Warnings: Bit more graphic torture and rape. Not F/S.
Frodo glared down at the listless body. He rose from the floor and moved to the middle of the room where a pedestal sat. A dark orb was centered between. The orb began to glow a bright blue as Frodo closed his eyes. It slowly rose from the pedestal and glided down to the palm of his hands. With the object in his grasp Frodo went back to Sam's unconscious form. He delivered a brutal kick to Sam's body, which sent the hobbit reeling. The force shook him back to consciousness.
"Come, now, you surly did not think that I would let you have a catnap at such a time, did you?" Frodo asked. "I have something very important to show you my dear friend. Something very important has taken place. The tide has taken a change over battle. Perhaps we should take a little look in the palantir, eh? After all, I doubt you would want to miss this."
Reluctantly, Sam gazed into the glowing ball. In doing so he found himself no longer in the tower but in the midst of battle. Confusion and fear were about him. Men had positioned themselves in a circle, back to back, with weapons drawn. Orcs were already descending upon them, trying to break through the barrier. The men held their ground but even Sam could tell they were weakening. His eyes soon fell upon Aragorn slashing wildly at anything that moved outside the circle. Gandalf had taken the rear. Gimili and Legolas were close at hand, Gimili hewing with his axe and Legolas shooting with superb accuracy. Pippin was at the center of the circle. Turning his head, Sam found myriads of orcs flooding from the gate as well as the rocky terrace. The men were helplessly outnumbered. But in the battle came a course cry.
"The eagles! The eagles are coming!"
Sure enough, high in the sky, the shadowy forms of birds were approaching. The men rose in an uproar of joy and confidence. The fighting had momentarily ceased. A low rumble echoed through the canyon and it quickly grew. Bolts of light suddenly grazed across the sky and men and orc alike had to shield their eyes from the intensity of light. Sam could see though. The distant forms had fallen. Once the men regained their vision they realized the loss. The sky was empty and any hopes of salvation had disintegrated. They were trapped and they knew it. Most continued to fight valiantly as the orcs advanced, while others threw down their weapons and welcomed the jagged edge of an orc blade, others attempted to flee though they did not travel far.
Sam looked about, in the midst of chaos he could not find Aragorn, nor Gimili, or Legolas, not even Gandalf. He saw Pippin, though, just as a massive hill troll collapsed on him. He cried out and tried to rush to his aid but found himself glued to the spot. He could not move any part of his body.
Aragorn, desperately trying to rile his men, called out to them in the distance. "Men, men, stand your ground! Stay in place! If you panic and desert the barrier the orcs will break through!"
No one listened. All, even the bravest, were beginning to lose heart. They fled down the path, ran toward the gate or even tried to climb the sharp peaks. Every last one of them met with the same fate. A few men remained around Aragorn, fighting to protect their would be king. All fell soon enough. Aragorn backed up at the advancing orcs but was aided by Gimili and Legolas. Gandalf was no where in sight. Pippin was still visible, even though the only visible part were his legs dangling under the troll corpse. The orcs were closing in now, surrounding the three remaining warriors. Three against so many, they did not stand a chance. Orcs charged at the three instantly separating them from each other. Legolas was swarmed by the horde and went silently. Gimili was the next to follow, receiving a blow to the side of the head. Aragorn was last, falling to his knees as a sword pierced his back.
The battlefield was a blood coated mess in the end. Bodies were riddled everywhere along with various body parts scattered to and fro. Sam closed his eyes in horror as the orcs began to feast on the deceased.
Brought back to reality, Sam screamed. Slumping to the floor he began to wail bitterly. Frodo stood proud, smiling confidently.
"Do not waste your tears on them, friend," Frodo said. "It is such a waste of good pain."
"How could you allow such an atrocity?" yelled Sam, froth forming on his lips. "They were our friends! Aragorn, Gimili, Legolas, Gandalf, and Pippin! How could you allow this?! My God, Pippin was your cousin and you just stood by and watched him die?!"
"And I shall truly miss him," Frodo replied, faking sympathy. "Indeed, it is such a tragedy to lose a beloved family member. Especially one as young as him. Then again, he did not suffer nor did the others. They went quite peacefully as far as I am concerned. There are worse ways to go you know. Besides, Aragorn had to be killed. As a heir of Gondor he would never allow me to rule over him. He would have hounded me to the point where there would be no choice but to dispose of him. The battle was the safest and easiest way to rid myself of him. I should let you know he did most of the work for me. After all, who marches seven thousand men into a canyon and not expect an ambush? As for Legolas and Gimili, well, they were expendable. I have no use for them and what is the point of keeping worthless junk around? Gandalf is another story. He was one of the few that died in a more gruesome manner. He was captured in battle and I guess the orcs were looking for someone to torture. You know how it is. Those orcs and their adorable games. It is really quite a fascinating story; I really enjoyed watching it. You know, they gauged his eyeballs out, chopped off his legs, and then burned him to ashes. I was amazed, really. He was still very much alive when he was set aflame. Ah, the noises he made were music to my ears."
Sam wept. "Merry, Pippin....."
"Oh, do not fret over it," Frodo said. "I am not completely heartless. As I said, their deaths were painless."
"But Merry was not present at battle," Sam said.
"No, he was in the stronghold of Minas Tirith," began Frodo, "or what is left of it anyway. The place is nothing more then a pile of rubble now, the inhabitants slaughtered, and the land desiccated. I do not think I need to tell you what happened to Merry. He was in miserable shape anyway. Such terrible injuries he suffered at the hands of the Nazgul. He was on his way to death so I just quickened the pace. Speaking of which, I have sent a troop marching toward the Shire. Not a large one mind you. It will not take long for the place to be overwhelmed. The troop shall arrive in two weeks. It is amazing how fast a troop may travel when you give them inspiration."
"What do you mean?" asked Sam.
"Well, I told them to slaughter everyone in sight," replied Frodo. "That alone seemed to delight them but that was not all. I gave the orcs permission to have a little play time with the hobbits."
"You cannot do that!" Sam cried, rising to his feet. "Mr. Frodo the Shire is our home! You cannot have it destroyed! Oh, you must stop them!"
"I will do whatever I please," Frodo growled, "and you of all people will not tell me otherwise. Do you need another lesson about where your place is?"
"No," Sam said, lowering his head. "I know where my place is and it is not here nor by your side. You were my master once, Mr. Frodo, but not any more. I wish...I wish you would return to normal, to be the kind, gentle hobbit you once were. The change you have gone through is unnatural. I know the Ring's power is great and terrible but for such a drastic transformation in you? I cannot believe it. There must be more to this, something else must be controlling you, controlling your every move."
"How dare you speak to me in such a manner!" Frodo hissed, fire gleaming in his eyes. "Nonsense! Every word of it!"
"My, how defensive you have become," Sam said. "Why the sudden hostility, master?"
"Be silent," Frodo warned.
"Perhaps you do not want to admit that you are being ruled over?" Sam continued. "It must be embarrassing to be nothing more then a mere pawn in someone else's game. Tell me, Mr. Frodo, who is your master?"
"I have no master," Frodo growled. "No one rules over me."
"Come now, you do not really expect me to fall for that do you?" asked Sam. "After all this time it makes perfect sense. It takes years of expertise to harness all of the Ring's power. There is no possible way you could have done all this without help. Who is helping you, Mr. Frodo? Or should I say, who is using you?"
"Silence," Frodo snarled, his jaw clenching.
"I should have known, you cannot even see it," Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Someone or something is manipulating you to their will. You claim to be all-powerful, how could you not see that? I have spotted it, why not you? Maybe you do not want to accept the idea. I wish you could see it master, your blindness will be the death of you in the end."
Frodo snorted. "Your constant, running mouth may be the death of you, Sam. My temper is beginning to stale around you, friend. If you wish to live to old age and still be in one peace I suggest you watch your tongue."
Sam gazed up at his master. "I will not live under your horrible rain. I would rather die."
Frodo gasped at the comment and stepped back. Anger and confusion were boiling inside him, Sam could see it. Before Frodo could react Sam bolted across the room. The orcs came lunging at him but he was able to dodge them, ducking and weaving under their legs. In the distance he found his destination. An open window and beyond it lay his salvation. He continued running, running until his legs throbbed in agony, until the cries of his master from behind grew hoarse, until he could feel the bitter wind on his cheeks. He was closing in and when he came to the windowsill he leapt on top and continued forward. No, he was not about to stop for anything in the world. His body went threw and he found himself falling, face down toward the ground. It was unbelievably high. Time itself felt slow as he tumbled. A tear fell down his cheek; it felt good to be free, even for a brief time. He closed his eyes and waited for impact. He never reached the ground. Instead, he felt something take hold of his body and haul him back up to the tower. The metallic armor, a burning touch, he did not have to open his eyes to realize what had captured him.
Back in the room, he was flung to the floor. Rough hands seized him by his curls, pulling hard enough to break the skin. Sam's eye shot open from the pain and was greeted by Frodo's icy blue orbs.
"You will never escape me," Frodo growled.
*
Only two days had passed and it felt as if months had went by to Sam. He was down in the dark, cold cell of the vast dungeon. He was clothed only his pants and the bitter cold stung at his flesh, especially the branded area. Food and drink had been denied to him, which left him weak and thin. Orcs would often leer into the cell waving bread or wine at him. As always, he would ignore them. It did not matter to him. If starvation led to his death he would welcome it; it was a far better way to go then the unspeakable tortures he was forced to witness.
Also within this time period Frodo had often removed him from the cell to travel to the torture chamber. Sam soon found out that not all men were killed in battle. A shudder ran down Sam. He could not get the heinous images out of his mind.
"Why have you brought me here, master?" asked Sam.
"To show you something, friend," Frodo replied.
"To show me what?" Sam continued.
"You shall see," Frodo said.
The room was lit with small torches. In the glow massive forms were riddled across the walls. The glow of their flesh was an angry red but it was not the illuminating light of the fire that had turned their skin that color. Orcs were all about; slashing, whipping, or biting at any thing that writhed or appeared sullen. Sam felt a growing wave of nausea in his stomach.
"What is the matter?" Frodo asked. "Why the sudden sickness in you, friend? Their suffering has yet to begin. Believe me when I say you have a lot left to see."
Sam watched as Frodo motioned at several of the orcs who, in seeing their master's command, yanked down a nearby prisoner. Another orc brought a wheel, nothing extraordinarily special, just an ordinary wheel that pulled carriages. Confusion spread over Sam. A wry smile formed on Frodo's face as he caught it.
"I think you will enjoy what that wheel shall be used for," Frodo chuckled. "Quite ingenious, I must admit."
The orc placed the wheel on the floor and helped lower the squirming man to it. His arms and legs were twisted, forcefully woven into the spokes. Splinters from the snapped wood dug into his flesh drawing out red fluid. Sam could only look on in horror at the grisly sight; he could not peel his eyes away. The man appeared to be nothing more then a huge screaming mass writhing in rivulets of blood; a mass of raw, slimy and shapeless flesh mixed up with splinters of smashed bones. Orcs dragged the man to a levy where, upon looping a rope through the spoke, the wheel was lifted into the air. Screaming in agony the man was thrown out the window, still ensnared in the wheel. For a moment the rope dangled, but then ceased. Sam groaned, placed his hand over his mouth, and turned away.
"Why are you showing me this?" Sam asked. "It does not make sense. Why all this?"
"Why not?" Frodo asked. "I am only getting use out of these men. After all, I have no need for them. I could just let them rot in a cell but where is fun in that?"
"Are you trying to gain confessions from these poor souls?" asked Sam. "What confessions do you need to entice such misery?"
"No confessions," Frodo answered. "I need no information from these men. I see everything, friend. Nothing can hide from me."
"Then why all the suffering?" Sam cried, rubbing at his temple.
"Oh my dear, sweet Sam," Frodo chuckled, shaking his head. "How such innocence stayed in you after all this time is a mystery to me. You spoke of me being blind once but it is you who are truly blind. Watching others pain is a delight for me, Sam." His body suddenly slumped, eyes downcast, face appearing worn, he spoke almost in a whisper. "For it takes my mind off my own pain."
"Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked.
His demeanor changed. "In time you will grow to appreciate as I have," Frodo said. "You just need a little work."
"Still, you have not answered me, master," Sam said. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because I know how much you hate it," Frodo said. "I know what it does to your heart being forced to watch an innocent being in misery. I know it will break you. In time it will break you down."
"Break me down into what?" inquired Sam.
"Why, you shall have to wait and see," Frodo said. "I do not want to ruin the surprise."
A scream echoed from the windowsill.
"Do you hear that friend?" Frodo asked. "Do you know why he is yelling in such pain? The birds are pecking at his flesh. Perhaps you would like to see, eh? It really is a messy sight. Holes of leaking blood all over, eyeballs gauged and consumed, tongue shredded to pieces. Would you like to see that?"
"No, no," Sam begged. "Please, no."
As usual his pleas were ignored. He was shoved toward the window and forced to look down. The crows were feasting. He vomited.
Back in his cell Sam curled into a ball. The atrocities he had witnessed repeated over and over in his mind. He could hear footsteps in the distance. What heinous act he would watch today was a mystery. It was becoming too much for him; he could sense he was breaking. The cell door opened revealing Frodo's form. Looking down at Sam, he motioned for two orcs to enter. They grasped the hobbit by the arms and began to drag him out, heading for the chamber. Sam's ears perched, there were no cries coming from the room. All was deathly silent and Sam feared for himself. Door opened, he peered into the room. No one was left alive. Bloodstains covered the walls and floors. A fresh body, perhaps only an hour old, still remained on the rack, stretched to unbelievable proportions. On the wall a body hung limply in a hammock of chains. His eyes were lifeless and staring, his mouth open in a silent scream. The man had been gutted, his torso split from chest to stomach. Inside the empty cavity his ribs gleamed dully. All of his bodily fluids had been drained from him. What remained was a husk, a horrid corpse that was once a person. Bodies were scattered everywhere in similar fashion.
"I will ask you one final time," Frodo said. "Will you join me or will I have to take drastic measures?"
"I already told you once, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied. "I would rather die then be by your side or as your servant."
"If that is what you wish then it should be granted," Frodo sighed. "Though, it will be anything but slow. I can only hope for you sake that you change your mind. In the end, I think you will. After all, you never were really strong when it comes to handling pain. Maybe it would be best to give you a little taste of what you will experience before making any final decisions."
Before Sam could say a word the orcs had bound his wrists behind his back. A rope was lowered from the ceiling and looped around the knot. Sweat formed on his brow; he knew what was coming and thrashed violently. An orc began to tug at the rope, which slowly pulled on Sam's wrists. With each tug he cried out and desperately tried to escape; with each tug he was an inch further from the ground. Slowly, he was hauled into the air by his wrists screaming in agony. It felt as if his arms would snap at any minute. For a moment he was suspended high in the air. Pressure in his arms increased. When he thought he could take no more he was released. He hurled to the ground but before he crashed the rope snapped still, which jerked at his arms. A strangled cry came from his lips. The pain was unbearable. Again, on Frodo's command, Sam was hoisted into the air a few feet higher then before by his wrists. He dangled longer this time, having to endure the awful strain. Below him the orcs laughed; below him Frodo smiled. Released yet once more, Sam went tumbling down. This time, as he was jerked, there was a snap followed by his scream; his arms were dislocated. Still, Frodo commanded him to lift again. He was dropped a total of twenty times; each attempt feeling as if his arms were to be completely torn off.
"Untie him," Frodo said. "Do what you will with him. I care not. Just remember to disable him and make sure not to kill him. I do not want him running off like he did before. He will not escape."
"Mr. Frodo," Sam weakly said. "Why? Why do you torment me?"
Silence for a minute. "Because I can."
The orcs swarmed around him. One of the orcs that groped his side fell dead with the wave of Frodo's hand.
"None of that though," Frodo said. "Do not think for a second that I will not catch you if perform that act. I will and those who do it shall suffer a far worse fate then the men. If you are into that sort of thing then I have no problem with you stripping him. But you may go no further then that."
Growls in agreement followed. Frodo headed for the door, ignored Sam's desperate pleas, and vanished into darkness. Malicious, yellow eyes glared down at him. He could see everything in those eyes; everything planned to make him beg, wail, and moan. Sharp claws tore at his trousers also succeeding in tearing the flesh on his thighs. Several of the orcs disobeyed their master's orders. It started off with minor groping and fingering until one of the orcs grabbed Sam's waist and forced his rear into the air. The others became frenzied at the hobbit's strangled cries as the one orc forced his way into the tiny body below him. Sam could not keep count of how many times he was taken at the hands of the orcs only that each one brought the throbbing, burning agony to a new height. Once they had their fill Sam laid on the floor in a leaking mess of blood and semen. The torment was far from over though.
He forced up and stood bound and naked in the presence of the grim orcs and watched the iron prongs heated, the pulleys of the rack tested, the blades sharpened all in preparation for their use on his body. It was hard to imagine he would come out of this alive.
When the orcs had tired of his cries and draining blood he was left alone on the chamber floor. His breaths were ragged; his body ached in sharp pain. No part of his flesh had been spared to claw, tooth, or steel. His arms dislocated, his legs broken, he could not move. He prayed for death to come; it never came.
More to follow.