Frodo awoke with a start at the sound of an argument behind him.

"Master looks after us now. He's our friend!"

Sam slept on as Gollum went on to mock himself, calling himself liar, thief, murderer. Frodo remained still, not wishing to draw the attention of the shriveled creature, until the tone of Gollum's reply caused him to roll over and watch.

"Smeagol is free!"

The whirling form of Gollum danced in the pale moonlight. Joy unseen before on his disheveled face made the creature even more pitiable, almost revealing the image of the innocent he had been hundreds of years ago, before the Ring had corrupted him.

I have to believe he can come back.

The words echoed in Frodo's mind, his words, spoken to Sam as they watched Gollum chase a fish through a rocky streambed. The hobbit could already feel the influence of the Ring twisting his soul, turning him dark inside. Sam did not see. He did not understand that Frodo had to try. If there were no way to save Gollum, he himself would be lost.

Yet it seemed that the barest of kindnesses he had shown Gollum had already had an effect. Early on had Gollum not saved him in the Dead Marshes? Even now, thought still dark and loathsome in appearance, was there not a new-found eagerness and hope to Gollum as he capered about the clearing? His voice was lighter, as if he had thrown off a weight that had been crushing him. Could it be that simple kindness would save the creature? Was there still a heart in Gollum that could be made to feel, and in feeling, pull Smeagol from the ruin that was his existence?

Frodo rose to his feet silently, mindful of Sam at his side. Sam would not understand. Sam had no tolerance for the darkness of Gollum. He would be of no assistance in Smeagol's redemption.

"Smeagol?" Frodo called quietly, crossing the clearing to where the creature was now frozen in mid-step.

"Master! We dids not wakes you, dids we?" Smeagol crouched at Frodo's feet, his blue eyes reflecting the moon that shone over Frodo's shoulder.

"No Smeagol, you didn't," Frodo assured kindly, resting one hand on the cowering creature's shoulder. He smiled gently as he returned Gollum's gaze, feeling the creature relax at his touch.

Blue eyes... blue eyes so like mine...

Though Gandalf had told him of their shared ancestry, it was not until now that Frodo could openly see Smeagol inside Gollum. The smile that radiated from the dirty face was one of pure innocence under blue eyes that hid nothing and begged for approval.

Frodo sank to his knees before the hunched creature. His hand drifted from Gollum's shoulder to his neck, slipping up to caress the weathered cheek. Gollum did not shrink from the touch, and his eyes never left Frodo's. "We are more alike than not, aren't we?" Frodo whispered.

"Master?" Gollum prompted eagerly. There was a tenderness to the touch on his cheek that harkened Smeagol back to times long lost in memory. Lonely for so long, he could only smile to show his delight in the attention granted him.

Had he ever been touched in kindness? Frodo lifted his other hand to cradle Gollum's head. No wonder the poor soul had fallen so far. He had had nothing to hold to, no care for anyone other than himself. Smeagol had been tempted by the Ring because it had promised him what no one else ever had ・love. Lost in the blue eyes gazing back at him, in the desperate devotion of the lost soul those eyes spoke for, Frodo was blind to the wretched form that housed a heart shriveled from torment. He saw only a pain he knew too well and a desire to be mended that he shared.

Gollum did not draw away as Master's face came close. He did not shy from the touch of warm lips against his cold ones, the slender tongue that slipped into his mouth, exploring. This simple pressure kindled heat in his body, a body that had not felt anything in so long.

Frodo pulled away. He'd felt Gollum respond to the kiss. Was it love? Did it matter? He felt something in his heart, where he had been growing more numb with each passing day. If mere kindness could bring the creature this far, surely love would win him back from the Ring. Perhaps they could save each other.

"Master?" Gollum whispered, letting himself be drawn into the warm embrace of the hobbit.

"Trust Master, Smeagol," Frodo replied tenderly, pressing against the chill flesh of the wiry creature. Blue eyes met, then lips, and the two slaves of the Ring merged into one form beneath the grey shelter of Frodo's cloak.

---

"They are young, they are tender, they are nice! Eat them! Eat them!" Smeagol crowed, sinking his teeth into the still warm flesh of the rabbit he had caught for Master.

Sam had given up on his attempts to convince Frodo to eat, but not so Gollum. Frodo's eyes filled with tears at the gift the devoted creature had brought. Since their first night Gollum had been ever attentive. The road had never been so smooth and easy as now that Gollum cared to find an easier path. When Frodo was weary at night but could not sleep, Gollum was a comfort against fear and doubt. There was warmth deep in the cool body. Frodo found strength in being needed by the tortured soul.

Wearied almost beyond caring, but certainly beyond eating, Frodo smiled blearily up at Sam who thundered over to wave Gollum away. "Make him sick you will!" Sam chastised, his angry voice driving Gollum from his place beside Master.

Before Frodo could protest the other hobbit snagged the two rabbits and began preparing a stew, much to Gollum's dismay. Frodo cast a look of gratitude at Gollum, earning another toothy grin from the creature. It was not Gollum's fault that Sam could not see the good being reborn in their guide.

---

"Trust Master," he said again, luring Gollum away from the pool and the death that threatened him.

Gollum followed Frodo, his fish hanging limply from his mouth. Master had shown him kindness. Master was deserving of his trust, his love. Master was the new precious, so soft to stroke and warm to hold, with eyes like those Gollum saw reflected back when snatching fish from a stream or pool.

Blue eyes flitted about looking for the fat hobbit. Seeing not the round shape of Sam but instead the tall forms of Men, Gollum cried a warning, "Master!"

"Don't hurt him!" Frodo cried to the hulking figures wrestling with Gollum. He had known they were there. "Smeagol, don't struggle!"

A black cloth was wrapped around Gollum's head, but his desperate eyes had met Frodo's before being covered.

Not Master!

Yes, Precious, false!

Was that betrayal in Gollum's eyes as they were cloaked? Before Frodo could explain Gollum was spirited away, up the cliff to the Captain of Gondor. Surely the creature would trust to his heart, would know that this was not a betrayal but the only thing Frodo could do to protect him.

He is bound to me, and I to him...

...but was that bond strong enough to bolster Gollum under the scrutiny of Men?

The journey to Osgiliath offered no opportunity for the hobbit and Gollum to speak. It pained Frodo to see his partner bound and forced to travel under the harsh sun that burned Gollum's skin. With his hands tied behind his back it was difficult for the twisted creature to walk. Every cry that fell from his lips stung Frodo deeply, as each cry was a further wedge between them. The few words of encouragement he was able to speak Gollum either did not hear or would not respond to.

The three travelers were thrown together at the base of a wall when the Nasgul attacked, their keepers abandoning them to defend the city. Sam's presence denied Frodo the opportunity to comfort the clearly distressed Gollum. Sinking into despair at his failure, Frodo's will was easily shaped by the Ring. He stepped from behind the wall. Slow footsteps carried him up the stair, the Ring now in his hand. The Black Rider drew near on his great winged beast. The world was silent but for the beating of his heart in unison with the beating of leathery black wings. Frodo held the Ring aloft, offering it, offering himself, offering everything in exchange for an end.

Falling.

Sam.

The winged creature screamed, its breast pierced by an arrow. The quarry was beyond its grasp again.

Woken by the hideous sound, Frodo looked down at the teary face of Sam below him. "Don't you know your Sam?"

It was Sam who had saved him from himself, Sam whose brave heart had been a constant throughout their journey. Sam who had seen better than he himself had what was happening, and who had had the patience to wait.

Frodo fell away. Sting fell from his hand to clatter sharply against the stone paving. "I can't do this Sam."

He didn't hear many of the soft words Sam spoke then, but he heard the tone, and when Sam helped him to his feet he saw the passion behind the usually placid demeanor.

"That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for!"

The eyes that looked back at him were not blue as his own, but they had known the same beauties back in the Shire, had seen the same horrors since, and shed the same tears. The devotion there was not to the quest, but to him, to Frodo. Sam had had no patience for Gollum because he did not care to save the creature. His goal all along was to preserve the hobbit he had sworn to follow, not to save Frodo because he carried the precious Ring. Here was the love that would be his salvation.

Smeagol saw the look that passed between the hobbits. He saw Master's deep blue eyes, so like his own, fill with tears at something the fat hobbit said. His own face fell as he recognized the truth in Gollum's words.

They will cheat you, hurt you, lie!

He'd protested, trusting the Master. Then the Master had come to him with gentle touches, low moans, and with blue eyes that soothed after the burning gaze of the Red Eye of Mordor. Master had brought light back into his dark, dank world. Master had made him feel again. Master had given him something to hold precious after the Ring's betrayal. Hiding inside once more, Smeagol wept for his broken heart as Gollum berated him, goading him to vengeance and to reclaim what was rightly his, his birthday present.

Master betrayed us! Wicked, tricksy, false! We ought to wring his filthy little neck! Kill him! Kill him! Kill them both. Then we take the Precious, and we be the master!

Behind him the hobbits spoke lovingly between them of tales to be told when all was done. Samwise the Brave. Frodo, the most famousest of hobbits. Little did they know that none would ever know what befell them. No tales would be told of either hobbit. She would see to it.