Warning: AU, angst

~ At the Inn of the Prancing Pony ~

“I’m fine, Sam,” whispered Frodo weakly. “I’m just feeling unwell.”

Sam’s eyes bored into his master’s. The gardener did not believe a single word. But Frodo was determined he would not say anything. It was impossible for him to do so -- not when he was under Sauron’s control. Restlessly lying in Strider’s rearranged bed, Frodo could only sigh deeply.

He had been feeling much better although he was still shuddering slightly from the memory of the sudden, gripping pain in his abdomen that made him feel as if he was being ripped in two. Frodo clenched his eyes shut silently in rising terror despite himself. Salty tears streamed down Frodo’s face. He could not go on forever like this, shutting himself off from the others. He would go insane! Yet Frodo could not fathom what else Sauron would do to him should he dare to tell Strider and the others. The Dark Lord might finally decide to end Frodo’s life. Ah, Frodo thought quietly, Sauron would eventually kill him anyway, if he did not deliver the Ring soon.

Frodo tried to hold back, but his sobs were getting louder. He suddenly realized that he need not do that. Sam, Merry, and Pippin, warmly tucked in one big blanket, were all deep in their slumber. The tension in their hearts had been lifted, and their sleep-deprived bodies had pulled them into a dreamless slumber. Frodo forced himself to sleep, too. His bloodstained shirt had been replaced with a clean one – the one he remembered tucking into his pack. The comfort of being clean and the security provided by the alert Ranger should have allowed him to doze off.

Yet, amidst the snores and the regular breathing of his friends, Frodo still could not relax into sleep. Turning his body uneasily, Frodo vaguely heard a faint sound in a distance. A sound he had come to know very well though unwillingly.

“The Ringwraiths.” Frodo noticed how Strider hissed. The hobbit whipped his head sharply to the ranger’s direction, surprised and curious to realize that Strider knew he was still awake. “They’ve come.”

“Who are they?” Frodo could not help reply, in a small voice.

But Strider’s explanations about the kings of men, the undying ones, and the servants of the Dark Lord were pushed aside and scarcely noticed by the hobbit. It all sounded like a background noise to Frodo’s sudden, intruding thoughts.

This was the chance he had been waiting for! The Ringwraiths had come to take the Ring to Sauron and Frodo could let them take him to Sauron. He would be able to free his trapped spirit once and for all.

Carefully brushing aside the sheet covering his body, Frodo cast a calculating look toward the ranger, wondering if he could get away without his notice. Fortunately, Strider seemed to be absorbed in his own thoughts and did not even realize when Frodo quietly lifted the wooden bar across the door and crept soundlessly from the room.

***

Standing alone in the deserted and eerily quiet hallway, Frodo found himself recoiling and wanting to go back to the room, when all of a sudden he heard a heavy clank of metal at the other end of the corridor. The hobbit gasped and with thumping heart, he nervously took small steps toward the sound. A loud creak from a door being opened forcefully made Frodo’s heart jump. He stopped for a moment but was determined to go on. Where were the Ringwraiths?

Half running, Frodo followed the sound. The smaller rooms they had vacated, thought Frodo bitterly when spotting a ray of light pushing out from one of them. Frodo was sure that was the room where they, he and his companions, were supposed to spend the night.

The room was designed especially for hobbits with its small furniture: beds, chairs, tables, and consoles.

Frodo peeped into the room and – Ai! Four enormous, hooded figures, with their backs to Frodo were slowly approaching each of the four beds where he and his companions should have been. Frodo could not see the long, battered – looking swords they held in their hands, and so did not know what they intended by breaking into the room.

Then he saw the wraiths raise their weapons high in the air and with a swooshing sound, they slashed downward swiftly and perniciously. The swords encountered nothing but empty bed with soft pillows and bolsters. Enraged beyond words, the wraiths wreaked havoc upon the beds, their shrill cries rising by several octaves. Frodo gaped silently and covered his ringing ears, but held his ground.

Frodo shook uncontrollably, clutching the wooden doorframe tightly with his diminutive fingers as the unearthly cries died down. He felt so small and helpless facing the fearsome beings. What if the wraiths simply took the Ring and struck him dead? Sauron had indeed told Frodo to go with them to Mordor, but who would ensure that he did? All the Dark Lord desired was his Ring. He would likely care little for Frodo, or the spirit Frodo he held captive in Barad – dur.

Drowning in doubt and despair, Frodo involuntarily stamped his foot in frustration, but not so loudly that the wraiths would hear. He did not intend to be captured before he had the opportunity to explain his situation, if that were even possible. He wondered about Gandalf’s whereabouts and what the wizard would advise.

The four Ringwraiths were still wandering around the room as if expecting to suddenly spot a trembling hobbit crouching in a corner. Frodo realized they would soon leave should they find nothing, and if he did not make a decision quickly, he would lose the opportunity for transport to Mordor.

Taking a deep breath, Frodo steeled himself, let go of the doorframe, and stepped into the room. Or rather, he tried to. He never succeeded, as two big, strong hands suddenly grabbed him from behind, one clamping over his mouth and nose, the other tightening around his body.

“Don’t move!” The words were spoken in a harsh hiss in Frodo’s ear. “And don’t make a sound!” With that, Frodo felt himself being lifted up and carried away.

***

Sam awakened with a start at the screeching of the ringwraiths. Sweaty and cold at the same time, he gazed over at the vacant seat by the window where Strider had been sitting before and started to wonder. Sam then caught sight of the rumpled blanket beside Pippin, and gasped.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam cried, waking up the two other hobbits. Sam jumped out of the bed, out of the warm sheets covering his body, and ran to the gaping door. He almost bumped into Strider, who was carrying a struggling form in his left arm while the right one was working hard to stifle the wild cries the form was emitting the entire time. Frodo. He looked exactly like a trapped animal. “Give way, Sam,” grunted Strider with panting breaths. Sam, desperately wanting to protest at the harsh treatment of his master, was silenced by Strider’s determined, commanding tone. Sam moved aside, letting the ranger enter and pace directly toward the seat near the window.

“Quiet!” Strider hissed again, to Frodo this time, while shaking the frantic hobbit roughly, his wide hand still covering Frodo’s mouth. Frodo stared at him with unimaginable rage. He was so close to the only solution to his hopeless problem and this man had to come to ruin everything for him! Frodo screamed out a string of words, incoherently, but Sam was sure he had never imagined such words coming out of his beloved master’s mouth before.

“I said quiet!” Snapped Strider, a bit more fiercely now. Frodo went silent, his eyes still flashing furiously. The man nodded. He whispered the next instruction.

“I’m going to pull my hand away but you have to promise not to scream again. The Ringwraiths are still around and they can hear even the faintest sound.”

Frodo could do nothing but comply. He nodded.

“Good,” mumbled the ranger and slowly withdrew his hand from the hobbit’s face. But the moment the hand disappeared, Frodo raised his voice.

“How dare you do something like that to me! Who d—” Instantly, a hand clasped back on his mouth. Strider slid swiftly to Frodo’s back, tightening his hand over Frodo’s mouth and forcing the hobbit to involuntarily tilt his face upward. Frodo whimpered slowly behind the sweaty hand.

Groaning lowly, Strider motioned to Sam to hand him his pack lying on the floor and fished out two wide scarves from it. Both Frodo and Sam’s eyes grew wide as Strider thrust the scarf in Frodo’s mouth and knotted it behind his head. Strider then reflexively snatched Frodo’s flailing hands and secured them at his back as well.

“What are you doing?” Sam shouted. Strider gave him a weary gaze.

“I don’t know what you think of him, Sam. But to me, he is nothing more than a traitor to the free peoples of Middle Earth.”

Letting out a gagged cry, Frodo was completely baffled. Was that what Strider thought of him? All his anger was nearly swept away as he glazed up at the Ranger.

Sam blinked.

“What do you mean?”

Strider snorted.

“What do you call a person who willingly sells all of Middle Earth to the enemy?” Sam looked quizzically at Strider while Frodo slumped back helplessly. “It’s true,” continued Strider.

“He was going to the Ringwraiths. I wonder what he was going to do. Frodo?”

Strider’s voice was as sharp as a razor. Frodo shut his eyes in despair. Even if he was not gagged, he still would not want to reveal what truly troubled him.

***

~ At Barad-dur ~

Frodo never knew terror could grip him so fiercely as he witnessed the failure of the flesh and blood Frodo in his first attempt to get to Mordor by approaching the Nazgul. He saw it all. He saw how the other Frodo had managed to get out of Strider’s room to reach the one the former kings of men were ransacking. But then it was Strider himself, the man Frodo once thought could help him, who hindered and robbed him of the opportunity to save the spirit Frodo, now hanging, literally, in unimaginable dread.

The spirit Frodo heaved raggedly in his shackles. He was not completely recovered from the previous torment inflicted on him by Sauron. Still clear in his mind were the fear and disgust he had felt as Sauron had suddenly gutted him and cruelly dangled his entrails before his very eyes.

Although the sight of the result of Sauron’s atrocity made Frodo want to close his eyes, he was unable to. There he was, awake and panting, wondering how he could still be breathing after all that had been done to him. Sauron’s laughter startled Frodo and the hobbit looked hazily at the fog.

“You die when I allow, Frodo Baggins. Do not wish that I should be required to grant you your death.” The fog crept slowly forward, and with lightning speed, the invisible hand penetrated Frodo’s body again, returning his intestines to their place. The mental image of it alone horrified Frodo and he felt bile rise in his throat, threatening to spill over. Nauseated, Frodo tried to restrain himself from vomiting but he failed. Frodo retched miserably, spilling all the contents of his stomach, as if he HAD a stomach with any contents, mostly onto his chest. Sour stench erupted into Frodo’s nose, making him throw up even more, until what was left was mere liquid and dry heaves.

Wearily, Frodo gazed at Sauron with mixed feelings; fear, despair, but also a desire for vengeance. Frodo was maddened at how easily this damned creature treated him as if he was a plaything. Frodo silently swore that he would never, ever, let this thing ---

SPLASH!

“W – what---” Frodo gasped and wheezed, completely aghast as he suddenly found himself drenched in water.

“ENOUGH!” The thundering voice seized Frodo’s mind completely. “Enough with your inquiries!” Frodo was stunned, frowning a little and starting to wonder again. Inquiries? What inquiries? Had he not just ---

“BE QUIET, HALFLING!” A great claw suddenly clamped over the top of his head. “Your busy mind is too loud! Stop thinking or I shall stop you!”

Frodo twisted in his bonds, making the chains rattle noisily. The damp touch of the foggy claw was still on his head and he was afraid to think. But it occurred to him that he was more afraid of not being able to think anymore.

Somewhere in his clouded mind, Frodo suddenly realized that he was STILL thinking. He smiled inwardly. Sauron could torture him physically until he was completely broken. But the Dark Lord could never rule his mind!

THWAP!

A stunning backhand whipped Frodo’s face violently to his left. An ugly bruise directly formed on the hobbit’s cheek and a tear involuntarily slid down his pale cheek.

“That’s what you deserve for thinking. Now we shall see if you can still smile.”

Frodo was hanging limply, trying to catch his breath. He desperately wanted to rub his stinging cheek, ensuring himself that he could at least lessen the pain he suffered anywhere else. Damn the shackles! They still kept his arms in place. And Sauron was right. Frodo could not smile anymore.

And now, in the Palantir he had seen his twin’s unsuccessful move. Frodo shuddered in grave anticipation at what Sauron would do about it.

“No, no. Please,” he stammered as the fog floated ever so slowly to his direction. It was no use, no matter how hard he pulled at his chains, no matter how desperately he cried. No use. “Please!” His voice shook terribly. “It’s not his fault,” Frodo said, referring to his other self. “He intended to go with those dark creatures, but the man – the man! “

Sauron had been hovering just an inch in front of him. Frodo could sense the scent of death invading his nostrils.

“Ba – ggins---”

Frodo shivered. The vague, floating whisper from the fog reminded him very much of that of the Ringwraiths. Suddenly everything was cold and Frodo was transfixed in his place, his eyes staring blankly, unable to even breathe.

“I am growing impatient,” continued Sauron, still with his menacing voice. “Your task is to bring the Ring here by such method as you choose. I know you are willing to do that. Oh, yes, I am sure of it. Thus I should not doubt you, for if you fail one way, you will undoubtedly seek another. But I AM impatient, and I am angry. When I am angry – “

Frodo had been spellbound by the eerily soothing voice, but suddenly was successful in breaking the hold it had on him. “Aah! Get away from me!” He grasped the chains restraining him and swung his legs out toward the fog, as if kicking at the gaseous cloud would matter. Even as he did, the fog trapped Frodo’s legs and with a sickening crack, it twisted both the hobbit’s ankles at an awkward angle.

Searing pain blinded Frodo and he threw his head back as the fog let go of his legs. Inarticulate cries of agony burst from him as he sobbed, unaware as to whether his ankles were broken or merely sprained. “Help! Please, help!.”

An icy finger swiped the streaming tears from one of Frodo’s cheeks, and the hobbit fearfully opened his eyes, trying to imagine that it was the caring touch of someone – his mother perhaps – but it wasn’t. Frodo flinched, inflaming Sauron’s rage further.

“And when I am angry, I will have satisfaction!” His statement complete, Sauron came closer to do the ‘thing’ that would surely satisfy him. Effortlessly, he rained violent blows upon Frodo’s face, leaving the hobbit nearly senseless – nearly. Sauron would not allow Frodo to lose consciousness this time, but assured that he was still awake to feel the pain.

***

~ At the Inn of the Prancing Pony ~

Frodo was indeed awake as he sat in the dimly lit room in the Prancing Pony, screaming against the gag in his mouth, his jerky movements nearly sending him reeling from the chair. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut as pain assailed his legs and face. He struggled vainly to rub the pains away with his tied hands.

“Mmmhh!” Frodo groaned piteously. His eyes were fixed on Sam, pleading silently to him to release him. Sam, confused at this sudden change of behavior, averted his gaze from Frodo turning it instead to Strider’s direction.

“Strider!” Sam called tensely. “You must untie him!”

The Ranger looked down at the hobbit. For mere seconds worry seemed to flash across his scruffy face. But when he threw a glance at Frodo, deep distrust and slight disgust were still in his eyes. The man did not believe Frodo was truly in pain. He even lightly kicked the hobbit at the heel, which caused Frodo to let out a yet another groan, his back arching and his tears flowing more freely. Then it occurred to Sam that his master was starting to hyperventilate. Frodo’s eyes rolled back revealing their whites as the flow of oxygen was diminished. Sam, heedless of Strider’s possible actions toward him, leapt forward and wrenched away Frodo’s gag.

“Oh, Mr. Frodo,” coddled Sam gently, cupping Frodo’s face in his hands. “What is wrong with you? Aren’t you going to say anything at all, even to your Sam?”

Frodo noticed the warm and soft voice and struggled to come back to his senses. Still panting heavily, he slowly opened his eyes, pale blue and glistening with the remnants of the tears. Sam, oh Sam. How was he supposed to tell this loyal manservant? Sauron would surely punish him if he did. The Dark Lord always punished him, for what he did – trying to tell Strider or the hobbits, and for what he did not do – succeeding in bringing the Ring to Mordor. Frodo was in the dark as to what extent he could survive those punishments. It would be very bad if he died before telling these beloved people what really came upon him.

“S – sam?” Breathed Frodo. The gardener moved one of his hands to Frodo’s soaking forehead, brushing aside the curls away from his face.

“Yes, Mr. Frodo?”

The fair hobbit took a deep breath. He had made a decision, eventually. At least, if he died from the last punishment, he would be in the arms of someone cognizant of his dilemma, who cared for him so much. Frodo’s blue eyes never turned away.

“Sam, Sauron has captured me. He holds a part of my self, a part of my spirit. I will get my spirit back if I bring him the Ring. I didn’t tell you this earlier because he told me not to do so or he would torture me. Well, he has already.”

Frodo did not allow Sam to interrupt, as he had to tell him as quickly as he could, before Sauron realized what Frodo was doing. Before Sauron imposed on him yet another torment.

Frodo felt grateful that he had told Sam as best as he could. It mattered little to him whether his gardener or the others – Strider, Merry, and Pippin – believed him or not. Getting the information across was above everything – even above an excruciating pain that followed shortly. “Sauron knows,” mumbled Frodo, much to himself, as he surrendered to oblivion.

TBC

AN: --- and please leave your yet another message telling that you have been reading it – before Sauron has the chance to stop me!