~ In Sauron’s Fortress ~

Beneath the blindfold there was not much Frodo could behold, indeed nothing, to be truthful. It was dark and suffocating, and Frodo started to see the strange splotches that would typically appear in his vision when he rubbed his eyes too hard. Those blots worsened the swirling sensation he had been suffering after being nearly drowned and violently ill. Frodo made an attempt to move his head to shake his dizziness away only to find that moving at all was nearly impossible due to his bonds. As he lay on his side, he could only lift his head a little off the ground. He gave up the effort and lowered it again, sighing in despair. To make everything worse, his jaw felt sore from the tightness of the cloth bound around it to silence him.

But Frodo did not really want to let despondence defeat him. After all, Sauron had finally left him alone and spared him more tortures. He should feel … grateful? The last thought only made him feel even more wretched. Frodo could not hold back his tears anymore. They soaked silently into the blindfold.

* * *

High upon the dark tower the Eye contracted with fury. If Sauron had teeth, he would probably be gritting them in annoyance at the knowledge of what had happened to the corporeal Frodo. It was also infuriating to Sauron that he had failed to foresee what the wizard, the elves and the men had planned in order to save the hobbit. Aggravation gnawed deep into the consciousness of the Dark Lord as he realized that he may not be strong enough to fight them. Defeat at the hands of the alliance of those physical beings was still possible.

Amidst the Eye’s bafflement, the rage and desire to re-posses the Ring were resurging. The Ring must return to him. Those lowly creatures – and the one he held captive in the dark land – must pay dearly for their impertinence in keeping It!

Or, the lidless Eye determined, he might not be able to see what the plan was because…

There was simply no plan at all!

The Eye sent that encouraging thought to each corner of his realm and the bleak land was shaken by the scorching laugh of his high self-glorification. The wizard must only be bluffing with the promise he gave to the hobbit while in fact he knew just too well he could do nothing to fight against the Dark Lord. A merciless rumble of something eerily like laughter emerged from the tower.

Now it was time to send another warning to his foes.

* * *

Being denied of sight had somehow sharpened Frodo’s other senses, including the sense of sharp pain coming from both corners of his mouth. Frodo moaned softly through his slightly parted lips as the pressure from the gag bit and cut more deeply into the tender flesh every single moment. He had lost control of the saliva running down his chin and now he started to taste blood.

Another thing that Frodo began to be aware of was some sounds he initially could not identify. They were a mixture of metal clashing and vapor hissing. Frodo strained his ears to catch some more, warily anticipating the return of the malevolent fog. But he could not sense the presence of Sauron, so it must not be him. What Frodo sensed, instead, was something that made his skin crawl with new terror. His naked upper body started to shiver as the air temperature dropped all of a sudden into a deadly chill.

Just then Frodo realized what he had been hearing. It was the metal door and walls around him that were beginning to freeze and were slowly being covered with ice. Frodo caught his breath. He was only clad in a pair of ragged, thin breeches and his hands and legs were bound. He could not curl himself up to help ward off the freezing air. It was already almost too much to bear that he had been confined and unable to see or flee. Frodo had thought he had endured enough punishment to satisfy Sauron.

The hobbit huffed heavily as the air seemed to get colder. Once his head suddenly tilted up as his nose was suddenly blocked up and he panicked for the lack of air. Then the next thing he knew was his body convulsing uncontrollably – and reflexively – to fight the ferocious chillness.

* * *

~ In Rivendell ~

“I shall not hasten, Frodo. Everything must be considered and re-considered. We must think of every denouement that might spring from any step we take. Every step needs to be thought of carefully, especially since we shall deal with the Ring itself.” Gandalf spoke every single one of his words conscientiously, so as not to alarm Frodo or to make the hobbit’s hope soar too high. Gandalf knew Frodo too well to expect the halfling to get excited too soon and thus would be disappointed or even broken down if everything proved not to work as planned.

But all of a sudden Gandalf felt as if he had been talking to himself. There was no response whatsoever from Frodo and – the wizard realized it suddenly – there was even no sound of the hobbit’s steps that could be heard. Gandalf halted his progress at once, turned to his side, and found to his horror that Frodo was no longer beside him. He extended his sight further behind, and his heart sank.

Frodo was huddled on the ground, wound up in a fetal position, legs raised up close to his chest, arms tightening around them. His eyes were shut tightly as if he were in great pain. An unimaginable shudder jarred his fragile, battered body.

Gandalf made a sound that was unrecognizable as speech in any known language as he rushed to Frodo’s side.

Frodo, the beloved nephew of his dear friend, Bilbo. A brave, young hobbit that had gone through such an ordeal and such pain inflicted by the darkest terror over Middle-earth, the cursed Sauron.

The owner of a pair of the clearest eyes that had shone a moment too short as Gandalf told him about the possible way out of his torments.

Gandalf knelt down to the shaking figure and scooped it up gently yet hurriedly, trying his best to not let his shock overcome him.

“Give him strength, O Earandil. Don’t let him pass before my very eyes.”

Gandalf sat back on his heels, legs folded beneath him. He cradled Frodo and almost broke down at the sight of the hobbit’s deathly pallor. All color had drained from Frodo’s face save for the bluish hue of his lips. Frodo’s quivering eyelashes spoke silently of the pain of the rest of his body. His breaths were labored and in danger of vanishing entirely, and otherwise he made no sound at all. Gandalf feared the worst.

Very slowly, the wizard drew his hand to a chain around his neck and pulled it out of his robe. He knew he was in a safe place, at the backyard of Elrond’s Healing House. No one with bad intentions should catch him with what he was intending to reveal. This was an emergency situation. Even if there were servants of Sauron swarming around, Gandalf would still want to risk it. It was for Frodo’s sake. Frodo’s life.

Hanging on the chain was one of the Three Rings of Power. The one Cirdan himself bestowed upon him. The Ring of Fire. With a gleaming red stone. Narya the Great.

“For this is the Ring of Fire, and with it you may rekindle hearts in a world that grows chill.”

Gandalf drew the Ring out, released it from the imprisonment of the chain, and put it on around the ring finger of his right hand.

“May it rekindle the warmth to set away the chills that are tormenting you right now,” Gandalf whispered into Frodo’s ear and rested his right hand upon the halfling’s brow, starting to chant softly.

At first there was no response from Frodo and Gandalf hummed louder, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration.

Then he sensed Frodo stirring into wakefulness while the shaking became fainter. Gandalf opened his eyes to see Frodo take a deep, exhausted breath. He was no longer panting now. Gandalf’s eyes watered as he saw color returning to the hobbit’s feature. Frodo moved restlessly in Gandalf’s arms and his hands flailed before they found the wizard’s wrist and started to pull it away from him. Frodo’s eyelids fluttered open reluctantly and from the narrow slits of his eyes, the hobbit gazed at the wizard. Weariness and incomprehension shone in them.

“It’s very warm.” His muttering was almost inaudible. Gandalf pulled his gaze away from the halfling’s face – the only thing he kept staring at this whole time – and noticed that the night dress Frodo was wearing was soaked with sweat. A sheen of perspiration was covering Frodo’s arms, neck and face. It seemed to come from every pore in his body. Gandalf kept his hand on Frodo’s forehead.

“A moment, my boy,” said Gandalf in a low tune. He knew it must have felt terrible for Frodo to have an extreme change from icy chill to such warmth, but Gandalf did not want to let go just yet. He had not been sure if the other Frodo had also felt warm as this Frodo did. Some more moments, Gandalf thought.

“Frodo! Frodo!”

Gandalf looked up and saw Sam stumbling toward their direction. His arms were flailing helplessly and his pudgy build seemed to weigh him down. Sam looked miserable and was hardly able to catch his breath at all, calling out repeatedly for his master as he neared. Gandalf nodded grimly to himself, realizing that he could not risk allowing the gardener to see his Ring. He had to have done with his attempt to treat Frodo right here and now. The wizard slowly withdrew his hand, pulled the Ring off his finger, and slid it back onto the chain. He managed to put the chain back around his neck and hide it beneath his robe just in time with Sam halted beside him, stooping and breathing hard.

“What – what happened to my master?” He breathed out the words amidst his gasps. Frodo in the mean time had closed his eyes again and seemed to sink back in unconsciousness. Sam was almost hysterical. Frodo had looked much, much better when he darted away from his room.

“Gandalf!” Sam cried.

“Ssh,” the wizard shushed him. “He will be all right.” But a slight hesitation lingered in his voice. Gandalf put his arms below Frodo’s limp form and he huffed as he rose. Frodo’s arms hung lifelessly at both sides, his head tilting backward. Sam made a low, despairing sound at the sight of his master’s frozen but flushed face and slightly open mouth.

“Come, Samwise. We cannot delay another moment.”

* * *

~ In the Deserted Cell in the Dark Tower ~

It was all beyond his comprehension. At one time he was so frozen he thought he would just let death swallow him, but soon after, Frodo felt so warm he was dying to rip open the blindfold and the gag for they had seemed to plaster over his eyes and skin, sticking cloyingly to him. Even the breeches he was wearing seemed too much clothing with such warmth.

Sweat dripped out of each and every single pore of his skin. But worst of all was his overwhelming thirst. Not realizing that this was all Gandalf’s doing, Frodo could not help cringing at Sauron’s last attempt to hurt him.

The heat seemed to last forever for Frodo before it finally subsided and what was left was just his thirst. Frodo still felt warm but with the chills he suffered before, it felt like heaven now.

The hobbit clung tightly to the comfort, never wanting to let it go, yet he was also waiting with dreadful anticipation. Sauron had never left him alone or let him breathe freely for too long. In the end Frodo was just lying there, his body as tense as a stretched bowstring.

He flinched violently as a noise came to him from what he thought was the door to the cell. Frodo was shaking now. They had returned! They had come back to take him or to torture him further! He listened to the screeching sound of the big metal door being yanked open with mounting terror. He wanted to scream out his trepidation but he could only let out a strangled sob. Frodo jerked against his bonds and got completely, totally, frozen when an oddly smooth hand caught his chin, strangely gently. Frodo knew he had been weeping ever since he heard the first sound from the door and fear engulfed him. But only now did he taste the saltiness of his tears as his blindfold was removed– also with the same tenderness – and tears flowed freely onto his lips and seeped into his mouth as the gag, too, came away. Frodo’s eyes grew wide as he gaped at the figure looming above him. He moaned a little as a hoarse voice he hardly recognized emerged from his sore throat to articulate his bewildered thoughts.

“Gandalf?”

TBC