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

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Anouch: I'm glad you liked the Frodo/Sam stuff, during the planning of this story I managed to experiment more with it, and it's become one of my favourite pairings now ;p Here's the next chapter

Shelley1924: OO The last thing I want is to be accused of murder for someone reading this story...Lol! Escape? Well, we'll just have to wait and see about that one. Thanks for reviewing and hope you enjoy this chapter!

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Bleeding Scars

Chapter Three: Blood on the Walls

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"Sam? Sam! Oh, Sam...can you hear me?"

Frodo's voice...he thought blearily, blurred visions dancing before his eyes. His head spun and he felt the sudden desire to vomit. Where was he? What had happened? As he began to come to, he felt cold, spiteful stone beneath his hands and his bare elbows. Frodo...Frodo...why is he here?

"Frodo...?" he croaked, attempting to sit up. "Wha...?"

"No, Sam! Don't move," whispered the elder hobbit, shifting next to him with his bound hands, his pale cheeks chapped from past tears being spilt. "Stay still...you'll hurt yourself."

It was then that Sam felt the burning rush of poker-hot pain rampage across his back like sandpaper, and he remembered everything. He remembered how the orcs had held him down, scourging his back until there was barely any skin left. He remembered Frodo screaming from the other end of the room – screaming for his Sam not to be harmed.

I must've passed out, he thought, suppressing a hiss at the agony running through the rivers of crimson blood that poured down his back. His back felt stiff and course – raw – , and he noticed with annoyance that the cuts were beginning to crust into harsh scabs of dried gore. It must have hurt tha' much...

His hazy vision darted suddenly to Frodo, who was on his knees with his bonds bound, blowing shaky breaths onto Sam's back, in a will to dull the pain a little. "D-did they hurt you, sir...?" he whispered, reaching out blindly for his master's swollen jaw, where Grimlok had struck him earlier.

"No, Sam," said Frodo, in a distant voice.

"I couldn't let them hurt you, none, sir...they were goin' to..."

"I know," Frodo interrupted, his words quivering a little, like a wave of battle trying to remain strong. A few tears spilled out of the corners of his eyes, and he gently – carefully – placed his cheek against the brown skin of Sam's back, his lip trembling from the unfairness of it all.

"O, Sam...my Sam," he sobbed. "What have they done to you?"

"Don't you cry, now, sir," murmured Sam through a dull smile, taking Frodo's chin in his fingers and gently pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his master's bleeding lips. He could taste the running salt on his tongue, and it brought tears of his own. His newly-bound hands wanted to cup Frodo's beautiful face and kiss all of those tears away...banish them forever, so his master would be smiling again.

"This is my fault," said Frodo quietly, against his lover's lips. "The torment they inflicted on you...it was my doing..."

"Don't talk like that," Sam cut in, capturing Frodo's lips in another endearing kiss. "None of this is your fault, now. If anyone is to blame, it's that Gollum...or that terrible Ring of his."

At the word "Ring", Frodo's sapphire eyes danced in flame and his body drew stiff. His lashes blinked against the flesh of Sam's cheek as he thought of that magnificent, golden band that lay so warm...so heavily, in his hand on those long, lonely nights. The way It had whispered to him...sweetly, seductively...the way It had said that Frodo belonged to It.

He wanted to hear that again. That sultry sounding voice...those precious words...the round, smooth edges that brought everything together into one package – he wanted to scream! Scream because, now, he knew that it was too late to do anything! The orcs had the Ring, and everything from now until the end was hopeless!

He said nothing, but allowed Sam to continue kissing his bruised lips whilst his mind strayed away into another land. A land where nothing terrible had ever happened and he controlled it all. He was the bringer of peace. Sam had never been hurt. They were not captured in this dank tower. They were both making love beneath the stars, in the cornflower fields.

"O, Sam...I love you..."

"I've always loved you, me dear...always – ohhh!"

The Ring was burning furiously in their clasped palms, entwined by the chain that trickled over Frodo's neck. Sam was sobbing. Frodo kissed away the tears and tasted blood. He opened his eyes and suddenly, he was back in the real world...in Cirith Ungol.

Smack!

Frodo was sent hurdling to the floor, viscous grazes staining his skin. He heard Sam bellowing from the other end of the room.

"Frodo! Frodo! Don't y'touch him!"

The hobbit blinked and shook his head a little, finally breaking free of his daydream. To his horror, he noticed that the orcs, Grimlok and Akhrásh, had returned, and they were guffawing at Sam's blatant cries and the dazed, broken look on Frodo's face.

"'Bout time!" roared Grimlok, cracking his knuckles. "Wondered what was up wi' him fo' a moment! Lik' a few good 'it's round the face did nothin' for 'im!"

Blood seeped into Frodo's mouth. The side of his face had been torn open by the brutality of the orcs. Sweat ran into the wound and stung. He winced and tried to scramble to his feet, but Akhrásh sent a harrowing kick into the edge of his ribs.

"Oh!" he doubled over in pain and crashed to the ground, his kneecaps smacking the hard floor. This certainly isn't where I was earlier, he thought bitterly, thinking of Sam's calloused fingers roaming areas of his body. Wheezing, he crawled onto his knees, making an effort to get his breath back.

"Leave 'im alone!" Sam cried, struggling in the corner where the orcs were taking it in turns to hold him back. "Get away from 'im!"

Frodo's heart sent off twinges of fragility as he noticed the dried welts on Sam's back reopening as he thrashed about. Sam didn't really seem to notice the pain, and if he did, then he didn't care. All he was interested in at this moment was his Frodo...lying there, being abused by the cruel behaviour of these orcs.

Frodo had barely risen to his knees when Akhrásh kicked him again – harder this time. The hobbit gasped for breath and was sent colliding into the wall, smashing his head upon the stone. A loose cry wobbled from his lips at the force.

"Stop it!" Sam screamed, his voice breaking. He attempted to free something – anything – just so he could lash out at these demonic things...but they were far too strong for him. The pain weakened his muscles. He could do nothing else. Nothing else but scream for his poor master.

"Frodo!"

Frodo coughed and opened his aching lids. He saw blood coating his eyelashes. His head had been torn open from the collision, and now a large gash was visible amongst his ebony curls, soaking the silky hair with newly split wine. He groaned as he felt his head throb. Everything around him was spinning.

"Sam..."

Whack! Akhrásh threw a blinding punch into his already battered jaw, sending him careering to the ground. His wrists scraped together against the stone and he moaned in pain. He coughed and tasted blood. He felt it running down his chin. Panting for breath, he stared into the scarred, unforgiving face of his tormentor, tears mingling with the perspiration and sticky blood.

"Please..." he whispered, barely a sound.

Smack! Harder this time. Grimlok chuckled from the corner, still holding Sam tightly in his place, which wasn't easy, considering Sam was lashing about like a wild, rabid animal.

"Frodo! Frodo! Frodo!"

Just let it end...Frodo thought blindly, gripping the stone with bleeding fingers, trying to recover his breath, and bid away the numb feeling in his lungs. Just...let them stop...please...

"You'll kill 'im!" Sam yelled, in such a state. "Stop it – you'll kill 'im!"

For some reason, that seemed to halt whatever they were doing. Sam didn't cease his struggling, but Grimlok had such a tight hold on him it was amazing that his circulation hadn't been strangled yet.

Akhrásh roared with laughter at the sight of Frodo's broken, bleeding body littering the floor. "Think I wen' too far?" he asked sarcastically, spitting near Frodo's bruised shoulder. Grimlok simply chuckled, and gave a sharp tug on Sam's hair to shut him up.

It didn't work. "Look what you've done t'him!" Sam wept, his voice like thunder. He couldn't take his eyes away from his master, who wasn't moving except for the occasional twitch now and again. Most of the welts in Sam's muscled back had spilled their blood again, only he didn't seem to feel it, as the pain of not being able to assist the one he loved was even greater.

"'E's not done with yet," sneered Akhrásh, reaching down and nudging Frodo with a black foot. "Wake up, ya stinkin' littl' rat – get on yer feet!"

Frodo didn't move. He couldn't. His whole body screeched in pain, even if he so much as moved a finger. Coughing and choking, he attempted to struggle onto his throbbing knees, his arms trembling. Blood was in his eyes and nose. He couldn't breathe. And when he tried to, it hurt.

He gazed up at Akhrásh, his eyes blazing with a terrible poison. Sam had never seen this look before, and it surprised him – if not frightened him. "Don't...touch me..." Frodo snarled, his lip curling. His knuckles were chipped and cut, oozing blood onto his slender hands.

Akhrásh sneered at him and grasped a handful of his dark hair in his fist. Frodo cried out, pain running through his scalp like a strong burn as he was hoisted onto his feet. Before he knew what was happening, his knees had buckled and Akhrásh had him in his arms, carrying him away from the floor and towards the rungs of the old ladder.

"Stop it! Let me go!" Frodo cried out, lunging out blind strikes with his bound ankles and hands, although it was like kicking plates of solid steel. "No – no! Let me go! Sam!" It was at this point that he reached out wildly with his cut fingers for some kind of contact with Sam, who fought like a mad thing to help the one he loved.

"Frodo! Frodo – no!"

"Sam! Help me! Please!" Sam couldn't bear the pleading tone he had hidden there.

"FRODO!"

"Keep quiet!" growled Grimlok, striking Sam viscously across the face. "There's nothin' y'can do, do quit yer whinin'! He's been broken down a littl', now he's all ready."

Ready? Sam thought wildly. Ready for what? What are they goin' to do to him?

Then, he felt the world spin. His blood curdled and he felt bile rush into his mouth as he remembered something.

"Snaga wouldn't take kindly ta'that, would 'e, now?"

"Nah, 'e wouldn't. 'E's taken a likin' to that one, there."

Snaga...Sam thought, feeling ill. That orc when I first found Frodo...he was...he was tryin' to –

"No – NO!" he screamed, thrashing wildly, never wanting to take his eyes away from his master's burning blue ones, brimming with beseeching words and tears of fear. He wasn't sure if Frodo understood where he was going or not – either way, he wanted to stay in the same room as his master, so he knew what was happening!

"Sam! Sam! Please – please!"

"Frodo – Frodo! FRODO!"

Akhrásh disappeared with the feisty hobbit, whose cries and shouts and screams were still heard, as he was carted down the tunnels towards wherever the filthy orc was taking him. The echoes rang back and struck Sam in his humble, fierce heart, causing it to crumble. He didn't want this to happen – not to Frodo! Hadn't he been hurt enough?

Why do this for someone else's pleasure? Frodo was innocent – innocent!

Sam swallowed and chewed on his lip, tasting salt.

Too innocent, he remembered, thinking back to all of the times that he and Frodo had ever made love together, wielding their bodies into one, like some kind of wild force of nature. He remembered Frodo on top of him. He had always touched with his hands and his mouth on his body but he had never...

Oh, save 'im, thought Sam, swallowing his fear. He saved it.

He's pure.

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A/N: Whew! Sorry guys for the long wait for the update, but I've been real busy sorting out stuff from exams and things, I hope you liked it! Except more bad bad orc mischief soon