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Story Notes:
Response to challenge, first chapter written in about 30 minutes, so it's not the most creative piece. Sort of movie-verse, I had the volcano scenes of ROTK in my head whilst writing this. I intend to write as much as possible, but the creative spark might die half way through, haha xD Please R&R! :) I do not own anything owned by Tolkien or New Line Cinema; this is a fan fiction purely for the reader's and my own enjoyment.

Update 7/7/2010 - New chapters added, re-rated to PG13 for blood and gore references :)
Author's Chapter Notes:
My word processor spellcheck had great fun with this. It thought 'Sauron' should've been 'Sharon' and 'Nazgul' should've been 'Nigel' :P

Fire, ash and flame, worse than the depths of Hell. Smoke engulfed two hobbits, the most unlikely creatures to be present in an active volcano, with the fate of the world resting in their hands. Weary and drained, the heat was almost unbearable; it burnt the soles of their hairy feet and chafed their skin.

A long, narrow platform lead towards the centre of the volcano. Regular rumbles and explosions shook the unstable structure. Carefully, the two hobbits edged their way along, taking extra care not to over-balance. For far beneath them, flowed a scorching hot river of lava, surrounded by fire.

“What a wretched place,” bellowed Sam, wiping his brow of sweat and dust. “Just do it, Mr Frodo. Toss it in here, where we can get out quickly afterwards!”
Frodo didn’t answer. In his clenched fist, he held the One Ring. Sauron’s ultimate weapon. The one power that everyone was after, yet no-one could control. And here was where it was created, and the only place that it could be destroyed. The river of lava below bubbled and frothed.
“Don’t look down Mr Frodo! Just do it!”

Frodo opened his fist and looked down upon the trinket that he had carried around for so many strenuous months. It was hard to believe that this circular object, big enough to fit onto his forefinger, contained the power to rule all the free peoples of Middle Earth. One Ring, to bind all in Darkness forever.
“What are you waiting for?” Sam’s cry seemed a million miles away.

If so many people, from all races were after this one Ring, perhaps it was better off in Frodo’s possession. His eyebrows narrowed into a frown. Of course. The Nazgul had failed to track Frodo down time and time again. The Uruk-Hai were no better, capturing the wrong Halflings in Frodo’s place. Orcs were no trackers, not worthy enough to merit such a mission. And after all, it was he who had taken care of it, kept it secret, protected it and carried it. Why shouldn’t he keep it?

“The Ring is mine, Sam.”

His friend shook his head. “You need to destroy it!”

“It’s mine, my own!” roared Frodo.

“But we’ve come all this way!” cried Sam, a tear of exhaustion running down his cheek. “Get rid of it! Destroy it before it destroys you!”

“It’s not your business what I do with my own things!” yelled Frodo, replacing the Ring back onto the chain around his neck.

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“Perhaps I am…” Frodo began to turn away, but in an instant, lept towards his friend, arms outstretched. The pair grappled on the narrow floor, Sam’s yelps echoing around the cavern from the unexpected attack. Scratches and bite marks appeared on each others skin, exchanged in the rough scuffle. Sam placed his palms onto Frodo’s chest and pushed him off with force. Exhausted, Frodo lay on his back, panting as he gasped for air.

“Don’t you see?” cried Sam. “I told you so. It’s taking a hold of you, Mr Frodo.”

Frodo said nothing. Anger and rage welled up inside him. Whispers of ‘I told you so…’ whirled around his mind. It was getting hard to tell whether it was his imagination, or whether the whispers were coming from the fires. Slowly, he heaved himself upright.
“Come on, we have to get out of here,” Another shudder rocked through the cavern.

“…We’re not… going anywhere,” Frodo muttered.

“What?” said Sam.

“We’re not… going anywhere!” shouted Frodo, getting to his feet. “You’re not going anywhere!”
In a split second, he had lept at Sam again. Hands grasped around his companions throat. Tightening and tightening. His victim struggling beneath him, yet he held firm.
“Frodo…” a faint whisper left Sam’s lips. His eyes poised wide open, skin discoloured. Frodo stood up slowly, his gazed fixed on his former gardener. The one who had looked out for him for so long, who had tried to protect him from Gollum, and even carried seasoning with him to make sure he got decent meals. Dead. At his hands.

Nothing he could do about it now. There was work to be done.
Chapter End Notes:
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