Title:  Dust & Ash
Author: Kathryn Ramage
Email:  kramage@erols.com
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Rating: NC17
Summary: After rescuing Frodo from the tower at Cirith Ungol, 
Sam refuses to return the Ring.  Growing desperate, and slowly 
going mad, Frodo tries to get it back by any means he can.

Disclaimer: The characters and overall storyline are not mine.  
They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien's estate, and I'm just playing 
with them a little bit to entertain myself and anyone else who 
likes this kind of thing.  This story is based on the book,
not film, version of events, and some of the dialogue used is 
taken from the final chapters of ROTK.

Warning: Although the sex in this story is consensual, it 
involves deceit and treachery, and there are a few acts of 
violence between hobbits that sensitive readers may find 
alarming.  Oh, and just the mildest hint of bondage.

October 2003 

!~|i|~!

The last thing Frodo remembered was running out of the terrible 
darkness of the tunnel, away from the ensnaring cobwebs and the 
monster hiding within its lair.  He had run wildly, heedless 
of anything but the danger he had just escaped and the cleft of 
the pass that lay ahead. Then, suddenly, he was struck him from 
behind.

The next thing he knew, he was in a dank, filthy room--in the 
tower he and Sam had seen from the pass?--a prisoner of the 
orcs.  His captors were slicing off his clothes with large, 
curved knives.  A nasty draught of some dark liquid was poured 
down his throat, and he was jolted into nauseated wakefulness.  

An orc soldier grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet to 
stand before the captains.  They had many questions for him:  
Who was he?  What was he doing in Mordor?  And, most baffling, 
what could he tell them about the Elf warrior who had come 
with him?  Others gathered around and, between the captains' 
questions, made vague, leering threats about what they were 
going to do with him if he didn't give the right answers.  
They tested the blades of their knives with their tongues or 
fingertips, then poked at his bare skin, laughing when he 
flinched and remarking how soft and tender he was.  Frodo 
didn't know if they meant to molest him, eat him, or skin 
him alive.  

But, except for an occasional cuff from the orc who held his 
arm, they did not harm him.  One of the captains, a brute 
larger than all the rest, kept the others in check.  

Frodo was at first amazed to find himself with so unlikely a
protector, then he realized that this had nothing to do with
mercy or kindness.  He was being reserved for some fate more 
vile than orc sport; whatever awaited him, it was far worse 
than mere torture or rape.

When they finished the questioning, the large captain took 
him up to the chamber in the very top of the tower, out of 
the reach of the soldiers, and left him alone there.  Nearly 
out of his mind with terror and hopelessness, Frodo curled 
into a corner amid the rags provided as a bed and stifled 
his sobs.  He didn't even dare to move.
 
How much time passed?  It seemed like days as he drifted in 
and out of consciousness.  A quarrel below woke him once.  
From what he could hear of it, the orcs were fighting over 
his mithril shirt.  There were howls and screams as things 
quickly became violent, then the ugly sounds of those knives 
being used.  After that, it was quiet for a very long time.  
Much later, he thought he heard Sam's voice, singing, and 
tried to answer it even though he knew he must be dreaming.  

A guard came up to silence him.  "You stop that squeaking, 
little rat, or I'll give you something to squeak about!" 

The orc stood over him, whip upraised.  Frodo lifted his arm 
to ward off the anticipated blow...

But it never fell.  Instead, there was an outraged yelp, and 
a heavy crash.  When he opened his eyes, the orc was gone and 
Sam was there. 

"Frodo!"  His friend knelt and half-lifted him from the floor.  
"Mr. Frodo, my dear!  It's your Sam.  I've come for you."  Sam 
brushed the tangled hair back from Frodo's face and kissed his 
brow, then his temples, eyelids, cheeks.  

"Sam..?" Frodo put up one hand to hold him off, dazed at this 
onslaught of kisses and not entirely certain it wasn't all a 
dream.  "Is it really you?"

"It's me."  Sam's eyes flickered over his face with great 
wonderment and joy, then he gave Frodo one last kiss on the 
mouth before hugging him close.  "I thought I'd never find 
you!"  

Frodo shut his eyes, still somewhat dazed by this enthusi-
astic display of affection, but just as glad to see his 
friend as Sam was to see him.  "What happened?" he asked.  
"How did I get here... and how on earth did _you_?"

"That's an awfully long story, Mr. Frodo, and we've no time 
for long tales now.  It'll have to wait `til we're far away 
from this place."  Reluctantly, Sam let him go.  "I've got to 
get you out of here."   

"All right..."  While he would have liked nothing better than 
to rest in Sam's arms, Frodo knew that this moment couldn't 
last.  He opened his eyes and sat up.  "How are we going to 
do it?"

"Are you hurt badly?" Sam asked him.  "Can you walk?"

"I'm not hurt, Sam.  I think I can walk."  Frodo tried it.
Rising to his feet, he took a few tentative paces; while he 
felt a little unsteady, and there were aches and pains in 
the knotted muscles of his back and legs, he thought he 
would be able to manage.  "I'll be all right," he said, and 
smiled.  "But you'll have to find me something to wear.  I 
can't go strolling across Mordor like this, with nothing 
on!  They've taken all my clothes, everything I had..." 

The words trailed away and the smile faded.  He turned to 
Sam, eyes wide with sudden horror as he realized what he 
was saying.  One hand went to his throat; the chain was 
not there.  "They took everything, Sam. Do you understand? 
_Everything_!"  Frodo sank to the floor and drew up his 
knees to hug them to himself, crushed by renewed despair.  
"They have the Ring," he moaned, rocking on his heels.  
"Our quest has failed.  Even if we get out of here, we 
can't escape.  No one can, except the Elves, away over 
the Sea.  Middle-earth will fall.  It's all lost."

"No, Mr. Frodo." Sam came to crouch beside him and put one 
arm around him.  "It's not lost, not yet.  They didn't take 
everything.  I've got the Ring."

Frodo looked up.  "You-?"

"I took it from you, begging your pardon.  I've kept it safe."

"Sam!" Frodo cried, his hopes lifting again at this incredible 
news.  "You're a marvel!"  Then, a shadow seemed to fall be-
tween them; when he looked at Sam, he no longer saw a dear 
and trusted friend, but a sneaking thief.  "You took my Ring?  
How dare you!"

Sam recoiled from the harsh words as if he'd been slapped.  
He stared at Frodo, tears welling in his eyes.

"It's mine, do you hear?" Frodo insisted.  "Give it back to 
me this instant."  He held out his hand for the Ring but, 
as he did, Sam's wounded expression changed; his eyes were
still sad, but his lower lip thrust out with sudden deter-
mination and something in his face seemed to harden. 

"No," he answered.

Frodo could hardly believe his ears.  "No?" 

"I can't."  Sam sounded almost apologetic.  "I see what it's 
been doing to you, Mr. Frodo.  It's been a terrible burden, 
eating away at you every day.  It'll kill you before we get 
to where we're going.  You can't go on bearing it."  His face 
hardened again.  "I can't let you.  So, if you don't mind, 
I'll keep hold of it awhile longer."

"Thief!"  With a cry of fury, Frodo flew at him, and sent 
Sam sprawling backwards.  "Give it back!"  

His fingers first sought the pockets of Sam's waistcoat--then, 
when he saw the glint of the chain at his friend's throat, he 
dove for it, tearing open Sam's shirt collar.  Sam plucked his 
hands away.  Frodo tried to dive at him again, but Sam kept a 
firm grip on his wrists and held him off.  With a quick twist 
of his arms, Sam turned Frodo around and pinned him, back 
against his chest, body braced between his knees, both arms 
wrapped around him.  

Frodo struggled, kicked the air, and shouted, "Let go of 
me! Let me go, blast you!" but Sam held onto him stubbornly.  
When he tried to bite Sam's wrists to make him let go, a 
hand came up to cover his mouth.  

"Here, now.  None of that."  Sam pressed Frodo's head back 
gently into the hollow of his shoulder.  "I couldn't let you 
have it, Mr. Frodo.  Look what it's done to you already. It's
driving you mad."  

Frodo continued to squirm furiously, helplessly, but the arms 
around him would not yield.  Sam was larger and stronger than 
he was, even when he was not in a weakened state.  Now that 
his initial burst of anger had faded, it left him utterly 
drained.  He could not break free.  

He couldn't believe this was happening; his rescue, so hoped 
for, so wonderful only minutes ago, had turned into a night-
mare.  The Ring had obviously overtaken Sam.

"Hush, now.  Ssh.  Quiet down," Sam went on in a soothing, 
reasonable voice.  "Try to see sense, Mr. Frodo.  You're
doing yourself no good.  There might be one or two of them 
orcs left alive downstairs, and others will come along soon 
enough.  If you go on fighting me this way, they'll find us
here.  We'll both be taken prisoner, and the Enemy'll have 
the Ring.  You don't want that to happen, do you?"

No, of course he didn't.  The threat of it was enough to make 
Frodo stop struggling.  He lay still, breathing hard through 
his nose.   
 
"All right," said Sam.  "I'll find you some clothes and a 
bite to eat, and I'll get you away from here as soon as ever 
I can, but you've got to promise me you won't fight anymore 
if I let you go."  He removed his hand from Frodo's mouth.  
"You promise?" 

What choice did he have?  There was no other way to get free.
Frodo knew as well as Sam did that they couldn't sit here 
indefinitely and wait to be captured.  Hateful as the idea 
was to him, it was better to agree to Sam's terms now, and 
try to take the Ring from him later, than to lose it to the 
Enemy and lose all hope.  

"I won't fight," he promised.  "You have my word."

!~|ii|~!

Frodo did not fight.  He sat very quietly, eating some of the 
lembas from Sam's pack, while Sam went down into the tower to 
find something for him to wear.  When Sam returned, bearing 
a bundle of orc clothes, Frodo put them on; he even let Sam 
help him into these garments--foul breeches and tunic, boots, 
helm--just as if everything were normal between them, and he 
was not trembling inside with sick fear and impotent rage.

While Sam laced up his leather bootlaces for him and fastened 
the straps and buckles of his uniform, Frodo threw frequent, 
anxious glances up at his friend.  Just how far was Sam under
the Ring's power?  Now that he held it, what was he was going 
to do with it?  What would Sam do with _him_? 

For the present, Sam's chief concern seemed to be getting away 
from the tower as quickly as possible.  "There," he said as he 
threw a long, black cloak around Frodo's shoulders.  "You look 
a proper little orc, begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo.  Fit to 
travel anywhere in Mordor."  He put an orc tunic and cloak on 
over his own clothes, and pulled on a pair of boots to disguise 
his feet, and they were ready to go.

They crept down the stairs and out through the gateyard, Sam 
leading the way and Frodo following.  He did not try to run. 
Where did he have to go?  Frightened as he was, he knew that 
greater dangers lay in all directions.  Whatever Sam intended 
to do with him, it couldn't be worse than what he had suffered 
at the orcs' hands, or what would happen if he were captured 
again.  Frodo shuddered at the memory of those knives and 
clawed fingers on his skin.  No, he couldn't risk it.  His 
only hope of safety lay in staying with Sam.  Besides, if he 
was ever to get the Ring back, he must be near Sam when the 
opportunity came.  All he could do was wait.

They escaped the tower just in time.  When they broke through
the barrier set by the stone Watchers at the gate, an alarm 
sounded.  A Nazgul on its winged mount passed overhead.  The 
two hobbits fled down the mountainside and left the open 
road as soon as they could, leaping from a bridge into the 
thorn-filled gully beneath.  From there, they made their 
way down the widening, bramble- and briar-cluttered ravine, 
keeping close to its rising walls, heading northward, always 
fearful of discovery by orcs or Black Riders in the air.

After they had hiked for several hours and were too tired to 
go any farther, they found shelter under a thick curtain of 
brambles that hung low over an outcropping of rock at the 
base of a cliff.

Sam shrugged off his pack and set it against the rock face. 
"We ought to be safe enough here," he said, "safe as we can be 
anywhere in this place.  Those orcs won't find us, not unless 
they've tracked us all along, nor that sneaky Gollum either.  
He's still around, you know."

This news gave Frodo a jolt.  He had seen no sign of Gollum 
since the creature had led them into that lightless tunnel in
the mountains and abandoned them there.  Had he come through 
the tunnel after all?  Was he in Mordor, following them?  Or- 
Another, more ominous thought occurred: Was it only a figment 
of Sam's imagination, a danger that was really not there?  

He began to consider Sam more cautiously.  They'd been so 
beset by other dangers all day that he had almost forgotten 
to be wary of his companion.

"Why don't you rest, Mr. Frodo?" Sam offered.  "Sleep awhile. 
You're all worn out."

"What about you, Sam?" he asked back.  "When was the last time 
you slept?"

Sam shook his head.  

"You must be exhausted," Frodo pressed on.  "The Ring weighs 
heavily on you.  You're not used to bearing it, as I was."  A 
bitter tone crept into his voice; he couldn't help it.

"It is heavy," Sam admitted. "I'm nearly falling off my feet, 
if you want to know.  If I could shut my eyes for an hour or 
two..."  He sank down, head in his hands as if he couldn't
hold it up another second. 

"Why don't you, then?  I'm sure it's safe enough for us both 
to rest at once."

Sam was about to agree to this, then he lifted his eyes to
Frodo with sudden suspicion.  "How do I know you won't try to 
grab it while I'm sleeping?"

"I won't!" Frodo cried, stung by the accusation.  He had meant 
to be kind.  But another thought whispered in the back of his
mind: it would be the perfect opportunity, wouldn't it?  Once 
Sam was asleep, he could retrieve his Ring without a struggle.  
"I promised, didn't I?"

"Promised not to fight me," Sam replied, "but stealing's not
fighting."

Frodo was about to snap that it wasn't stealing to take back 
what belonged to him in the first place, but he bit back this 
retort.  "Sam, this is absurd," he said instead.  "You must 
rest sometime.  You can't stay awake and keep guard over me  
all the time."

"No, I can't," Sam agreed.  He gave the problem some consider-
ation.  "Here," he said at last, and turned to search in his 
pack.

"What are you going to do?" asked Frodo.  He watched with 
growing dread as Sam found the coil of elven rope, measured 
out three arms' lengths, and used Sting to cut this short 
section off.  "Oh, Sam, no..."

"I don't see any other way.  You're right--I've got to sleep. 
I wish I could trust you-"

"But you don't," Frodo finished with dismay.

"I'd like to, Mr. Frodo," Sam said apologetically, "but how 
can I?  You'd do anything now."  He made a small loop in the 
rope.  "Give me your hands."

Frodo shied back against the curtain of brambles, but where 
could he go to escape except back out into the open valley 
where worse dangers awaited?  "Sam, please don't do this," he 
begged tearfully.

When Sam saw how frightened he was, a look of pain crossed his 
face.  "I wouldn't hurt you, Mr. Frodo.  You know I wouldn't."

"_My_ Sam wouldn't."

"I _am_ your Sam.  I know it doesn't seem so to you, with your 
mind all muddled as it is, but I'm just the same as I always 
was."  He looked almost ready to cry himself, but he did not 
relent.  "Don't make me fight you.  You said you wouldn't fight 
anymore, remember?  Will you keep your word?" Sam pleaded with 
him in return.  "Will you give me your hands, and stop this 
fuss?  It's the only way we'll get any sleep."

Reluctantly, Frodo held out his hands, palms together.  What 
else he could do but submit?  He was already entirely at Sam's 
mercy; all he hoped for was that there was some truth in the 
reassurances he'd been given, and there was enough of his old 
friend left that he would not be harmed.
  
Sam bound his wrists, then wound the rope once around his body, 
once around his legs, and tied his ankles.  He handled Frodo 
very gently, and made sure that the knots were not too tight.  
There was half a yard of rope left over, and he tied the end 
of it around the branch of a bramble-bush near Frodo's feet.  
After carefully placing Sting behind his back, well out of 
Frodo's reach, Sam settled down and put one arm around Frodo 
to pull him close so that they lay spooned together.  

"You're comfortable?" he asked.

"Yes, I suppose so," Frodo answered, no longer afraid, but 
utterly confused. 

"Then I'll say good night."  And Sam gave into his exhaustion, 
and fell asleep a moment later.

In spite of his own weariness, Frodo lay awake for some time.
One thought turned in his mind: *Is _he_ mad, or am I?*

!~|iii|~!

"When are you going to give it back to me?" Frodo asked the 
next day as they continued down the valley in search of a way 
onto the vast, blighted plain below.

They'd left their hiding place early that morning, under the
cover of darkness.  It was daylight now, but only a little less 
gloomy.  The uncanny dark that had spread over Mordor had begun 
to dissipate the day before, but thick, murky clouds remained 
overhead and the angry, dull-red glow to the east seemed to 
absorb more light than it cast off.  
 
"You said you'd keep it 'awhile longer'," he persisted. "How 
much longer?"  Sam's gentle treatment the night before made 
Frodo hope that his friend was not yet completely under the 
Ring's power.  Perhaps he could be reasoned with?

"I'll give it to you when I think it can't do you any more 
harm.  When we get there..."  Sam stopped to look up at the 
lone mountain rising in the distance.  "You can toss it into 
the fire.  That'd be fitting." 

It was encouraging to hear Sam speak of destroying the Ring 
instead of keeping it to use himself; that showed he had not 
forgotten their purpose.  "But not before then?" 

"It wouldn't be safe for you, Mr. Frodo, not after the way it's 
been twisting up your mind."

"I know I lost my temper, once, but I'm in control of myself 
now," Frodo tried to sound rational.  "I can resume my res-
ponsibility--and it is _mine_, Sam, not yours to bear.  This 
task was appointed to me.  You can't take it from me, not as 
long as I'm able to carry it."

"But that's just it," Sam responded.  "You're not fit.  You're 
going mad."

"Sam, I am not insane!"  

"Yes, you are.  Maybe you can't see it, but _I_ can.  I've 
seen it coming on for a long time.  You never used to be so 
snappish, nor say hurtful things.  You wouldn't've trusted 
that lying sneak Gollum as far as you did if you were think-
ing right.  And you're getting sneaky yourself--there's a 
crafty look in your eyes sometimes that I just don't like.  
You're not like you used to be.  The Ring's changed you."  
Sam shook his head.  "No, it's best if I hold onto it.  It's 
for your own good, Mr. Frodo."

"You've changed too," Frodo countered.  "Can't you see how 
it's affecting _you_?  You wouldn't dare treat me like a 
prisoner if it wasn't!"  In spite of his resolve to remain 
calm, his voice was rising with anger and frustration. "You 
don't mean to give it back at all, do you?"

Sam didn't answer, but trudged on ahead.

"Do you, Sam?  You're going to keep it for yourself!"  As he 
glared at Sam's retreating back, Frodo felt an astonishing 
flash of rage.  The impulse to tackle Sam, knock him down,
strike him over the head, and seize the Ring was so powerful 
that he stopped where he stood, shocked and horrified at him-
self.  

He was quiet for a long time afterwards.

*Is Sam mad, or am I?*  Frodo turned the question over in his 
mind as they hiked on.  The Ring had driven stronger minds to 
madness; why not Sam's?

But if the Ring was all Sam wanted, he had it now.  Why keep 
his former master with him?  Frodo knew how weak and tired he
was.  Now that he was no longer the Ringbearer, he was nothing 
more than an encumbrance; he used up half of their meager food 
supplies and slowed Sam's progress.  Why not leave him behind?  
Why take the trouble to rescue him from the tower in the first 
place, when it would have been so much simpler to leave him 
there to rot?  Sam had already taken everything else of value 
from him, everything the orcs had not--not only the Ring, but 
the Lady Galadriel's light, and Sting as well.  If Sam did not 
wish to be rid of him, the only reason Frodo could think of 
was that Sam wanted to keep him nearby for his own sake.

Was Sam telling the truth?  Was he holding the Ring in an 
honest, if misguided, effort to spare him the burden of 
carrying it?

Sam did still care for him; by the afternoon, Frodo believed 
that.  His friend was as protective as he'd always been, if 
not more so.  Sam saw that he ate and, when they replenished 
their water, made certain it was safe before letting him drink.  
He had not once been deliberately cruel.  Frodo was forced to 
admit that even when manhandling him, Sam had never tried to 
harm him, only to restrain him.  Sam was patient and respect- 
ful--that exasperating insistence on calling him 'Mister'!--
but firm in setting the rules and making him obey them. Just, 
Frodo realized, as the keeper of a lunatic would behave.

Was _he_ mad?  He didn't feel, right now, as if he were out 
of his mind.  But what about the way he had reacted when Sam 
refused to return the Ring?  That was more than a mere loss 
of temper: he'd shrieked and bit at Sam's hands, fought him 
like a wild animal... or a mad thing.  Could he blame Sam for 
wanting to restrain him after that?  It seemed like a reason-
able precaution. 

And what of these terrifyingly violent thoughts that sprang 
unbidden into his head--thoughts of attacking Sam, even kill-
ing him?  When he looked at Sam, Frodo found himself hating 
his friend.  This was what Gollum must have felt toward him: 
seething resentment, rage, and bitter jealousy at the sight 
of the Ring in another's possession.  He no longer held it, 
but he remained under its spell.    

Perhaps Sam was right; he was mad.  But if this was madness, 
then at least he retained enough of his sanity to hold these 
impulses in check.  The idea of violence was still abhorrent 
to him.

By the end of the day, Frodo decided that it didn't matter if 
he was mad or not.  Sam had no right to take the Ring from 
him.  This was _his_ burden to bear, his quest to fulfill. As 
long he could carry it, he must do so himself.  

Nor did it matter if Sam meant well.  Frodo recalled something 
Gandalf had said that long-ago day at Bag End, when he'd first 
learned the truth about Uncle Bilbo's magic ring.  Had that 
only been a few months ago?  It seemed like another lifetime, 
centuries in the past!  He had innocently tried to give the 
wizard the Ring for safe-keeping: Gandalf refused vehemently, 
saying that he dared not touch it, not even to keep it safe; 
he would be tempted to use it from a desire to do good but, 
through him, it would wield a power too great and terrible to 
be imagined.  

Even it were taken with the best intentions, the Ring would 
bring nothing but evil.  It would corrupt anyone in time.  
If the wise and powerful, people like Gandalf and Galadriel,
might be swayed by its influence, how could someone as guile-
less as Sam stand against it?

As Sam had taken the Ring for _his_ good, so he must retrieve 
it for Sam's.  Perhaps it had not corrupted him yet, but it 
soon would.  

One way or another, Frodo knew he had to get it back--but he 
would not resort to violence, not as long as some shreds of 
his sanity remained.  He couldn't wait for Sam to fall asleep
and perhaps leave him untied.  There must be some other means 
to catch his companion off guard.  How then?

Frodo suddenly thought of that flurry of overjoyed kisses on 
his face when Sam had found him in the tower.

He knew Sam loved him.  He'd always known it, taken it as 
much for granted as the solid earth beneath his feet.  It was 
a simple, indisputable fact.  Now, however, he began to con-
sider the nature of that love: a young lad's hero-worship, a 
servant's devotion, a dear friend's loyalty... and was there 
something more?  Did Sam desire him?

Could he use that to his own advantage?

He tested the idea when they settled down that night for a few 
hours' rest in a deep crevice between the rocks, not so well-
concealed as their last hiding place but the safest they could 
find.  Frodo offered his hands to be tied without a whimper of 
protest.  After Sam had bound him and pulled him into the curve 
of his own body, just as he had the night before, Frodo pushed 
himself back a little more; he wriggled to press his backside
against Sam, until he felt an encouraging stir in response...
 
Sam moved away from him quickly, startled.  "What're you up 
to?" he demanded.

"What's wrong?" Frodo feigned innocence.

His friend peered at him suspiciously.  "You don't know what 
you were doing just now?" 

"No.  I thought you wanted me to lie near you." 

"Not so near as _that_!"  Sam's face went red with blushes.

"I'm sorry," Frodo said meekly.  "I didn't meant to disturb 
you.  I was cold and afraid, and I wanted to be closer to you."  
He cast his eyes down. "I like being close to you, Sam.  It's 
the one comfort I have.  You don't really mind it so much, do 
you?"

"No..."  Sam was staring at him, still suspicious, but Frodo 
kept his gaze averted; after what Sam had said about seeing 
craftiness in his eyes, he didn't want to reveal any sign of 
the lies that might be glimmering there.  "No, I don't mind, 
but you oughtn't to do it right now."

Sam lay down again, a safe distance away, but continued to 
glance at Frodo with curiosity until he fell asleep.

Frodo curled up to sleep himself, satisfied with his success.  
He'd knocked Sam off guard for a few seconds--not long enough 
to take the Ring from him, true, but enough to indicate what
he could do when the time was right.

!~*~!

When he woke sometime later, he was alone.  He lifted his head 
to look around, but there was no sign of his companion.  

"Sam...?" Frodo squirmed, but could not loosen the knots that
held him.  "Sam!"

"Right here, Mr. Frodo."  He heard Sam's voice above him, and 
his friend came scrambling down the curve of the rock to reach 
him.  "Ssh!  Not so loud!

"Untie me, please!"

Sam knelt and swiftly undid the rope around his hands and legs. 
Once he was free, Frodo sat up and flung his arms around Sam's 
neck, furious and relieved to see him at the same time.  "Don't 
ever leave me like that again!" he cried.  "Where did you go?" 

"I went off to find us some water.  We were nearly out."  Sam 
produced the refilled bottle as proof of the reason for his 
absence, but Frodo wondered if his companion hadn't used this 
as an excuse to get away from him after he'd rubbed up against 
him.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo.  I won't go off again, I promise."

Frodo snuggled closer and rested his head on Sam's shoulder. 
At least, Sam didn't seem to mind holding him now.

In spite of everything, he welcomed this.  He liked being 
close to Sam; he hadn't lied about that.  He was glad of the 
strong arms around him and the warmth and solidity of Sam's 
body against his.  Even that familiar, wholesomely earthy 
scent that he always associated with Sam, detectable under 
the soot and oily tang of orc mail, was comforting; it re-
minded him of home.  If circumstances were different, he 
might even return those kisses...

No.  He pushed the thought aside.  This was not a time for
pleasure.  He had grim business to accomplish.  He must get 
the Ring back somehow, and this was the only course open to 
him.  

His fingers, lingering on the nape of Sam's neck, brushed the 
chain the Ring hung upon.  His heart began to beat harder with 
excitement.  

"I didn't mean to be gone so long," said Sam.  "I thought you'd 
be asleep a bit longer, so I stopped to sit up and keep watch.  
Gollum's about."

"I haven't seen anything," Frodo answered, fingers still on 
the chain.  Where was the clasp?  Could he undo it without Sam 
noticing?  Yes, perhaps, if he could get Sam to bend his head 
down.  He'd have to create a distraction.  Perhaps he would 
return those kisses after all.  

"It was at an old creek bed down a ways," Sam told him.  "I 
found a trickle of water that seemed fit to drink and was 
filling the bottle, when I saw something moving up on top of 
the cliffs, unnatural-like.  If it wasn't that Gollum, then 
it was something that'd be as much trouble if it caught us 
sleeping.  It's not safe for us to stay here anymore."  And, 
taking Frodo's wrists, Sam removed the arms from about his 
neck, putting a stop to Frodo's plan before he could work up 
the nerve to begin.  "We'd better move on."

They shared a small portion of their rapidly diminishing 
supply of food and gulped some of the water from the bottle, 
then went on their way.  

!~|iv|~!

Some time passed before Frodo had another chance to try his 
plan.  He nearly forgot about it in the nightmarish days that 
followed.  After searching for another way down onto the 
plain and an eastward path to Mount Doom, they saw that they 
had no choice but to return to the road that led north along 
the foot of the Mountains of Shadow.  They had only gone a 
few miles on this road before they were spotted by a troop 
of orcs on the march.  It looked as if the quest would end 
disastrously there, but the murky light and their orc gear 
saved them; the hobbits were mistaken for stragglers and 
forced to join the troop.  As they marched along at a swift 
pace, crowded by orcs on all sides, the whip of the task-
driver cracking over their heads if they lagged, Frodo was 
too terrified to think at all--and once they escaped, he was 
too exhausted to do anything but collapse in a heap.

After that, they were on the Plateau of Gorgoroth, but miles
north of their goal.  They picked their way through ash heaps 
and oily pits, choking on the low-lying, smoky haze that rose  
from the ground.  It seemed an endless journey, more painful 
and wearying at every step, but they slowly drew nearer the 
mountain, until at last it loomed before them.

On the third day, Frodo woke in a deep pit near the base of 
the mountain.  The orc cloak lay on the ground beneath him 
and Sam's elven cloak was spread over him.  He remembered 
shivering in the night, and Sam holding him to keep him warm, 
but Frodo knew that Sam must not have slept himself; he had 
not bothered to tie him up. 

Frodo lifted his head and found his friend standing at the rim 
of the pit, looking up at the desolate slopes towering above 
them.  Sam's face was grim and drawn; Frodo was struck by how 
these last hard days had taken their toll on Sam as well.  The 
weight of the Ring was wearing him down.  It wouldn't be long
before he was completely overwhelmed by it.

If he was going to take back the Ring, Frodo knew that he must 
do so now.  He would have no other chance. 

When Sam saw that he was awake, he said, "It'll be today, Mr. 
Frodo.  I don't know how much farther we've got to go, but it's 
up there somewhere."

"Lord Elrond said that there was a way into the mountain, to 
the place where the Ring was forged and where it's got to be 
destroyed," Frodo recalled.  "The Crack of Doom.  It must be a 
fissure, a gap in the rock.  Do you see anything like that?"

"No," Sam answered after studying the burnt and barren slopes. 
"If it's a big gash with fire pouring out of it, I don't see 
how we could miss it.  It must be on the other side, or up near 
the top, beyond that ridge.  There looks to be a path winding 
around up there.  Maybe that leads to where we're going.  If 
we can get to it, we'll find the way in and toss this blasted 
Ring into the fire.  And then..."

"And then..?" Frodo prompted.  "What happens then?"  

Sam did not answer, only bowed his head.

"You know the truth as well as I do, Sam.  I saw the look on 
your face when I awoke--you were thinking the same thing I am.  
We'll get there, somehow, but we won't get out of Mordor alive.  
It's nearly killed us to get this far.  We can't go back.  How 
much food have we left?"

"None," Sam admitted.  "I gave you the last bite of lembas 
yesterday."

"And water?"  Frodo picked up the water bottle and shook it;
the few remaining drops within made a rattling sound.  "Not 
more than another mouthful.  Will that be enough to see us out 
of this wasteland?"  He shook his head.  "No, Sam.  We aren't 
going to survive."

"I know," said Sam.  Then he lifted his head, mouth set firmly 
with a new resolve.  "We'd best get on with it."  He reached 
down to help Frodo to his feet, but Frodo grabbed his sleeve. 

"Wait," he said.  "If we are going to die today, there's one 
last thing I want to do."  And, summoning his nerve, he pulled 
Sam down to give him a kiss. 

Sam drew back before their lips met.  "Now, none of that, Mr. 
Frodo," he spoke in that infuriatingly patient voice Frodo had 
heard quite enough of.  If nothing else, he would put a stop 
to Sam speaking to him as if he were a simple-minded child.

"Why not?" he demanded.  "It wouldn't be the first time.  You've 
kissed me before, remember?"

"That was different."

"I don't see how," Frodo persisted.  "You were happy to find 
me alive, and you wanted me to know it.  Well, I want _you_ to 
know how very dear you are to me, Sam, and that I don't blame 
you in the least for anything you've done to try to protect me.  
I'm sorry if I've been ungrateful.  No hard feelings?"

"No, of course not."  Sam was regarding him with a baffled ex-
pression.  Was he suspicious of a trick?  Frodo realized that 
should not have alluded to their quarrel over the Ring; he had
to keep Sam's thoughts away from it, divert his mind in other 
directions.  
 
He rose up on his knees and took Sam's hand.  "Then what harm 
can it do?" he asked in his most beguiling manner.  "Surely 
we are friends enough that we aren't afraid to kiss if we feel
like it?  Just one kiss?"

"Well..." Sam fidgeted, then conceded, "Oh, all right.  One 
kiss."  He knelt and looked over Frodo's face with a tenderness 
that almost made Frodo feel guilty about what he was doing, then 
lifted one hand to touch his dirt-smudged cheek before leaning 
in to bestow a single, soft kiss.  But when Frodo tried to wind 
his arms around his neck, Sam held him away gently.  "That's 
enough."

"No, it isn't."

"You don't know what you're doing-"

"I know exactly what I'm doing."  That kiss, sweet as it was, 
hadn't given him enough time to find the chain and unloose it.  
He had to hold on to Sam for longer.  He had to go farther.  
There was only one thing Frodo could think of doing.  Taking 
a deep breath, he declared, "I want you to make love to me."

"You- _What_?"

"I want you to take me, once, before it's all over.  Will you?" 
Sam _did_ want him; Frodo was sure of it.  In spite of that 
yelp of surprise at his offer, there was yearning in his 
friend's eyes that he could not mistake.  

But Sam continued to resist.  "Frodo, I couldn't... It isn't 
right.  You're not yourself.  Afterwards-"

"There won't be an 'afterwards,' Sam, not for us!  This is it.  
This is all we have."  Desperation gave urgency to his plea.  
He had not expected Sam to be so difficult to seduce.  What 
did he have to do to win him over?  Frodo tried a more direct 
tactic.  "You love me, don't you?" 

"Yes..."

"Then why won't you do as I ask?  It's what I want--and I know 
you do too."  He took Sam's collar to yank him close for another 
kiss and, while they were close, put a hand down the front of 
his trousers.

Sam gasped and shoved him back, not so gently this time.  "What
do you think you're _doing_?"  He seized Frodo by the shoulders 
as if he were going to give him a good shaking, then stopped 
and stared wildly into Frodo's eyes.  Something in his own eyes 
seemed to snap.  Then he kissed him.

Still holding Frodo's shoulders, Sam pressed him down onto the 
pile of cloaks.  "I must be mad, doing this," he murmured be-
tween kisses.

"I think we both are," Frodo answered giddily as he tore off 
his boots and wriggled out of his orc-breeches.  "Quite mad."  
He kicked the breeches aside, relieved to be rid of the filthy, 
chafing things.  

When Sam's hand touched his bare, upraised knee, he immediately 
placed his own hand over it.  "You know what to do, don't you?" 
he asked, keeping his eyes locked on Sam's as he moved his legs 
apart and guided Sam's hand up the inside of his thigh.

"Yes- That is, I've heard tell of how-"

"I'll show you.  You go in here."  He led Sam's hand all the 
way up between his legs; tentative fingers explored, moving 
back until they found the opening.  Frodo's breath caught at
the touch.  "Yes, right there."  He tugged to help Sam un-
fasten his trousers, then slipped a hand down inside.  Sam
did not protest this time, but let out a surprised gasp or 
two as Frodo fondled him into a full erection, then pulled 
him down and brought it up to the place. "Go on..."  

At the first thrust, he cried out loud.  Sam hesitated and
might have stopped if Frodo hadn't grabbed his hips to pull 
him close again, and hissed, "I said, 'Go on!'"  And, as Sam 
continued, slowly at first then more vigorously as he gained 
confidence, Frodo held on tightly and set his teeth to keep 
from crying out again.  

It hurt more than he thought it would--his insides felt as 
if they were about to burst--and yet, the sensation of being 
penetrated also sent an incredible warmth pulsing through him.  
With each thrust, the pain diminished and the astonishing, 
deliciously warm sensation grew and spread throughout his 
body, until it seemed as if molten fire ran in his veins.  

He clawed at Sam's sleeves and shoulders, wrapped his legs 
around Sam's back, bucking frantically to drive him deeper.  
He _felt_ afire.  This was not what he'd expected, not this 
fierce, savage, animal desire that went beyond pleasure or 
love, or even his need to take the Ring.  It was a last 
defiant act of life in the face of imminent death.  Maybe 
they were out of their minds: they were half-starved, with-
out hope, and at the end of their strength.  Once they had 
finished the quest, they had nothing more to do except lay 
down and die.  But before that happened, they would have 
one passionate moment together.

Frodo pulled Sam's head down for more ferocious kisses with 
parched lips, loving him, hating him, wanting to have as much 
of _this_ as he could before it was too late.  Then, when he 
touched the chain at the back of Sam's neck, it recalled him 
to the reason why he had goaded Sam into making love to him.  

He found the clasp and, with a flick of his fingers, it came 
undone.  Cautiously, Frodo pulled on the chain, bringing it 
up inch by inch, keeping the tugs in time with Sam's strokes 
into him.  Sam didn't notice anything amiss; his head was 
down, his eyes shut, as he plunged onward, harder now. 

When he reached his peak, Sam threw his head back.  A small, 
hard object dropped out of his shirt and struck Frodo on the 
face.  Frodo quickly grabbed it and pulled; the chain slid 
free from around Sam's neck.  The Ring was his!  

His hand fell to one side, the ends of the chain escaping 
from between his clenched fingers as he convulsed in his own 
joyous spasm.  He shouted, as much in triumph as in rapture.  

Sam lay spent on top of him, brow against his breastbone, and 
panting heavily.  After a moment, he rolled off.  "Is that 
what you wanted?" he asked once he had caught his breath.

"Yes," Frodo answered.  "All I wanted.  More.  Thank you."  
And he began to laugh.

Sam turned to him, puzzled--then he saw what Frodo held in 
his hand.

"Here-" Sam sat up.  "Give me that!"

"No! It's mine!"  Frodo scrambled backwards.  "I've got it 
now, and I won't give it up."  When Sam reached for him, he 
lashed out to drive him away.  "You can't have it!"  If any-
thing could induce him to fight, it was this.  He would not
surrender the Ring, and he would not be captured again.

Frodo swung his closed fist, just cuffing the side of Sam's 
head, and clambered up out of the pit.  When Sam grabbed his 
ankle, he kicked furiously and grabbed a handful of loose
slag to fling at him, then another, and another, until Sam 
let go.  Then he fled as fast as he could.

He had run hundreds of yards before he realized he'd left his 
orc-breeches behind, but his tunic was long enough for modesty's 
sake.  He couldn't have gone back for the breeches even if it 
were too short.

Bare-legged, he climbed up the lower slopes of the mountain.  
The part of his mind that retained what was left of his sanity 
was glad to hear Sam shouting his name and know that he was 
all right, but Frodo didn't stop until his strength faded. The 
exhilarating burst of energy that followed his victory enabled 
him to go for some distance before his legs gave out beneath 
him.  Then he fell abruptly, scraping his knees and the palm 
of one hand as he reached out to catch himself. 

He stayed on his knees, gasping for air, clutching the Ring 
to his chest.  Only when he heard Sam climbing up the slopes 
behind him did he force himself to rise.  

"Don't try to stop me, Sam!" he shouted down.  "I must do this 
myself!"

When he looked around, he was surprised to find that he had al-
ready come a good way up the mountainside.  Rising alone from 
the plain, the mountain had seemed huge, but it was not as tall 
as the high passes he and Sam had scaled to enter Mordor.  The 
plain below was hidden in swirling clouds of black dust; the 
air was clearer up here, and easier to breathe.  Above, Frodo 
could see the road Sam had described.  He had only to scale a 
steep embankment to reach it.

He scrambled up the rock wall, toes and fingers easily finding 
holds, until he crawled up onto a broad path paved with crushed 
rubble and beaten ash.  It rose at a steady incline, circling 
the crest of the mountain.  He had not much farther to go.

Behind him, Frodo heard another shout from Sam, but paid no 
heed.  Nothing would turn him back now.  Determinedly, he 
stumbled on.

The way in, when he found it, was not a gash in the mountain-
side as he'd imagined, but an enormous door carved from dark 
stone.  The door was open, and red light flared in the cavern 
beyond.  He'd done it.  Against all odds, he had reached his 
goal.

Frodo went inside.

!~|v|~!

The cavern was dark, lit at intervals by spurts of flame rising 
from the chasm ahead of him--the Crack of Doom, Gandalf and 
Elrond had called it.  Slowly, Frodo stepped toward the edge.  
He had lost the chain somewhere during his climb, but the Ring 
was still clutched tightly in his hand.

He opened his fist and considered it.  The circle of gold 
gleamed red in the bursts of fire-light.  It seemed to respond 
to the flame, to glow within itself.  The fine elvish script 
etched on the surface became visible, just as it had been that 
day at Bag End: *One Ring to rule them all...*

He had only to toss it into the chasm, and his quest would be 
over.  But instead of stepping forward to finish his task, 
Frodo hesitated.  After he'd taken so much trouble to win the 
Ring back, he found that he did not want to give it up again 
so soon.

No, he couldn't do it.

"Frodo..?"

He turned to find that Sam had come into the cavern.  

"You're too late," Frodo told him.  "I have come, but I do not 
choose to do what I came to do.  I will not cast it away.  The 
Ring is mine!"  And before Sam's horrified eyes, he put it on 
his finger.

The mist of that other world closed around him.  The cavern was 
suddenly a place of dim shapes and shadows that no light could 
pierce--yet he _saw_ more clearly.  The forces of Mordor were 
arrayed around him: the great army to the north joined in battle 
with the armies of Man; Nazgul halted their mounts, then whirled 
to fly with fearful speed toward the mountain; the Great Eye 
atop the tower of Barad Dur turned its gaze upon him, and he 
knew that he did not have the powers at his command to defeat 
it.

But before Frodo could even think of what to do next, he heard 
Sam cry out and something struck him violently from behind, 
knocking him to the ground.  His first dazed thought was that 
Sam must have tackled him, but when he turned to throw off his 
assailant, he saw that it was Gollum.

Frodo fought madly, but Gollum was madder still and somehow 
seemed to know just where he was even though the Ring made 
him invisible to the daylight world--but when had Gollum ever 
been part of that world?  In the midst of their struggle, the
creature seized his hand and drew it to his own mouth.  There 
was a flash of sharp teeth, and then a tearing pain.  Frodo 
screamed and fell back, clutching his bleeding hand.  Gollum 
let him go; he had what he wanted.

As Frodo lay near the edge of the chasm, visible again, Gollum 
danced gleefully above him, babbling in delight as he held the 
Ring aloft, impaled on a more grisly object.  Then he was gone. 
He had danced too close to the edge and, with a last shriek, he 
tumbled into the chasm.  The flames rose to meet and consume 
him.

The Ring was destroyed.

!~*~!

With the destruction of the Ring, all the madness was gone. 
Frodo found himself sane, just when the comforting haze of 
insanity would have been most welcome.  He recalled with 
painful clarity everything he had done.

Tongues of flame shot up from the chasm, even to the ceiling 
of the cavern, and there was a terrifying noise all around. 
The whole mountain shook as if it were being torn apart.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Frodo heard an urgent voice 
speak, "Come along, Mr. Frodo.  We ought to go."

He looked up to find Sam kneeling over him.  His friend was 
bleeding profusely from a nasty-looking cut on the forehead.  
Frodo remembered striking Sam and flinging handfuls of rock
at him.  "Did I do that?" 

"No, not you.  It was that Gollum..."  Sam looked toward the 
edge of the chasm, and gulped.  

"Gandalf said that Gollum would have something to do before 
this was finished."  He looked down at his injured hand; as he 
had feared, the finger he'd placed the Ring on was completely 
gone, bitten off just above the knuckle.  "I couldn't have 
done it, Sam, without that.  The quest would have failed."

"But your poor hand..."  Sam took it carefully between his 
own hands to fuss over it and tried to find something to 
bind the wound.  "I'd've given both my hands before letting 
this happen."

"It's my own fault, Sam.  I should've let you destroy the 
Ring," Frodo answered sincerely.  "You would have done it." 

Sam blushed, but did not reply. "Even if this is the end, Mr. 
Frodo, we ought to get out of here," he said as if Frodo had 
not spoken.  "This place'll be tumbling down around our ears 
in another minute, and it's not the last thing I'd want to 
see, if you take my meaning."

"Yes, of course.  Let's go."

Frodo did not meet Sam's eyes as his friend helped him to his 
feet and, slipping one arm around his waist, half-led, half-
carried him out.  He was too deeply ashamed of himself to say 
anything.  What _could_ he say?  'I'm sorry,' seemed so in-
adequate.

But Sam did not reproach him or make accusations.  None of 
that mattered now.  

When they went out through the great door, they saw that not 
only the mountain, but all of Mordor was crumbling.  The sky 
was dark, rent with flash upon flash of lightning.  Walls and 
roads were broken to rubble by the heaving earth.  The tall 
tower of Barad Dur was falling, and thick, black clouds of 
smoke rose above it.

"It's all falling to pieces," Sam spoke with hushed awe.

"Yes," Frodo answered.  "Without the Ring, Sauron's power 
couldn't survive.  The quest is finished, Sam.  Our part of 
the story is over."  He looked up at his friend.  "I'm glad 
you're with me, here at the end."

!~|vi|~!

The last thing Frodo remembered was lying on a mound of ash, 
Sam at his side.  They'd fled down the slopes of Mount Doom, 
knowing there was no escape, but their sense of self-preser-
vation made them want to avoid the tumbling rocks and molten 
fire that poured down from the mountain's shattered cone for 
as long as possible.  They'd gotten as far as the foot of the 
mountain before they were trapped by the fast flow of red-hot 
liquid.  Overcome by the intense heat and nearly drowned in 
dust and smoke, Frodo sank down.  Sam caught him as he fell, 
then fell beside him.  

A large, winged creature swooped down at them from out of the 
sky.  *One of the Nazgul?* Frodo wondered.  Then he saw no 
more.

When he opened his eyes, he lay on a bed in a pavilion among 
a glade of trees.  Someone had bathed him, bandaged his maimed 
hand, and dressed him in a Man-sized shirt--far too large for 
him, but when was the last time he'd worn clean clothes?

He turned his head on the pillow to see Gandalf seated at the 
foot of the bed.  Frodo leapt up with a cry of delighted sur-
prise to throw his arms around the wizard, then sat in his 
lap while he burst with happy exclamations, more hugs, and a 
thousand questions.  He heard the tale of Gandalf's return, 
and a few intriguing hints of the wizard's activities since 
then; there would be plenty of time, Gandalf assured him, for 
all stories to be told in full.

When Gandalf asked what had happened in Mordor, Frodo glanced 
at Sam, who lay asleep in the bed next to his, and answered, 
"We took the Ring to the Mountain of Fire, and there it was 
destroyed.  That's all that's important, isn't it?  I'd like 
to forget the rest."

Gandalf seemed to think that this was not the only important
thing, but he did not press Frodo to tell him more. Instead, 
he said they would speak of it later and that the hobbit 
needed to rest, then he put Frodo back to bed.

When both Frodo and Sam were up and dressed later that day, 
they were escorted to a ceremony in their honor.  The armies 
of Gondor had gathered for them.  Banners were flying and a 
host of knights stood with swords upraised.  Aragorn, now 
king, knelt before them, then lifted them up to sit on his 
throne while songs were sung in their praise.  This was all 
too much for Frodo, who knew how little he deserved it.  Sam 
blushed furiously through the whole ceremony, and he was in 
tears by the end of it.

After the ceremony, there was a feast, also in their honor, 
and the hobbits were reunited with the rest of their friends. 
While they stayed up late that evening hearing of everyone's 
adventures, they revealed only the barest facts of their own 
story.  Frodo told how his will had failed at the Crack of 
Doom, and the part Gollum had played in the Ring's destruct-
ion.  He couldn't conceal that; his missing finger told its 
own tale.  Of Sam's part, he said no more than, "Sam carried 
the Ring for a time after I fell and was captured at Cirith 
Ungol."  The rest of it, he kept secret.  He was afraid that 
if Gandalf and the others learned how long Sam had kept the 
Ring, they would scorn him, and Frodo felt he must protect 
Sam from that.  He did not want his friend to suffer for his 
lapse.  Although they had made no agreement beforehand, Sam 
likewise kept silent for his sake.  

They spoke very little in the days that followed.  Both felt 
too awkward.  Frodo was still ashamed of the way he'd seduced 
and betrayed his friend.  Sam seemed equally uncomfortable, 
meeting Frodo's eyes reluctantly and coloring whenever they 
did meet.  They had had a sort of reconciliation in their last
minutes on the mountain, when both believed they were about 
to die--but instead of dying, they had survived and now must 
live with the memory of everything that had happened between 
them.  There was an "afterwards" after all.

It was impossible for them to avoid each other; circum-
stances constantly forced them together.  During their re-
cuperation at Cormallen Field, they slept in adjoining beds 
and were seated at the same table for meals.  They stood side 
by side in all the celebrations.  Everyone assumed that they 
were inseparable, and that Sam would wish to attend his 
master.

Gandalf alone seemed aware of the uneasiness between them, 
and guessed at the reason even if he did not know precisely 
what had caused the rift.  The wizard returned to the subject 
often, probing gently but persistently, until Frodo gave in 
and admitted that, yes, he and Sam had fought over the Ring.

"We did some awful things," he told the wizard, but refused 
to say any more about it.  "I wish you could help us, Gandalf, 
but there's nothing you can do.  No one can.  Except for my 
failure when I came to destroy the Ring, what happened in 
Mordor is between Sam and me.  We must settle it ourselves."

To Frodo's surprise, Gandalf agreed.  He also said, "You be- 
lieve you failed in the quest, because your will faltered at 
the last minute--but, my dear Frodo, don't you see how remark- 
able it is that you carried it as far as that?  You did the 
best you could, far better than anyone might have expected."

"You mean, you thought I would fail?"

"I thought that anyone who bore the Ring would fall into its 
power in time," the wizard answered, "but I hoped _you_ would 
withstand it longer than most.  Hobbits seem to have an extra-
ordinary resistance to its evil.  What affect the Ring had on 
you and Sam, I do not know, but you mustn't blame yourselves
for whatever you did while under its influence.  When you 
recognize that the Ring, and not you, was responsible, then
you can begin to trust each other again."

Frodo wondered if that were possible.  While he could blame 
a lot of his behavior on the Ring, he couldn't say that what 
he felt now was because of it.  

Much of what had happened during those days in Mordor had 
mercifully blurred, like a bad dream with only odd flashes 
of unpleasant memories to disturb him, but he remembered that 
wild moment in the ash pit most vividly.  The fire of that 
memory did not fade.  At nights, he lay awake thinking about 
it, recalling what it had been like to have Sam make love to 
him.  He thought of Sam, sleeping a few feet away, and the 
stirrings of desire he felt filled him with shame and self-
loathing.

How could he and Sam be friends as they once were, when he felt 
these unbearable longings?  Nor could he hope to have this need 
fulfilled.  He could never tell Sam what he was feeling.  Even 
if he did, Sam would not want to touch him that way again. The 
special trust between them had been broken, perhaps beyond re-
pair.  He had deceived his friend, used Sam's love against him.  
Could they ever get past _that_?

Yet, somehow, they must be reconciled. 

On the last day before the company returned to Minas Tirith, 
Frodo arranged to speak with Sam privately.  When he went into 
the pavilion, he found Sam crouched on the floor in the space 
between their beds, packing the few belongings they'd accumu-
lated during their recovery.

"May I speak with you?" he asked.

"Of course, Mr. Frodo. What about?" Sam responded with studied 
casualness, but he was tense and cautious.  He didn't look up, 
but went on gathering things to pack until Frodo came up to 
stand over him.

"We can't go on like this, Sam.  It just won't do.  People 
are starting to notice that you and I aren't as friendly as 
we should be.  If we try to avoid each other, we'll only draw 
more attention to ourselves.  I know you don't want that any 
more than I do!  And what will happen when we go home?  Are 
we to hide from each other for the rest of our lives?" 

"You're right."  Sam looked up at him.  "I'm sorry."

"No-" Frodo stopped him.  "I want to apologize to _you_."  The 
words still seemed pitifully inadequate, but they must be said
if he and Sam were to have peace between them. 

He sat down on his bed and folded his hands in his lap, com-
posing himself before he began.  "Sam, I'm so terribly sorry 
for what I did that last day in Mordor.  I was completely mad.  
I would have done anything to take the Ring away from you. In 
that, I was no better than Gollum- No, what I did to you was 
worse, because you were my friend."  He recalled something 
Gandalf had told him long ago.  "Smeagol," he said, "before 
he became Gollum, killed his best friend to steal the Ring 
from him.  Perhaps we _are_ the same."   

Sam sputtered in protest.  "It wouldn't have come to that," 
he insisted, "not for you and me."

"Wouldn't it?  Remember how I fought?  If you'd tried to take 
the Ring from me a second time, I think I would have killed 
you."  Tears welled up in his eyes.  "Sam, can you ever for-
give me?"

"I forgive you," said Sam. "I did, right after-" he glanced at 
Frodo's damaged hand.  "The minute the Ring was gone, and I saw 
you were yourself again."  He met Frodo's eyes and admitted, 
"I understand what the Ring did to you, and why you had to 
do- well, what you did.  We weren't ourselves, Mr. Frodo, not 
either of us.  You were right--It changed me too.  Even if you 
were going mad, there's no excuse for the cruel way I treated 
you.  I said I was keeping the Ring from you for your own good. 
I was saving you.  That might've been the true reason at first, 
but I couldn't say that's what I was thinking by the end.  I 
don't know if I would've given it back to you, like I said I 
would, if you hadn't taken it."  

"Maybe you should have kept it," said Frodo.  While he was
comforted by what Gandalf had said about his resistance to 
the Ring's influence, he knew that whatever success he'd had 
was not due to his own endurance.  He hadn't borne the burden 
alone.  "It was your strength of will that took us so far. I 
never would have gotten there at all if I'd had to carry the 
Ring myself."

"Maybe," Sam answered, "but I don't know as I'd've done any 
better in your place.  If I'd taken it up to that Crack of 
Doom, things might've turned out just the same--but it'd be 
my finger lost, not yours."

Frodo thought of how Sam blushed every time someone called 
him a hero, and insisted it wasn't so.  This was more than 
Sam's natural modesty, he realized; Sam felt the same way _he_ 
did about the praise that had been heaped upon them.  He felt 
as much of a fraud.

"Sam..."  Frodo grew teary-eyed again, but now with relief. 
Sam didn't hate him.  He understood the temptation; he'd been 
tempted himself.  "We've both been horrible, haven't we?"

The tears began to overflow and spill down his cheeks.  Sam 
scrambled up from the floor to sit beside him; when one arm 
went around him, Frodo leaned in to press his face against 
his friend's shoulder.  They sat on the foot of the bed for 
a long while, Sam holding him while he sobbed.  It was the 
first time they'd touched since that day.  

At last, Frodo sat up and sighed.  "It'll be all right," he 
said as he blotted his face with his shirt-cuff.  "We'll get 
past this, but it won't be quite the same, will it?  You won't 
love me in the same way."

Sam regarded him with surprise and curiosity, as if he weren't 
certain what Frodo meant by this.  "I love you," he replied 
evenly. A simple statement of fact.  "You'd have to do worse'n 
this for me to stop."

Frodo had to smile.  "I don't see how I could do much worse!"
He took Sam's hand.  "Are we friends then?"

"'Course we are.  I don't know as we ever weren't, not really."
But Sam remained troubled; Frodo could see it.  He was holding 
himself carefully in check.  

"But there's something else, isn't there?" he asked.  "Some-
thing's still not right.  What is it?  You've forgiven me. 
You said you love me-"

"What about you?" Sam asked back.  After a flustered moment of 
agitation, he burst out, "Was it all lies, Frodo?  Everything 
you said?  You did it to get the Ring--was that all you were 
after the whole time?"

Frodo winced at the agony he heard in his friend's voice, for 
he knew how the question must have tormented Sam.  Bracing 
himself, he answered honestly, "Yes."  Even if it hurt them 
both, he would not lie to Sam about this.  It was too import-
ant to the future of their friendship.  A few tears and hugs 
weren't enough to make things right between them; if he was 
ever to regain Sam's trust, then he must tell the complete 
truth.  "I did it so I could take the Ring from you.  But, 
Sam, that wasn't all it was."

He had only intended to apologize to Sam today and try to 
repair the damage he'd done.  He hadn't meant to speak of that 
wild moment, or the desires he felt even now, especially since 
Sam's arms had gone around him.  Why embarrass them both? But 
this, too, was part of the truth.  Once Sam had asked, Frodo 
knew he couldn't conceal it.

"I don't know what happened," he went on.  "Maybe it was the 
madness, but when we were together, it became more than a 
trick.  I never felt anything like it before."  Lifting his 
eyes to Sam shyly, he asked, "You felt it too, didn't you?"  

"I felt it," Sam answered cautiously, watching him with that
same surprised and curious expression.   

The next words came in an eager rush, "I'm very sorry that I 
lied to you and hurt you, Sam, but I can't regret what we did.  
It was... wonderful.  Perhaps this feeling has always been in 
me.  I think it must have been, or else the idea of it wouldn't 
have come into my head so quickly that day."

"You mean, _you_ wanted it?"  Sam gaped at him, so utterly
flabbergasted by this outburst that Frodo knew he'd said far
too much.
 
"Yes," he admitted, shy once more.  "I wanted it- wanted you." 
There, he'd said it.  Let Sam reject him now.  It was just what 
he deserved. 

But Sam didn't seem inclined to push him away.  "I never thought 
you would," he said softly, still staring at Frodo.  "Once you 
were your proper self, you were so ashamed.  I was sure you'd 
want to forget it'd ever happened.  I tried to forget.  I did 
try, Frodo, but it's not easy, not with you always so near me."  
    
What a fool he was!  In a flash, Frodo saw how totally he had 
misunderstood Sam's caution and reluctance to meet his eyes.  
Lost in his own shame, he'd imagined that Sam must be just as 
embarrassed as he was by what they'd done.  But that wasn't 
so.  If Sam held back, it was because he still desired him, 
and didn't believe that _he_ felt the same.
 
"You've been thinking about me too?" he asked.

Sam nodded.  "You don't what it's been like, wanting to touch 
you and knowing I couldn't--not like I did that once. I didn't
think you'd want me to."

"Oh, Sam," Frodo laughed.  It was too marvelous.  Beyond all 
hope, he'd been given a second chance.  "Believe me, I know 
exactly what that's like!  I've been so unhappy.  I didn't see 
how we could possibly..."  

As they looked into each other's eyes, he realized that it was 
not only possible; they were about to.  

He couldn't say exactly what happened next--whether he had 
flung himself, or if Sam had had the same idea and pulled him 
close--but they were suddenly in each other's arms and kissing 
as if they would never stop.  

When they did stop, Frodo reached up to take Sam's head be-
tween his hands and said, "I know I have no right to ask, not 
after the way I used your love the last time you were kind 
enough to give it to me."  But he had to know: Was that in-
credible passion all madness, or was it something they could 
have when they were not out of their minds?  "Will you take 
me again, Sam?  Please?" 

"What, right now?  _Here_?" Sam looked around.  The pavilion 
was set in a grove at the edge of the encampment, where the 
hobbits could have quiet while they rested, but the panels 
of cloth that made up its walls were thin, and some had been 
roped back over the branches of the trees.  "What if someone 
walks in on us?"

"They won't," Frodo answered confidently.  "I asked Gandalf to 
see that we were left alone long enough to have it out between 
ourselves."  He got up and went about, pulling down the open 
panels to give them more privacy.  "We won't be interrupted 
for at least an hour, not until they call us for dinner.  That 
gives us plenty of time."  He shut the two panels that formed
the entrance and tied the cords that held them together, then 
turned back to Sam with a smile.  "Shall we?"

Sam did not hesitate.  When Frodo returned to him, he took him 
by the arms and pressed him down with more kisses, just as he 
had in that moment of madness--and yet it wasn't quite the same.  
This time, they lay on a soft bed rather than a pile of cloaks 
over hard-packed soot and ash.  And they weren't covered in 
grime and wearing filthy, tattered clothing, but could undress 
to explore each other fully, bare skin to bare skin.  They made 
love without the taint of deceit, despair, or insanity.  It was 
easier this time when Sam went into him; it didn't hurt, but 
Frodo was delighted when he felt the first, faint tingles of 
that delicious warmth spreading through him... 

It was going to be all right.  It was going to be better.

!~|the end|~!