Author's Note: This is verry AU, as you could probably see from the summary. I have a penchant for dark/sad fics and this is one of them, but it doesn't end on a really sad note (okay it does, but it could be worse). Please r/r.
He had slipped the Ring on to escape from Boromir. The Man frightened him – his words, his greed – almost as much as the creatures that hunted him. Frodo shied away from the wind whipping around him, scrambling over fallen leaves and branches. He looked around wildly, seeing nothing but rushing grayness. Far off an orange glow grew steadily brighter and closer. Sauron's eye took shape, a black slit ringed with flames. Frodo recoiled from it, falling backwards in his haste.
I see you, halfling. I know what you desire. You wish to go home to the Shire. a voice whispered to him.
Unbidden images of his home sprang to the Hobbit's mind. Rolling hills of green, small flowers blooming in patches on their sides. Laughing brooks and tall, leafy trees loomed in his memory.
Give up the Ring and you will be free to go back to your little hobbit-hole. the voice wheedled, with more than a hint of eagerness and want filling it.
At that, Frodo remembered Boromir's madness and shook himself free of the illusions of the Eye. He grabbed for the Ring, trying to pull it off, but it was stuck. Tears of frustration stung Frodo's eyes as he pulled on the Ring.
You cannot escape it, halfling. It will consume you and burn you! the voice hissed.
Frodo shook his head in denial. The Ring was meant to be destroyed. He would do as he had said he would do.
"I will not bow to its power." Frodo gasped out, his voice faint against the rushing flames around him.
The Eye flickered. Ah, but you will. And so will the rest of Middle-earth. It is too late for you, Frodo Baggins. The Seige of Middle-earth has begun.
Frodo yanked at the Ring again, and it came loose from his finger. He held it away from the Eye, but still Sauron's power pulled at it. The Hobbit waited, but still he did not leave the Ring-world. Why? he screamed in his mind. Why can I not leave?
Because, halfling, you have fallen into Shadow, as Gandalf has. Your doom will bring about the breaking of the Fellowship. Your companions will fail and fall, one by one. Mayhaps not to the Ring itself, but to one of its allies. the voice was filled with confidence.
"No! I will not let that happen!" Frodo cried out, cursing the Eye. "They will succeed if I do not, no matter what anyone has said. Strider will lead them."
Strider! the Eye shook with mirth. Strider is but a Man, and the Ring holds the greatest power over him.
"He will not bend to it. Nor will the others." Frodo replied.
But they will. the voice insisted. You have already seen it yourself. Boromir will be the first to fall to its spell.
"And he will be the last!" Frodo shouted into the inferno. The Eye was growing larger, and closer.
No, the others will fall. And I will spread through Middle-earth and all its creatures will fall before me.
More images flashed into Frodo's head. The Prancing Pony Inn was in flames; the only thing discernable among the smoke was the rearing wooden horse on the door sign. The White Tower that Aragorn and Boromir had spoken of was crumbling, painted a dusty gray by smoke and siege. The fair haven of Lothlorien was burning, its trees crying out to the Elves for help.
"No! That will not come to pass." Frodo spoke with utter confidence. "I may fall, and others after me. But the Fellowship will survive; maybe not the Fellowship of the Ring, but the Fellowship of Middle-earth. The Fellowship of Elves, Men, Hobbits and Dwarves. The Fellowship of horses, eagles and the earth herself; they will survive. And the Ring will be destroyed."
Such certainty in such an idealistic ending, little one. the voice seemed almost pleasant as the Eye came closer.
Frodo drew back, but it pressed in and in, until it was upon him. The Hobbit let out a cry of shock and pain as it passed through him, sending flames to his heart and searing it until it stopped.
Frodo dropped to the ground in Middle-earth, his eyes open and unseeing. His body was unscathed, but his heart beat no more. The Ring fell from his limp fingers and rolled under the leaves, where its master pondered the Ringbearer's final moment. And for perhaps the first time since losing his body, Sauron felt uncertain about the outcome of his siege. In Frodo's scream was not only defeat, but strength. A strength that Sauron knew burned in the heart of the land itself.