Disclaimer: Yeah, it belongs to Tolkien. The girl is me...I mean, she belongs to me :)
The dark man that had grabbed Frodo hit him hard over the head, and the hobbit lost consciousness for a long time. When he woke, he wished that he hadn't, for the fix he was in was something he would have rather slept through. He was lying naked strapped to a torture rack. his hands and feet were bound by thick ropes that cut into his skin and made him bleed. His head spun. There was a red light that hung above him, like the great lidless eye that followed him in his mind.
Clustered around him were about half a dozen Orcs, each heavily armed with swords and daggers. The largest of them was closest to him, and carried a large, fat whip in one hand, uncoiled and ready to strike. When he saw that the hobbit had come around, he snarled at him and growled,
"Alright, you little cock-a-whoop, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. If you won't answer for us, you'll answer to the Boss, and you'll like Him even less than you like us, I'm sure. So...Where is It?"
"Where is what?" Frodo asked innocently, though he knew well enough what they were after.
"You know what He wants!" snarled the Orc. "Don't play dumb with me! He wanted Halflings for a reason, he knows one o' yous has it, and if it ain't you, then you know who's got it!"
Frodo looked closely at the whip. Its end was barbed. 'Think fast,' he said to himself. 'These Orcs probably don't even know what it is they're after.'
"Well?" the Orc demanded, snapping the whip inches above the terrified hobbit's face. Then he lowered his face so that he was almost touching noses with Frodo, and he could smell his foul breath, and hissed, "Where is the Ring?"
"I..." Frodo could not think. He swallowed hard, then made a noise in his throat. "Gollum," he gulped.
The orc snarled and struck him suddenly, sending the whip across his bare chest. He yelped in pain as the barbs tore at his skin, ripping it apart, and blood oozed slowly from the resulting wound.
"The Ring, Mr. Baggins," the Orc hissed.
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Miss Frodo felt like someone had just struck her with a whip. No one hurt Frodo and got away with it. No one. She leapt down from the window, morphing into a hobbit as she did so. As her talons melded into fingers, and her clothes sprouted on top of her skin, she thrust the Ring into her pocket. Her blue eyes flickered with anger as she charged at the orcs.
They were slow, and did not see the girl at first. One Orc raised up his whip to strike Frodo again, and she was on him in a flash. But she was no match for the height or strength of an Orc, and once he had gotten over the shock of being pounced on by such a little thing, he easily flung her off him. She landed on the rough block. Her head snapped back and hit Frodo's chest. Her golden hair was streaked red with blood. Unabashed, she leapt to her feet to fight. Two more Orcs grabbed her and pinned her down on the torture rack. They held her efforlessly.
Miss Frodo struggled hard to free herself, but could not shake herself from the Orcs. She did not fear torture, but was afraid that the Ring would be discovered, and she was afraid for Frodo. She should not have brought it here. That was foolish, she thought. But what was she to do otherwise? Let Frodo and Sam suffer? Still, it seemed they already had.
"Where's Sam?" she said through gritted teeth.
"I don't know," Frodo answered. "You shouldn't have come here."
A tall man dressed in black walked over to them, and they quit talking immediately. It was the man she had seen before, the one that had taken Frodo away. The Orcs released their hold on the girl, but she did not move; the man scared her, she couldn't think to run or fight anymore.
"Welcome to Mordor, little girl," he said in a surprisingly cheerful voice for someone who looked so malicious. "And who might you be?"
"I'm Miss Frodo," she said angrily. "Who are you?"
"Questions, questions," said the man, quite at ease with himself. His confidence annoyed the girl. She glared up at him. "I have forgotten my name, myself, but they call me the Mouth of Sauron, if you would care to know."
"Why are you doing this?" She knew it was a stupid question, and that she would probably get a stupid answer. But the elves in Lothlorien had taught her that sometimes the innocent approach was the best...If he didn't know that she had the Ring, maybe he wouldn't ask her about it.
The big man laughed. His deep voice made the floor rumble, and the block she was on shook slightly. She cowered back, pressing herself against Frodo. She had lived in harmony with the elves for almost all of her life, and she had never known evil before; but this, she knew, was just that. This man, and these orcs, were evil. They wanted to use the Ring to control Middle Earth for their own evil intent. She could not allow that to happen. Without realizing it, her hand strayed to her pocket, and she touched the Ring. Instantly her hand snapped away from it.
"Don't play all innocent on me, girl," the Mouth of Sauron sneered. "You Halflings are remarkably resillient creatures, but you do not have half the resistance to withstand what my armies could do to you." He paused for effect.
"Don't tell him anything!" Frodo hissed into her ear.
The man heard him, and smiled. "So you do know, do you? I thought so. Then perhaps you would be so kind as to help me, now, so we won't have to get the information out of you in any...shall we say...trying manner?"
The orcs grinned and snickered behind him. Their knives shined eerily in the red light. Miss Frodo lay motionless on the block, her eyes wide with fear and her heart beating rapidly. Her mind throbbed from the thought of the item in her pocket. It called to her, echoing in her mind, giving her delusions of grandeur if she were to claim it for her own. She tried to brush away the thoughts.
She pictured slipping on the Ring, and using it to destroy the dark man before her with her bare hands, and to kill all the orcs in the tower with them. Then she could take it off, and fulfill their mission. Destroy the One Ring. Her mind reeled suddenly, and the image was erased. Why destroy it? Why not keep it? Didn't it belong to the Ringbearer? Shouldn't it belong to her?
NO, she thought, pushing it from her foremost thoughts. She moved her hand away from her pocket.
"What do you see, girl?" the man said, his voice dangerously quiet. "What do you know?" When he received no answer, he suddenly picked her up and threw her across the room in a rage. She hit the wall with a thump and collapsed to the floor. Her head throbbed from where it had hit stone. Her vision blurred, and she saw shadows in a red mist.
'Frodo,' she thought. 'What do I do?'
Her foot kicked something hard and metallic. She shook her head to clear her eyes. At her feet was a strange blur--she was just beginning to make it out--a slurred object on the cold stone floor. As her vision came about, she saw its blue form contrasting with the reddened floor. It glowed brightly, savagely, like her fierce little eyes. Tentatively, she reached out to touch it.
"NO!" boomed the man. His sudden roar startled her, and she drew back, snapping her head up. Three of the orcs came at her, knives held before them. Frantically, she reached for the blue thing. The moment she touched it, her vision snapped back into focus. It was the elven blade Frodo had carried from Rivendell. Sting. Miss Frodo knew orcs hated anything elvish.
She rose to her feet, drawing the naked sword before her. An orc brought her sword down on her, and she blocked it with Sting. The sound of metal clashing against metal rang piercingly in her ears. The orc leapt back, howling in pain as he clutched the hand that held his knife. The elf magic was working without even touching him. Miss Frodo grinned grimly, and swung at the next orc to come at her. He dodged effortlessly to the side as another came at her from behind. She brought up the sword to block him, its slender blade glowing blue against gnarly orc silver. She shoved him back with the sword.
The dark man came forward, snatching a long, broad blade from one of the orcs. They stepped back, allowing him to come to the girl. He slashed at her, almost lazily, knowing she was unskilled in the art of swordfighting. But hobbits have a way of coming through strongly when they are put into tight places, and she quickly picked up on the technique. He misjudged her swing, and she slashed his arm, drawing a thin line of blood. The Mouth of Sauron was mad.
With one long sweep of his sword, he knocked Sting out of her hands and had her pinned to the floor with the point of his sword.
"Now, Halfling," he snarled, "Where is the Ring?"
At that moment, the tower rumbled, and the Mouth of Sauron was forced to step back in order to steady himself. Miss Frodo heard the loud cry of an eagle, and saw the far wall explode before her eyes. Through the hole through Mithrandir; Gandalf the White, riding one of the last great eagles. The dark man wheeled to face him, and the wizard let forth a burst of flame from his staff, setting stray orcs on fire and paralyzing the Mouth of Sauron. With a business-like attitude, he dismounted the eagle and went to Frodo, cutting the ropes that bound him. Frodo sat up warily, rubbing his wrists. The wizard had not appeared to notice the girl.
"Where is it?" he snapped. "Where's the Ring?"
"Oh for goodness sake, you too!" Frodo sighed. "At least you're on our side." He looked skeptically at the wizard. "You are on our side..."
"Yes, of course," Gandalf said, sounding annoyed. "Now, please, you haven't much time. Where is the Ring?"
Frodo's eyes grew wide. "I...I don't have it."
"Well I can see you don't have it on you, but where is it?" he repeated impatiently.
The girl staggered to her feet. This was too much for her. The Ring was calling...It was taunting her, goading her...Her mind was spinning. "I have it," she said weakly. "I have the Ring."
Gandalf spun to face her. "Give it to me!" he snapped. Miss Frodo stumbled back a step, surprised at the wizard's harsh, demanding tone. She didn't like the strange fire in his eyes. "Girl, you must; we have to destroy it."
She slipped her hand into her pocket, holding the Ring protectively. "No."
Gandalf looked at her in surprise. "No? Then you wish to betray us, and keep the Ring for yourself?" She could see his temper rising. He had never been angry with her before.
Miss Frodo looked to Frodo for support. He was just as scared as she. "No," she replied, "I will take the Ring to Mount Doom. I will destroy it."
Frodo looked at her in disbelief.
"Go home to the Shire, Frodo," she said, her eyes watering. "I'll meet you there someday." She wrapped her long cloak around him, covering him with it. Then she gave him a long hug. "Hang onto it for me...I may need it again."
They both knew she would never see the beautiful cloak again. She would not make it back alive.
Frodo nodded numbly. Miss Frodo stepped to the hole that had been made in the wall. She took the Ring from her pocket, holding it before her on an open palm. With a deep breath, she cast it into the air, watching it glint gold in the red light of the tower. Miss Frodo became a falcon, leapt into the air, and caught the Ring in her talons. This was the end.
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The Ring was heavy in her talons. Too heavy. She could feel it pulling her down towards the rocky ground, making it ever more harder to fly forward. Orcs paraded below her, oblivious, running to some nearby battle that did not concern her. The mountain drew nearer.
She was almost directly over the Cracks of Doom, when she heard a mind-bending screech searing through the dark air. The screech was followed by another, and another. As she looked about her, three Nazgul closed in on her tiny form. Their winged beasts were ten times her size, and they came at her with a fury she was not prepared for. One assailed her head-on, and she was forced away from the fire. The Ringwraiths threw back their cloaks, and Miss Frodo was frightened by their unearthly faces. She could see their faces. As she tried frantically to evade them, it seemed there was a command among them for her; though it was more of a taunt, unanswerable, that they called.
"Mighty falcon! Precious Halfling! To wear the Ring is your only hope! Put it on, and fell the army of Sauron!"
And whether it was by some trick of the Nazgul, or one last ploy of the Ring, it suddenly sounded true to the girl. The thought flickered through her mind that perhaps one such as herself might have the power to weild the Ring for good; but her heart warned her against it, and won the struggle in her soul.
Soon the Nazgul were fully upon her, and tore at her feathers, reaching for the object clenched in her talons. but she was far more nimble in the air than the large, clumsy creatures, and always kept the Ring a feather away from them. The wraiths screeched in fury and frustration, cursing her in their own evil tongue.
"I'll never be rid of the Ring this way," Miss Frodo thought. "They'll tear me to shreds, and take it back to their master, and everyone I ever cared for will be dead, because of me."
She dived between two of the Nazgul, and shot for the fires of Mordor. There was no time to think, no time to devise a better plan. Miss Frodo folded her wings, and with one final cry of the falcon, dove into the Crack of Doom. Her feathers burst into flame, and the One Ring melted out of her talons, never to bother anyone ever again.