Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. Rather obvious.

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Kaewi: Yay, my first review! does dance I'm a fan of Frodo angst myself, but Sam angst can be very interesting too (as I'm learning in this story), there will be plenty angsty-Frodo-stuff coming in the following chapters, though. blushes Oops, you're right, I messed that line up a bit, but it's fixed now, so thanks for pointing that out! bows

Lasrai: Thanks! Here is more for you to read!

Iorhael: Thank you for your review! I wouldn't say my work is brilliant but it is improving, that's a definite! I hope you enjoy the rest!

Amrunofthesummercountry: o.0 big gasp YOU! I've read most of your stories – they're awesome!!! Thanks for reviewing, those orcs are gonna get pretty nastier in chapters to come, I hope you'll read more! Hehehe, I have a talent for writing evil folk? evil smile Perhaps cos I'm evil myself, mwaahaha...Lol. If you're a Sam fan then you may like this chapter, I hope. Enjoy!

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Category: Lord of the Rings
Genre: Drama/Horror/Angst
Rating: R
Summary: AU –Includes torture, rape and abuse- (Frodo/Sam.) Sam is captured in his attempt to rescue Frodo from the tower. The Ring is in danger of being discovered and the orcs want revenge.

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Bleeding Scars

Chapter One: Memories

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Hid behind red veils were the chocolate brown of Sam's eyes. He fluttered them open to give his sight a chance, and blurred colours of greys and blacks and greens swirled in front of him.

And then the pain returned, like a hammer repeatedly drumming into the base of his neck. He stirred and groaned. What had happened? Where was he? He blinked to regain more consciousness, inspecting his surroundings.

It was then that he felt something firm and biting surrounding his wrists, rough and cruel as it seared flesh and skin. He winced lightly and looked down in horror at his bound hands and his exposed arms. He swallowed as he stared down at himself – he was bare also, aside from the breeched trousers that covered his hips. He glanced around the cold room and spotted another figure bound and captured also, slumped against the wall, his head tilted back on his naked body.

Then he remembered.

"Frodo!" he whispered, feeling as if he had just been stabbed in the heart. "Frodo, it's me – your Sam!"

Frodo didn't move.

Sam frowned. The room was empty and he and his master were the only ones here, that must mean that the orcs must have gone somewhere for a while. Frodo seemed to be unconscious still. Perhaps their tormentors had disappeared for the draught they had been talking about.

This might be the only time that Sam could talk to him.

His ankles were bound too, so it was rather difficult to make his way over to the corner. Shuffling and edging closer every second, he made it close enough so that he would be able to touch Frodo's shoulder if his arms happened to be free. He gently nudged Frodo's arm with his elbow instead.

Still, Frodo didn't budge.

"Mr Frodo, please wake up," Sam hissed, hoping that the orcs would not return as soon as he thought. "It's all right now, the orcs have gone. It's just me with you – I won't hurt you none, you know that."

It was silent for a while, and Sam continued to gently attempt to rouse Frodo. For a moment, it all seemed lost when there came no reply, but then, in the still quiet, a small sigh breathed through Frodo's lips and his brow furrowed a little.

"Sam...?" he croaked, his voice as misty and transparent as the wind.

"It's all right, Mr Frodo," Sam repeated, a small smile of relief lighting up his heart. "It's all right, I'm here."

What came next quite shocked him. A muffled sob whimpered from Frodo's lips – although it was the quietest sound that could have been heard. "O, Sam..," he sighed. "Sam...you're here. I...I thought it was a dream..."

Sam looked at Frodo's face. His eyelids were still tightly closed, as if he were protecting the blueness from anything that he feared would harm. Small clusters of bruises stroked his cheek and the wheals along his back caused a shiver to run down Sam's spine. They were open and bleeding, a red source of blood running from one of them. Frodo's wrists were chafed and raw from them rubbing against the rough rope.

To think that these monsters have done this to him, Sam thought bitterly. What else have they got in store?

A few tears clouded Sam's vision. "No, it weren't a dream, Mr Frodo," he replied, moving as close as he could to his master's side, and gently took Frodo's bound hands between his, softly kissing them. "I'm here with you. Don't you worry; we're going to get out of here."

Frodo shivered. "I'm so cold..."

Sam shifted next to Frodo's side and lifted his arms, looping them around Frodo's neck and pulling him close, their bare chests touching and giving body heat. Sam felt Frodo's heart pounding weakly against his, and he carefully caressed his master's shoulder with his fingers. The Hobbit trembled in his arms and he planted a gentle kiss in Frodo's dark curls.

"It's all right," he told him again, breathing in the smoky scent from his locks.

"They never let me be, Sam..." he heard Frodo murmur sadly, his tone breaking. "Always watching me...touching me...fondling me..."

"Sssshhh," hushed Sam, pressing a small kiss onto Frodo's smooth forehead and murmuring against it. "Don't you worry none; I won't let them touch you again."

Frodo pressed his cheek against Sam's chest. "It's humiliating..." she confessed with a shiver.

Gentle, callused fingertips touched the base of his neck as Sam felt a burn of rage flicker in his heart at the thought of his Frodo brought to shame in front of all of these terrible, disgusting orcs. What else could they have done to him if he hadn't come here in time? He remembered what Snaga had been doing when he had entered the room:

"So smooth... "Why don't I keep ya all to myself – be my own littl' toy to play with...?"

The touch of his long, greasy claws forcing open Frodo's legs and stroking him all over, caressing and tickling and fondling...cradling his thighs in his hands, poking him in all the wrong places, the places where Sam knew Frodo didn't like to be touched.

"Don't move, now."

Frodo's bonds around his ankles being cut and the Hobbit forced to roll onto his front, strong hands holding him down as he struggled to stand up and escape. Dirty claws stroking over the wheals in his back and causing him to cry out in anguish.

"Stop squirmin' – just stay...still..."

Snaga's oily hips rocking against Frodo's body and delving deep into his soul...Frodo's smooth fingers opening and stretching in pain as sobs and screams echoed around the room...his toes curling and clenching against the stone floor as the orc moved faster...

"Look 'ow you bleed, scum."

The salty tears that coated Frodo's cheeks and hit the floor...Frodo staggering to stand up but the weight of Snaga's body holding him down stopped him...the weeps flooding from Frodo's lips and the cries that brought pity to all those who heard it...

"Sam – Sam!"

"Sam?"

The thought faded as Sam shook the dirt and filth of it from his mind, and he looked down at Frodo, who was still safely nestled in Sam's clutches, his eyes closed and his face peaceful. Frodo breathed gently and cuddled further into Sam's warm, brown skin, kissing it gently.

"What's the matter, Sam?"

"Nothin', nothin'," Sam muttered, wrapping his hands around Frodo again and pulling him even closer, as if he didn't even want the air around them to touch his master. He wanted to protect him from any dirt and grime in the world, and keep him clean and preserved and beautiful forever, like the jewel that he was.

Frodo felt his chest tighten. "I wish we were back in the Shire again, Sam," he mumbled, his words silenced by Sam's skin. "I know you must be tired of hearing me say that, but – "

"No, no," Sam answered quickly. "I...never tire of you talking, Mr Frodo. I love hearin' your voice."

Frodo smiled weakly. His body twitched as if he suddenly remembered something, and his face fell with his heart. Then suddenly, he gazed at the floor, his shoulders trembling as his body wracked with sobs.

"Oh, sir!" Sam gasped, feeling tears of his own spring at the sound of Frodo's misery. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Sam...I've failed everyone," he wept, burying his face in the crook of Sam's arm. "The orcs have the Ring, Sam – they must have taken it from me! O, listen to me, I talk of returning to our peaceful Shire, and settling down with you once again, and because of me its green hills will be no more than a memory!" Tears fell onto Sam's wrists.

Sam looked away. "That's not true, now, sir."

"What do you mean?"

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knew that what he was about to tell Frodo was not to be taken lightly, as he was unsure how he would react. However, it was either tell him now and take the blame, or not tell him at all and make him think it was all his fault.

"I took the Ring from you, Mr Frodo, beggin' your pardon," he explained, feeling Frodo's eyes boring into him even though that they weren't open. "I thought you were dead, see? And...I took it from you – but I was comin' back for you after, and – "

Sam's words were cut short when he felt soft, velvet fingers place themselves onto his lips, silencing him. Sam glanced up and saw that he was staring into the elegant, rippled pools of purest blue that were Frodo's eyes. They seemed to be sympathetic, but there were also sparks of pain hidden there.

"I understand, Sam," he whispered, hoping that his regret didn't shine through. "I am not disappointed in you. This is not your fault. If anyone is to blame, it is me."

Sam frowned in confusion.

"I was desperate to destroy that curséd Ring forever," Frodo sighed, glancing away with his eyes and gently stroking Sam's skin. "I shouldn't have been so careless, Sam...I should have noticed her behind me..."

Sam laid another kiss, this time, on Frodo's bruised cheek. "Hush, now," he comforted, brushing a few raven locks from his master's eyes. "We're here together now, and I won't let them hurt you again, Frodo. I promise."

Suddenly he felt warm lips graze his delicately, as Frodo turned his cheek towards Sam so that they connected together. Frodo's bound hands opened, as if they were a flower that had just bloomed in the early weeks of May, and they cupped Sam's chin as he delivered the gesture. His eyes closed as he kissed Sam's warm lips.

"Sam..." he murmured against them.

The Hobbit returned the kiss gratefully, the tears that had formed before spilled out of the corners and silvered his cheeks. He pulled Frodo closer to his body so that they could be closer than he had imagined they could be in this way.

Kissing Frodo brought everything back to him: the early mornings in Bag End as Bilbo had disappeared to the market for his errands, and the way that Frodo would let Sam inside with that longing, dangerous look in his eyes. It was a look of desire.

Sam would always have that oncoming fear of Bilbo returning earlier than usual and catching them together in the act. He knew that Bilbo would inform his father of such behaviour, and how would Sam be able to face his Gaffer at news that he had been cavorting with Bilbo's heir?

Every time they met they were always full of hope and passion: the way that Frodo let drop Sam's braces from his shoulders and then stole his lips in a secret kiss, removing his own shirt buttons and then dropping it to the floor; the way that Sam ran his rough hands over Frodo's milky white skin and carried him into the bedroom; the way that they used to touch with their curious fingers in just the right places and the way that they made love together, with the sheets tangled around their legs as they moved with their hips grinding deeply.

Sam knew that Frodo often liked to be on top. The sheets would be pulled over their heads and that would be their whole world. Just sweat and cum and heat. It was perfect.

Loud footsteps interrupted everything and they abruptly pulled themselves apart, unable to move from where they were as they didn't wish to leave each other's side. They stared in horror as two orcs came up the rungs of the ladder, one of them carrying a canister filled with liquid.

They stared at them. Finally, they fixed on Sam.

"Oy, you scumbag!" Grimlok growled, his ugly scarred face sneering at him. "Who told ya t'move?! Ge' back where you should be!"

Sam said nothing but squeezed Frodo's hand.

"Tha' one's awake now," muttered Sharbag, carrying the lather pouch that shook when he moved it, gaping at Frodo. "An' I bought this stuff up 'ere to wake 'im."

"Give it to 'im anyways," Grimlok snarled. "'E looks like 'e could use a littl'."

Sam felt the spark of fury light up his senses again at the cruel words the orcs were inflicting. He stared at Frodo for any sign of reaction: nothing. He seemed to be in a world of his own, a world where he could escape these creatures in mind if he was not capable of doing it in body. Sam took charge.

"Don't you come near him, you miserable things!" he shouted angrily, speaking with his heart and courage as he so often did. "He don't need anything – he's fine!"

"Shut up with ya squealin', rat!" Grimlok ordered, his black eyes invading Sam's. "Keep yer mouth closed, or you'll get a helpin' yerself!"

Sharbag moved closer to Frodo, the cork unplugged from the pouch. The look on his face was nothing short of amused. To him it was just a big game.

Frodo's eyes widened at the sight of the fluid and backed further away against the wall, trying to fall into Sam's arms where he knew he would be safe. "No...no...!" he gasped out. "No, please!"

"Frodo, jus' spit it out!" Sam called out to him, but before he could say anything else he found that strong, muscled arms were carrying him to the other side of the room.

"It don't concern you, littl' scum!" Grimlok barked, as he held onto the struggling Hobbit tightly so as not to let him escape. He held down Sam's arms so that he wouldn't have a chance to hit him or bite. To Sam it was torture. To be held back when his Frodo needed him the most!

"Frodo!" Sam cried to him, fighting wildly against his captor. "Don't you drink it – spit it out!"

But to his horror he saw Sharbag holding Frodo down to the floor on his back, despite pleas and chokes from him as the thick, black liquid was forced down his throat and into his chest. Frodo coughed and choked on the vile drink, wincing and gasping in shock as the fire lit up inside of his stomach, bringing his eyes to open wide.

"Stop it!" Sam ordered, struggling against his bonds and causing the rope to bite at his skin. "Look at him – it's hurtin' him! Leave 'im alone!"

"'E's fine, aren't ya, littl' mousey?" jeered Sharbag as he delivered a kick into Frodo's ribs, who was lying there curled into himself, waiting for the smoulder to die away. He cried out in pain, but then lay still, beaten. Tears hit the floor.

Sam's heart broke. "Frodo."

"C'mon, you," Sharbag beckoned to Grimlok. "Better get the others and the equipment, eh? We're gonna need it, gotta take care of some..." he glared at Sam, and then stared down at the silenced Frodo. "...pest control."

And then they were gone, chuckling and guffawing to themselves over their bullish ways, Grimlok not forgetting to spit on Frodo's shattered skin as they scrambled down the ladder and out of sight. Their cruel taunts could still be heard in the echoes of the castle.

Sam burst into tears. "Oh, Frodo," he whispered, scrambling back to his place where Frodo lay, his eyes closed against any harm with tears on his eyelashes. He was trembling all over with fright.

Gently, Sam raised his head and slipped it into his lap, finger combing his hair and cradling him, stroking away the pain. "Ssshh," he hushed, his voice choked. "Everythin' will be okay, Mr Frodo...you'll see. We're goin' to get out of here somehow."

Frodo sighed.

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A/N: Sorry that it's taken me so long to write anything new, I've been through a few problems in the last month. Anyway, please tell me what you think? I've had this idea for a while now and I hope it goes well.