’ve come all this way, don’t make me leave now. I could stay with you…” Sam offered, stalling, his mind racing. “Please say that I can follow you – just a little bit longer.

“No, Sam.” Frodo’s answer was final. “I will not let it take you too. Go home.”

“But Frodo…”

Sam’s argument faltered as a shaking rumble from the mountain cut off his words and pitched him forward. A second tremor threw him stumbling from his feet to his knees. He landed heavily on the rocky ground, biting through his lip as he hit. He cried out in surprise and pain, clutching a scraped hand to his bleeding face. Tears sprang anew from red-rimmed eyes and he wept without shame.

“I love you Frodo,” he sobbed, “I can’t go on without you; I can’t go on if you do not love me.”

Sam saw prints in the dust before him. He could smell the sweet scent of Frodo’s body before he felt his master’s hand wiping away the blood from his lips and chin. He threw himself forward with a cry, into the arms he trusted would catch him and was not disappointed.

“Sam, you silly hobbit,” Frodo soothed, tenderly stroking Sam’s hair with invisible fingers. “It is because I love you that you cannot stay.”

Frodo kissed Sam’s forehead then stroked his lips with a trembling fingertip. “Please go, now, before it’s too late.”

Sam sobbed, laying his cheek on Frodo’s unseen shoulder. His body shook in grief, uncomforted by the hands that gently stroked his back and arms. His mind careened out of control, grasping, clutching at the thought that – no matter what – he couldn’t let Frodo go. He must find a way of destroying the Ring, but how?

“Sam,” Frodo whispered, when the younger hobbit’s tears had subsided into ragged breathing. “Don’t do this to yourself. Listen and do as I say. Go home. In time you will find peace in the Shire. I know you will. You have your family and Rosie…”

“All right….” Sam agreed at last, hiccuping and wiping his nose on his sleeve. A plan to stall his master was forming in his mind even as he leaned away from Frodo’s embrace his eyes searching for a face he could not see. “But there is one condition. Agree to that and I’ll go and not look back.”

Frodo’s voice held an edge of doubt. “Go on.”

“Love me.” Sam blurted out. His hand searched for Frodo’s face, driven by desperation. He touched a smooth cheek and his eyes pleaded. “Love me.”

“I told you I do, Sam,” Frodo reminded, missing the nuance of Sam’s request, “with all my heart.”

“No…I mean…” Sam swallowed hard, cheeks coloring in spite of his fear. “…make love to me …physically…” He felt tears welling in his eyes again as he reached out to grip an invisible leg. “Give me one last memory to hold on to.”

“Right now…like this?” Frodo questioned in disbelief. “Right here?”

“Yes.” Sam slid his palm up Frodo’s thigh and stroked him lightly, feeling him harden under a familiar touch. “I want you,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. “I need you one last time.”

Frodo gripped Sam’s questing hand almost painfully. Sam could feel the cold burn of the Ring that wrapped Frodo’s finger and his blood turned to ice in his veins. He was afraid, but he had to keep Frodo here until he could figure out how to make things right.

He trembled as he felt Frodo’s gaze searching him, questioning, weighing his words. The hand that held him was hard and motionless as it bit into his flesh. He raised it to his lips and kissed it softly, then held it to his heat-flushed face. Again he could feel the Ring, pressing into his cheek, pulsing with the beat of Frodo’s heart.

*Courage, Samwise,* he thought. *Time is what I need…time.*

“Sam…” Frodo was nearly speechless. “No…”

“Then you will never be rid of me Mister Frodo,” Sam growled, grasping Frodo’s hand as he tried to pull it away. Sam’s mouth hardened, determination flashing in his honey brown eyes. “I will follow you to your grave or mine if you try to go now. I cannot leave you like this.”

“I can’t be who I was to you,” Frodo sighed. “The Ring has changed that.”

“Then let me have my memory,” Sam offered in compromise. “Hold me, touch me, love me with this invisible form of yours and I will close my eyes and remember what I can never forget. Let me feel you on me, and in me, let me taste you and smell you so that I can keep you alive forever in my mind and in my heart. Is that so much to ask?”

“And if I do this, then you will go?” Frodo’s questioned hopefully.

“Yes.” Sam voice was filled with grief but he nodded. “I will, I promise.”

In answer, Frodo circled Sam’s shoulders with his arms, pulling him close. He nuzzled at Sam’s neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses. His tongue flickered lightly against Sam’s throat lapping at the sweat that pooled there, teeth brushing against the bare flesh.

Sam sighed, wrapping his own arms around the form that pressed into him, closing his eyes against the emptiness he felt in his heart. He couldn’t look any longer, not knowing that he wouldn’t see his Frodo’s beautiful face. He would do as he’d said. He would close his eyes and rely on his memory to fill in the images that the Ring was stealing from him.

*Elbereth…please…help me,* the young gardener pleaded, squeezing his lids shut and surrendering to Frodo’s touch in the darkness. *Show me a way.*

Lips pressed against his face, covering him with sweet kisses and Sam moaned. His heart pounded, keeping time with the trembling of the mountain under his knees. He ran his own fingers across Frodo’s shoulders and back, worrying at how thin his master felt through the threadbare fabric of his shirt. He could almost count ribs as he trailed knowing fingertips down Frodo’s sides.

*I must stay with him somehow.* Sam decided, grasping the material of the shirt and pulling Frodo tight against his chest. *Who would take care of his master, if not Sam.*

He felt Frodo’s hands come up to capture his face between them, twining strong fingers in his hair – then Frodo’s lips covered his. The touch was hot, almost burning, and Sam gasped his lips parting. Frodo’s tongue slipped in quickly, eagerly forcing itself into Sam’s mouth, thrusting and delving deeply. Sam groaned, fire flaring in his belly. His head was swimming, dizzy with the taste of Frodo’s sweetness, a thing more desirable than food or water.

*Frodo…Frodo….Frodo…* Sam thought, picturing his lover’s face - the beautiful blue of his eyes, those rosy lips, his delicate features - as beautiful as any elf’s. He touched dark hair, sweaty in the heat of passion and the fiery mists of Mount Doom, letting the strands wrap around his fingers. Such beautiful curls certainly the envy of any lass in the Shire. *My Frodo…*

Sam pulled back from the devouring mouth that was trying to consume him and gasped, desperate for air. He could hear Frodo panting, leaning into him. Sam used the sound as a guide to find a delicate ear. He took the lobe carefully between his lips, caressing it with his tongue and softly sucking. Frodo trembled and gripped his shoulders, digging his fingers into the muscled flesh that lay there.

“Sam…” Frodo groaned, and Sam could tell that his head was tilted back.

“Yes, Frodo…” Sam whispered into the ear he’d been nibbling. His breath was warm and Frodo shuddered at the pleasant feel of it on his face.

“I can’t…” Frodo almost cried. “It’s wrong…”

“Shhhh,” Sam admonished without words.

He trailed kisses down Frodo’s slender neck and gently bit the spot where it met his shoulder. Nimble fingers searched for shirt buttons, undoing them with more ease than Sam would have imagined possible. He ran his hands inside the shirt, up to his master’s shoulders then back down, feeling the downy softness of the hair that grew there. He could picture the small brown circles of Frodo’s nipples laying exposed on his chest. From experience, Sam knew they’d already be hard – sensitive and eager for attention. Sam let his hands wander the smooth flesh until he could feel them peaked under his callused palms. He rubbed them, almost roughly, hearing Frodo’s breath catch in his throat. Lowering his mouth to find one of the raised buds, he worried it with both tongue and teeth until Frodo wrapped his fingers in Sam’s hair and pulled him away with a cry.

“I can’t do this!” he protested, trying to pull away from Sam. He was shaking, his passion barely controlled. “What if I hurt you?”

*More than you already have, more than you already are?* Sam thought, capturing Frodo’s body before he could succeed in fleeing. “You won’t. I know you won’t.”

“How can you have so much faith in me Sam, after all I’ve done to you?” Frodo’s voice was agonized, almost childlike, and it twisted Sam’s heart inside to hear it so.

“Because I love you.”

For a heartbeat, there was no sound but the grumbling of the mountain and the echoes of Sam’s simple declaration. The sandy-haired gardener held his breath and clutched Frodo’s arms, determined not to let him go. He realized now that he would do anything to save Frodo from the Ring’s evil. He would destroy them both if he could find no other way. He would rather lose his master to a quick death in the fires of Mount Doom than to see him become a new Dark Lord or worse, a wasted and wretched thing like that creature Gollum.

As the echo of Sam’s words died away, Frodo’s form suddenly came to life. With a cry of unbridled passion, he pitched forward into Sam’s chest, forcing the younger hobbit to his back on the rocky ground. Frodo crawled to straddle his hips, forcing him to stay where he’d fallen. Invisible hands fumbled at Sam’s shirt fastenings. When they did not readily yield Frodo tore at them desperately, until they gave way, freeing the gardener’s muscled chest to his eager – almost frantic hands. He caressed wildly, trying to touch everywhere at once, running palms and short nails over the tight golden flesh. He stroked soft brown hair and teased taut nipples, hungry for the feel of his dear, sweet Sam.

Sam lay there stunned at Frodo’s sudden ardent attack. For a moment he was unsure and he took a deep breath to quell his fear. He could feel Frodo’s hardened member pressing into him through the layers of their clothing, could feel the desperate questing of his master’s needy hands and he strengthened his resolve. Sam believed, in his heart, that Frodo would not hurt him.

Gasping as finger and thumb pinched an aroused nipple, Sam searched for and grasped both of Frodo’s wrists. He was still stronger than Frodo, barely, and he pulled the hands from his chest and up to his shoulders, forcing Frodo’s half-bare body down to lay against his own. He circled Frodo’s form with his arms, pulling them tightly together and moaned at the full press of his master’s fiery body as it lay against him. Frodo twined his fingers in Sam’s hair, capturing his lover’s full lips in another burning kiss. He ground against Sam, using one knee to force the young gardener’s legs apart so that he could lie between them. Sam complied, without resisting, and wrapped his legs around Frodo capturing him in a tight embrace.

“Oh Sam…” Frodo murmured into the younger hobbit’s mouth, kissing his lips, his chin, each of his ruddy cheeks and finishing with his closed eyelids. “My Sam.”

Not trusting his voice, Sam let his hands speak for him, running them down Frodo’s back and to his firm behind. He grasped both cheeks and squeezed, pulling his master’s slender hips tightly against him – feeling Frodo’s hardness press against his own. Frodo arched, wantonly, grinding into the body beneath him and groaned. Sam continued to massage Frodo’s rump, pulling their bodies together with each squeeze and thrust with his own hips in turn.

Frodo struggled away from Sam’s grip, pushing against his chest and crawling backwards to kneel between the sandy-haired hobbit’s legs. Sam tensed, ready to spring if Frodo tried to stand, but was relieved to feel his master’s hands fumbling with the belt around his waist.

“I want you…” Frodo’s cry was desperate, demanding. He growled with frustration as his over-eager hands struggled with the fastenings on Sam’s belt and trousers.

“Let me,” Sam offered, moving Frodo’s hands aside. He unbuckled the belt and after pulling it aside, he started on the buttons. He could feel Frodo’s knees pressed against the inside of his legs as he eased the breeches off his hips and half way down his thighs. “You’ll get your own then, Mister Frodo? Me not being able to see you and all.”

Frodo laughed, a strange and frightening sound, which made the hairs on Sam’s neck prickle. “Yes, I will,” he breathed in a panting whisper.

Sam could feel Frodo’s movements as he lowered his braces and pulled free from the pants with hurried movements. He risked a peek through his mostly closed eyes and saw a pile of fabric that resembled Frodo’s breeches, suddenly appear on the ground to the side of where they lay. He felt Frodo’s hands grip his own half-removed garment and pull it down his legs and off each foot. He gasped as Frodo stroked the hair on the tops of his feet, tickling at the sensitive spots that he’d laughingly discovered – what seemed a lifetime ago.

“Oh, Frodo…” Sam cried, his toes curling.

At the sound of his name moaning from his lover’s lips, Frodo pounced onto Sam’s body once more, pressing into him full length. His body felt hot against Sam’s chest and legs, almost fevered – as if the passion were burning a path straight through him. It seemed that Frodo’s hands and mouth were everywhere, moving so fast and with such fervor that it made the younger hobbit dizzy trying to keep up. Sam’s own body throbbed with wanting – desiring Frodo, needing him like he had never needed anyone. He’d never known such passion before; the height of it was staggering, almost unnerving. Sam was afraid it would consume him – just as it seemed to be consuming Frodo. He wondered, was this somehow the Ring’s doing?

You cannot forget, Samwise, he reminded, as he gasped at the feel of Frodo’s tongue licking his belly, a hand stroking the inside of one thigh. *You cannot forget what it is you have to somehow do.*

His body arched, and he bit his hand to stifle a cry as Frodo’s tongue drew a burning line down his fully erect shaft, his teeth nipping playfully at the sac beneath. Frodo laughed again, and curled his tongue around the head, sucking it slowly inside his warmth, savoring the feel and taste of it in his mouth. Light flashed behind Sam’s closed eyes as Frodo took all of him slowly in, encouraging him to slide far into his throat. He could feel Frodo’s muscles constrict, trying to swallow him, before he slid the shaft out, pausing to circle the head with his tongue then once again taking him all the way in.

One of Frodo’s hands played with his balls, massaging and squeezing them in time with the stroking of his mouth and lips. The other delved further beneath Sam’s body, stroking the cleft between his cheeks, searching for the entrance that lay there. Sam wanted to relax, knowing what was coming but in the driving passion fired by the touch of Frodo’s mouth he could not.

The first finger burned as it pressed into the tight opening, sliding in as Frodo’s mouth continued its skilled assault. Sam whimpered, in pain and pleasure, sweat trickling down his face – matting his hair to his forehead. He cried out as a second finger joined the first, Frodo barely giving him time to get used to it before adding a third. The fingers delved deeply, keeping time with the plunge of Sam’s shaft into Frodo’s throat. Frodo found the pleasure spot inside of him almost immediately and he stroked it with every thrust, conquering Sam with wave after wave of overwhelming sensation. The pain was quickly forgotten, washed away by Frodo’s unerring skill.

Pinned between his master’s hot mouth and nimble fingers, Sam spiraled out of control, lost to everything but the moment. The two touches combined to push Sam over the edge. He clutched at the bare ground as his hips spasmed and he exploded into Frodo’s hungry mouth, thrusting rhythmically until his master had sucked him dry.

Sam could do nothing but pant, his chest heaving, as he felt Frodo’s tongue lick him clean. He was lost, he could think of nothing but the pleasure of Frodo’s touch on his sensitive body. Could come up with no plan to rescue him. Yet in the strength of their love, there had to be a way.

“Sam….” Frodo’s voice was a whisper, still close – Sam could feel the weight of his master’s hands, resting lightly on his trembling thighs. “Sam…”

“Yes Frodo,” he managed through dry lips.

“Do you still want me to stay? Do you still wish for me to finish what we’ve started?”

Part of Sam wanted to scream “NO! Leave me now; leave me with this blissful, happy feeling and let it sustain me.” But he couldn’t. Not as long as hope still remained. Until Frodo was gone, there was still a chance to fix this.

“Yes…” he agreed, tears trickling from the corners of his tightly shut eyes. “I must have all of you, that was the agreement.”

“I don’t want to hurt you Sam,” Frodo admitted, though his still eager hands were already reaching under Sam’s legs to raise his hips from the ground.

Even without sight, Sam could tell Frodo’s body was painfully aroused, his ardor barely controlled. Frodo wanted him, he had no doubt of that and Sam knew it wouldn’t take much encouraging for him to take what he wanted.

“You won’t, Frodo.” Sam’s reassurance sounded hollow and unconvincing, even to his own ears.

“I don’t know if I can control what I’ll do,” Frodo continued, caressing Sam’s hips, kneading the flesh with strong, deft fingers. “And I know I will not be able stop once it has begun.”

Sam nodded, his voice failing him. He could feel the touch of the Ring again, burning into his right thigh like a fiery brand and it made him shudder in spite of his resolve.

“Very well…” Frodo whispered.

Sam groaned as he felt Frodo’s fingers probe him again, pushing deeply. He tried again to relax, but couldn’t will his rebellious body to do so. Fear was starting to take hold now, not fear of what Frodo was going to do – Sam still trusted that his master would not hurt him – but fear of what Sam would do, once it was done. Once Frodo’s bargain was fulfilled, he would leave. Sam couldn’t let that happen.

Clutching at the ground, Sam panted as Frodo’s fingers withdrew. He could feel Frodo shift between his legs in preparation. He sucked in a breath when he felt the touch of Frodo’s cock as it slid between his cheeks and pressed against the tight opening. Frodo was trembling, barely contained as he pressed against the entrance, shoving too quickly and too fully into the opening. Sam choked on a cry, feeling impaled by Frodo’s too eager thrust, and he groaned in pain.

“Frodo…” Sam gasped, hands flying up to grip his master’s arms. “Oh…”

“I warned you Sam,” Frodo reminded breathlessly, raising Sam’s knees higher as his hips pushed deeper until he was fully sheathed in Sam’s body. “I warned you.”

“Slowly…” Sam groaned, feeling split in two. “Please.”

Frodo paused, pressed against Sam, throbbing inside of him. Sam could feel him shake, knew that he held onto his control by the barest of threads.

“Just give your Sam…some time to adjust…” he panted, trying to relax as the wave of pain subsided into a dull aching.

Again, Frodo laughed reaching a hand up to brush at Sam’s curls, trailing his fingers down the gardener’s face to stroke his lips. He thrust his hips, not pulling out but driving deeper still and Sam’s mouth opened in a silent cry.

“There is no more time, Samwise Gamgee,” Frodo whispered, caressing the fullness of Sam’s bottom lip as he plunged into him again. “No more time for us or for you.”

“Th…there’s always…time…” Sam choked out, Frodo’s body impaling him with each deep stroke. “Oh… Frodo…don’t do this…” He cried out again as Frodo’s next thrust hit him in just the right spot to touch off a wave of pleasure to mingle with the pain. “Ah…”

“You talk too much, Sam,” Frodo chided, leaning into him and biting his nipple with fierce teeth, causing the younger hobbit to yelp in surprise. “Always talking too much.” He sucked away the hurt, covering the wounded dark circle with moist warmth, mingling the pain once again with pleasure. Sam arched against him.

Still stroking the gardener’s face with his fingers, he brushed his lips once more then thrust his finger into Sam’s open mouth.

“Suck me.” It was not a request, but a demand, and something different in Frodo’s voice made Sam hesitant to comply. The change in tone frightened him and the hobbit gardener opened his eyes to face his master – even though there was nothing there for him to see.

*Why Frodo?* his mind wanted to scream even though he already knew the answer. The Ring was doing this, making his master act this way. His eyes questioned the empty air.

“Do as I say, Sam.” This order was accompanied by a less than gentle stroke to his lower body, one that filled him with pain, and the young gardener did as he was told.

Sam could feel it there, the Ring, burning against his tongue even as he sucked the finger that plunged into his mouth. It flashed in his mind, a horrid red burning light. Not just the eye, but something different, something darker – even more malevolent. The finger delved deeper, pushing into his throat, making Sam choke and pull away, though with his head braced against the bare rock of Mount Doom, there was no where for him to go. The Ring, this evil power, throbbed in his mouth like the pain and pleasure that throbbed in his body. It would not let him go.

It laughed in his head, filling him with a burning darkness. You cannot have him. It said, piercing him with a pain that had nothing to do with Frodo’s now pleasure driven movements. Sam’s body writhed – a burning agony coursing through every nerve, but he could not find the breath to scream. The words continued relentlessly. *You cannot save him. He is mine. He belongs to me. I will use him to destroy you.*

Sam shook his head, choking as the finger pushed deeper into his throat. He ran his lips over the metal, searching trying to pry it loose by sheer force of will. He gripped it with his teeth, pulled at it, plied it with his tongue trying to work it loose from his master’s hand. Sam hoped that if it came off – even just a little – perhaps some sanity would come back into Frodo’s mind.

By now, Sam couldn’t really feel Frodo anymore, though he was vaguely aware of the press of a slender body into his own. His mind was darkening, heart throbbing in his ears. He was suffocating, choking on the Ring that seemed to expand as it lay there burning in his mouth.

*Soon it will be over,* the Ring soothed, stroking his mind with misty fingers – covering his consciousness with a warm and gentle darkness. *The quest, the pain…everything. Sleep.*

*Oh Frodo,* he thought, fighting the darkness as bright sparkles burned at the edges of his vision. *But I have to save him.*

*You cannot save him.* The Ring tormented, laughter ringing in his ears. Sam could feel the fingers of mist grip at his throat, throttling him as he lay there. *He is MINE.*

*NO!* Sam’s mind screamed out, knowing this was it. If he didn’t do something now it would be over. The quest will have failed and his master would be gone.

Desperation seized the young hobbit, dragging him from the edge of darkness to fight. Sam grabbed Frodo’s wrist with both of his hands, pulling just enough to break the relentless press of the Ring against him. When the golden circle no longer touched his tongue, air returned to flood his tortured lungs. Awareness came back to him, in a rush when full consciousness was restored.

Frodo’s fingers still lay on Sam’s lips, the tips caressing them in time with the thrust of his body. He was nearing climax. Sam could feel the frenzied strokes as Frodo drove himself to completion.

The pain was gone now, replaced by the dull ache of building passion and Sam felt himself filled with love for Frodo once again. He knew Frodo would never hurt him. It was the Ring…how was it that Gollum had said it…it was the Precious that made him do it. Sam believed this now. In some small part of his heart, Sam now understood Gollum and realized that he might finally be able to find it in himself to forgive the wretched creature. Yes, the Precious had made him do it. And the Precious had to go.

In a moment, Sam knew what he had to do. And he knew he had to do it now. If Frodo was finished, it would be too late.

“Forgive me,” Sam whispered, coaxing the tip of Frodo’s finger back into his mouth and wrapping it with a wet tongue – careful to avoid the touch of the Ring. He sucked, urging Frodo to completion with the added caress of tongue, teeth and mouth. He gripped his master’s wrist with both his hands, stroking it in time with the movement of Frodo’s body and waited.

In moments, Sam felt Frodo shudder, his body climaxing at last. His master cried out, his back arched in pleasure, and thrust deeply piercing the younger hobbit one last time. Sam trembled feeling the warm sensation as Frodo spilled his seed deep inside of him.

At that same moment Sam shoved the finger fully into his mouth and bit down hard, catching it just above the Ring. He held on tightly with both teeth and hands as Frodo screamed, his body going rigid with pain. Sam gagged as his master’s blood washed down his throat and spilled from his mouth in a hot and salty torrent. His teeth grated against bone and he felt the Ring slide but it did not come off.

Frodo struggled against him now, trying to wrest his hand away but Sam held firm, refusing to relinquish his hold. His determination made him strong as he bit again, catching the knuckle between his molars, pressing until his jaw ached and he felt bone shatter between his teeth. He twisted his head and the digit gave way at last, falling loose in his mouth. His grip on Frodo’s wrist lessened as soon as the finger came free, allowing the other hobbit to pull away.

Pitching backwards, Frodo fell away from Sam and reappeared before his near naked body hit the ground. Howling in anger and agony, he clutched at his mangled hand and doubled over in pain.

Free from the press of Frodo’s body, Sam sat up retching. He gagged against a wave of nausea and nearly choked as he spat the Ring and finger from his mouth, into his palm.

“Give it to me Sam!” Frodo screamed, seeing the Ring in Sam’s possession. The bleeding stub that had been his finger was forgotten in his desire to reclaim what Sam now held. He regained his knees unsteadily and extended his undamaged hand. “Give me the Ring!”

“No Frodo!” Sam screamed in return, recoiling from Frodo and crawling backwards a few feet before rolling over and struggling to his knees. “It’s over!”

“Give it to me!” Frodo was moving now, coming at him and Sam scrambled away, towards the edge. “Sam, do as I say!”

“No, not this time.” Sam’s words were quiet as he extracted the Ring from Frodo’s ruined finger. It hummed in his hand, tempting him, calling to him. But the horror of what he had just done pushed Sam far past listening to it.

“SAM!” Frodo’s cry was agonized and it clutched at Sam’s heart. “Please…”

“You will not have him.” Sam spoke to the Ring. He stretched out his hand, the Ring lying on his palm, and tipped it into the chasm. The golden circle clung there for a second reluctant to fall, but with a shake of the gardener’s hand it slipped away at last.

Frodo lunged at the Ring as it dropped, but Sam grabbed him before he could plummet past and into the fires himself. They grappled for a moment but Sam’s strength was fresh and growing, while Frodo’s was quickly fading away. Sam held Frodo fast as the Ring lay on the molten surface for the briefest of moments – the fire’s heat bringing to life the inscription for one last time. Then, it melted away, sinking into the fire that had spawned it, and was gone.

With the Ring’s hold over him broken at last, Frodo collapsed sobbing into Sam’s arms, his energy spent. A thundering sound rolled off of the cavernous sides of the mountain and all around them, rocks started tumbling into the chasm below.

“Run Frodo!” Sam yelled, releasing his master from his arms and pushing him toward the entrance. Scooping up Sting and their discarded clothes as he ran past, Sam pushed forward, driving Frodo in front of him. The two hobbits ran, fleeing as Mount Doom came crashing down around them. They ran and climbed, until there was nowhere else to run to and the molten rock had trapped them with no way to escape.

“It’s gone,” Frodo murmured, falling to his back on the stone. “It’s done.”

Sam wiped at the blood and sweat that wet his mouth, then struggled into his pants, and nodded. “Yes, Mister Frodo. It’s over.”

He helped Frodo to dress, smoothing his hair and face with gentle touches. He tore off a piece of his own shirt as a makeshift bandage to wrap his master’s severed finger. The sight haunted him, his poor Frodo’s hand.

They were quiet there for a time, listening to the raging destruction that surrounded them. Caught up in their own private thoughts, both of them knew that the end was near. There was no escape left open to them this time.

Frodo lay with eyes closed, a small smile softening his lips, in spite of the hopelessness. He touched Sam’s hand, gripping it tightly. “I can see the Shire again Sam, the trees, the fields…the garden at Bag End, thriving under your tender care…”

“…me fixing you breakfast, while you work in your study; long nights reading Elvish verses by the fire…” Sam continued, his sigh turning into a small sob.

Frodo sat up compassion and love filling his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Sam. “I’m glad you’re with me, Samwise Gamgee, here at the end of all things. Together, for all the time that remains to us. As it should be.”

He soothed Sam, holding him closely until the very fumes of the dying mountain overcame them. Frodo looked upon the face he dearly loved, his Sam’s face finally wreathed in peace, and smiled – content. As the darkness over took him at last, he knew that he was home.

In the distance, an Eagle cried.

-Fini