Warnings: Minor violence. Again, nothing graphic as of yet.

Dread came over Sam when the tower came into full view. He wanted to get away; he did not want to go into that place. On several occasions he tried to back up but only succeeded in pressing his back against the Nazgul's chest. The creature hissed, annoyed at the movement, and cuffed Sam. He whimpered, so much pain, and placed a trembling hand to the wounded ear. Sure enough, there was bleeding. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to cease the ringing. A sharp, mocking, laughter forced his eyes open.

"I would advice you to hold still, friend," Frodo said. "The wraiths tend to perform drastic tasks when they think a prisoner is trying to escape. I hope you realize they can do a lot more damage then a bleeding ear. After all, you are such a frail hobbit and any real forceful blow could be your undoing. But you will see that soon enough."

"Frodo, master, we must turn around," Sam pleaded. "Something is amiss. I feel as if we are walking straight into a trap."

Frodo chuckled. "Oh, Sam. You and your outlandish ideas my dear boy. Never have I heard such nonsense from your mouth. Then again, you have always been somewhat of an idiot, haven't you Sam? I truly do not understand why I put up with you all these long years. Oh, yes, I remember now. You were a wonderful gardener and overall servant. Nothing much will change for you now, you will always be a servant and nothing more. Do you know why Sam? Because you are nothing. Why, if you weren't my friend I would consider you outright worthless, even though you truly are, and have you disposed of. I will find work for you, do not worry. I doubt you will ever set foot in a garden again. No, by the time I have finished with Middle-earth it will be pure luck if the hardiest of weeds grow."

Sam slumped in the saddle. "Oh, Mr. Frodo. What has happened to you?"

"Oh, do be quiet," Frodo snapped. "I really wonder how long I will be able to put up with your pitiful presence? I can barely sit next to you and keep myself from tearing you to shreds and it has only been a short while. I think eternity is far too much time to spend with you, Sam. Do not fear though. I will find a task for you to complete, even though you may not like what I have planned."

"Mr. Frodo....."

"You can never take a hint can you, friend?" Frodo growled. "Did I not just tell you to keep that mouth of yours shut? I fear I will have to silence you for a bit or I may do something drastic."

White-hot pain flowed through Sam's body. He would have cried out if the darkness had not swept over him. Frodo studied the unconscious form.

'What fun I will have with your misery, dear Sam.'

*

He awoke to find himself in what appeared to be a throne room. Torches hung from the walls but the shadows overpowered the light. Darkness was all around Sam; whispers were all around Sam; death was all around Sam. Rising to all fours, Sam found Frodo sitting at the throne. What he saw frightened him to the core for there was no emotion on Frodo's face. He could not tell the mood of the creature before him. Guilt washed over him at the thought of distrusting his master and considering him no longer to be a hobbit. He knew, however, that he had to accept it. Frodo was gone but he did not want to believe it. The eight wraiths were situated beside Frodo, swords drawn, gazing ahead of Sam like statues. The hobbit whimpered in pain as he rubbed the side of his head. The pitiful sound drew out laughter and when Sam turned around he saw a group of orcs standing near. He gazed back to his master.

"I am glad to see that you have finally risen," Frodo said. "It worried me so when you would not wake up. I feared you dead."

'He does care,' Sam's mind screamed. 'There is still a piece of my dear master left.'

"After all," Frodo continued, "what would I do for entertainment with you gone? What I am supposed to do? Torture an orc? I would not call that much fun."

Sam felt his heart shatter. "What do you have planned for me? Please, just let me go master. I am no threat to you. I want to return to the Shire."

"Do not make demands of me, servant," Frodo growled. "It seems you always forget your place so easily. No, I do not see myself letting you go any time in the future. As for the Shire, well, you will have to live on your cherished memories. In a short time there will not be a Shire left, along with the inhabitants. Now, getting back to the matter at hand. I cannot have servants running about without proper identification, now can I? You are nothing more then property and you will be marked as such."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, quivering violently.

"Why, I am going to have you branded of course," Frodo answered. "Try not to struggle, dear friend. It only makes the pain the worse. It will be over before you know it."

With a snap of his fingers the orc advanced on Sam, not even giving him an opportunity to flee. His struggles were useless against the strength of the creatures. When he lashed out with his arms, both were pinned to the floor. The same treatment was delivered to his legs. One of the orcs stepped to the hearth, running a steel rod through the hot flame. Sam begged and cried to his master but it went unheard. Frodo remained at his throne with a wicked smile across his face. His screams turned to gasps of disgust as one of the orcs ran its leathery tongue across his blood-crusted ear. Others snarled and fought, each wanting to taste the coppery fluid.

'Oh please, make it stop,' Sam cried in his mind. 'Make it stop. This cannot be real. I am asleep in a cave somewhere and when I wake up I will find my master sleeping beside me. This must be a nightmare. There is no possible way that this could be real. My dear Mr. Frodo would never harm me or let others do the same. This is not real. I want to wake up. Please, let me wake up and be safe. I know this is not real.'

'Oh it is real, dear Sam,' came a clear voice. 'It is very real. You are not asleep. I suggest you stop your miserable struggling. It will only cause you more pain but if you want to continue, by all means do so. Your misery is a welcome treat.'

The orc drew the rod from the hearth, now glowing red, and barked orders at the others. Sam was roughly thrown on his belly while a claw forced his head to stay down. All he could do was cry when the orcs shredded his cloak and shirt, which exposed his bare back. Black and blue marks were riddled everywhere from the previous encounter with the wraith but that was not what caught the orcs attention. A gapping hole was present in Sam's lower back, which had begun to scab. That did not last. The orcs began to finger at the wound eliciting sharp cries from the disabled hobbit. In no time blood was draining forth and trailing across his flesh. He could not count the massive amount of tongues that lapped at the liquid, only that he felt nauseated, and wanted to die more then anything. He caught a glimpse of the symbol, the eye, before it was plunged against his backside. Pain combined with another. It was becoming too intense. Orc were now scratching, digging, biting at his tender flesh in attempt to draw out more of the red fluid. Too much. It became too much. He was on the verge of passing, he could feel it. The room was spinning and his vision beginning to darken. The torment ceased. The orcs retreated from Sam as Frodo knelt beside him. Sam glimpsed into those once familiar eyes, now consumed with darkness, loathing, and desperation. Confusion and hurt filled Sam's.

"Why that symbol?" he weakly whimpered. "Why, of all accursed symbols, did you use the Eye of Sauron?"

Frodo would not answer.

"Where is Sauron, master?" Sam asked. "Have you truly destroyed him?"

Frodo still remained silent.

"Why do you not answer me?" Sam continued. "Is Sauron still alive?"

Only a blank stare was Sam's response. At that moment, Sam slipped off.

More to follow.