Alighting from the massive fell beast, Sauron strode forward, sending tremors through the earth with each thunderous step of His heavy boots. To Frodo's horrified gaze, the Dark Lord appeared as the incarnation of the Flaming Lidless Eye itself. An aura of raging fire surrounded the dark column of His armor-clad body, and tendrils of black smoke twisted and coiled around the edges of the pulsing red and orange inferno. Upon the mighty head was a cunningly wrought helm adorned with intricate scrollwork; a crown of dark steel encircled the brow and rose up in spiked points resembling deadly thorns. Beneath the crown blazed eyes of flame, their abhorrent gaze burning away courage and hope and causing the heart to falter. His armor was sable unblazoned, black as a hopeless night with no dawn, forged in the fires of Mount Doom and protected by powerful spells. Beneath the mail hauberk was a padded black gambeson and over it was a surcoat of ebony, girded at the waist with a sword belt from which hung ensorcelled weapons of great might. Upon His arms He wore vambraces which had been augmented by sturdy strips of Mordorian steel, and greaves of a similar fashion protected His legs. No gauntlets did He wear upon His hands, and the Nine Rings gleamed brightly upon His nine fingers.
Sauron stopped and looked down at the two halflings who cowered at the base of the debris pile which blocked the door to the Sammath Naur. One of the halflings had fallen upon his face in abject terror, and lay shaking upon the ground, whimpering and moaning, his arms wrapped around his head as though protecting himself from a blow. The other halfling remained standing, the One Ring shining brightly upon his hand. Fear was in his eyes, but courage and desperation were in his heart – as well an obsessive, all-encompassing desire for the most precious treasure in all of Middle-earth.
"Hail, Master Baggins, and well met!" The voice of the Dark Lord was friendly, jovial even, but it held an edge that cut through Frodo like the sharpest of blades, and it was all that he could do to keep from flinging himself upon the ground and cowering beside Sam. "Never, in all of the long ages of Arda, would I ever have dreamed that My lost Ring would return to Me upon the very threshold of the forge in which it was created! But so it has, by strange paths indeed, and with it the thief Baggins."
The Dark Lord towered over Frodo, and the little hobbit quailed in the shadow cast by that imposing figure. The auric flames which pulsed and swirled about His spirit could be felt even in the physical realm as a sweltering blaze, but even more terrible still were the fires of His eyes, which beheld both the Seen and the Unseen. Frodo tried not to look into those eyes, but they seemed to exert a hypnotic power over him, drawing his gaze like a lodestone draws iron. He tried to resist that pull, just as he had tried to resist the deadly allure of the Ring, but he found his gaze being drawn against his will into those fiery orbs. And then he was trapped, held captive by the eyes of the Dark Lord.
"So hast thou turned from thy thieving ways and come all this way to return My Ring?" Sauron asked mockingly, tilting His head to the side. "How most generous of thee!"
Anger surged up inside Frodo. "I came not to return the Ring, but to destroy it!" he proclaimed boldly, his fists clenched at his sides.
"But thou wert so captivated by My greatest creation that thou wouldst claim it for thyself."
Frodo winced at the Dark Lord's words, for he knew they were true. "I did all that I could do to fulfill my quest," he stated, far less boldly this time. "I wanted to save the Shire. To save Middle-earth. To protect all those whom I love."
"But yet thou failed utterly." Sauron's lips curled up in a calculating smile. "I wonder what thy friends would think of thee now, if they knew of thy failure, and thy desire to set thyself up as the Lord of Middle-earth."
Guilt and shame curled around Frodo's heart and squeezed it like an iron fist, and he felt himself faltering, withering away beneath the piercing scrutiny of the Eye. What would Gandalf and Aragorn and all of his other friends think of him? Would they curse him just as much as they did the Dark Lord when the armies of Mordor swept over all lands, and the entirety of Middle-earth was brought beneath the heel of Sauron's boot? His accursed weakness would bring about the victory of Mordor! The West would fall into slavery and darkness because of him!
"I took the Ring to the fire." Frodo's voice came as a quavering whisper. "I tried to throw It in."
"But then thou decidest at the end that thou wouldst rather use My Ring to usurp Me, to turn all of Middle-earth into a twisted facsimile of thy wretched homeland." Sauron's voice grew lower, deeper, like the velvety purr of a triumphant cat which had just devoured a succulent mouse. "Oh, yes, I know of thy delusional fantasies! When thou claimest My Ring, thy thoughts were betrayed to My mind, so I know all of thy plans and schemes. But now thy brief rule hast come to an end, Emperor Frodo."
With one swift motion, Sauron reached down and clasped Frodo by the throat, lifted him high into the air, and slammed his back against the doorpost of the Sammath Naur. The impact knocked the wind from Frodo's lungs, and he gasped for air, frantically grabbing at the hand which held his throat in a grip of iron. The Dark Lord's touch burnt with an unholy fire, the taloned fingers searing him like a brand. Spots swirled in front of his vision, and shadows clouded the edges. If he did not die from lack of air, then surely he would die from the blistering heat that radiated from the black hand!
"The Ring, Baggins," the Dark Lord hissed, His voice low and seductive. "Thou canst put an end to this torment if only thou givest It to Me."
"Never!" Frodo choked out. "Never would I willingly give It to you!"
"Willingly or no, I will have what is Mine!"
With those words, Sauron drew His arm back and then slammed Frodo harder against the doorpost. The halfling's head collided with the hard rock, and all went black for a moment. When he came back to his senses, Frodo was lying upon the ground. His head and body ached as though a troll had stomped upon him, his ears rang with the clamor of a thousand bells, and he felt bile and blood rising up into his mouth as waves of nausea washed over him. The Dark Lord knelt beside his mangled body, gazing down upon him with those eyes… those terrible, searing eyes! Frodo felt his spirit recoiling, and he longed to return to the empty peace of unconsciousness. But once again that daunting gaze held him in thrall, and he could not escape.
"I know how thou must suffer, little halfling, for I was once in thy same position," Sauron murmured as He gently lifted up Frodo's hand and clasped it in His own. "I lay upon this very mountainside - felled by many wounds, My body racked with agony, My life bleeding out. And then Isildur, that base coward, took advantage of My weakened state and cut the Ring from My finger." Frodo felt a shudder of revulsion seize his body as his Enemy began stroking the Ring with His taloned thumb. "Since thou wouldst vie against me and name thyself Lord of Middle-earth, I think it only fitting that the Ring be taken from thee in the same fashion that it was so cruelly taken from Me."
Before Frodo's pain-addled mind could fully comprehend the words of the Dark Lord, Sauron had drawn a dagger from His belt and slid the blade between the halfling's fingers. In one deft stroke, Gorthaur the Cruel sliced through flesh and bone, severing the finger which bore the One Ring. Shrieking with agony, Frodo writhed and rolled upon the ground, clutching his wounded hand. Blood streamed forth from the wound, spewing out from between his fingers to puddle upon the dusty ground and stain his tattered garments crimson.
Braving his terror, Sam raised his head up off the ground and cast a furtive glance at his master. His heart cried out with sorrow and sympathy, and tears welled up in his eyes. Poor, poor Mr. Frodo! He longed to rush to his side and comfort him, but with the Evil One looming over them like a black thundercloud, he could not summon up the will to move more than an inch. All was truly lost now!
"Isildur claimed that he stole My Ring as a weregild," Sauron remarked as He slid the golden band from Frodo's severed finger and then handed the bloody digit to the Morgul Lord. "I will send the halfling's finger to his heir as a trophy of My victory. All shall know of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom!"
"As Thou commandest, my Lord." The Nazgûl bowed his head as he accepted the gristly token and wrapped it in a handkerchief.
"And now the Ring returns to its rightful place - upon My hand!"
Wiping the blood from the gleaming band, Sauron triumphantly slid the Ring upon His right middle finger, where it rested beside the severed stump which had borne it in ancient days. The earth shuddered and the Mountain of Doom spewed forth flames into the heavens as an invisible wave passed through the ethers, carrying with it tidings of the Dark Lord's victory. Far away in a peaceful mountain village, an elf lord blanched in terror; in the shadows of a distant forest, another elf cursed in vain; and in the Gondorian fiefdom of Lossanach, an old man leaned upon his staff and looked to the East in sorrow and dread. And all three hastily removed the Rings of Power from their hands, lest Sauron ensnare them and force them into thralldom.
Their minds already dominated by long years of servitude, the Nine Nazgûl fell to their knees, quivering with ecstasy and passion as they slipped into a trance-like state of exalted bliss. Filled with sublime joy, the Nine wept with adoration as they felt renewed power coursing through body and soul, augmenting their own might with terrible potency and imbuing them with even greater strength. In that moment, they all loved and worshiped the Giver of Gifts, even if they harbored hatred for Him in their hearts. His will was their will; He was their Master, and they were His slaves. Their arms outstretched, the Nazgûl prostrated themselves before the Dark Lord, bowing to Him again and again and crying out in loud voices.
"All hail the Lord of the Rings! All hail the Lord of the Rings!"
As Sauron extended His hand, each wraith in turn knelt before Him and kissed the One Ring in a gesture of fealty and devotion. The Dark Lord benevolently nodded to each of His servants, and then bade them all rise.
"Can I kill the halflings now, Great One?" Khamûl asked, his eyes gleaming red as he anticipated taking his vengeance. "These two wretched creatures have caused my brethren and me much trouble!"
"Stay thy hand, Khamûl," the Dark Lord replied indulgently. "I would have these two brought to the Tower, for I wish to find out all that they know."
"Yes, my Lord." Khamûl bowed his head. "Those who are brought to the Houses of Lamentation always have an abundance to say, and beg for the chance to reveal the innermost secrets of their hearts." A smirk upon his face, the Black Easterling menacingly pounded his fist into the palm of his other hand.
ooo
Frodo did not like to think about all of the misfortunes that had befallen him in the Dark Tower since he was brought there over three months before. His tormentors had wanted to know all about his purpose for being in Mordor and demanded he tell them everything about the quest, or as they called it, "that treacherous plot to overthrow the rightful Lord of Middle-earth." Since he and Sam had been living in the wilderness for months, he had little useful information concerning the great armies of Gondor and Rohan, or the doings of the Elves. However, he had tried to tell them as little as possible, for he did not wish to harm his friends in any way. But in the Houses of Lamentation, they had ways of loosening a stubborn tongue. The inquisitors of Mordor were famed for their techniques and efficiency; to them, the suffering of others was an artform, and they were masters of their craft. Yes, in the Houses of Lamentation, you talked, and you kept talking, and when you ran out of things to say, you quickly found out that you had more things to say. But they would never tell you anything, except that which they wanted you to know.
He shuddered as he remembered the gruesome tortures which seemed to last forever, the pain that ripped through his body until he was sure he would die. Still, he had tried to remain defiant, but then they had whipped Sam in front of his eyes, beaten him with a vicious cat-o-nine until the blood flowed from his back in great torrents. And Frodo had told the inquisitors everything they wanted to know, so that they would not hurt Sam. Then they had taken Sam away, and Frodo had not seen him since. Whether his faithful servant yet lived, he knew not. That was one of the most agonizing tortures of all, the constant sense of helpless dread that came from not knowing the fate of a dear comrade, and the sickening feeling of being utterly powerless to prevent any harm from befalling him.
Now Frodo spent his days chained beneath the throne of the Dark Lord, and the nights in the gloomy cell which he now called home. Around his neck had been placed a golden collar which Sauron had created just for him, and he feared to think of what sort of ghastly spells had been laid upon the band. Sauron derived much enjoyment from keeping Frodo tethered at the foot of His throne like some sort of exotic pet, and He would often command the halfling to amuse Him with songs and tales, or by dancing a sprightly jig. If Sauron was pleased with the performance, He might throw Frodo a scrap of food and tell him how grateful he should be to the Giver of Gifts. If Sauron was not pleased, well… then it was back to the Houses of Lamentation again. Other pets did the Dark Lord keep in His halls besides Frodo, but these creatures had far more freedom. The cats were not so bad, but the wolves… they often stole from Frodo's bowl, and he dared not dissuade them.
Every moment of Frodo's miserable existence was filled with sorrow and pain, and it was often all he could do just to get through each dreary day. The sight of the Ring upon the Dark Lord's hand brought him even greater agony than the whip or the rack, or any other of the innumerable forms of punishment which were known to the torturers of the Tower. Ever did Sauron flaunt His precious prize before Frodo, reminding him of the consequences of his failure and mocking him for his weakness. The Dark Lord considered it great sport to goad him into begging to touch the Ring, and then denying him once he had thoroughly debased himself in his desperate need to possess that forbidden treasure. Frodo tried to be brave, to be strong, to endure, but in the end he was always reduced to groveling upon the floor in misery, tears streaming down his face as he reached out helplessly for the Wheel of Fire. Truly, he was an utterly wretched creature, a slave of the One Ring, which he both loved with every bit of his heart and hated with every fibre of his being.
As the feeble light of the Sun gave way to an ever-deepening gloom, the broken halfling looked out the barred window of his cell and wept. Here he would die, alone, forgotten, a failure.
NOTES, REFERENCES, AND MOTIVATIONS
SAURON'S TRANSPORTATION
Tolkien wrote that had the Nazgûl successfully lured Frodo away from the Cracks of Doom, they would have urged him to go to Barad-dur and claim the throne. If Frodo refused to go with them, they would have waited for Sauron to come. However, Tolkien never said HOW Sauron would get there. In the last years of the Third Age, Sauron was physically weaker than he had ever been, so he probably couldn't shapeshift into some fast-moving form. Therefore, the fastest way for him to travel would be by fell beast. In Letter #246, there seems to be the implied idea that it would take Sauron some time to get to Mount Doom, and that was why it was vitally important that the Nazgûl distract Frodo and stall for time.
THE ALL-SEEING EYE
In some of Tolkien's rejected drafts of the Ring-claiming scene, Frodo senses the Eye upon him, and has a moment of great terror. However, in other versions, this does not seem to be an issue. I decided that it would be best for Frodo NOT to sense the Eye until Sauron was almost upon him. It seems logical that Sauron would conceal his mind and intentions from Frodo, because the horrible fear of the Dark Lord's retribution could be enough to drive the Ringbearer to commit suicide with the Ring. Also, Sauron would be in active communication with the Nazgûl from the moment Frodo challenged His power, constantly sending them telepathic orders concerning the rescue of the Ring. He might simply be too busy to bother with frightening Frodo.
SAURON'S MISSING FINGER
Tolkien never specified which finger Sauron lost during the War of the Last Alliance. The movie depicts Sauron wearing the Ring on his right index finger. Incidentally, the Elves had a tradition of wearing wedding rings on the right index finger (See "Laws and Customs of the Eldar," Morgoth's Ring). In "The Circles," Sauron's right index finger is missing, so he put the Ring on the middle finger beside it. I have visions of Sauron taunting Frodo by flashing the Ring in his face whilst simultaneously making a certain rude gesture, adding further insult to injury.
COSTUMES AND ARMOR
The costumes of Nazgûl and Sauron are inspired by Anglo-saxon, Viking, Celtic, Kiev Rus', Varangian, Byzantine, Ottoman, Persian, and various early medieval and/or ancient clothing traditions. Plate armor does not seem to exist in Middle-earth, and the armor depicted here reflects this conception. Tolkien seems to have been inspired by Ancient History and the Early Medieval Period, before the invention of the heavy plate armor of the later Middle Ages. While plate armor is depicted in Middle-earth themed art, games, and film, Tolkien might not have envisioned the people of his world armored in such a fashion. Since Arda is meant to be an alternate version of our earth, and the stories set in the First through Third Ages represent a mythological ancient prehistory, Tolkien may have felt that plate armor was too modern.