Once again, Sam was alone, no longer in the cell but trapped in the courtyard. An hour had passed since the activities had taken place but the signs of the past events were scattered all over him. Bite marks, stab wounds, burns covered practically every inch of his body. A layer of flesh was missing from his back. He shuddered at the memory of Frodo sliding the blade underneath his skin and pulling, pulling until it slowly lifted off. Now, Sam was huddled against a pillar, sitting in a pool of his own blood and other fluids. He looked up to the sky, hoping to find something to take his mind off the events. There was nothing to sooth him. The sky was red, covered in thick, black clouds that drowned out the sun.

'I bet The Shire is beautiful at this time of year,' he thought. 'I miss the clear blue sky, I miss my garden....I miss Frodo. What I would give just to be back in The Shire one more time. I wish things could return to normal. Just like old times, even for a little while.' Tears welded in his eyes. 'But I suppose it will never happen now. I am trapped. There is no escape for me. No relief, no hope. Everything has been shattered. To think, I actually had hope in this mission. I actually believed Frodo and I could walk into Mordor and destroy The Ring. I should have known better.'

He gazed back down. A light glimmer caught his eye. As his head rose he found a sword lying on the ground. Slowly, he began to crawl toward it, not caring that he was scraping his flesh on the pavement. Anger swept through him, giving him the rush of adrenaline he needed to continue forward. Driving him on were thoughts of Frodo; remembering that past hour.

*

Thrown to the ground, Sam gazed about wildly. Dazed from the loss of blood he only had the strength to roll on his back. Orcs surrounded him, leering and laughing, but kept a minimal distance. Above him, on the balcony, stood Frodo. He gazed down at Sam, his face contorted with rage.

"I wish you would change your mind," Frodo said. "Why must you make this so difficult? Things are only going to become worse for you if you continue to disobey me." His demeanor softened. "I am only looking out for your best interests. There is but one option for you, give in. If you would do that I might lessen the pain for you. Remember that you willingly made the pact. You are mine and should follow my bidding. All you are is a slave now; accept it."

"As I have said many times, master, I will never follow you," Sam growled. "In the end I will die one way or another."

"Oh, but that is where you are wrong, my friend," Frodo hissed. "As long as I still draw breath, so will you. And as long as you still show disobedience, you will still be punished. You shall break. I will see to that."

In an instant the orcs were upon him clawing and gashing. His trousers were shredded in a minute, leaving him vulnerable and nude in their presence. Sam looked up to his master in a silent plea. Frodo only smiled down at him as the dark shapes of the orcs drowned his image out. At the sight of impending doom, something snapped inside Sam. For days he had been beaten and starved and he could not bear the thought of another brutal attack. For once he fought back. He bit, clawed, and scratched at anything that moved by him. Although he managed to injure a few there were still too many. In moments he was overtaken.

"You should not struggle, Sam," Frodo said. "That will only make it worse for you but I suppose you already have. It upsets the orcs so much when a captive fights back, especially when that captive takes a chunk of flesh from their leg. I hope, in time, you will learn not to struggle. For that outburst, you shall remain out here an extra hour."

"Please, master, not again!" Sam wailed. "I beg of you, put an end to this! I cannot take anymore of this torture!"

"I know," Frodo cruelly laughed.

On several occasions he was brought near the brink of death. One of the orcs had slit his throat while the other proceeded in gutting him. Darkness had closed over his eyes but always he found himself waking back up into the nightmare, with Frodo smiling down at him, with Frodo taking pleasure in his misery. In the end he found himself screaming for mercy or death, or even both. As usual Frodo stared down at him with a wide grin.

*

Sam continued to crawl along the stone surface. He was closing in on the blade. Other thoughts swarmed into his mind bring tears to his eyes.

*

A groan came from Sam as the last of the orcs pulled away from him. They left the courtyard lapping at the blood that stained their fingers. Only one form was left hovering over him. Frodo. He knelt to the ground and slid his hands through Sam's drenched curls.

"I almost feel sorry for you," Frodo said. "I cannot imagine the pain you must be going through. It almost makes me want to cease your misery. Then, I remind myself that you are bringing all this upon yourself. If you would only stop resisting me then I would consider letting you live at ease."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Sam asked. "I have done nothing to you to deserve this. Why do you hate me?"

"Sam, we have been over this many times," Frodo sighed. "I suppose I should not be angry with you. After all, there is not much of a brain inside that skull of yours."

"But I am your friend," Sam cried. "We have been through so much together. You cannot turn you back on me like this."

"Correction, you were my friend but times have changed," Frodo said. "Oh, wait, what am I saying that for? You were never my friend, you were a servant. The only reason we went through so much together was because I did not have the heart to dismiss you. You always followed me around, never letting me have a moment's rest."

"If you found my company so annoying then why did you not tell me so?" Sam sobbed.

"I never said I did not enjoy it," Frodo said, his voice softening. "I am only stating the facts. You are a pest, Sam, and you will always be one. We had our times together I admit but, as I said, that was the past and this is the future. I cannot dwell on the past. So much is at stake right now. As we speak there is a rebel army approaching Barad-dur. Apparently, Aragorn escaped the clutches of the orcs. I do not understand how he managed to elude death. I could have sworn I watched him die as the orcs pierced his back. Ah well, I will have to punish the captain of the army. There is no room for failure."

Hope shined in Sam's eyes. If Aragorn still lived then all might be saved.

"Oh, do not think such things," Frodo snapped, reading Sam's thoughts. "I will take care of him soon enough, believe me. Once I get my hands on him there will be no escape. I will make certain he perishes this time. Of course, it will be a slow one but, nonetheless, he shall end up dead along with his ridiculous army. And you, Sam, shall have the pleasure of watching. Would you enjoy that?"

"You know I would not," Sam moaned.

"Yes, I suppose it would not," Frodo said. "Then again, that is why I enjoy forcing you. I think I will leave you to your thoughts now. Enjoy your momentary peace while you still can. You will not receive many intervals of freedom such as this."

"Thank you, master," Sam murmured.

Frodo's eyebrow cocked, he seemed uncomfortable with the statement but nodded nonetheless. "You're welcome." The response was more of a grunt then a statement.

"Master, you still not have answered me on one matter," Sam said. "Why do you hate me?"

Frodo turned his back as he strolled down the path. "Because you are still innocent."

*

In his hands he held the sword from the ground. The long blade was pitch black with silver inscriptions along the butt end. It was a Morgul blade. He knew not how it came there but he did not care. His hands began to shake as he took hold of the butt end. When his fingers grazed across the cool steel a voice raged inside his head.

Do it Sam. There is no hope left for you. If you do not complete this act you will face a lifetime of suffering. It would be so easy to finish the deed right now. Look around you Sam, there is no one around. By the time they would find you, you would already be passing. You know of the poison that pulsates in that sword. Only athelas can heal that and Middle-earth has been ravaged. They would never be able to salvage what that blade pierces. Do it Sam.

Sam fingered the tip of the sharp steel while pondering. Indeed, there was no one around so it would be easy enough to take care of. But the idea did not appeal to him. Since day one in the tower he had thoughts of ending his life yet he always hoped that there would be another way out. He knew there was no further time to debate the matter. In the distance he could hear approaching footsteps. The blade faced his lower abdomen and he drew it back, ready to sheath it.

"What is the meaning of this?!" a voice roared.

Sam spun around and shook in fear. Frodo was standing in the doorway.

"I give you time to rest, time to be away from torment and this is how you repay me?!" Frodo screamed. "Did you actually think that I would not know what you are up to? I can read your thoughts even miles away if I wanted to, friend. Did you actually believe you could pull this off, let alone think I would allow it? Put down the sword."

The sword remained in Sam's hands.

"If you keep disregarding my orders I will put you through a far worse agony then you suffered today," Frodo snapped.

Sam slowly backed away.

Frodo's eyes blazed but changed his voice to a more soothing one. "Please, Sam, place the blade on the ground. I promise I will not punish you for this. You are delirious from your wounds. Come to me and I will heal all that ails you. Please, come to me, my friend. I give you my word that I will not harm you."

"No, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "I think I shall remain where I am. I am not going to fall for you trickery. The moment I place this sword to the ground and come near you, you will attack me. Do not try to deny it. I know you too well by now."

Frodo laughed. "Sam, if I so desperately wanted you to drop the sword do you not think that I could just bend your will to do it. If I wanted to attack you I would have done so already. Now, drop the sword and come to me."

Sam's grip tightened. "No."

"I said, come here," Frodo growled.

"And I, master," Sam began, "said no."

He turned his back, leaving the sword pointing to the outside. In the corner of his eye he could see Frodo rushing toward him. He tried to turn the blade to face him but his hand wavered. This was not the way he wanted things to end. He glanced one final time at the sky before gazing back down at the ground. Frodo's form was advancing closer.

"Frodo, master, forgive me," Sam whispered in despair, clenching his eyes shut.

He felt cold hands come up to tighten over his own. Then, in response, he thrust the long knife home.

More to follow.