~ In Sauron’s Dungeon ~

The orcs were drowned in their own jeers and raucous laughter seeing how the little hobbit suffered. They sneered and turned at each other and laughed again at how Frodo had thrown up all over their boss. Sauron would surely be enraged now.

Yet, apparently, it was not exactly what the fog had in mind. It meant nothing, for Frodo practically vomited over empty air. The fog merely watched, pleased and displeased at the same time observing the results of his punishments on Frodo – punishments that were still fruitless for him. The chance to get his Ring back seemed thinning now that the corporeal Frodo was in Rivendell, surrounded by men, elves, his fellow hobbits, and a wizard – all resolved to keep him safe and protected and to take Frodo’s ethereal half back. Yet, Sauron was equally determined to hold Frodo as long as he could until his efforts bore the expected result.

Frodo, whose retching fit had now subsided, was sitting with his legs folded underneath his body, bowing his head and panting softly. The ever streaming tears were still running down his cheeks and he was unable to dry them with his tethered hands. Frodo did not want to think anymore or hope that he would die soon. It was clear that the Dark Lord would not release him as long as he had not got the Ring – not even to death itself. And Sauron would also keep him in torment, because the smallest of Frodo’s thoughts could quickly enrage him. Frodo grimly recalled the wicked creature Gollum’s more fortunate fate. Gollum was only forced to tell who was keeping the Ring at that time and where the person who kept It resided. Once he gave up and told them, he was freed from his torment. But he, Frodo, was asked for something beyond what he could give, beyond what he could speak in words.

The fog hissed in impatience. The hobbit had tired him with his resistance. Just now Sauron had seen in Frodo’s mind that Frodo would not think anymore. Yet what followed was a series of lengthy and winding thoughts. Even Gollum had crossed the hobbit’s mind! Sauron growled and commanded the orcs to take Frodo away from the place.

The hobbit lifted his face up with a questioning gaze. As several beasts grabbed him up, pure terror was in his dazed eyes. No, no! His mind screamed. No more of this agony. Don’t they know I’ve had more than enough of it? But none of them heeded his hopeless silent plea. Frodo was taken away to smaller and darker leeway, cast loose of the chain and leash, but a piece of cloth was tied over his mouth as a gag and his ankles were secured together once he was laid down to the earthen floor. Frodo had never felt so desperate before. Even then, the only luxury he had left – his sight – was also taken from him as another length of rag was bound over his eyes. Frodo gasped. Not a single streak of light was he now allowed to treasure.

Then a loud bang of a thick iron door disengaged Frodo completely from the outside world.

* * *

~ In Rivendell ~

Shakily, Sam held Frodo and rubbed his back slowly, releasing the knots in the muscles while his master agonized over the unceasing heaves. Most of the liquid landed on the floor though some splashed onto the bed sheet and Pippin’s garment. None of the hobbits spoke during Frodo’s ordeal. They just stared, horrified, at the miserable sight. Several times was Frodo almost gagged by his own vomit and when he was finally done, Frodo was nothing but a quivering hunched wreck with gasping breath and sobs and torrents of tears.

“I – I…” Frodo stared down aghast at the lurid sight of his stained bed, trying hard to hide his embarrassment. Nausea twisted inside him. This had never happened before, even when he had been ill as a child.

A hand with a wet cloth started to cleanse the slowly crusting smudge on the sheet and Frodo reached out. He looked up. It was Pippin, also with eyes red and swollen, clouded with tears. Frodo then noticed that his cousin’s shirt and breeches were smeared, too.

“Oh, Pip!” Frodo got hold of the cloth now and he rubbed it on the stained part of Pippin’s clothes. “I’m so – so sorry!” He stammered.

“Frodo!” Merry cried out in anguish and, as if just released from a spell, he sprang to the door and screamed desperately, “Help! Someone, anyone! Please help!”

Pippin could not do or say anything, standing in bewilderment as Frodo continued brushing over him, calling his name repeatedly, almost mechanically. Frodo’s lips trembled but Pippin was certain it was not due to sorrow over his cousin’s present state. Frodo was still in shock, for whatever had happened to him, or rather, to his spirit half that was trapped in the land of darkness.

All of a sudden Pippin felt himself shoved aside. Gandalf. The wizard, although he had not borne witness to the sufferings of Frodo’s captive spirit half, knew he mustn’t delay. He scooped up the dazed hobbit as Frodo’s hand flailed in the air, losing its grip on Pippin.

“Come now, Frodo. We shall see Lord Elrond immediately and settle this matter.”

To Gandalf’s surprise, Frodo writhed in his arms and wailed, letting out a high-pitched, keening sound. His hands flailed wildly and for sometime Gandalf felt he would lose his balance. But once he steadied his hold on Frodo, the hobbit squirmed even harder and screamed, “No!” Frodo leapt out of Gandalf’s arms and, stumbling several times, he made it through the door, dashing past Merry.

Gandalf, Sam, and Pippin were so stunned they could not move for several moments. Similar thoughts crossed their minds, regarding how a person already so beaten up managed to do such a thing. But Gandalf started to blame himself for having frightened the hobbit by grasping him so suddenly.

Gandalf might well have been right in his assumption, but there was equal possibility that he was wrong. Frodo might have been so terrified that he interpreted any sudden touch as a threat. Yet there might have been sanity left in him and he solely wanted to escape all the horrors he had experienced, to run away from them to anywhere he thought he would be safe. He was hiding from the possible reach of those torments. Hiding from Sauron.

Sam watched Frodo’s flight with renewed fear. Ever since Sauron had possessed his master’s spirit, Frodo had behaved strangely. Once he looked to be in great agony just like what he had just experienced. Next he acted oddly, such as when he walked away to counter the Nazguls. And knowing that it was Sam who carried the Ring, Frodo had also alternated between the rage of one possessed and submitting to the knowledge that he could not claim It again.

Blanched and wavering in his place, Sam tugged at Gandalf’s long and swaying sleeve. The wizard started and turned to his side.

“What is it, Samwise?” His voice was a mixture of annoyance and despair.

Sam merely gaped, unable to articulate his thoughts at first.

“Do you – do you think I should give the Ring back to Mr. Frodo?” Sam was on the brink of tears. “I don’t mean that he should surrender It to Sauron, no. But – was he being tortured because I have It with me? Gandalf, sir?”

Gandalf closed his eyes. It would matter nothing for Sauron if the Ring was with Frodo or Sam now. He just wanted It. But Sam with his simple, innocent mind… that just broke his heart.

* * *

Frodo stumbled across the balcony and down the dais, feeling the crunch of dry leaves under his feet as he ran through the grass under the big, shadowy trees. He ran until he felt his lungs were ready to burst and he was forced to halt halfway, sagging on his knees and hands, panting harshly.

Frodo slowly raised his eyes up to the sky and almost shouted in a vented outrage as it seemed to mock him with a clear blue gaze. He almost choked at the unfairness presented before him and he rose, resuming his escape. It was impossible for him to get far due to his unfavorable condition. The hobbit eventually sagged to the ground and crawled to the nearest gigantic tree to crumple against its strong and supporting trunk. Frodo ignored the roughness of the bark as it bit into his back through the thin fabric of his nightdress and simply surrendered, only dimly aware of the soaking tears, angrily wiping them away only to find he could not master them.

Everything had gone terribly wrong and out of control. The cloudless sky was not the only thing Frodo thought had betrayed him. So had all the beauty around him – the lawn, the grand houses, the sculptures, the woods, and if he looked a bit farther, the ethereal elves wandering about the place. Nothing and no one seemed to share his misery – though it was not true, either – and the darkness that had blanketed and clutched his heart, leaving it bleeding in despair. Frodo drew himself inward and curled into a smaller ball. This was one of those moments when he could retreat into himself, when Sauron seemed to have tired of torturing his other half. There was no way of knowing how long such a moment would last or when the next fit of torment would begin.

Pain. Endless pain. Frodo could still hear the devil’s wrathful voice, the orcs’ croaking threats, and feel the pain inflicted by them. Endlessly. He had long been broken. He had attempted to give up the Ring and would have succeeded had Strider and the other hobbits not been there to stop him. He was supposed to be ashamed of that but he could not help it. He was too weak, too small, to defy the one even the strongest of men could not.

Frodo had been so much reduced he even wished for death to claim him. He felt ashamed of this, too.

Thinking of Sam and his cousins’ pained anxiety and Aragorn’s unceasing attention, Frodo suddenly believed himself to be the most insensitive and egotistical creature in Middle Earth. He should have given more thought to his acts and wishes. Giving up the Ring would mean doom to all Middle Earth! How could he even think of doing that?

But… but…

Oh, all the whip lashes, beatings, stabbing, strangling… How could they – all those people – think he had the strength to withstand it? He was not one of the Maia, a great wizard with the power to resist.

A soft breeze greeted Frodo gently, cooling the hobbit’s sweat and tear-soaked face, soothing his troubled mind, though only marginally. Frodo’s eyes wandered dreamily away. Something slipped into his mind amidst all the thoughts of terror. Had Gandalf been right? Was there still hope left?

Despite his open eyes, Frodo had not been attentive to his surroundings. It escaped him that a figure was approaching. And Frodo literally jumped, his body uncoiling, when a voice replied silently to his unspoken questions.

“It was true, my lad. There is something we can do. But it will require the greatest of your courage.”

“Gandalf!” Cried Frodo, now inclining to the tree, both palms pressing into the ground and legs outstretching. “I didn’t see you come. How…” For a moment dread washed over him as recollection of Sauron came back. Gandalf had seen his mind as had the Dark Lord!

“Yes, Frodo.” The wizard hunched into a sitting position. “I can see your mind without your speaking your thoughts aloud. Forgive me, for I did not come earlier to save you.”

“What, Gandalf?” Inquired Frodo weakly. “What can I do to save myself?”

Gandalf contemplated the question.

“It is not what you alone can do, but what we must do together. Though, I will not say this is going to be easy.”

There was a faint strength flickering in Frodo’s eyes, and that was just about the only thing Gandalf needed in response. Frodo had not been crushed entirely. The wizard rose and helped Frodo to stand.

“Let us return to your quarters to talk about this further with the others. We shall need all the help that is available to us.”

TBC