A/N:  My thanks to Elanor for commiseration, Connie for strength, Aratlithiel for support, and Willow for patience.  *grin*

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As the orc slips from my blade I am faced with you--wrists bound with rope soiled black from the blood of your struggle, your face pale from sickness and fear.   A cavernous puncture wound glares red fury at me from your chest, and I gaze at it with heated contempt, vowing I would have landed one more blow had I but known...  But your eyes draw me, for they once again hold the spark I am accustomed to.  There is pain, but they are clear and speak to me of love again, and of life.

The blade falls from my hand, forgotten, and I fall to my knees beside you.

"Oh Sam, I'm so sorry, sorry for everything!" you exclaim, your eyes pleading for forgiveness, washing away whatever grievances I may have had against you.  And for just one moment, these walls, washed in dull crimson, this place, foul and heavy with the malice that seeps from the very stone...fades into nothing and we are at Bag End, waking beside each other after an evening lover's quarrel. 

You wake slowly, and from where I lie peering at you from under my arm, I can see the realization take you.  You fall from that dreamy place between awake and asleep into the knowledge that all is not right in your world, and you lay there thinking.  It takes you the span of five breaths to burrow under my arm and drown me in oceans of blue, take my lips and fill them with your desire as a penance, even if the tiff was not of your making. 

Sorry was not a word then but an action...an action that has no meaning here or now...not since...

I shake myself from my reverie and set my mind to business.

"Let's get you out of here,"  I state resolutely, already assessing what I can do to aid you.

The spark is extinguished from your eyes as quickly as it appeared, making me wonder if I even saw it at all.  As you struggle to prop an elbow under you, your breath comes in gasps and you raise your eyes to me--two orbs hollowed by a loss that I can't even fathom...

"It's too late.  It's over, they've taken it," you whisper.

I cannot imagine what you mean, and I wonder for a second if you're delirious, my brow creasing in question.

"Sam, they took the Ring!" 

I have never seen you look so broken and pained before.  Not even when the Witch King struck you and you were sure that you would die.  And I am afraid.  I can fill the gaping void I see within you.  But I don't want to.  If I keep It in my pocket I can spare you...and then I hear It.  It has never made a sound before, but I can hear It humming very softly at the edge of my consciousness.  I wonder, can you hear It too?  A breath later I realize that you're still gazing up at me desperately, and I blurt out over the hum that begins to drone in my ears...

"Beggin' your pardon, but they haven't."

Your eyes widen like saucers and your jaw drops just a fraction as you digest my words.  You drink me in as water to cool the fire of your longing, but I am drawn by something else now...

I pull It from my pocket now and gaze at It, for the hum has now become a chorus that consumes my mind, fills my vision more completely than you do.

I wrench my eyes away and manage, "I thought I'd lost you, so I took it...only for safekeepin'."

Your eyes lock with mine as a deadly calm steals over you.  With a great effort you contain your rage enough to jaggedly whisper, "Give It to me."

You cannot hear Its song, not now, for It has spurned you in search of another lover.

In an instant you have become a pitiable creature, ravaged by that which controls you, consumed by desire for that which poisons your soul.  The change in you strikes me like a blow, and as it falls the song that weaves about me insists that I can save you from this.  It pleads with me to spare you from this suffering, for I am stronger and can abide with It better than you ever could.  It paints for me an image of you, as you once were.  Young and wild, you sprawl naked on your bed in Bag End, and beseech me to your side with only your eyes.  They pull and engulf me with their desire, causing my very soul to pulse to the rhythm that builds between us as we caress each other, and I become aroused at the mere thought of sharing this with you.  It promises me that all this and more will again be mine, if only I keep the Ring for myself...if I shield you from It, It will release Its hold on you and allow me to quicken the flame of want of me that still burns somewhere deep inside you...

I pull the Ring back a little from you, as I feel the disgust and desire mingle within me...and I know that the Ring knows my weakness.  

"Give me the Ring, Sam."

The song turns dark now, and forebodes your future to me if I return the Ring to you.  You change before my very eyes into a shadow of your former self, more pitiful and wretched than even that stinker, Gollum.  You huddle in a crevasse of rock and caress the band of gold, worn thin now from years of affection.  Your skin hangs from your bones and festers with sores and decay, but your eyes remain bright, large and alight with the glow of lust that is your only awareness. 

I cringe at the sight and draw the Ring against my waist, lifting my other hand to shield it from your view.

The song crescendos, and I watch this creature die alone in its pit, and am faced with the reality that I am to blame for this...

"Sam, give me the Ring!"  Your words cut through the vision, and their fierce urgency all but strengthens my resolve to save you...then I look into your eyes, and what is reflected there stills me. 

I realize I can neither have the former nor prevent the latter...the best thing I can do for you is set you free.  For you have made this choice, and I have not the power to shame you by acting against your will, even if it seems as though it's for your good.  I must trust that you chose the right path before the Ring enslaved you, and hope that it will lead you back to me when all is said and done.

I extend my arm and you snatch it from my fingers hungrily, splaying the chain and willing it to drop around your neck as quickly as your shaking fingers will allow.  The change is immediate--the tension seeps out of your arms and back, the pleasure spreads across your face in waves of twisted salvation, and I have to turn my head to block out the realization that I used to make you look like that.

The moment stretches until I gently touch your shoulder; your eyes open lazily, pupils narrowing to focus again as you return to this evil place that surrounds us.  And as you try to stand, the moment snaps and the weight of It pulls the sinews in your neck taut, the line returns to your jaw.  And although I know that It is now exacting Its price for your negligence, you lift your head in defiance, enduring this lover's quarrel.

You are not defeated...not yet.

But I am.