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The Cusp of Victory  by Kara's Aunty

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R. Tolkien, his family, New Line cinema, etc. I have written this for my own enjoyment.

Summary: Ring-Frodo fights back without mercy as Sam continues his mission to free his master from the thrall of the One Ring …

A double-Droubble (400 words)

Chapter Eight: Retaliation

Putting all the energy he could behind the motion, Sam launched himself at the tell-tale pool of blood a few feet away. Ring-Frodo’s screams of pain were temporarily smothered when he crashed on top of the invisible hobbit. His adversary rallied enough to writhe madly underneath his attacker.

“Traitor servant! I’ll kill you. We will kill you!” he yelled furiously as he punched, scratched and kicked out with his good leg at any part of Sam he was able to reach. But the gardener held fast, straddling his enemy’s stomach with his greater weight and immobilising his torso.

Ring-Frodo continued to lash out with leg and arms; Sam inadvertently dodged a blow, which hit his pack instead. The weight of the heavy pack tilting to the side almost unbalanced him, so he struggled out of it while pinioning the other hobbit’s wounded knee into the dusty ground. An unearthly screech from Ring-Frodo fought for dominance with the roaring might of Sammath Naur.

“Aagh!! Stop! Release us! We command you to release us!

“Begging your pardon, but I’m not yours to command,” grunted Sam, fighting to keep the rabidly furious Ring-Frodo pinned to the ground with one hand, that he could bring Sting to his neck with the other and demand he give him the Ring.

It was no easy task: Ring-Frodo screamed and struggled, cursed and kicked. As Sam fumbled up his torso toward his neck, the enemy suddenly grabbed his searching arm and sank his teeth into it.

Hard.

Sting clattered to the ground as Sam yelled in pain. His adversary’s sharp teeth anchored themselves deep into flesh until the gardener, frantic with the need to free his wrist, began to punch his attacker in the head with his other hand.

No sooner had he released his grip on Ring-Frodo’s torso than the enemy stopped worrying at his wrist and wriggled free; Sam collapsed to the ground, trying desperately to staunch the blood flowing from the hideous wound. Tears streamed down his face as he grabbed a filthy handkerchief from his breeches pocket and tied it clumsily around the bleeding flesh with one hand and his teeth.

But in his haste to staunch the deadly flow, he had lost track of Ring-Frodo. Only when he felt the slight weight on his own back, and cold mithril tickling at his own neck, did Sam realise his mistake.

Ring-Frodo had Sting!

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Author's Note: Rating upgraded due to violence and bloodshed.





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