~ * ~ In Rivendell ~ * ~

Frodo lifted his lids slowly to the sight of Gandalf taking off the Ring, and he drew a sharp intake of breath, swaying though he was lying in the bed, squeezing his eyes closed again. He felt pairs of hands grasping his arms and shoulders. From their concerned voices, Frodo knew they must have felt him shaking.

“Frodo! Keep awake!”

That was Sam’s voice.

“Cousin, Gandalf has returned. We’ll get you back soon, Frodo.”

That must be Merry.

From Pippin, Frodo could catch only soft sobs.

There were rustles next to him in his bed. A hand smoothed his curls back. Frodo gave up and opened his eyes, gazing numbly to the owner of the big, callused palm. The one that had just been with him not a long moment ago. Frodo shook harder.

“Gandalf…”

“Yes, Frodo. I’m back. We must be preparing for bringing the other part of you back now.”

A tall, slender figure came into sight behind Gandalf. Elrond nodded gracefully.

“That is right, Frodo. We should waste no time.”

Frodo reached for his coverlet and grasped it firmly to hide his quivering. His voice was all pain and wretchedness.

“Why do you leave him, Gandalf? He’s cold. And alone. You shouldn’t have left him there, Gandalf.” Frodo choked. “He – he will return to torment him more!” From the context everyone present in the room understood whom Frodo meant by the next He. Sauron. The Dark Lord.

Frodo’s lips quivered, parting a little as if he were about to say more. Yet nothing came out but silent tears.

Gandalf clasped him gently on the shoulder.

“I must return first in order to save him, Frodo, for I need to bring you there, too.”

Frodo’s eyes widened with terror.

“I’m not going there, Gandalf! He’ll capture me!”

“You will not go alone, Frodo,” Gandalf coaxed the curled up hobbit. “I’m going with you. I’ll shield you from harm’s way as much as I can, just as Elrond’s ring had protected me before. It will again as well.”

Elrond went to the head of the bed. Frodo looked up, eyes still glimmering with tears. I’m afraid… was said there.

“Don’t be afraid, little one. We all here will hold you and pull you back when we feel danger is close. And Gandalf is right. You won’t be alone. He shall go with you.”

“But how?” he asked after some time. Frodo seemed to forget his prior fear. He was no longer trembling. His fists upon the blanket were loosening. His spirit came back to him, with curiosity leading the way. Gandalf sensed this rising of the mettle and a smile spread across his face.

That’s my lad, thought the grey pilgrim. The lad he used to know: strong-willed and inquisitive.

“Come my boy.” Gandalf rose from the bed, taking both of Frodo’s hands, helping him awake. Frodo stepped down gingerly; braver he might be but his body was still weakened as it still held the remnants of the feeling from the tortures his other half had suffered. His two cousins and Sam promptly went to his side, making sure he was standing upright.

Gandalf took Frodo’s hand and took the One Ring from Elrond, who had been holding It since the wizard pulled It off. Gandalf positioned Frodo’s small finger to point upward and his own besides the hobbit’s. Then drawing a deep breath, he slowly brought the Ring to the two small fingers stuck to one another. The others could not help holding their breath, silently whispering whatever prayers they know while clutching at Frodo. Elrond began to chant his spells, his eyes fluttering close.

The Ring got closer and closer and in any moment It would circle around both Gandalf and Frodo’s fingers.

… when suddenly Frodo’s body arched forward, and a bloodcurdling scream was forced out of his throat.

# -- # -- #

~ * ~ In The Black Land ~ * ~

Sleeping. That was all Frodo could think of doing once Gandalf vanished from his sight. He stooped over the freezing ground. Crooking into a feral position, Frodo made an attempt to seek comfort. When he found none, he tilted his head, eyeing the corner of the murky cell and starting toward it.

Step by step Frodo went, dragging his wearied soul away from one stinging cold spot to another. Nothing could placate him here, and he was desperate for Gandalf’s return. The wizard had promised. He had promised to come back- to bring Frodo’s spirit half here. He had promised to reunite them, and to carry them back to…

“BUILDING YOUR CASTLE IN THE SKY?”

Frodo was very, very close to jumping out of his skin – if he ever had one – by the thunderous voice above him. He was sprawling on to his back, his limbs struggling to grasp anything to keep him up, his heels digging into the dirt for the same purpose.

He – It was back. The fog. The dark power that had not yet returned to its corporeal form yet still retained dreadful force. Frodo’s eyes drifted to the thick, metal egress and found in terror that it stayed locked. He did not hear it come. Yet he was not supposed to hear. How could he if it wafted afloat…

“Yes, I’m back,” roared the Dark Lord with more hushed voice than his previous welcome but with slight amusement in it. Frodo crept backward in an attempt to move further away from his captor. “You have not expected I shall overlook your presence and let you stay here in peace, have you?” The hobbit shook his head in despair.

“I – I did not--”

A claw put forth and sent Frodo sprawling even more with a crushing strike.

“Silence! I do not need your answers!”

Frodo wheezed, staring wildly at the faceless, and swelling form. Saying nothing. Thinking of nothing.

“You have not expected I shall know nothing about those plans of that beloved wizard of yours?”

There was a breath being caught.

“You have not expected I shall be idle once I find them out?”

Frodo could not think of anything anymore. Hopes and fears of things that Sauron might or might not do to him rushed into his mind. Not long ago he had wished he could just die so as he could escape this morbid land. But now that there was still hope, Frodo no longer wished that. He believed that Gandalf would come to him again soon. What he needed to do was simply stay alive.

“Stay alive?”

Frodo was jerked away from his muse. Flailing his hands and tossing and turning his head to the left and right, he spluttered weakly, “P-please.”

Only to be awarded with a shriek of heartless laughter.

“There is no life in the void, and you know that. There is only death!”

A horde of orcs broke through the door all of a sudden and grabbed Frodo up after giving him some doses of groping. Frodo could not let them be. He gave as much struggle as he could but all seemed to be in vain. Those revolting fingers gave more pressure on his arms and shoulders and some sneaked through his hair, leaving him limp.

“You have no more use to me - but do not hope that I shall just release you, lowly creature! You tire me and I get nothing from you so I think I shall just throw you into the fire of Mordor. That way you shall remain in the void – dead as everything should be!”

This time it was Frodo who let out the shriek. “You can’t do that! Let go of me! Please!” He was so frantic with his own squirming that he failed to notice a long poker brandished before his very nose.

“Oh, I almost forget,” said the fog with a nauseating gentleness. “I have not punished you properly for sketching an escape.” Then he thrust the smoldering poker into Frodo and jabbed his bare right shoulder.

Frodo felt the need to choke before he was reduced to a gibbering mess of screeching and writhing spirit.

TBC