Title: False Fire
Author: Victoria Bitter (voyagerbabe@hotmail.com)
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The Ring is more dangerous than Frodo and Sam ever imagined, and
even the city of the Elves is no haven.
Disclaimer: The Hobbits and everything else in Rivendell is Tolkien's. The
story is mine.
Feedback: Yes, please, especially constructive crit.
Story Notes: The setup for this is book canon from FOTR, but the
inspiration was entirely Elijah Wood's semi-orgasmic reactions to handling
the Ring.



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It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

Everything was perfect, from the smallest seedling pushing its way out of
the rich dark soil, already lush green and near glowing with readiness to
grow, all the way to the grand buildings arching high and graceful and so
easily made that they seemed to have just soared their way out of the
earth. The waterfall cast a crystal kind of mist over everything in the
mornings, making it all glitter and throwing tiny rainbows everywhere.
Even the birds seemed to know they were in a special place and sang more
sweetly, never a harsh caw ripping the flower-silken wind. Rivendell was
like walking through a dream in daylight, but when I saw your eyes looking
back at me, it all seemed to fall plain.

I was so afraid for you, Mr. Frodo. Lord Elrond was everything I'd ever
imagined the Elves as being, so wise and so elegant and so very tall that
it seemed sometimes like the silver crown in his hair was just stars that
had gotten themselves caught as he walked by, and yet, every time he
looked at that wound of yours, I could see a darkness come into his eyes.
He was an Elf that could hear the whispers in the wind, but he was afraid
for you, and that scared me. It scared me right bad.

For three days, I held your hand near round the clock. Wouldn't let you
go, even when Lord Elrond came and took care of you, though I don't reckon
I've ever felt so small and shabby as when he'd lean over me in those
shining robes of his. Your hand was so cold it was like clinging to ice,
but once, in the middle of the night, I felt like the dark was just
crushing down, and I couldn't help it. I put your hand to my lips and just
held it there for I don't know how long, letting my tears slip down on it
like rain on the sweetest flower. And your hand moved. Just a bit, but I
laughed right out loud, and my heart was able to hang on for two more
days.

At least, until Gandalf came. He looked at me with eyes so deep they
pulled my breath away. "Little gardener, Lord Elrond tells me that you
haven't eaten or slept since you've come."

I nodded. "I've been scared for him, Mr. Gandalf." I wasn't at all ashamed
of it. It was bad enough Lord Elrond had made leave your side a few times,
walk around a bit, but I couldn't have lived with myself had something
happened to you while I was in bed or at the supper table.

He placed his hand on you then, closing his eyes and breathing in all
sudden like you'd burned him. His palm was under your chin, the tips of
his fingers tucked into your sweat-slick curls, and his fingers were
trembling. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at me, smiling all soft
and sad. "He'll be fine, little gardener. The splinter is gone, and he'll
be well soon. You need to get something to eat, some rest."

I clutched your cold hand all the tighter, grabbing it hard to my chest as
if my heart, just by beating so hard, could give some strength back to
yours. "He needs me."

"And how can you help him by driving yourself until you fall faint on your
feet? Your fear has kept you going this far, Samwise, but when he wakes,
he will need you strong, and to be strong for him, you must sleep, and you
must eat. You are already pale."

To be honest, Mr. Frodo, I was dreadful hungry, and there was something in
his voice that made it seem all right. I stared him hard in the eyes, then
took a deep breath and reached out, taking his great hand in my own small,
dirty one. There seemed to be a kind of power rippling through him, and
the hair on my feet stood on end, but I didn't flinch. I placed your hand
in his, closing his fingers on it. "Keep care of him, Mr. Gandalf. I'll
eat, but I shan't sleep until I see his eyes open."

I went, and I ate, and the food of the Elves had no taste in my mouth, but
it filled my stomach, and when I got back, I saw the most beautiful thing
in all imagination. Your eyes. Open. Looking back at me. Your mouth,
smiling.

I ran to you, grabbed your hand, and oh, Mr. Frodo, it was warm. So warm,
and so alive, and it squeezed back on mine, and I felt my heart would
burst from the gladness of it.

That day passed like laughter. I finally let myself really see all that
was around me, and oh, but Bilbo's stories didn't even begin to touch on
all that they really were. There was a light about them, a light that
seemed to come from someplace inside, and their eyes were old and wise as
oaks and young as spring dewdrops, and watching you talking and smiling
and walking about in that perfect place, I was happy.

You disappeared that night with Mr. Bilbo, and I know you might think it
was a bit silly of me, but I was worried about you. I could still see the
weakness in your step. I suppose I might have looked a bit silly wondering
about you, and Gandalf laughed as he told me to go look for you.

I heard your and Bilbo's voices coming from your room, and I hesitated
before I knocked, suddenly not wanting to interrupt you. You and he were
sitting next to each other, talking quietly when I stuck my head in the
door, and I pretended not to notice the stains of tears on Bilbo's cheeks.
He must have missed you nearly as bad as I would have. You looked up, and
I looked away. "Begging your pardon, but I was just wondering if you'd be
wanting anything."

Bilbo shook his head, and that kindly face, so suddenly old, warmed into a
gentle smile. "And begging yours, Sam Gamgee, for I guess you mean it is
time your Master went to bed."

"Well, sir, there is a Council early tomorrow, I hear, and he only got up
today for the first time."

Bilbo laughed, and for a moment, as he was saying his goodbyes, I felt
like I was back in the Shire, peeping my head in the door at Bag End and
listening to his Elf stories. Now I was in an Elf story, but he still
looked at me near as specially as he does at you, Mr. Frodo, and I felt
like I was almost another adopted son to him. Maybe that's silly of me,
but he makes me feel that way, and I love him for it. And I love him for
loving you, and I am glad you got to see him again, even if he did keep
you up into the wee hours.

Then Bilbo left, and you were just sitting there on the bed, candlelight
gilding your face from one side as moonlight silvered the other. It near
took my breath away, and I stood in the door, heart beating loud in my
ears. You're so beautiful, Mr. Frodo. So specially beautiful.

I've heard the gossip in Hobbiton, and I know you have too. They say
you're odd looking, shake their heads, mutter how you're fortunate to have
money since you're lacking in looks. How blind they are! All these years,
I've known there was something special about you, something perfect in
those features as delicate as butterfly wings, that skin like first winter
ice, those eyes as wide and blue as Lake Evendim. All those years I knew
there was magic in your slender body, your dreamlike face, and now I know
why.

You look like an Elf, Mr. Frodo. You look like you could catch the stars
in your hair if you just stood tall enough. And it scares me a little,
because everything about me is just hobbit, and everything about you is
hobbit and a little bit more. I reckon the little bit more is what makes
me love you so much that it makes my throat close up and my chest ache.
My mouth was gaping open like a fish, and you laughed. "You're staring,
Sam." "I'm just so happy to see you well, Mr. Frodo." My voice seemed to
catch, and I looked away. "I was afraid for you."

I didn't hear you cross the room, but I gasped as your arms wrapped around
me, so warm...so very warm, and so alive. I felt your face nuzzle against
the side of my neck, and I couldn't help it. I turned in your arms and
held you as tight as I could, never wanting to let you go as I tangled my
fingers in your hair, feeling your blood pulsing through the skin beneath
as your lips brushed against my ear.

"Gandalf told me, Sam. Sweet Sam." You kissed the tip of my ear, light as
a wish, and I shivered. "You stayed by me all that time."

"I'll always stay by you, Mr. Frodo. Always." My hands were still thick in
your hair as you pulled back, bringing your hands up between us to smooth
tears down my cheeks that I didn't even know were there. A faint breeze
chilled the thin moisture, and I closed my eyes as you traced your fingers
to my mouth, touching my own salt sorrow-pleasure to my lips.

Then you kissed me.

The taste of the Elven fruits was still nectar on your tongue, and I will
never taste a more heady liquor. Your mouth pressed hard to mine, but I
welcomed it, knowing that you were only proving your life to me, adoring
every beat of that heart that they hadn't been able to take away. I probed
my tongue deep into your mouth, seeking that sweetness, that warmth and
life, and for a moment, we writhed against each other with a desperate
hunger, hands grasping and pulling as if trying to force our two bodies
into a single moment.

As we tumbled onto the bed, your hands were on my shoulders, and you
pushed my weskit back and away - funny, but I didn't even notice you'd
undone the buttons - then just stopped. You were propped on your arms
above me, looking down with the sweetest of smiles, your cheeks flushed
pink and lips already swollen red as berries. "Sweet Sam...do you...?"
I answered you by reaching up and taking your face in my hands, kissing
you again, soft and deep as words couldn't say. We'd done it before, and
sweet as that always was, this was the dearest of all, because you were so
nearly lost to me. I never quite knew I could love someone so much until
that happened. I wanted to. I wanted to make you laugh, I wanted to make
you cry, I wanted to make you smile and gasp and come and prove to me,
prove to yourself that you were *alive*.

You were still bent over, your hands still on the bed behind me, and I
took you carefully by the waist, avoiding your shoulder as I lifted you
until you were standing there by the bed, looking at me with eyes as deep
as the night. You started to move, but I shook my head and placed my hand
gently on your chest, staying you. You needed to do nothing but be. No
more precious gift could you give.

Your clothing came away like a prayer. My fingers moved swiftly over you,
unbuttoning, opening, pulling without ever taking, only revealing as you
watched me watch you. Treasure you. Adore you. Only when I raised the hem
of your shirt over your head did you move, bringing your arms up as
gracefully as a swan and letting them fall again to drape behind my neck.
I stepped in close even as you pulled me in. My own shirt was open, and I
reveled in the feeling of your smooth, bare flesh against my own, our
hearts pounding together, chests moving against each other as we breathed
harder, faster now. Reaching around you, I slipped my fingers just inside
the waistband of your trousers, sliding them around the circle of your
waist to the buttons at the front.

There I paused. With your body so close against me, I could feel that you
were already hard, your body as flushed with desire as my own. I knew that
I could satisfy you quickly, easily, with just a few simple movements of
my hand, but I didn't want to merely satisfy you. I wanted to please you.
You moaned as I stepped away, and that moan seemed to burn my skin,
bringing a rush of dizziness to my senses and a fierce insistence to my
cock. I swallowed hard, thinking of cool morning sunlight over newly
budded roses, of dew on apples just ripe, of the snap of new peas bursting
green. Holding those images - images of life fresh and innocent - in my
head, I lifted you in my arms, laying you out flat on the clean, cool silk
of the sheets.

There you lay, arms spread wide, nipples peaked tight and pink against
your flesh as your chest rose and fell, those breaths the only movement as
your eyes held mine with a patience and desire that mixed so sweetly. My
shirt had fallen back off my shoulders as I lifted you, and now I shook it
off entirely, climbing onto the bed to kneel beside you.

Already, one button of your trousers had been undone, and the corner of
the flap hung loose as a teasing invitation. I took it, unbuttoning the
other corner, and your cock was revealed, flushed and dark and wanton,
pushing through the open fly. The sight of your desire made me gasp aloud,
and I forced my eyes to your face as I unbuttoned your waistband and
stripped the trousers away.

Your eyes seemed almost to hold me in a kind of dream, and it was through
that haze that I saw just the tip of my finger touch itself to your
forehead, tracing down the dainty lines of your face, slipping down the
vulnerable skin of your throat as you arched it back, trailing a circle
around one hard nipple and making you gasp before my hand rose to your
shoulder.

You still wore the bandage. It was made of something very much like silk,
only softer, as though it had somehow been woven from milkweed floss and
dandelion down and the first wool of a newborn lamb. It covered your
wounded shoulder thickly, but only two thin bands of cloth wrapped almost
elegantly over your shoulder and around your chest just above your
nipples. Oddly, I didn't mind seeing it there. It protected you, as I
would.

You also wore the Ring, suspended on a new chain of Elven make, resting
like captured sunlight on your chest. It was a pretty thing, but that
simple circle brought the scream of the Riders to my mind's ear, and I
felt an immense rush of relief that we would be rid of it so soon. The
Council was only a few hours away, and then you could give it up, send it
away to its fate with some strong Elf-warrior...perhaps Glorfindle, or
Lord Elrond himself.

But not you. You had been hurt enough by it already, and I would not abide
pain for you.

I kissed you again, and it was as if that kiss had brought you out of a
trance. Your hands sought out my shoulders as your tongue danced magic
over my mouth, and I moaned softly into you as your kind fingers eased the
knots of too many days worry.

My own hands had been cupping your face, but I began to stroke them slow
down your throat, feeling your pulse throbbing hard there, resting a
moment on that glorious rhythm, then continuing down. I had just reached
your chest when you suddenly stiffened, your eyes flying wide as you
gasped aloud. I froze, terrified. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." You let out a long sigh, relaxing with a kind of lazy smile that
somehow seemed terribly wicked. "It was more...a shiver. When you touched
the Ring. It felt so good."

I blinked, looking anew at that simple circle of gold. I knew that it was
connected to you in a way I couldn't quite understand, but I'd always
thought of it as an Evil thing, something that only brought nightmare
shrieks in black robes and knives that crumbled to dust in strong hands.
I'd never thought of it as a source of pleasure, but it was pleasure
written clear on your face as you looked at me now. Pleasure, and a kind
of invitation.

As if reading my hesitations, you kissed the tips of my fingers, your own
hand snaking across your chest to fondle the Ring. "Sam, please." Your
voice was low, rich, your tongue thrust deep into my mouth, your hips
bucked up against mine. Then your hand was on mine, and you pulled me to
touch it again. It was hot, almost painfully so, but the touch made your
eyes roll white, and you thrust your hardened cock so fierce and fast
against me that I felt my own vision begin to blur from pleasure.

"More." Your whisper was unmistakable command, and I rolled the Ring
between my fingers, stroking and fondling the smooth metal, careful all
the time never to quite get it around my fingertip for fear of the danger
within it. The effect on you was startling, and a little frightening. I
had never seen you so aroused. You twisted and stretched on the bed, your
hands fisting tight in the sheets, your face flushed bright as you panted
for breath. The pleasure was clear and rampant, yet strangely, your cock
had begun to soften.

It was wrong. You were enjoying it, so much was painfully obvious, but my
heart was screaming warning that this was something darker, something more
unnatural than simple arousal. I pulled my hand away, sitting up and
shaking my head. I wanted to please you, but not through this dreadful
thing. "Mr. Frodo, maybe we should..." Your eyes opened, and I gasped, my
own desire suddenly fled in fear.

I didn't know those eyes.

Your eyes had become like those of some starving wild beast, and my heart
twisted as I realized that all the love that had shone so recent and
gentle was gone in that hunger. "More. Now." You grabbed my hand before I
could react, and your fingers dug in hard, almost as if punishing me. I
let out a cry, more of shock than of pain, though I knew that you were
dangerously close to leaving bruises. You were hurting me. And you didn't
care.

The Ring was hotter now, almost so hot as to burn me, and your hand was
still locked hard on my wrist, forcing my palm in jagged circles that
rubbed the Ring over your chest as you sucked deep, wavering breaths,
moaning in dark ecstasy. I wanted to pull away, but I have worked hard
since I was a lad, and I am strong for a hobbit. I was afraid of hurting
you, afraid that the force I would have to summon to counter this strange
strength would be enough to sprain your wrist or possibly even snap bone.
With a cry of pained confusion, I tried to bring you back to your senses
with a kiss, but you pushed my face away as if I tasted bad, your
expression twisting with anger. You looked at me bitterly for a moment,
almost offended, then that pleasure-light gleamed in your eyes again, and
you caught my curls in both hands, releasing my wrist. I pulled my hand
away from the Ring as fast as I could, but it had whispered a new idea to
your mind. "Put your mouth on it."

I tried to pull away, but you wrenched my head down to your chest, and my
tears fell hot and unheeded to your skin as I took the Ring between my
lips. I didn't know what else to do. You were hurting me. On purpose.
Never had I thought this would happen. Never had I been afraid of you.
The Ring was bitter as gall, and it scorched my tongue like a brand. I
whimpered, begged, but you didn't care, moaning in your selfish haze.
Before my eyes, my Frodo, my loving Master, had gone, and in its place was
this creature of black desire. Yet I knew it wasn't you changed. It wasn't
you at all. It was the Ring, more hateful and more powerful than even the
Black Riders had ever led me to fear.

I bit it. Hard.

Your body arched like a pulled bowstring, limbs jerking wildly, and for
one horrifying moment, I felt you go as cold as death itself. Then you
cried out, and it was the high, keening wail of the Riders echoing from
your beautiful lips, and my own sob of anguish joined it as I threw myself
down on you, holding tight as if I could bring you back to me.

Then it was over, and you were warm and shivering and your arms were
gentle around me, your face buried in my chest as you sobbed like a lost
child. I wondered if I dared to hope that it was you again, but then you
lifted your head, and I found myself looking into your eyes, deep and
clear as Evendim Lake, yet your beautiful face was still twisted with an
anguish that stabbed hard. "I'm sorry, Sam...I'm so sorry..."

"It's all right, Mr. Frodo, it's all right,...I didn't mean to hurt you.
I'd never mean to hurt you. Never, never..." I held you close to me,
soothing my hands through your hair, over your back, feeling your
shoulders heave as you cried.

"But I hurt you." The last words seemed barely forced past your lips, a
horrified whisper that held such self-hate that I pushed you back, looking
you hard in the eyes.

"You scared me, Frodo Baggins, you scared me right bad, and I didn't know
what else to do, but it weren't you. I only did what I did because it
weren't you. I couldn't never hurt you."

Your eyes fell, and your hand twitched towards the little thing at your
chest that now seemed to crouch there like a dark, gloating beast. "It..."

"I know, Mr. Frodo." I cupped your chin gently in my hand, raising your
face to mine, then kissed you lightly. No passion, nothing needed, just a
kiss to let you know I still loved you, even if I hadn't stopped shaking
yet, even if my wrist still ached and my scalp burned where your fingers
had ripped so hard in my hair. "Don't talk on it. It'll be over tomorrow."

"I want them to take it far away, Sam. I don't want to ever hurt you
again." You are older than me by fifteen years, yet you sounded like a
frightened lad, and it was like a lad that I held you, rocking slowly back
and forth.

"They will, Mr. Frodo, they will, and it'll be right again. We can go back
to the Shire. It'll be Yule, with the frost glittering on the trees, and
the berries on the yew as red as cherries, and maybe it will even snow,
and I'll bank a warm fire, and you can watch it fall while you sit all
rugged up tight and cozy in Bag End with nothing in the world to harm
you." The words tumbled over themselves, almost as if I was trying to
reassure myself as much as you. Maybe I was.

You nodded, your hands absently stroking my back. "I'd like that."

"Good then, now you go to sleep. Sleep, and in the morning, all will be
well." I pulled the coverlet up over us, smoothing it down around you to
keep you warm, then kissed you gently in the middle of your forehead as
your eyes drifted closed.

Your lips curved up in the slightest of bittersweet smiles, and your hand
squeezed tight on mine. "I love you, Sam."

"I love you too, Mr. Frodo. No matter what." I squeezed your hand back,
then eased out from under the coverlet, careful not to disturb you,
careful not to let myself think about what had happened too much. You
needed your rest.

It took me only a few moments to get myself back in order and gather up
your clothes, folding them neatly at the foot of your bed. I made my way
silently to the door of the chamber, then stopped, suddenly desperate to
see your face once more before I left, tell myself that you were truly all
right again. I turned, and my heart seemed to seize in my chest, the tears
that I had been holding back suddenly welling hot in my eyes as I clamped
my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob.

You were beautiful in the moonlight, curled on your side like a child,
your face sweet and fresh and innocent. Your face was the face of the
hobbit I grew up beside, the one I lived to serve, the one I loved. But
even in sleep, your hand clutched the Ring.



The End