Warning: AU, angst

- At Barad-dur -

Frodo couldn’t explain how he really felt seeing the other half of him vanish into thin air. Forlorn, yes, probably. It almost felt like when he learned of the death of his parents – a sense of longing, and abandonment, as if his heart was pierced with the sharpest blade, left bleeding and weeping. But there was also a sense of hope in knowing that his twin advanced as fast as he could to get the fog monster in front of him its bloody Ring, thus freeing him from this cold and damp place.

He was still struggling with all his might. There was no reason for this abominable being to hold him here unless –

“Aww --- aren’t you tired, little Baggins, twisting and thrashing like that? See? You are breathing like a horse that has run for many miles!” Frodo could swear the fog was shifting up and down when it ‘spoke’.

“What is your name, Baggins? What do they call you?” Frodo ceased his writhing and hung limply in the unseen hands, looking up.

“What do you need my name for?” Frodo asked weakly. The fog let out a strange noise Frodo perceived as laughter.

“As I said before, your stay here may be longer than you might expect. In that case, we need to know each other. I am Sauron. Your name?” It repeated the question.

“I shan’t tell you!” Frodo replied angrily, not really answering the question. His face reddened. “I never wanted to be here in the first place and staying here is the last fate I expect the universe to give me!”

The outburst silenced the fog momentarily. Soon it was moving again, swinging from side to side. It moved slowly, languidly, looking as relaxed as something like fog can. Despite such an appearance, when it spoke again, its voice was full of wrath.

“No one speaks to me in such a manner, and no one questions my doings!” Frodo trembled, recoiling, with his head slightly bowed but eyes upraised, glancing apprehensively yet challengingly.

“I’m not questioning you. I’m defying you! I demand my release, now!”

Spoken slowly but decisively, the words hardly betrayed Frodo’s true feelings. Terribly afraid, he decided to try his luck. Perhaps Sauron would think twice about his actions and change his mind about keeping him here against his will. Beyond that, Frodo could not imagine he would be able to stand being kept here even one more day. Even when he closed his eyes he couldn’t force this place from his thoughts. The dark, menacing walls effectively blocked his mind from the joy and peaceful scent and image of the Shire.

Frodo squinted at the fog, trying to anticipate what it would say or do in response to his brash remarks. His heart beat so hard Frodo was afraid Sauron could hear it, too.

Sauron did not say anything. He just floated closer to Frodo, nearer and nearer until he totally engulfed the hobbit, consuming and covering him. Frodo suddenly felt as if someone were choking him. He threw his head back, trying to open the airway to his lungs, but to no avail. The grasp tightened even more powerfully.

Frodo tried to scream but nothing came out except a pitiful suffocated gasp. Sauron continued the torment leaving Frodo panicked at the thought of him dying there. So soon! Tears ran down his already bluish cheeks.

/Frodo! My name is Frodo!/ How he wanted to scream that out now. /No! Please don’t kill me now! My name is Frodo, damn it!/

***

- At the Prancing Pony -

Aghast, Strider could only stare at the sight before him. The hobbit suddenly dropped to his knees, clutched his own neck, and emitted a low whimpering noise as if he were being strangled. It happened so suddenly. He hadn’t even laid his hands on him, Strider thought.

Or maybe he had, the ranger mused. Was that the reason for this? Was what he had done the cause of Frodo’s distress? But when Frodo had reappeared so close to his chair and the ranger had grabbed him, the hobbit looked a little dazed, perhaps, but was otherwise fine.

Frodo was gasping, not totally aware of his surroundings when someone suddenly snatched the back of his cloak and half dragged, half carried him up a short flight of stairs to a closed door and opened it. A dimly lit room was revealed, and Frodo was thrown inside, stumbling to his hands and knees.

Frodo recovered swiftly, leaping up and turning to face his captor. Relief caused the tense muscles in his face to relax a little. A human. Only a human! This was good. He tried to regain his composure, calming his still pounding heart. Although this human was almost double his size and looked like a ruffian thanks to his unshaven face, he was nothing compared to the fog – Sauron.

Frodo felt his knees weaken again as he remembered his frightening experience. He was not completely safe from the Dark Lord, though. In fact, his troubles had just begun. The changing of colors in Frodo’s face did not escape the ranger’s keen observation.

“You draw far too much attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill!” His acknowledgment toward Frodo’s alias was quite surprising and rather odd. Frodo could swear that he caught a caring and worried tone in the man’s harsh reprimand toward him. Who was this fellow?

“Who are you?” Frodo asked, his voice shaking a little. He immediately regretted the soft tone of his voice. The man would mistakenly think that Frodo was afraid of him - which he was not.

Strider seemed reluctant to answer Frodo. The ranger did bring a letter from Gandalf explaining who he really was but now was not the time for the hobbit to see it. Then, in the space between Frodo’s question and the ranger’s reluctant thoughts regarding his answer, it happened.

All of a sudden, the hobbit started to convulse and his breath hitched. He was pulling at the fastenings of his cloak and tossed his head back exposing his soft throat. Nothing strange happened to it but Frodo started scraping it as if something was seizing it and he was trying desperately to get it free.

“Frodo!” Strider shouted, no longer protecting his disguise. He ran to the hobbit’s twisting form on the floor. Frodo seemed to have lost contact with reality. His eyes rolled back and sweat drenched his entire body. He would soon lose consciousness, Strider realized, and for the first time, Strider, himself a healer, felt helpless. He could do nothing to aid this small creature.

“Let him go, or I’ll have you Longshanks!” Strider had never felt so startled in his life. The door he recalled to have been locked and secured with a chain suddenly broke open and three figures, Frodo’s companions, burst inside.

Armed with ridiculous items, anything they could find at moment’s notice, the three hobbits sprang into the room to stand threatening the man they found kneeling beside their Frodo.

Sam wheezed at the pathetic sight of his master. “You keep your hands off him, bloke!” Sam completely forgot his weapons, throwing them away and running to Frodo’s side, alarmed as his master’s face turned blue.

“You – you killed my master!” he choked. Strider, his hand already on his sword’s hilt, let it go and raised both of his hands.

“No, little master. I never intended to do your friend any harm. Quite the opposite, I am here to protect him.” He tried to make his voice as convincing and gentle as possible.

“Protect him!” Merry wrinkled his nose as if the man before him was the most noisome creature he had ever met. “Torture him is more like it. Come on, Pip!” he turned to his younger cousin. “We must keep this man away from Frodo while Sam’s trying to save him.”

So, there was nothing Strider could do but watch. Merry guarded him at a fork’s point. Besides, he didn’t want to have the hobbits think ill of him. He let the hobbits do as they wished. They would eventually fail, too. Sam looked up, gazing at Merry with anguished eyes, and shook his head. He could do nothing to help, indeed. He could only sob softly, forced to admit his defeat.

TBC