To Sam's way of thinking, it was a measure of just how exhausted and heart-sore Mr. Frodo was that he didn't even cry out as he stumbled, left foot skidding down the slick surface of the rock to be caught between it and another. He stopped, stared dully down at the vise holding him at the ankle, then bent to extricate himself, fruitlessly tugging at lip of the stone. From where Sam was, a few paces behind but closing the distance quickly, it looked as if his weight had tipped the slab just enough to allow his foot to slip under it, then it had tipped back up to pin him in place. It didn't seem likely to him that Frodo would be able to push the far edge back down by himself; he was in the wrong position to find the right leverage.
Stinker was too far ahead to have noticed yet there was a problem, which suited Sam just fine. He didn't trust Gollum anywhere near Frodo, and perhaps, just perhaps, he and Frodo could have a moment or two to themselves without having to listen to that thing's groveling babble. It was a selfish thought, he knew, but couldn't find it in him to regret it; not if he had a chance to coax a bit of cheer into his master.
With that in mind, he muttered just loudly enough for Frodo to hear, "Now don't that beat all. Not enough that we've got Orcs, Nazgul and what-have-you nippin' at our heels, now the ground itself is takin' bites." Going to his knees to look over the situation carefully, Sam stole a quick glance up at Frodo and hid his delight at the promise of a smile he found on Frodo's face.
"It must like my flavor," Frodo said, in the same vein. "It seems reluctant to release me."
"No appetite for blood, mind you," Sam said, eyeing the skin just above Frodo's ankle, worried by the white, pinched look of the flesh. "I suppose we should count ourselves lucky on that, else it'd be doing more than tasting. Reckon that must hurt enough by itself, though."
"It's not so bad," Frodo said stoutly, in spite of the way he held himself very, very still.
"Well, old Sam will see if he can't convince Mr. Rock here that Hobbit isn't a good meal for it." He planted both fists on the far side of the stone slab and pushed down, grunting a bit at the effort it took. Too much in his mind, and he wondered if he hadn't been closer to the mark than he'd thought with his joke about the very earth itself was conspiring against them. Trying to hide the strain in his voice, he said, "There, now - see if you can't step free."
Frodo lifted his foot, and nearly tumbled, his balance precarious because of the uneven surface under his other foot. He caught Sam's shoulder to steady himself, just as Sam was forced to ease the rock back down. "Now that won't do at all." Sam sat back on his heels to think, studying the placement of both stone and Hobbit. He shifted forward slightly in hopes of gaining better access to the slab causing all the difficulties. The grip on his shoulder tightened fractionally as he did, and he looked up at Frodo, half-expecting to find a grimace of pain.
Instead he discovered an achingly tender devotion aimed directly at him through eyes so blue and clear Sam felt he could see Forever through them. He had seen the merest promise of it before, in Rivendell, even in Moria before Gandalf's fall, but never had it shone so brilliantly, pouring over and through him as if to light the way through all the hard, hard days ahead. Wounds in his heart - caused by the careless words, the hateful deeds forced from Frodo by the Ring - healed, leaving hardly a trace, even in memory.
Sam was held transfixed, scarcely able to believe that such wondrous adoration could be for him. His spirit blossomed, opening wantonly to absorb all that it could. And to return it in kind, multiplying and magnifying until Sam thought he must blaze with a radiance to rival Galadriel's, but only to Frodo's eye, for him to take up for his own use. The very thought that Frodo could take strength and resolve from what Sam felt for him satisfied something deep inside him, and he could see same echoed in Frodo's gaze.
Frodo's hand crept toward Sam's neck, fingers timidly curling there like some small thing seeking safety. At the same time, Sam reached up to lay his palm over Frodo's heart, willing to swear he could feel the fluttering beat of it. As innocuous as the touch was, it sent another jolt through Sam; this one more powerful and less innocent. Desire, sweet and heavy, rose through him, weaving through the love owning him in gossamer threads of some rare metal - a delicate setting for a treasured gem.
Frodo murmured something Sam couldn't make out, his caress drifting up to Sam's cheek to hold it gently in the palm of his hand. Need colored his eyes, turning them darker but no less luminescent, and his lips parted, as if already tasting the kiss Sam longed to give him. Irresistibly drawn, Sam stretched up to offer all that he was, hardly aware of anything but his beloved.
Pain flashed over Frodo's face, breaking the spell that held Sam, and he looked down to see that his shift in position had caused the stone pinning Frodo to squeeze viciously. Immediately contrite, he tried to back away, but the hand on his cheek darted up to grab him by the hair, holding him in place. Startled, his gaze flew up to meet Frodo's, a question already on his tongue, but he did not give it voice.
Gone was the sweetness that had been on Frodo's face, replaced by a wicked lasciviousness that ill-fit the Hobbit he knew Frodo to be. In Sam's mind there was no doubt the Ring had taken hold, using the momentary distraction of the pain to overcome Frodo's will. Or perhaps the pain itself was a gateway that the Ring could use, because Frodo leaned down, heedless of the hurt he caused himself, fingers digging cruelly into Sam's scalp. Nothing was left in his expression but a raw, evil lust that was as repellant as it was terrifying. Sam swallowed against a hard lump of fear, not for himself, but for Frodo.
He braced himself, uncertain if he should give battle or submit, for there was no knowing which would do the greater harm to Frodo. Sam had no doubt that he could overwhelm him. Wasted though he was, he was still the stronger by far, but the Ring could drive Frodo into fighting with a violence that Sam was not sure he could counter without causing great injury. If he submitted - and for a horrifying instant his own treacherous body clamored for that choice - if he submitted....
The decision was taken from him. Abruptly Frodo jerked back, yanking his hand away to bury it in a pocket. He turned his head to stare sightlessly out at the horizon.
For the first time he understood why Frodo slept with his back turned toward him in an uncompromising line of rejection. Why he had not once since Rivendell reached for him to take what small comfort and pleasure Sam wished so much to give him. Frodo feared this very thing; the Ring using passion as a weapon to hurt Sam and break Frodo.
That was it, then, Sam told himself grimly. He would keep his distance because he must, and if it came to it, he would fight. To do anything less would be to destroy Frodo when he came back to his senses. And when this whole quest was said and done, he would fold him into his arms and never, ever let go again.
"Massster caught?" Gollum scamperrd up behind them, sounding to Sam's ear as delighted as he was solicitous. "Smeagol help, yes, yes. Be still, be still."
Sight still fixed on some far place, Frodo said, "Sam will see to it, Smeagol."
"Indeed I will," Sam agreed, putting all his frustration and fear into a powerful heave, he lifted the stone slab high enough for Frodo to step clear. And I mean to see to it that's the way matters stay. You can't get clear of me, Mr. Frodo, no matter how far away you think you need to stay. I'm going to be right here, waiting.
Almost as if he heard the silent promise, Frodo sighed and looked at Sam, offering him a hand up. "Come, Sam. We've a long way to go."
"Indeed we do," Sam said agreeably.
He took the hand offered, but stood under his own power. Even as Frodo turned to plod along in Gollum's wake, it seemed that his fingers tarried in Sam's. Hitching his pack a bit higher on his shoulders, Sam watched him go, flesh still warm and tingling from that lingering touch.
And quite a bit more to get back to where we belong, he thought. But we will, Mr. Frodo. Don't you doubt it.
finis