Warning: AU, violence

Sam rose, still quivering from exasperation and disappointment of Strider, and from his own intense remorse. He staggered backward, hand stretching out to find something to hold his trembling body up and feeling silently relieved when his hand found purchase on rough surface of crumbled watch tower. Sam’s eyes were glistening with angry tears.

“They snatched Frodo away! They finally got ‘im.”

Strider gazed at the hobbit in bewilderment. He was about to say something but fell silent as he realized nothing he uttered would ever make up for his failure.

His words sounded bitter in his ears but Sam had every right to be enraged. Strider was supposed to be their guide and guardian. He was supposed to protect the small one carrying the heaviest of burdens. He was the ranger.

But Sam was not done. And all his distrust and disagreement to Strider’s treatment of Frodo erupted to the surface.

“And you insisted that Frodo still be bound! You knew how dangerous the road was, yet you didn’t think far enough to see that he might need his hands to defend himself.”

Merry and Pip, who had slowly stood up, fidgeted at Sam’s tone. They could not help feeling lost as well. Here they were, two – no, three – small hobbits out in the wild with only one Ranger to protect them. The only person they expected to make them feel safe was the very human standing before them, the one who had failed them completely. Merry and Pippin wondered if they would ever trust the man again.

Merry drew closer to Sam and tugged at the gardener’s elbow.

“Sam, what should we do now?” His voice was small, shivering in trepidation. He was in fact just a year younger than Sam but he could see that he could rely on the young Gamgee now that Frodo was taken.

Sam turned to face Frodo’s cousin and was about to reply when he heard someone call his name. The ranger.

“Sam, there is still hope.” The statement seemed odd but Strider’s smooth voice was calming Sam down.

“Remember,” continued Strider --, “they will not find the Ring with Frodo. Let us pray that the wraiths will just abandon him somewhere once they see this fact. We can track Frodo down.”

Sam angrily rubbed his tears away with the back of his hand, feeling dizzy, as if blood rushed to his head once more.

“That’s what you think will happen when those wraiths find out that Frodo hasn’t the Ring in his keeping!” Sam stated in utter mockery. “Why, they would just kill him!”

“Sam!” Merry was startled. “How could you say such a terrible thing?”

Sam still looked straight at Strider, but apologized.

“Sorry,” he mumbled to Merry.

And suddenly a realization struck Sam, leaving him feeling utterly overcome. He was the one with the Ring. Had those wraiths been more meticulous, he would have been the one whom they would have captured. He, and not Frodo. He, and his beloved Mr. Frodo would have been still left unharmed.

But that was not what happened. Frodo was still taken because Sam had not the courage to stop it. Shame washed over him. He should have taken the Ring out when he had charged against those undead creatures. Or he should have felt it through the fabric of his shirt so those witches could smell it. But the fact was he did not do any of those things.

Sam dropped to his knees, hiding the flood of his tears behind his shaking hands.

“I’m so sorry, Strider.” The muffled sound of Sam’s made the Merry and Pippin look at each other.

Merry brushed at Sam’s shoulder.

“Sam?” He called tentatively. Sam lifted his face from his hands and grabbed Merry’s hand so abruptly that Merry jerked backward and would have pulled free of Sam’s grip had Sam not clung so dearly.

“Mr. Merry!” Choked Sam. “I’m very, very sorry! I should have showed the Ring to those foul things. It’d have been better if I’d been the one snatched away!”

Merry was bewildered at the statement. How could it be better that any of them be taken? Merry turned to Strider, helplessly. He might not be able to trust the man fully anymore, but right now he was their only hope.

“Whatever should we do now?” Merry murmured, almost to himself.

***

~ At the Dungeon of Sauron’s Fortress ~

It was not enjoyable anymore, what with the frozen body beneath him. No writhing and twisting that made the victory even more delicious. Satisfying.

The fog slowly floated away, disentangling itself from Frodo’s spirit and fading from sight, disappearing but still existing, still present in the fetid place.

An invisible hand stretched out, grasping Frodo’s curls at the back of his head and pulling them roughly, rolling Frodo to his back.

An ashen face was revealed, with eyes tightly shut and lips slightly parted. Frodo did not seem to breathe.

A groan was heard in the distance. It seemed like the fog was either enraged or sorry. The former was more likely, as a moment later Frodo’s face snapped to and fro as if someone was slapping him.

Indeed, he was being struck, repeatedly.

Another groan resounded, this time lighter. The fog, wherever it was, was watching in satisfaction as his act started to show a good result. The corpse-like figure stirred, arched his back as if trying desperately to suck in air into a wide-open mouth, and broke into harsh, persistent coughing as the air rushed into his lungs.

Growing impatient at the non-stop fit, the fog tugged Frodo by his arm to a sitting position and clamped its damp palm over the hobbit’s mouth. Terrified, Frodo fluttered his eyes open and started hyperventilating. His muddled mind could not register what actually prevented him from coughing since it was nothing, absolutely nothing that he could see over his mouth. Yet he could definitely feel it. Then, whether it was out of pity or more likely cruelty, the fog reappeared, a short distance in front of Frodo, who was now staring at it in terror.

“Stop it. Please, let me die,” Frodo begged silently. The fog contracted, its groan replaced by small chuckles.

“On the contrary, little one. As your ranger has taken such foolish action, I am forced to keep you alive to ensure that I will get my Ring back, one way or another. I know your other half no longer carries It, but I need your presence still.” With that the fog released Frodo, leaving him gasping and breathing raggedly.

Frodo’s eyes bore a question as well. He no longer had the Ring? An unutterable sense of loss suddenly filled him. Then another feeling – more physical – suddenly burst on his stomach, causing Frodo to double over. With eyes now clouded with tears, the hobbit scanned the fog blearily, trying to discern why he was suddenly struck so mercilessly.

“Mercilessly? Need you ask more?” Growled Sauron. “Must you question all my acts upon you? How many times do I have to remind you the Ring is MINE? You have no right to feel anything with regard to It!”

Frodo bowed submissively, sitting on the floor, shoulders hanging forlornly, his arms huddling tightly around his torso in a futile attempt to regulate the pain and regain his breath. He willed himself not to think of the Ring anymore.

“Good. Very good,” hissed the fog. “Now, to reward your obedience, I have decided to give you something to eat.”

Frodo lifted his head, staring in disbelief. Eat? How would that be possible? Wasn’t he a non-fleshly being that was not capable of feeling or doing things only a corporeal one could? Still, because Sauron had decided he should, he had felt all the pains inflicted upon him. Frodo swallowed hard. Would Sauron, with all his power, be able to make him taste the food and drink? Frodo started to imagine things, recalling the memories of all the meals back at Bag End and even the sips of ale he had had at the inn of Prancing Pony in Bree before all this had happened. Frodo’s stomach growled at the images of stew and warm bread and his parched throat felt achingly dry.

Sauron gave a cruel smirk at the pictures in Frodo’s mind, and opened the trap door on the ceiling with its invisible limb.

“Get down here!” The fog roared at several heads popping in. “And bring what I ordered!”

Hideous heads appeared at the trap door and their owners began to drop down into the chamber. Orcs. Some of them were gripping something in their hands. And when they had all crouched down before Frodo and the fog, they opened their fists, dropping the food Sauron mentioned. Frodo glared at once, his stomach churning in agony.

Rats.

TBC