Title: The One Ring 
 
Author: Esmeralda  
 
Contact: water_from_esmeralda@mac.com 
 
Chapters: 1/1 
 
Rating: R bordering on NC-17 
 
Warnings:	threat of sexual violence; hobbit/human pairing 
 
Pairing: the Ring/Aragorn/Frodo 
 
Summary: Early in the quest, on the road to Rivendell, the Ring presses its 
advantage.  
 
Disclaimers: This is a work of impure fiction. The Lord of the Rings and all 
characters contained therein are the property of JRR Tolkien's estate and its 
licensees, as I am painfully aware. These stories are written for fun and for no 
other sort of gain or harm. 
 
A/N: A special thanks to Libitina, my faithful beta, who inspired this POV. The 
story was written and first posted in November 2003. 
************* 
 
 
I have felt you look at him when no one else can see that you do, for I observe 
always. He is my lovely, my plaything, my keeper of the moment. I would seek 
harder to escape him, but for his unwitting caress. He is a new acquisition. He 
resists me always, yet ever feels my touch. He fears me but loves me already, 
and I am far from finished with him. 
 
Frodo will protect me from others who would hoard me in lonely wilds and not 
return me to Master. He is afraid, yet he goes with you to do the right thing. 
He has spirit the others did not have, and I will enjoy breaking him more. I 
have not the time I need with Frodo to persuade him not to let me be destroyed. 
But I will have my effects. 
 
I languished quite long enough with Gollum, and played long enough with Bilbo, 
who kept me nearly too well. This young one is softer, his skin more electric, 
his thoughts more interesting. Since I left his pocket, I am ever on this chain, 
sliding over his flesh, feeling the beat of his heart and the damp of his sweat. 
I am beginning to burn him, but only just. 
 
You, Aragorn, whom I will destroy, I love, for you will take me to Master. I 
have been away too many years, and Master longs for me. If anyone can see me 
home, it is you. You do not yet hear me call your name, but you are human and 
there is enough time. 
 
Perhaps my wraiths will find us first. I will help them, but not too soon. 
Before I go with them, I must reach Rivendell. The Nazgul do not know where we 
go, they are too blind to predict, and are overeager. If I did not misdirect 
them from time to time, they would unknowingly thwart my plans. I cannot tell 
Master, or show him, only draw him where I go. Our spies have never penetrated 
Rivendell, and it will be my triumph to enter, to hear, and to influence. 
 
I enjoy this journey in your company, for I have not had the pleasure of a human 
since Isildur. It is delicious that you are his kin, that you doubt yourself so. 
That you think you have rejected what I will give you. I have always loved 
having a human. Your kind are so malleable, so open to me. Master would reward 
me with a human from time to time, but they do not last long and he is jealous. 
I have been lonely in the hands of nonhumans for many hundreds of years, and 
now, at last, there is you. 
 
Aragorn, you do not know the lust that I am growing in you. You think yourself 
chaste in admiring Frodo, protecting him, saving yourself for she who waits for 
you. I know from the murmurs of others that Frodo is beautiful, beyond ordinary 
measure, yet that will not move you. He wants you, but he will not tell you 
without my influence. In the end, he cannot resist me as I push where his heart 
goes, and you cannot withstand the two of us together. 
 
He thinks of you touching him. I feel it and coax him to reach for himself, to 
strengthen the bond, but he fights me, ashamed. Ashamed of what you would think 
should you ever know. He is so innocent. Not untouched, nay, this I know of him. 
But he is innocent in his heart. He listens to you sing of doomed love, and 
wishes to ease your sadness. He is drawn to help, to heal. A weakness I will 
exploit.  
 
Pity, you will not have to force him, Aragorn. Before I am finished with you, 
though, you will hurt him with hatred of your own lust, and he will find that he 
will beg you for that rather than not have you at all. He will allow the pain 
and see your desire for it, where he would prefer love.  
 
Frodo will no longer be innocent, he will know that evil deeds can be so 
gratifying as to overcome love, patience, and courage. You will loathe yourself 
for how good it feels and later, for how you have ruined him for all time.  
Then, you will be mine, for I will promise you redemption. My true intentions 
will not matter to you. 
 
For now, I must rest, and wait, and find a way to distract his almost-ever-
watcher, that Sam, that meddler. For at hearing Frodo's first sound of pain, 
before enough damage is done, Sam will kill you. 
******* 
 
You awoke early today, your arms full of sleeping hobbit. I enjoyed your 
astonishment. I enjoyed your arousal more.  
 
I made him afraid, in the night. When he instinctively thought to you for help, 
I quieted, driving him to want the arms of Strider about him. He fretted for 
some time before making his way to your blankets, flushed with the fear of 
embarrassment.  
 
I stayed quiet, letting him believe that your presence makes him safe from me.  
I could not intervene to keep you asleep. I could not touch you, for he remained 
clothed. If I had called to you to sleep more deeply, you would have recoiled. 
But you trust Frodo, you are so accustomed to him, that you hardly noticed when 
he curled into you and fell asleep in your warmth. 
 
You certainly noticed him this morning. Your body betrayed you even before you 
awoke. When you felt it, I thought you might fling him away with an outcry, 
humiliate him before the others, and I vibrated with the wish of it. That 
awakened him, and when you saw those sleepy eyes, full of trust, it undid you. 
So much the better. An opportunity to humiliate you both is better. 
 
He touched your face, which I did not expect. I cannot see all lines flowing 
from each action, only most. Your hand covered me then, clasping me to his 
heart, and the jolt that passed through me was extraordinary. I postponed my 
other plans. I felt your kiss begin, your lips stroking his, opening him to you. 
His want, naked want from this creature who never asks for himself, was so great 
that for a moment, I could sense nothing but his hammering heart. 
 
Frodo could not find his breath, and the ache within him was delicious to me. He 
kissed you again, pressing himself the length of your body, revealing to you 
both the hardness of each. I found myself suspended between your hearts, needing 
to do nothing but feel your mutual anguish. You could act no further on your 
desire without notice from the others beginning to wake in the light of dawn. 
Both your thoughts raced to the right and wrong choices and the consequences of 
each. I found that the prospect of shaming you paled in comparison to prolonging 
this agony. 
 
Too soon, Frodo took your hand and kissed the palm, before rolling away from you 
into the cold morning. 
******* 
 
An opportunity. Sam feels unwell. Frodo has attended him, tucking him in extra 
blankets despite Sam's protests, and has sat by until the meddler sleeps. The 
younger ones do not have the same constant instinct to watch, they are silly, 
and they play cards by the fire while Frodo follows your path, leaving them with 
an excuse that he helps you to gather enough wood for the whole night's fire. 
Sam would never allow this, and I quiver at his absence. The early evening is 
foggy and dim, but he finds you soon enough with my help. 
 
When you see him, alone, you seem as though you might shy away. This will never 
do. Where is my bold warrior? Perhaps my timing is premature. 
 
"Strider," Frodo's voice is small and soft in his unsurety, "I am sorry if I did 
something wrong this morning, I do not know the ways of your people. I was 
caught off guard, just waking, and did not think." 
 
You struggle for a moment to find the right words, to be kinder, but your voice 
is harsh. "I do not know what brought you to my bed, Frodo, but it was I who 
first moved to touch your lips. It was my trespass, both to you and my beloved."  
 
Always willing to take the responsibility. That is why your pain at hurting him 
these next moments will be exquisite.  
 
You clear your throat in discomfort, setting the bundle of sticks down and 
kneeling before Frodo, sitting back on your heels. You think you do so to make 
yourself smaller to reassure him, but I know better.  
 
He speaks before you can. "Fear brought me to you. I knew I could sleep if only 
I could feel you close." Frodo pauses, flushed and afraid to go on, but he does. 
"Your kiss was no trespass to me, only something I have desired for many days 
now. I am sorry that it pains you. I wished no harm." 
 
"Knowing now that there is harm, Frodo, would you do it again, coming to me 
here?" I wait, thrilling, hearing underneath the anger that there is invitation 
in your voice. I amplify it, and he walks the few steps to you. 
 
"I find I cannot help myself," Frodo whispers, "now that I have tasted you, I 
cannot stay away." 
 
You are on him then, and you crush him with your swordsman's grip, but he 
answers with open lips and no resistance at all. The softer he is, the angrier 
you are at your own response, and I am singing with it. Frodo moans as you bite 
him hard, marking his flawless skin over and over with your sharp teeth. You are 
tearing his clothing, and he is helping you, until he is naked and shivering in 
the chill. 
 
I feel then with triumph that the sight of him, freezing and beautiful and 
completely aroused, will cause you to strike him down and force your way over 
and into his body as hard as you can. These visions tear through you, weak 
human, you can see the bruises and blood and hear his pain in your mind, yet you 
throb harder with it. I have you. You know in this moment that you are capable 
of it because he has given you cause, he has asked for it. I am burning him now, 
and he will not stop you. 
 
Frodo reaches out a hand toward you, a tiny gesture that ends his passivity. 
Something shifts in you. Impossibly. I fight back, and my spell breaks. 
Inexplicably, I am still singing, for currents of fire are running through me. 
You take that hand and close your eyes in relief. With the other, he wipes tears 
from your face. Then, he presses you back, and you relax into the earth at his 
gentle command.  
 
Frodo falls to his knees now and caresses your chest, straddling you, his 
fingers going to the laces of your shirt. I am bewildered, thrumming with heat 
and helping him be bold enough to continue. He slides the cloth away from your 
skin, following with his lips. You are panting now, the tears still running, 
down over your temples, soaking into your hair. You barely move, as he slides 
down your body. Soon, your breeches are gone. Frodo's mouth covers you, and you 
groan, your hands burying themselves in his curls. 
 
"Frodo," you grit out, "stop, I must tell you that I nearly..." 
 
"Shhhh," Frodo raises his head to hush you, "You did not. It was the Ring." I 
vibrate with his mention of me, he never speaks of me, even when others do. His 
hands are busy teasing you, evoking more delicious noises of surrender, and I 
find for the moment that I am not disappointed. He speaks again. "I understand 
that you are angry with yourself and with me, for this--it is not what you 
planned. It senses that, and exploits it. But I am still stronger, and so are 
you. There may come a time when that is not true."  
 
I am gratified by his admission. 
 
Frodo returns to stroking with his tongue until you shudder and clutch at the 
grass beneath you. Somehow, I share these waves of pleasure, and I know that the 
writing etched upon me is glowing. He stops just in time, before you lose 
yourself. He crawls up until he crouches against your chest, now bared to him, 
and you feel him hard against you. You marvel that he is not smaller, but you 
have no time to act on your impulse, for he is kissing you, and at long last, I 
brush your face, dangling from the chain. 
 
It shocks me, this first feel of you, Aragorn, Strider... Estel... and another 
still yet to show himself... I suddenly know that you are not who I thought you 
were. There is less of Isildur and more of something else. I must ponder this. 
 
Then, Frodo does something utterly new to my experience. He leans over, drops me 
in your mouth, and kisses us both. Your answering groan is somehow sweeter than 
the sounds of torture I have caused during my existence.  
 
This being, this halfling, has such absolute love in him, it is a power to rival 
mine. For that, *with* that, I will tear him to shreds from inside out. Slowly. 
Later. 
 
In this moment, I am returned to Mount Doom, to the place of my making, to my 
first consciousness of pure gold. I have not been scarred with dark writing. An 
elf is cooling me in ent-draught. I do not yet know the bath of festering blood 
they will leave me in for months. 
 
I cannot feel Master. I can only feel your tongues swirling about me and into 
the space I contain, the chain clicking against your teeth. It is a glorious 
sensation. I hear your moans, together, and soon, Frodo's peak rushes through us 
both, his essences spurting over your chest. Your hand goes to find your own 
need, and you follow him quickly, soaking his back. Your mouths are still 
connected around me, muffling your cries so the others do not hear. The harmony 
moves me, and I add my voice. But it is a different voice than the one I know, 
and I lose consciousness in the shock of it. 
******* 
 
I am awake again. I do not understand what has happened. I hear you dressing one 
another with gentle movements and dividing the pile of sticks between you. I 
feel Frodo walking back to the fire, his exhaustion heavy. He drops his burden, 
and before Merry and Pippin's eyes, you guide him to your blankets, covering him 
before stepping over to check on Sam.  
 
"He is afraid, Merry," you explain, a truth. "I cannot watch each night entirely 
without sleep, for we have far to go. I think it best that he take his rest 
where I can most protect him." 
 
"Good idea," he replies cheerily, "don't know why it didn't come to us before."  
 
I sense that the other small one smiles in agreement. "Sam won't like it," he 
says, "but we'll make him see." 
 
You take off your boots and settle in, drawing Frodo's back to your chest, 
smelling yourself on him. He is already fast asleep. You worry about what this 
night means, and Arwen will soon know. Frodo sighs and your thoughts turn back 
to the marvel of him. You cradle us close, and I feel you relax. 
 
I must go quiet and meditate on Master's wishes. There is time another day for 
torture. 
*******