At Barad-dur

“There is no need to be coarse, Frodo Baggins. Mind your language or I shall have to give you more lessons!”

Nothing seemed to block his throat any longer, and Frodo felt a sudden rush of air flooding his lungs – a little too much, perhaps, as it dizzied him and made him nauseous. Sauron was still hovering over him, enveloping his body, but his presence was no longer having a damaging effect. Instead, the damp fingers of the fog were touching Frodo with such tenderness, almost like a caress. Frodo felt a hand under his chin, lifting his head up.

Breathing raggedly, with his face ashen and wet with tears, Frodo looked up hazily at his tormentor. “Are you feeling better now, Frodo?” asked Sauron gently. Frodo knew better than to try to defy this menacing beast again. He nodded weakly despite his sickened feeling.

Sauron roared with laughter.

“If you feel like vomiting, then do so. Do not try to lie to me. I can see what is inside the deepest abyss of your mind!” His voice echoed amongst the walls of the chamber, so loud that Frodo was dying to cover his ears to protect them from it.

He realized that he could not do so with his arms clutched behind his back, and instead squeezed his eyes shut tightly, hoping to drive the invasive presence of Sauron from his mind and senses. His action earned him a hard slap. Frodo opened his dimming blue orbs and stared in a daze at the fog.

The blaring voice was heard again. “It is only by my permission that you may do or say anything! I did not tell you to close your eyes. Open them and look around you!”

Frodo’s brow creased as he sized up the fog, uncomprehending. He suddenly sank to the floor as his arms were released, falling to his knees. Frodo’s limbs felt as if they were pricked by hundreds of tiny needles as the blood flowed freely into them. He moaned audibly at the sensation. His arms were terribly stiff and cramped, and Frodo felt as if they had been dislocated. It was hard to tell. Apart from the stiffness, however, he didn’t feel the kind of excruciating pain that he imagined would accompany such an injury.

He was massaging his sore arms when a hand wound itself in his hair, pulling his head back cruelly. “I said, look around you!”

Frodo flinched at the voice and the pain at his scalp. And he still did not understand exactly what the fog wanted from him. Look at what? Everything looked just the same. The room was still dark and the walls were still stood threateningly high. The black door was still closed and securely locked.

Locked. That reminded Frodo of how hopeless the situation was now. He could not help but think about Bag End and the warmth of his bed in front of the small, dancing fire in his room. Would he ever see them again? They felt so far beyond his reach now.

Frodo squirmed a little against the fog’s grip. Had Sauron meant to remind him that he was still imprisoned here? Were there any creatures more cruel than this cursed one? Frodo had known nothing but torture since his arrival here. What purpose did it serve for the Dark Lord to torment him? Frodo’s presence in Barad – dur was more than enough guarantee that the Ring would be returned to Sauron. Could the reason for the hobbit’s torment be nothing more than to feed Sauron’s feral desire to cause pain? Frodo whimpered at the thought.

Frodo had never been a weak person, or given to whining, even when he was a small child. He had borne up bravely even at the sudden loss of both of his parents, but being kept here was much more than he could stand.

Sauron was giving Frodo more reason to fear him, as a loud bang sounded and the four walls moved backward to create a much larger room. Frodo gasped in shock as the movement stopped abruptly, and cracking sounds issued from one or two of the walls. Chains were sprouting from them as if they were plants growing outward from hidden roots. The chains were of varied lengths and some trailed shackles at their ends. Frodo shuddered at the disturbing pictures that began to fill his mind.

That was not all. A loud clang came from the corner to Frodo’s left. Now free of the hand in his hair, his gaze turned swiftly in the direction of the noise. A bed – like structure wrought of iron seemed to appear out of nowhere. Frodo did not know what the menacing object was or what it was for. He only knew that he would not want to be made to lie upon it.

“Frodo,” Sauron’s purring tone made the hobbit jump. He looked nervously at the fog-like form now drifting slowly around a table, which had suddenly emerged seemingly from nowhere. On the table was an object hidden under black fabric. One corner of the fabric seemed to peel back unaided to reveal a rather large, round ball made of a dark glass or crystal. Frodo had never seen anything like it, and he tilted his head sideways as he looked at it. What was it, and what power did it hold?

Suddenly, the globe seemed to cloud with mist, and then to clear again. Frodo’s breath caught in his throat as he saw an image of himself, and of Sam!

***

At the Prancing Pony

Merry reached out to tap at Sam’s shoulder, extending his sympathy. But suddenly he stopped, his hand suspended in the air.

“Sam, Sam!” he called. His eyes widened, gazing at a space behind Sam. The gardener looked at him questioningly at first, but then sudden understanding gripped him.

He spun around, gaping at the sight before him.

“Mister Frodo, you’re breathing again!” Sam exclaimed between sobs, his relief bringing him to tears.

Frodo was still struggling to catch his breath. His chest heaved rapidly and his eyes were wide with terror when he failed to recognize his surroundings.

Merry and Pippin joined Sam, dropping to the floor on either side of Frodo.

“Frodo! Oh, Frodo! You’re still alive!” Pip squeaked, shaking Frodo by the shoulders.

Merry pulled Pippin’s hands away briskly “Ssh, Pip, don’t! It’ll alarm him.” Grumbling, Pippin complied.

Sam fought the impulse to immediately pull Frodo into his embrace. He realized that Frodo needed a time to recover his senses.

A moment passed in silence. Strider let out the breath he had been holding, relieved as Frodo at last returned to himself.

Frodo’s eyes began to focus again as he again began to regain control of his breathing, but he still seemed rather confused.

“Sam?” he whispered slowly. “Merry, Pippin?”

“You’re all right, Frodo dear!” Merry held Frodo’s face in his hands, the unexpected touch causing Frodo to flinch. He pulled away and tried to sit upright, but spots flickered before his eyes and he lay down again, closing them tightly.

“Frodo!” Sam cried woefully.

His master raised his hand, trying to calm his loyal gardener.

“I’m fine, Sam,” he spoke faintly. “Just a little headache. Otherwise, I am--”

“But what happened, Mr. Frodo?” Sam cried urgently. Frodo looked at him with weary

eyes. “We thought this ruffian here was hurting you, but he didn’t even touch you!”

Frodo gazed up at the man. Strider was his name, as he remembered Butterbur telling him. The man looked strong – and trustworthy. Suddenly a thought crossed Frodo’s mind. Could he trust this man enough to--?

But the pain in his chest reminded him of the bad experience. What if Sauron found out that he told someone about his problem? The fog had told him, loud and clear, not to do that. Sauron was capable of doing anything he wished, and what had just happened to Frodo was proof of it, although he wondered what his other half had done that deserved such a cruel punishment.

Now able to sit up with the support of several hands on his back, Frodo stared at the ranger. A mixture of things shone in the hobbit’s stunning eyes: despair, fear, and trust.

As if reading Frodo’s mind, Strider stooped and moved closer.

“Are you frightened?” he asked.

Frodo did not answer that right away. The answer would be yes, of course, for now. He became restless all of a sudden. When he returned his gaze to the ranger again, he knew that he could trust him.

“Strider,” whispering, Frodo leaned forward and reached for the ranger’s hand. The man grasped the hobbit’s much smaller hand in his own and knelt down.

“Tell me, Frodo. Tell me what troubles you.”

“I ---“ Frodo’s voice was choked with emotion as tears suddenly welled in his eyes. He wanted to tell this man everything, to let him solve all of his problems! Strider was a strong man and Frodo believed he was capable of doing anything. If anyone could free him, Strider could. And yet--

“I’m sorry, Strider. But it’s difficult for me.”

Strider released Frodo’s hand and extended his own to pat the hobbit gently on the head.

“Come, little one,” he encouraged. “Release it.”

Frodo nodded, resigned to what he would do.

“It began when I slipped---“

But the sentence was left unfinished. Frodo suddenly saw a burst of light before his eyes and he screamed, a heart-wrenching sound none of those present had heard from him before.

TBC