“Gollum?” Frodo’s voice sounded full of doubt – and later on trepidation, as he heard no more of the gangrel creature. Panic crept up on his back and slowly went all the way to his neck with the realization that he was alone. And a sudden gush of chilling wind, confirming the hobbit’s uneasy feeling, brought along a putrid, nauseating smell.

“What smell is this?” Frodo had asked earlier, before entering the cave, when the false, twisted, once river hobbit was still with him.

“It’s orcsess’ filth,” Gollum had answered. The answer alone almost made Frodo retch, not knowing that the real thing was much worse than that.

But Frodo had kept going, bracing and telling himself that he would not be defeated by smell alone. Yet things worsened the deeper Frodo stumbled into the complete darkness of the tunnel. And that was when he had noticed the absence of Gollum.

Frodo stared into the darkness, unseeing, taking each step forward not knowing what awaited him. He cursed silently, realizing now, just how wicked Gollum was. How true Sam had been…

“Oh, Sam!” Frodo cried inside. But it was too late now. He had sent Sam back to the Shire and however heart-broken the gardener might have been, he would do whatever Frodo ordered. It was the only way Sam could show his loyalty to Frodo.

If only Sam knew how desperately Frodo needed him now…if only he had disobeyed.

Frodo flailed his arms and gasped blindly, tentatively feeling the damp walls of the tunnel.

“Hey, little one…”

There was a whisper in the suffocating air. Vague for mortal ears but it was there. Frodo gasped and his eyes shone wildly, looking around.

“Who is that?” His own whisper came out in a strangled voice. But then he did not catch anything anymore and he began to wonder if he had been imagining things.

Resisting his own imagination – if that was it – Frodo resumed his walk.

All of a sudden, feathery touches were running up and down his left arm and slowly circling around the wrist.

Frodo let out a sharp cry and pulled his arm back quickly. This was not his imagination. But despite the clear touch he had felt, Frodo could not see anything--the surrounds were too dark. He reached for his left arm to check it

Suddenly his right arm was grabbed and twisted painfully behind his back.

Frodo bit his lower lips to stop himself from crying out loud. He struggled to release his arm but to no avail. Meanwhile, his body was drenched with sweat, both from fear and his inability to see his attackers. Strangely, he could not even feel their presence.

“Let – me – go! Uuh!” Frodo breathed out, wrestling his arm away. But that only resulted in a more bruising hold. Then he felt – not saw – that it was trying to get a grasp on his other arm, but this time Frodo managed to shove it away, to grab at his sword, which to his amazement, was glowing.

His Sting was glowing with a bright, blue light, signaling to the hobbit that orcs were around him! And judging from the brightness, they were close. Frodo unsheathed it as fast as he could, and with the help of the illuminating sword, he managed a glimpse at his surroundings. And his breath was caught at once.

Orcs were all over him! The hideous-looking creatures, baring their sharp, deformed teeth, surrounded Frodo from every direction. Frodo swung Sting desperately in a firm attempt to uproot them. He moved rather awkwardly as his right arm was still imprisoned by one of them.

But Frodo had just noticed something else. However hard he tried to hack through the orcs, he could not seem to hit even one of them. In fact, Sting just slashed into thin air.

The hobbit froze in his tracks.

That was exactly what he had been doing, hacking into the air. Yet the sneers were still there, mocking at Frodo’s bewilderment, and they made use of it.

One of the orcs slammed at Frodo’s sword-gripping hand, sending Sting far across the tunnel, clamoring against its rocky bed. Frodo followed the dimmed gleaming, dismay and despair clear in those luminous blue orbs. But again, he was too late in anticipating another assault.

The orcs on the other hand had not wasted Frodo’s stunned state. They quickly latched onto the hobbit’s empty left hand and pinned it on the wall. The same treatment followed with Frodo’s right hand.

Frodo, suddenly found himself pushed against the wall with his body lifted up, but he did not surrender easily. He squirmed and bucked and twisted his arms, but in vain.

A bony hand extended and cupped his chin. “She will feast tonight.”

The hollow sound was heard again but this time it was much clearer.

Frodo tried to shake the hand off his face.

“Be still, little one,” snapped his captor. “Your fate has been decided. There is no use for you to struggle. It will be much easier for you if you just give up.”

Frodo could not believe what was happening to him. Here he was, lost in a tunnel and captured by … by … orc spirits? But why just spirits? Why was there not one single living orc around – not that Frodo had expected even that? What had happened to these unloving things? Where was he? And – who is she?

But Frodo would never just give up. He struggled and struggled, twisting his face until the one clutching his chin lost patience. He banged Frodo’s head hard onto the stone wall, making the hobbit see spots dancing before him. He was dazed for a moment but he was grateful the pressure on his chin was removed.

Frodo didn't know if it would help but with a voice as loud as his lungs could produce, he cried out, “HELP!! SAM, HELP ME!”

But there was a price to pay for that transgression. The next thing Frodo knew was a sharp backhand clouting his right cheek and a slap on the left one, and the backhand again, and the slap again, over and over. In the end, Frodo was left panting heavily, a sharp pain throbbing in his head, as he hung there helplessly on the wall. He would have slumped down on the ground had there not been orcs to support him.

“I told you there was none what could change your destiny, maggot” hissed the orc. “It would be much easier if you just give up!”

Frodo looked down, avoiding the gaze from the hated creature. He was still working hard to regulate his breaths and trying to regain his strength.

“What do you want?” Frodo wheezed.

“Oh, just a little favor,” sneered the bone-faced orc. “In just a moment, our mistress, Her Majesty, will turn up. Until that time, I guess we can have a little fun together. “

Frodo stared in horror behind his fluttering eyelashes.

“Who is she?” he asked wearily, his breaths coming in short, ragged spurts. “What will she do to me?”

“Ah, the little one is eager to meet Her Majesty.” The orc lifted his hand to Frodo’s face. Frodo flinched, thinking that he would be slapped again. But the orc just ran his fingers down Frodo’s battered skin. “Will you really enjoy her company more than ours, dear? Ah, but perhaps you will! After all, you will not feel anymore pain after her poison takes you!”

Poison! Frodo’s heart clenched to think of what kind of an ancient beast Her Majesty would be.

“Unlike with us!”

Frodo barely realized what happened then. He was spun around and pressed with his stomach on the wall and his cheek slammed flat. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to move his arms but the orcs still held them tightly. Frodo urged his mind not to think of the worst thing that might happen. But what if these things decided to kill him? What would become of the quest? That was all that mattered! The quest!

A loud sound of fabric being ripped sent another jolt to Frodo’s deepest fears. Those filthy orcs had torn apart his cloak! Frodo could not help struggling again. His shaking fingers clawed at the wall but he only got dirt under his nails.

“No, no! Please, let me go!”

But he felt more hands pawing and tearing at the back of the cloak, then the waistcoat, then the shirt. Until all of a sudden…

“Aaaahhh!!!!”

Suddenly Frodo found himself sagging helplessly on the ground. Wondering and trembling, clutching the wall, Frodo started to climb up on his feet. He turned around and frowned at the orcs, bent over and covering their eyes with their limpid hands.

“Elvish! Elvish vesture!”

Frodo caught their muttering, over and over.

“What is this?”

Frodo reached back, feeling the mithril chain mail under his tattered layers of clothing. Oh, he understood. It was the mithril. The orcs were terrified of it. And despite the coldness of the place, Frodo slowly unbuttoned his shirt and vest to reveal more of the glimmering coat. If this could really save him…

“FOOL!”

TBC