Warning: AU, deep angst

Frodo could not seem to comprehend how he could be here in this loathsome place, and yet see a figure looking so much like himself in that magic globe. It wrenched his heart to see that Sam was there in the image also, kneeling beside ‘him’. Merry and Pippin came into view as well, and they all looked relieved. Where were they, and what was happening there?

Frodo inclined his gaze to the foggy figure looming behind the table, cursing silently. He failed to recall anything that happened before he was nearly choked to death, and it was all because of it – because of HIM, Sauron!

The disembodied creature stirred and floated closer to Frodo. The hated echo of Sauron’s laughter almost caused Frodo to reach out as if to strike back. Now the fog delivered a mocking gasp.

“You want to kill me, Frodo Baggins?” Sauron’s voice was as dry as the crusted mud under Frodo’s heels. “How clever of you to think you could succeed where others have failed.”

Frodo tensely recalled the day he had poured Gandalf a steaming cup of tea in the comfort of of his kitchen at Bag End, and the conversation they had shared.

”But he was destroyed! Sauron was destroyed!”, Frodo had squeaked, before he could stop himself.

That was true, but untrue at the same time. Sauron’s spirit had abandoned his body, but instead of departing to Mandos Hall, it stayed in Middle Earth, withdrawing and waiting for the most suitable time to return once more to dominate the world of elves, men, dwarves, and hobbits.

“Frodo – Frodo.” Sauron’s coo drew Frodo back to the present time. “How thoughtful of you to remember me when you cannot even grasp what has happened to you. Thank you, Frodo, you have flattered me so much.”

Frodo’s gaze fell back to the crystalline ball.

“Pray tell me what is this?” He asked in a small voice. He could not constrain himself.

The fog flew back to the vicinity of the table. A silence followed. Sauron seemed to have his reservations, as if any answer would divulge a great secret. What eventually came next was like the beginning of a twisted travesty of a bedtime story for Frodo, a tale of things both foul and frightening.

“When at last I succeeded in extracting information from the repellent creature Gollum, I was no longer hindered in my efforts to track you, my little one. When Gollum screamed out your name and told me where you dwelt, I knew that finding my Ring was only a matter of time.”

Frodo shifted on the hard, cold floor, sitting down and hugging his knees up to his chin. His stomach growled with hunger and fear continued creeping slowly into his heart. The fog did not seem to notice this, nor did it care at all.

It continued, “When I discovered you, Frodo, all I had to do was look into this lovely globe to locate you and follow your every move. This globe allows me to see thing that are happening at a distance. It is called Palantir.”

“Don’t,” Frodo panted suddenly. The dark globe and the One Ring must have surely helped Sauron to reach him, and eventually to capture him in flesh and blood. Frodo shivered miserably, salty liquid warming his colorless cheeks.

“Ah!” Sauron breathed in smug satisfaction. “I see that you begin to remember, Frodo dear. However, I must correct you with regard to one matter. You are not truly here in flesh and blood. You are just a spirit! A meaningless thing that can easily be scattered on the wind to vanish into thin air.”

Sauron enjoyed how the color was completely drained from Frodo’s striking face now.

“Fear not, halfling!” Sauron’s voice was again the thunderous tone of command. “I do not intend to banish you to nothingness. Not yet. Not until I get my gold trinket. Even so, I may choose to keep you here afterwards. You are a rather amazing little creature, Frodo.”

“No!” Frodo sprang forward, trembling with anger. Sauron could not do that! The Dark Lord had made a promise to release him, mere spirit or no, and reunite him with his other self, the one Frodo saw inside the Palantir.

There was a movement in the dark, glassy orb, and Frodo spun around toward it. A human almost twice in size as the other figures came into sight.

“Strider,” whispered Frodo, feeling as if he were snatched back to the time when Butterbur told him the man’s name. Hope rose in him. Perhaps the man could –

His thoughts were interrupted as ‘Frodo’ in the globe haltingly voiced exactly the same idea. Faintly Frodo could hear as his twin started off,

”It was when I slipped---“

Everything suddenly became blurred, as the voices faded and Frodo felt as if the floor under his feet had vanished.

The floor had not disappeared, it was just that his feet had lost contact with it as he was pulled swiftly backward. Before he realized it, his arms were wrenched upward and his wrists were shackled into the strong cuffs dangling from the chains on the wall. Frodo was left hanging helplessly, his feet barely touching the ground.

Frodo came to realize a few moments later that he had been holding his breath the entire time. A huff of air rushed into his lungs when he breathed again. Sadly, that was just for mere seconds.

Frodo’s eyes widened in shock as he stared down. It was as if his body had turned into jelly, and a hand was extended from the fog’s figure and thrust through him, deep into the hobbit’s stomach. When the hand slowly crept out, it had ripped open Frodo’s abdomen and snatched out what looked like the hobbit’s intestines. They were dripping blood, and the sight sickened and horrified Frodo. Words were lost to him entirely and he barely remembered to breathe or to weep. Frodo threw his head back hard, hitting the wall with a sickening thump. He wailed in unending terror and misery, until his voice cracked and all the air seemed to be sucked out of his lungs.

TBC

AN: Like it? Hate it? Confused by it? Or disgusted? Please, don't make me trapped in the dark!