A/N: This is just one of those things you start writing really late at night (or early in the morning- take your pick) and have no idea where it came from or what to do with it. This is just a little bit of the beginning of an idea I had for a story. It’s really rough right now- I didn’t have much time to edit it. Is it anything worth continuing? Please respond!

Disclaimer: Sadly I am not J.R.R. Tolkien so obviously I do not own any of these characters, places, etc. (or is it ect.?)

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Pain. It was the single remaining thought resonating in his wearied mind. Every muscle in his worn body burned as though each sinewy fiber was being stripped from the bone in turn by cruel daggered claws. His limbs screamed in suffering protest. One stumbling step after another a cumbersome shield bashed into a bruised knee. His cut and bleeding feet were nearly numb as they struck heavily the unforgiving stones to the frantic beat of the drum that was his own pounding heart. The breaths of foul air that he so desperately gulped launched iron spears of agony shooting through his side. Cold sweat slowly trickled down his back in tiny rivulets and beaded upon his brow; plastering to his white skin damp chestnut curls beneath the heavy helm he wore to conceal his face.

But the pain greater than any he had ever known was what hung from his neck on a fine silver chain. Such a pretty thing it was to innocent eyes. A simple trinket. A golden ring. It beat so harshly upon him, burning into his chest. Etching it’s malice into his flesh. It sought to corrupt him. To drag him into the earth and back into the dust from which he was made and into which he must return. To take him as a prisoner to its spell so that he would be just another puppet in its journey home.

He felt that it was the very weight of the world dragging him steadily to the ground. And indeed, that is what it was. The weight each life, each free life, of every pure heart crying out in despair as they drowned in the darkness that flooded their souls. Even as his hope faded, he still held the hopes of all that still clung to what now was swiftly failing. And in the palm of his trembling hand he knew he held the fate of those he held so dear and the knowledge that was an everlasting torment. That one wrong step would be their last.

It was as well the burden of being alone, so said the wise, "For to be a ringbearer is to be alone." To wander in the realm of solitude woven in the mind. Yet in this one thing was the Lady Galadriel wrong. For should all the world forget him in his time of need, should he himself no longer recall his own name- one would. But he would be no good in reminding the world for even now, Samwise Gamgee would forever remain at his master’s side…

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Well… what do you think? Sorry it’s so short- the rest of the chapter just didn’t tie in properly so I’ll post it later. PLEASE REVIEW!!!

A/n: All my reviewers- thank you SOOOO much! I’m thrilled that you wanted more of the story so here’s the next chapter! Sorry it starts out so slow and like the first chapter- it isn’t that long.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters of The Lord of the Rings, however, I feel quite free to torture them in what ever way seems best... MWAHAHAHA!

***

The sharp crack of the whip was a cruel reminder of reality, drawing Sam back from the deep peace of the far green land to which his heart had strayed. Harsh sound tore through him like a knife. Anchoring him once more with a shock and a jolt- like stepping from a warm fire lit room to the frigid starry night. Only there was a beauty in those sacred star-graced nights, and if there was any beauty to be found in Mordor, Sam was yet to see it. It was an ugly thing, to be there- planted among the fire and the ash and the jagged rock. Rooted firmly in a terrible play of fates that was to be reality- his reality. For what was real for him was certain to be another’s darkest dreams. What was real was endless pain and hunger and the everlasting march towards what could only be the end. The Shire wasn’t real; it was only a memory- a sweet distant memory. And memories fade...

He bowed his weary head lower still and let the hard, dead lands about him drift away...

***

Frodo felt him slip away into some kinder place and longed so desperately to follow. But with the familiar sad acceptance, he knew he could not. He couldn’t afford to. All his mind and force were bent too strongly on what- so long ago- had been the simple task of placing one sore foot before the other, willing stiff muscles to push his weight along the road.

But what he strove to hide from himself- was that he truly could not, because he did not know where Sam had gone. It was somewhere quiet, somewhere safe. He knew that. It was somewhere green and in bloom, where the soft wind could dance about you as the bright sun smiled down. But the rest of this world was in shadow- or else he was.

For it was as though a great dark veil enfolded him, withholding from his recollection this blessed place. And floating in and out and beyond that shroud were the mists and the unseen forms that hovered in them. The shadows of the past. Often he would try to raise his left hand to brush them away as though they were the cobwebs of the common spider. But more like the webs of Shelob were these. No matter how he struggled to push them aside they would just ooze back into place.

And often his right hand would creep to his breast when his resolve wavered and desire swayed him. His fingers would fumble for a fine silver chain before his sense could slap the hand away. It was then he would lie to himself- he was only making sure he had not lost it. Only making sure that no one had seen it. But in the far cavernous depths of his soul he knew that he was waging a war against this simple thing- and he was losing.

Neither of the poor Hobbits had had one single clear thought in... how long had it been? Minutes, hours, days? They were simply overwhelmed and exhausted from the heat, the humid air thick with the closeness of bodies pressing about them the swat and the stench of the orcs. The long time without food or water or any rest. The short time before one of them would fall and both of them would fail. But perhaps it would be a mercy to end it now, for if they reached the end of this road there would be no mercy there.

***

Sam was again awakened by a sound but this sound was no horrible whip. It was the sound of advancing voices- loud, angry voices. Another division of some dark army. If they were Sauron’s, he could not tell. They were far too large to be orcs and on their tattered banners was a strange and unfamiliar sign, though he couldn’t tell, in full, what it was. Hellish turmoil broke loose as these creatures broke through their lines. Orcs in fury drew their swords and frenzied with hunger for a fight. In this sudden disarray, Sam found his chance.

He threw himself to the ground, dragging his master down with him. He felt the pain race through him in his heavy landing but he could pay it no heed. This was their chance. He began to crawl. Clumsily scrambling over uneven ground in an effort to not be trampled. Frodo could only follow, his limbs slow and spent in his dying strength. Sam seized his arm and half dragged him along. There were rocks right ahead of him- a cluster of boulders. If only he could...

A whip crackled dangerously near to his head.

“Thinking of deserting again, eh, my slugs?”

Sam’s heart dropped into his stomach. Frodo cringed. The slave –driving orc grabbed them roughly with claw-like hands.

“I’ll have none of that now, back in your lines!” He barked, nearly throwing them back into the march. The battling divisions had regrouped and were going their separate ways with many riotous hollers and taunts.

Sam looked to his left- to Frodo- stooped and limping, barely moving on, barely drawing breath. Something inside himself shattered as it so often did followed by the same burning question. Why must they suffer so?

He drew his cloak ever so slightly over Frodo’s arm so that no one could see him clasp his master’s hand gently in his own.

It wasn’t long before the torch- lights bobbed into view. An encampment lay nested in a barely sloping valley but neither Frodo nor Sam had the vigor left even to pray that it was the place where they would finally lie and rest. They filed in between the fires and the few shelters with the stragglers at the end of the grim parade.

At last they collapsed, far from any campfire where keen eyes might spy them out. Their breaths were shallow gasps, choking on the very air in their parched throats. Sam felt he might be ill if his rapid heart didn’t slow. Frodo felt nothing at all.

“Not so fast my little slugs!”

Sam knew he would be sick. How could this happen- couldn’t they just let some tired soldiers rest?

“I caught you two deserting today- TWICE!”

Please just leave us be...

“And you came in late to camp! Well I oughta lash your hides right off your backs!”

The dreaded whip fell upon Frodo. He didn’t wince; he didn’t weep or plead for it to- he just toppled over to meet the ground where he lay, sprawled out like something quite dead. A group of gathering orcs jeered. Sam bit back a cry. The slave-driver cackled a gurgling phrase in a detestable tongue. The spectators howled. Then Sam was introduced to an agony such as he had never imagined.

The supple leather sliced into his neck, then bit his sides. It beat into his back, driving the very life from his body. Beneath his helm tears streamed down his cheeks. The blows continued. He bit his lip with such force that blood filled his mouth. The world spun. He fought desperately at the darkness that was threatening to consume his mind. Something struck his head. A small stone? The whip kept falling, crashing on him. He could take no more. No more!

It was then that Samwise Gamgee made his mistake. He began to scream.

No orc could possibly have that scream.

An iron shod foot was driven into his stomach.

“Stop yer shrieking ye rat!”

Sam’s neck snapped back as the helmet was wrenched from his head and the shreds of black cloak ripped from him. He crumpled in a heap beside Frodo, who seemed to be awake as his helm was torn from him as well.

“Well now, what have we here?”

The ring of a blade being unsheathed echoed through the camp. Wild calls and whispers were the response of the mob. Sam drew closer to his master. Frodo grasped his trembling arm and shrunk into him.

“There’s quite a price to be put on your heads.”

Sam closed his eyes ready for a sword to fall.

“But what use would you be to us dead?”

Both Hobbits held their breaths.

“You little maggots may be a good ... tool,”

Sam’s eyes opened but he could no longer make out the forms looming about him or understand the hash voice falling upon his ears.

“In our negotiation.”

Blackness finally won its battle for Sam's mind. The broken Hobbit slumped and knew no more.

A/n: Sorry it keeps taking me so long to post but I only have acces to the internet about once every three weeks or so ! I'm glad everyone seems to be liking this so far and I hope you continue to. I also hope that you continue to REVIEW! (gives readers pitiful pleading stare) please? Another also- I'm sorry there isn't much of a point to this chapter- which is why its so short. I promise longer chapters later- HONEST!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings.

"Sam. Oh, Sam- wake up."

Sam felt the darkness about him ebbing like an engulfing tide that was slowly seeping away.

"They've gone. They've left us alone."

A pale blur swam dimly before him.

"Sam?"

"Mr. Frodo?"

A wave of relief flooded Frodo's mind. For too long he had silently watched Sam lying crumpled and gasping before him, praying that whatever battered spirit was left in him didn't flee its broken shell.

Sam struggled to keep his feeble hold on conciousness. The world about him was a swirling haze of blood coloured sky and leering torchlight. Frodo's pinched face flickered in and out of his sight. With a wavering hand he reached out, searching for some way to anchor himself. Slender fingers tangled with his own and firmly clasped his hand. He struggled to pull himself to sit but an angry fire awoke in his back. He fell face down against the stone as viens of darkness wove through his mind.

"Don't move Sam, you'll be all right."

Frodo gently wrapped his arms about his friend and lifted him to lie against him. Sam settled his head against his master's chest, his eyes closed as he listensd to the steady lulling heartbeat. But then it all came into focus. Everything that had happened the last few hours (days?) rushed back in painful detail. Their capture, the long torturous hours of endless running, the stabbing ache of the whip... being caught.

"Sir-"

"Shh, Sam. It's all right." Frodo soothed, resting his chin in Sam's curls trying to ignore the blood that was seeping through his friends shirt in long, thin lines.

"N-no, begging your pardon,sir, b-but... but i-its not!" His voice crackled with sobs that were once more swelling in his throat. "Nothin's b-been right i-in a long t-time." Frodo tigtened his embrace and slowly rocked them both back and forth as though Sam was again a small Hobbit-child, frightened by the shadows in the night. "And I d-don' think it's g-goin' to." Sam finished with a whisper, gazing up, tears beginning to flow from his deep, sorrow-filled eyes. "Oh- Mr. Frodo, w-what's goin' to happen to us?" Frodo was not even able to begin to summon an apology.

"I don't know, Sam. I don't know... and I don't know that I want to!" Frodo felt ill- he did know. He had heard the mutterings of the orcs through the night. They were going to the Black Gates. There the orcs would meet an army of men led by a King and a wizard. There the Halflings would be shown and offered as a bribe for a forfeit. But they would not be let free- they would be slaughtered as though they were part of a sacrifice. But sacrificed to what?

"T-they're going to... to kill us, a-aren't they?" The quavering innocence of the question threatened to put tears in Frodo's own eyes as well. How could he answer that?

"Please, Sam... I can't..."

"A-and w-what then? After we're-"

"I don't know !" Frodo sighed. "I don't know!" He cried to himself. "And if I did, how could I tell you?"

"They'll find it and then it'll all be over and I'll have failed?"

"No... t-to us." Sam's voice was no more than a strangled sob.

"Oh!" He breathed. "I... I don't know. I-I just don't!" His stomach twisted. This wasthe very questionhe had beenhiding at the back of his mind for six long months. And one thing that was a constant plague on his concience-that at any moment he would discover the answer.

"Maybe nothing. Maybe nothing at all. Maybe it all fades away- just like that- and we're left with nothing. Just that endless night... no stars- not even our thoughts..." He looked again at the small body clinging desperately to his own and felt such hollow pity swelling inside.That soul was so strong, and though now it was broken-it wouldn't ever die."But then...maybe there's a light at the end of our way."

"B-but how c-can it ever end? H-how c-can it j-just be over?"

"Nothing ever ends, Sam." Frodo bowed his head to softly press his lips to Sam's brow."Not quite."

"D-death d-doesn't end."Sam choked, nearly breathless.

"But does anyone know that?"

"W-we will. A-and probably s-sooner rather t-than later this time."

Something in Frodo's heart flared. In the last few moments one little light had gone out. His Sam had gone away and he didn't know where he could find him again.

"After i-its happened,"

Sam stared up at him but now his watery gaze was void of hope as Frodo brushed the tears from his flushed face.

"W-will we ever meet again?"

"Shhh." Frodo pulled him closer still. "Yes, Sam. We will. If only in dreams."

"Sam?" The Hobbit in his arms was trembling violently- shivering- though he was hot to the touch. "Oh, no." Sam suddenly clutched Frodo's hand with a force that Frodo could never have dreamed remained in him. "I'm here, Sam." I should have known. "I'm not going to leave you."

"Oh- Mr. Frodo, w-what's goin' to happen to us?"

"There's only one thing I'm sure of anymore."

He looked to the dark and hellish Heavens.

"This road ends not in mercy."

But even as he began to bend worridly over Sam, the rust-like curtain of clouds parted ever so slightly and one small star shone through. Frodo thought he could have smiled, even as he began to weep.

These days and night blend into one,
but one more night is all I need.
Another chord from the symphony.
To float above the world for now,
to lose control is bliss somehow.
And wring the color from the grey,
another chance to get away, oh.

Until this empty place is filled, I’ll keep pretending.

Hey! Wait! Knock me down and I'll get up again.
Oh! Pain! A remedy that can erase your sting.
I'll keep holding, and I'll keep trying.
I feel this fight, it is slowly dying now but I feel painless...

***

A/n: I know it may seem like they've died but they haven't... yet... alright so i'm not PLANNING on murdering them... both... AARGH- i HAVE to stop that!!!!!!