I would not come out for three days. It's easier to count the days now.

Food comes in regularly and I eat until I feel I'm going to burst. Each night I'm urged to join Sauron in the dining room.

I refuse to go, locking the guards and servants out of the…whatever this is. House? Chambers? Rooms?

I don't know.

Either way, I throw them out by the time I'm told Sauron wishes to see me.

I don't want to see him, so I don't.

It is near dinner time on the fourth day and I am reading by the fireplace, rubbing my neck. The bruises Sauron left are now yellow, but the day after I woke, they were purple.

A shadow looms over me.

"I'm not going," I say. "And that's final."

"I am aware."

I jump up, the book sliding to the ground. The pages are going to bend! I rescue the book as quickly as I had dropped it. I cradle it to my chest, meeting Sauron's gaze with a glower. He knelt, reaching for me and I jump away.

"Why must you shy from me?"

"Why do you insist on painting me out to be the cruel one after all you have done?" I retort. "I think my caution is justly warranted."

"I missed you," he said, trying to switch the subjects. "I had hoped you'd come and dine with me, Frodo. I suppose…"

He reaches out for me again and I back away further until my back hits a wall and he traps me, cupping my cheek. His hand moves to my neck and I try to calm my racing heart, fisting my hands to keep them from lashing out. His eyes glisten from unshed tears.

"I am sorry. I should have realized that I had hurt you in my anger. I am sorry, Frodo." His thumb strokes my neck. "I am sorry. Please believe me, Frodo. I love you and I don't want to hurt you."

"Stay away from me," I snarl, breaking away and hiding in my room, barricading the door with the dresser. I take deep breaths. It's hard to breathe, so I go to the window and open it, gasping for air.

"Frodo! Frodo, open the door! Frodo!"

Valar, give me strength, I think, closing the window and sitting on the bed, trying not to cry.

#

I venture out in the morning, shocked at the flowers decorating the room.

Apple blossoms, daffodils, geraniums, hyacinths, hydrangeas, ivies, orchids, red roses, white roses, tuberoses, red and yellow tulips, violets, and wysterias are woven into wreaths hanging on the wall.

Some are in vases, one on every surface I find, each of different flowers, most of them are made of red and white roses. They are bouquets telling lies.

How'd they manage to get them here? To grow them?

Mordor is barren and sick!

So how…

"Do you like them?"

I turn to the kitchen. Sauron sits at the table, legs stretched out.

"They are for you."

"They'll die in time. Especially in this Valar-forsaken land. They won't last."

"A spell is cast on them to withstand Mordor's…climate."

He selected a deep red rose from one of the vases littering the room and stood, approaching me. He tucks the rose behind my ear, fingers lacing through my hair, combing the locks.

"Do you believe me?"

"No."

All the flowers here speak of love and devotion in one way or other. I find it very hard for Sauron to be capable of loving anyone but himself.

"I think you will, given time. You'll know I'm sincere."

"You are named 'Deceiver' for a reason, Sauron. Lying is something you excel at."

"I will never lie to you."

"You already have."

There is only shock and hurt in his eyes. He's quite good. Always has been, I suppose. But his expression changes quick enough to fury.

The moment his hand is in the air, I anticipate the slap and manage to block it. My own hand slams into my ear and I stumble from the force, nearly collapsing to my feet. I race toward Sting, grabbing a book to break the glass—

I'm seized around the waist and flung away from the hearth, sliding across the floor and my head slams against the edge of the wall.

#

Frodo, wake up.

I groan, turning my head. It hurts terribly, as though it had been hit repeatedly with a hammer. Or as though a black smith set shop in my head, banging repeatedly against an anvil.

Please, Frodo, wake up. Please wake up.

I feel a kiss against my fingers and I dare open my eyes. The light makes my head hurt more.

"Frodo!"

The light is blocked and two hands press against my head. It's gentle, but light. Something falls onto my cheeks. It's wet and warm.

"Oh, Frodo. Thank the Valar you're all right."

I sit up, groaning, hands supporting my head. It is heavy in the pain I feel.

"Careful, Precious," Sauron eases me back down. "Have some water."

"Get away from me," choke out, trying to push him away. My head hurts too much for me to put enough force in it.

He doesn't move, supporting my head and pressing the lip of a cup between my teeth. Water seeps into my mouth. It's cold and clean. Where did he get it?

"The healer is making a tonic for your headache," he said. "He suggests you stay on your feet for the next few hours and not fall asleep. Thankfully it was just a bump."

"And you wonder why I do not love you," I manage, sitting up anyway. "If you want to convince me, the best way to start would be to leave me alone if you won't let me go."

"Frodo—"

"I'm not a fool!" I shout, managing to put some distance between me and Sauron. "Go ahead and say you love me. Maybe I will fall in love with you. But if the Valar wills, I will be dead before then! I wish I had not given in that one moment! I wish I had cast myself into the mountain if it meant I would succeed and you would be dead! My friends would be alive! The world would not be suffering as it is now!"

My legs gave out from under me and I hold my head in my hands. They find the bump on the back of my head and I wince, sucking in a breath. It still stings.

"How could you think I'd allow that?" Sauron replies, kneeling before me. He takes my hands away from my face, kissing my knuckles. "How can you think I'd allow you to die after all we've been through? All I wished, Frodo, since I met you was to have a body again so that I may hold you."

"You wish to break me."

"I wish to love you the way you loved Sam."

Frodo sucked in a breath. "How—"

"I was with you for months, Trapped in my ring, feeling the beat of your heart." His hand presses against my chest between my breasts. "The heart," he continued, "is not as cognitive as the brain, but it is capable of thought as well. It's quieter, softer, but no less powerful. If anything, it's more honest.

"I knew, the moment I lay against your skin that you loved him: the way it fluttered when you were near him, how his smile would relieve even just a little bit of the burden you felt…the way it ached when he lamented being away from his beloved back in the Shire—I know it all. And I hated him. Loyal to you to the end, but so blind he could not see how you desired him.

"But I also knew you'd say nothing because you loved him too much to deny him what he really wanted. Your love for him knew no bounds, was unchained and was undaunted. You knew you may never have him, but you loved him anyway." Sauron lowered his hand. "I'm afraid I'm more selfish than you."

I manage to stand again, legs shaking beneath me.

"You're wrong. You don't love me the same way at all. The way I loved Sam, I could live with it, so long as he was happy I could live and watch him with the children he could have had with Rose as his wife. I urged him to pursue her because I knew that he loved her and wanted to be with her. I won't deny that I was heartbroken when he started to talk about her, because I was heartbroken. He was never going to speak of me that way, or think of me that way, or even look that way when he thought of me. To him, I was just a friend and I was willing to let that be no matter how deeply I loved him.

"But you? What you've done to me, I would never do. Not to Sam. Not to anyone. Your love is hemlock. You intend to suffocate me, drive me to fear you as I never have feared before. You hope to choke me with it until I am unable to do anything but act as though I have died, pretending you are not who everyone says you are though I know very well that you are evil. You would have me be your pet leashed to a chain and a marionette you can control with a simple tug of strings. That is not love. You don't know how to love."

Sauron stares at me, lips slightly parted. He seems confused. Had what I said troubled him? Had he never thought about it before and truly believed he could treat me the way he does and expect me to love him back regardless?

"Perhaps you are right," he sighed cupping my cheek. "Maybe I don't know how to love, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of feeling love, Frodo." He leans in, trying to kiss me. I turn away from him. He pulls back. His fingers twitch and I fear what he'll do.

Will he seize my hair and kiss me against my will? Will he hurt me again? Slap me?

He does nothing, standing instead.

"The healer will be here soon. The medicine will be awful but take it anyway. And remember not to fall asleep. He will also bring you a drink that will help you regain your health."

He leaves.

When I'm sure he is gone, I venture out of the bedroom.

The flowers are still here, happy and bright.

This isn't okay.

They should be dying.

AN: flower meanings: (no spaces) about