Cold. He was so cold. It was a cold which seemed to be inside him, at his core, yet his skin seemed to be on fire, particularly in his neck, shoulders and up into the back of his head. He could see very little in the dim red light from the lamp above. His head throbbed and his vision blurred as he peered up at his tormentors. Clawing hands were all over him, prodding, poking, wrenching. Words, barely audible in the din of squealing, battered him.

       "Where is it, little filth?" A whip lashed into his back, prompting a weak cry of pain "What have you done with it?"

       What were they talking about? Did they mean the Ring? Then they did not have it. But if not, then who did? He wished he could remember what had happened. There had been darkness and an unbelieveable stench, so foul that he and Sam had gagged as they moved past the tunnel entrance, hands clasped for safety and comfort......Sam! Where was Sam? Was he alive? Were they torturing dear Sam somewhere else in this foul place? Was he dead, somewhere in those tunnels?

       Frodo came to himself with this thought, which was followed by another appalling moment of awareness: he was naked! Why had they done this? He tried to think clearly, at the same time rolling into a more decorous position on the rough stone floor. The sudden movement made his head swim alarmingly. He was yanked up by his hair, and a hideous, snarling face pushed close, loathesome breath hot against his cheek. He tried not to heave as the orc traced a line down his throat with one claw.

       "Pretty, ain't he? Reckon we deserve a reward for catchin' 'im!" The other hand stroked Frodo's hip and came to rest on his thigh. Frodo choked back a scream of horror as he realised what they meant to do.

       "No! Please, no, not that!" The words came out in a whimper, his nausea threatening to overwhelm him.

       Almost fainting with the agony in his neck, he managed to twist his head to one side just in time, as his stomach muscles contracted and he vomited uncontrollably, convulsing with effort. The orc let go of him in surprise and he fell to his knees, stomach still clenching although there was nothing left to come up. He fought not to pass out, coughing and retching, dry heaves wracking his frame.

      "I 'ope that was due to 'er Ladyship's poison and not because you don't fancy a little fun?" The orc spoke in an insinuating tone, rough and crude as his actions. He hauled Frodo upright again and slid his foul hand over the milk-white skin. "Nice," he said appreciatively. "I think we'll enjoy this!"

       "There's to be no molesting of the prisoner!" said another voice suddenly, and the noise subsided into mutinous mutterings. "Report's just come in that there's an Elf warrior loose in those tunnels. Now get out there and find the bastard before 'e comes 'ere looking for 'is little friend. Move, you useless scum!"

       With a last glance at the prisoner, the orcs departed. The one in charge picked up Frodo's clothes and put a plate and cup on the floor.

       "Apparently we've gotta feed yer until yer go ter Lugburz. Dunno why, but they seem ter think yer important. Yer clothes are all going, although this is much too nice for any there." He held up the mithril coat and looked at it. "Worth a pretty penny, I don't doubt. Now you just stay nice and quiet and perhaps no-one'll bother yer."

                                                                           *************

       Left to himself, Frodo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and huddled on the pile of rags, shivering with cold and fear......and something else. The Ring's absence was a torture in itself, as though a gaping hole had been torn in his soul. Was this how it would be when it was gone for good? How could he endure it? He had placed it on the pillar in Rivendell and thought he was rid of it, but life was never that simple.  If he had not volunteered, he could have gone back to the Shire, not quite the same as before, but with a hope of recovery. Now he realised that the Ring had become part of him, just as it had become part of Gollum, and when it went it would take the essential Frodo with it, leaving...........................what? A husk. A shell with no soul, no warmth. He had fallen to its power and proved himself as unworthy as the Nine, as Isildur, as poor Smeagol. There could be no life for him after this, he knew. No love, no tenderness. He was unworthy of love, he did not deserve it. He could never go back to his old life; his very presence would contaminate the Shire and everyone in it. They would try to help him, he knew, but he could not allow it, for their sake. In his distraught state there seemed only one solution.

       He crawled over to the plate, hoping they had left a knife. If the Ring was gone and Sam was dead then there was no point continuing. He would take the knife and cut his wrists. Death would be quick and fairly painless, and no-one would miss him. He was worthless, no use to anyone. Most important, the Dark Lord would be denied his chance to gloat and watch his torture. Boromir's words echoed in his brain..."They will find you. They will take the Ring. And you will beg for death before the end."

       No knife. He cursed. The rags were too flimsy to use as a rope and the window bars much too high to hang himself. He slumped back on the makeshift, filthy bed. Frodo Baggins, total failure. Unable even to kill himself. On top of everything he now realised that he wanted the food. They had eaten so little recently, and he had thrown up what he had inside. His stomach was starting to cramp badly for lack of food. It was not wonderful but it looked edible. He despised himself for even considering his own needs at such a time, and tried to ignore his hunger for some time. Self-preservation warred with self-pity inside him, and survival won.

       He ate the food, which was surprisingly tolerable. He was ravenously hungry and, with the orcs gone, the mind-numbing terror had decreased a little. From somewhere on the floor beneath, he could hear raised voices. The orcs were arguing.......about dividing up the spoils, from the sound of it. Screams and curses rose in volume, together with some gurgling which made Frodo's hair stand on end. They were killing each other. What if they were all dead? He would starve to death........or the orcs from Barad 'dur would come......

                                                                          ************

        The silence was almost worse than the noise. Frodo had no idea how much time had passed. There was no way to tell, with no light save the red lantern. He thought he dozed on the pile of rags, trying to cover himself and not become too chilled. Aragorn always went on about the need to maintain body warmth. He tried not to think too much. His thoughts were too dark and terrible now, and he missed Sam, poor Sam, probably dead somewhere. He remembered those gleaming red eyes in the darkness, and pain in his neck........a spider, massive and terrible, reminding him of Bilbo's stories of Ungoliant, who poisoned the Two Trees of Valinor. He felt the lumps on the back of his neck, which still stung and burned. It was almost impossible to turn his neck at the moment. Had Sam been a victim also? Was the foul thing eating Sam even now?

       A sob escaped him. "Sam......please....... Sam. I'm sorry I've been so cruel to you. Don't leave me here in the darkness alone. If you're dead then come to me anyway, even if you're a ghost. I want to see you, even if you come to taunt and torment me. I'd rather that than nothing..........I know I don't deserve anything from you after the way I've treated you.........Forgive me......... oh, forgive me..........." Scalding tears ran down his face and he sobbed himself into total exhaustion before slipping into a fitful doze.

                                                                           *************

       No-one returned to the little room at the top of the tower. Frodo had no idea if hours or days passed, as he lay there, sore from whip lashes, kicks, the poison of the bites on his neck. Even the old wound in his shoulder throbbed and gnawed, its deadly cold beginning to spread despite his attempts to keep warm. A sound made him lift his head. A voice......singing.......here? He strained to listen. The tune was an old one from the Shire, but the words were unfamiliar to him.

       "Though here at journey's end I lie

       in darkness buried deep,

       beyond all towers strong and high,

       beyond all mountains steep,

       above all shadows rides the Sun

       and stars forever dwell:

       I will not say the Day is done,

       nor bid the Stars farewell."

       Frodo began to sing, his voice weak but determined. He had always been able to carry a tune, so Bilbo often said, and something gave him strength.

       "You up there! Dunghill rat! Stop your squeaking, or I'll come and deal with you. D' you hear?"

       Footsteps sounded, followed by another unlovely snarl. "Alright. But I'll come and 'ave a look at you all the same, and see what you're up to."  The trapdoor in the floor was flung open and an orc appeared. "You lie quiet, or you'll pay for it! If you don't want the fun to begin right now, keep yer trap shut! There's a reminder for you!"

       A whip lashed into his side and Frodo cowered back, arms shielding his face and head. The whip rose again but the blow never fell. A yelling shape flew across the floor, the orc turned at the cry of rage, and a shining blue blade sliced the whip hand off. The screaming orc made a rush for the ladder, there was a cry and a thud, and silence.

       "Frodo! Mr.Frodo, me dear!" said a voice, and Frodo felt himself lifted and cradled against a familiar chest. He must be dreaming. Orcs turning into Sam......... Gentle fingers stroked his face.

       "Sam? This cannot be..........surely...........?" he faltered.

       "Master, it's me. I've come." He was held firmly in Sam's strong arms and could only marvel at this miracle. He knew he did not deserve Sam's love after all his harsh words. Had he not taken his sword to poor Sam, almost killed him? Why was Sam troubling himself with such a worthless master?

       "I don't deserve you, Sam," he murmured. "Why bother with me after all I've said and done? Leave me now and get away while you can."

       "What nonsense, Mr.Frodo. I'm not going anywhere without you, me dear." He kissed Frodo's forehead very carefully. "You've done nothing, Master. Don't you fret now, your Sam's here and he ain't going anywhere without you."

       "I've said such hurtful things, Sam, called you names, pulled a sword on you, pushed you away...." He had thought there were no tears left but fresh ones spilled down his pale cheeks, leaving tracks in the dirt streaks. "I.............I.............I'm no better than Gollum!"

       "Listen to me," said Sam firmly. "You are nothing like that rotten Stinker! He killed his bestfriend within minutes of seeing the Ring! You didn't drive that sword home, even under the influence of the Ring and with the Black Rider so near! You resisted, even then! Don't ever believe you're anything like him, because it's not true!" He cupped Frodo's face in his hands and kissed him reverently on the brow, his hazel eyes blazing as he forced Frodo to meet his gaze. Red-rimmed blue eyes, awashwith tears, stared back. "You deserve everything good, nothing bad! I'm here because I want to be.When I thought you were dead, I wanted to die too. I'm here because........I love you. Always have, always will."

       "Oh, Sam!" Frodo clutched Sam's weskit and buried his face in his friend's shoulder. "What would I do without you, Sam, dear Sam?"

       "Bless us, me dear, if I have any say in the matter, you'll never have to." Sam soothed his master, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.

       "Galadriel was wrong about one thing, Sam. You are my light in dark places. Only you  ..........  always."

       They would have to move soon, Frodo thought. But for the moment he was content to lean against Sam and be comforted.