Warnings: Bit of Sam torture. Nothing graphic, yet.

Frodo gazed upon the eight smiling wildly, his eyes gleaming with pride. The eight still remained on their knees before him, waiting to rise at his command. Sam stood and began to back step toward the entrance of the crack but he suddenly stopped. The piercing, icy stare of Frodo's eyes froze him to the spot. All he could was look on wide-eyed as one of the wraiths rose from the ground. A dark speech that Sam could not comprehend surged from Frodo's lip. The Nazgul understood, immediately stepping forward to the shaking hobbit. Sam squeaked and turned to flee. He made it no more then a few paces before a hand painfully grasped his shoulder and spun him face first to the stone floor. Sam grunted and lay still from the throbbing agony in his skull. He didn't stay still for long. The hand wrapped around Sam's neck, which touched a portion of bare flesh. A strangled cry echoed throughout the cave. It burned. Sam could feel smoke slowly rising from his flesh as the Nazgul's claw seared him.

"Please, Mr. Frodo, it hurts!" cried Sam. "Oh, please, make it stop!"

The plea was ignored. "Bring him here."

The world seemed to spin as he was hauled into the air. Gasps came from Sam when the cruel hand tightened on his neck, cutting into his windpipe. Smoke continued to trail from burning flesh. Tears sprung to Sam's eyes as he gazed into Frodo's, searching for any mercy; he found none.

Sam whimpered. "It burns. Please, make the Nazgul put me down Mr. Frodo."

"You forget who is master here, friend," growled Frodo. "Never bark an order to me again, less you want the pain to intensify." He turned to the Nazgul. "Ghash."

Sam screamed. The heat increased to a smoldering fire, which coursed through the hobbit's frail body.

"Who is master here, Sam?" Frodo asked. "I want to hear it from your lips. Submit like a good servant."

The only response he gave was a groan. He would not acknowledge the creature before him as master. No, this thing before him was not his beloved master. The power of the Ring had completely taken Frodo over. He had to accept that. But there was a small portion of him that wanted to cling to hope; hope that his dear Frodo still existed in that body.

"Answer me, snaga," Frodo hissed.

The word stung Sam's heart and he felt as if he could die on the spot. "I am not a slave, Mr. Frodo. I am your friend."

"We shall see in due time," answered Frodo. "You will not address me as Mr. Frodo; you will address me as master. Now, do it before I lose my temper."

Sam would still not answer.

Frodo spoke in the foreign tongue, leaving Sam confused. By the time he saw what was about to happen it was too late. The Nazgul rammed the hobbit against the stony floor eliciting a sharp scream. The agonized wail intensified as the creature pressed its armor-clad foot into the nape of Sam's back. The pointed tip of the boot dug into flesh, breaking out skin and blood.

"Say it."

Moaning, Sam shook his head.

"Say it."

Sharp pain spread throughout as the metallic tip drove deeper, halfway to touching bone.

"Say it."

The chant played back and forth in Sam's mind. Even through pain he would not speak. The Nazgul twisted its foot causing Sam to shriek.

"Say it."

Finally, Sam reached his breaking point. Anything to make the agony cease. He spoke in at a hair's whisper. "Master."

"What?" Frodo inquired cruelly. "I cannot hear you. Say it louder so all may hear."

"Master," Sam choked.

"And who is your master, friend?" Frodo said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Frodo, please," begged Sam.

"Who is your master?" Frodo boomed.

Another cry came from Sam as the tip dug further, striking against his lower lumbar. "You are my master!"

"Hm, better then before I suppose," Frodo spat. "Once I have the time we will work on your...submissiveness. The Nazgul show more respect for their master then you do. Release him."

A sigh of content came from Sam. The Nazgul removed the jagged tip from within the depths of his body. Blood was now draining everywhere; staining Sam's cloak and hands. He stood and tried to press a portion of the cloak against the wound in attempt to lighten the flow. Frodo sneered at him.

"Poor Sam," he mocked. "Such a shame; such a shame. I sincerely hope you become more respectful. It would hurt me so to cause any more discomfort on you, friend."

Sam averted his eyes to the ground.

"Come, we fly to Barad-dur," Frodo commanded. "It is time to stake my claim; my rightful place. Take him."

He was borne on top the Nazgul's shoulders and carried from the fiery cracks. Soon, he found himself atop a winged, black steed. Behind him sat the wraith, which held him by the waist with one arm while using the other to take the reins. The other seven followed and Sam found Frodo riding next to him. They were in the air, flying at top speed high above the dead surface below. Nausea set in Sam's belly. The Dark Tower rose in the foreground. The dreaded tower was illuminated with an intense red light; the eye of Sauron. The red beam shot over the land and appeared to quiver when falling upon Frodo's form. Sam noticed the evil smile formed on Frodo's lips.

"Do you feel that, friend?" Frodo asked. "That is fear friend. The Dark Lord himself is terrified of me, as he should be. Once I rid the world of his pestilence I will change Middle-earth. Sauron is weak. He does not know how the world should be. I do. Everything will go through a metamorphosis. You will see, friend. All will be better."

"You may rid Middle-earth of Sauron's pestilence but you will replace it with your own," Sam groaned. "You are lost Frodo. How can you not see that you will destroy the world? All will not be for the better."

Frodo sighed. "I suppose you fail to see my vision for the world, Sam. Some day you will come to understand and accept that vision."

"I will never...."

"Did I say that you could speak?" Frodo snapped. "That seems to be your greatest fault, Sam. You speak too much out of term. You forget who your master is. Perhaps another demonstration is in order?"

Hands entwined in Sam's curls and he was lifted from the steed. He almost screamed not only from his tearing hair but the fact that he was dangled in mid-air, threatening to plunge to the depths below. His own hands flayed madly, trying to grasp at the larger ones gripping him.

"My, such a long way down is it not?" Frodo chuckled. "It is amazing how these wraiths follow my every order. They are such loyal servants, unlike you. Why, I could tell that one to loosen his grip and he would."

The hold on his hair began to slip. Sam's eyes became wide and brimmed with tears.

"Then again, I do not want to rid myself of you so soon, friend," Frodo continued. "I mean, one will always need a slave."

Sam was hauled back onto the steed. He groped at the side of his head finding small chunks of his curls missing. When the hand returned to the reins he found the missing clumps snagged in the gnarled fingers. He dared to shoot a glare at Frodo but quickly snapped back when the other hobbit looked at him.

"So much fight left in you," Frodo said. "That will change soon enough. It is obvious that you will never rule by my side, friend. I find that disheartening. I really wanted you there, but in a sense you will be, even if it will be in a lower form. Well, I have no time to discuss this now. The tower approaches. You and I will speak more on the matter once Barad-dur is under my power. Oh, but where will we openly debate such a thing? How do the dungeons sound to you?"

The Nazgul shrieked, forcing Sam to clutch at his ears. Barad-dur stood tall and dark before them.

Well, is it worth continuing? Review, please.

More to follow.