HIDEOUS TREACHERY

Days of Darkness

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Authors note: I think this story shall be shorter. I hope I don't lose all of my loyal readers over it! I hope I don't create enemies over it. I also hope you all stick around and wait for the ending!

Sam was flung back into the cell in which he and Frodo were kept. Frodo looked indifferently over at him.

Sam had landed on his back, coughed up massive amounts of blood, and then whispered to Frodo, "Have hope Frodo. Have...hope... All will...come right... in the end... You'll see! You'll..."

Sam died, a battered, ever hopeful hobbit, that had finally succumbed to the pain and darkness about him. A tear, one, almost made it to Frodo's eye. But it never came. He looked over at the corpse heartlessly, and chose that moment to engage his plan.

He had to wait, of course, a reasonable time, or else Sauron would grow suspicious, but he could wait. His vengeance could wait a few days at least. Two days after the death of Sam his body was haphazardly dragged away. Frodo had no window he could look out of, but if he had it wouldn't have made a difference. Out of his window he would have observed the body of Sam being flung to a fell beast and snapped up in one greedy gulp. Three days after the desecration of Sam's body, Frodo walked over to the cell door and cried, "I want to speak with Sauron! I must speak with him!"

A huge, tall, grossly shaped orc came up and growled, "You want to see the Dark Lord eh? Then see him you will Shire scum!" he said as he fiddled with his keys. He unlocked the heavy, iron door, and dragged Frodo to Sauron.

Once in the presence of the Dark Lord, on his dark throne, Frodo spoke.

"Lord Sauron, I have watched Sam die, and now I realize that you are the Dark Lord. You are my lord. There is no one else. There never will be."

"You then denounce all of your dead friends, the Valar, and all they stood for?" Sauron asked, slightly surprised.

"Yes," Frodo answered. All graveness and solemnity was in his face, voice, and eyes. "I denounce them all as treacherous, vile scum."

Sauron smiled, his torture method worked. It always did. Torture the friend and not the person, and he will crack when his friend dies. Two may be strong together, but one will crack. He, Sauron, had the Ring and Sam was dead, and Frodo had just signed over his soul. He was not much of a servant, but he was certain he could put the halfling to good use, even if it was only for entertainment.

"Then you may go. I shall put you in another room, a better one. You shall learn and be taught by the Witch King of Angmar. Go," Sauron said as the Witch King came up to him and escorted him off. "Soon I shall have this waif dying as well. He has begun already. I shall torture him with tasks and my ways until his mind is gone and he is a miserable slave," Sauron laughed to himself. Ah, he loved his wickedness.

Frodo was left in his room, black garments on his bead of foul Mordor make. He changed into them, and he sat upon his bed. Frodo's plan? To win the trust of Sauron, to become so trusted that he is ever at his side, and then, when the timing is just right, cut the Ring from Sauron's hand and keep it for himself!

There was no knife to be found however, so Frodo went to work making a sharp knife of a stone shard that sat upon his floor, in an unswept, neglected corner.

Days turned into weeks and months. Soon the whole of Middle-earth stank with decay and death. The men were now forced to work as slaves, the women, what horrors he did to them none shall ever know, nor shall they ever want to. Only the heartiest were left unmolested so they could begat more children and make more miserable slaves for Sauron. The hobbits were all dead, the dwarves all slaughtered. Balrogs, once hidden, roamed once more, dragons were being spawned again, and soon the small, vile creatures could be seen learning how to fly. Orcs were everywhere, and all of this Frodo could see from the slit of a window in his room.

He spent a good deal of time in his room. He was taught in his room, ate in his room, and was isolated in his room. In the dreary solitude of his room his dark thoughts were allowed to brood. He was ever contemplating, plotting, fantasizing about the moment he would slice the Ring from Sauron's hand. At times he could almost feel it's burning wait on his palms. Each sunless day melted into a moonless night and all times were consumed with thoughts of the Ring. Even the miserable captives thought on it perpetually. They often wondered how all things came to this pass, how Sauron regained the Ring, and how things used to be. Thoughts of the world before this loathsome time were beginning to fade. All under the Ring faded as the Ring itself glowed brighter and grew in despicable beauty. The hoarse voices of the oppressed cried out to anyone that would listen for mercy and deliverance from the evil times that had befallen them. It seemed to them that their mournful cries fell on the cruel rocks or on orc's ears and then returned to them with lashes of the whip.

Their cries were not lost however. The miserable slaves were not forgotten. All was being heard and seen; deliverance was coming, but when? none could say. In Valinor the souls of dead men were standing in wrath in the Halls of Mandos, refusing to enter Illuvatar's thought until they saw the blood of their kinsmen revenged. Elves, hobbits, dwarves, maia, and istari all watched and pleaded to the Valars for permission to rescue the oppressed. They were forbidden to do so.

"All shall be set right, but we must wait," Manwë kept saying.

"But how long?" the masses kept crying. To that they received no answer.

Time progressed, and so did Frodo. He was soon allowed out of his room and made to watch classes of children as corrupted men taught them. Soon he was put in charge of a small division of children slaves that were being brainwashed to love Sauron. Frodo was a head master of sorts, and for what he lacked in height, he made up for in cruelty. Once, maybe twice, he felt a slight twinge of sympathy towards a young brat that screamed or cried in terror just ere he beat him with a whip, but that had no lasting impact.

Frodo held this position for six years until one day Sauron called Frodo to his throne room.

"Frodo, I have read the reports from the Nazgul on the school. To say the least I am surprised. They say you rule the children with an iron fist. If you continue with this, you shall soon be promoted," he said to the Hobbit.

Frodo bowed low and said, "I thank you Lord Sauron."

A few weeks later Sauron told the Witch King of Angmar to place a certain young boy in Frodo's class. This boy looked remarkably like Sam.

"Report to me how Frodo reacts to this young boy," Sauron said. His plan, to see if Frodo was completely changed. If he could treat this Sam look alike with the same cruelty as the others, then he would promote him.

Frodo was lecturing the class when suddenly an orc came in holding a boy by his dirty collar.

"This boy is being put in your class," he growled.

"Put him in that chair," Frodo said, pointing his Hobbit-sized staff at an empty desk. The boy sat down and instantly Frodo saw he looked like Sam. His eyes and face remained unmoved, but a shudder was felt in his heart.

Much to Sauron's pleasure and Frodo's torment, this boy was a hyper child that did not like to sit still at all. Sauron watched Frodo deal with this unruly boy and was pleased with what he saw. Frodo remained merciless and Sauron was glad.

"Frodo, next week you shall learn how to manage the men slaves in the plains of Gorgoth," Sauron had told him. Frodo was sitting on his bed, the words still ringing in his ears. He smiled wide, an evil glint in his eyes. His plan was working... he was already moving up. "Soon," he said to himself. "I shall be next to him and my chance shall arise."

The next week came, and Frodo the Terrible, was put in charge of men. He learned quickly how to manage the miscreant man-slaves and was let to himself. Only three months after he took over he was never seen, but from afar and on a black pony by the men. He drove them to do more than they thought possible, and punished them harder than they thought they could endure, but they did, for they had no choice. Death would not come. Such a sweet thing was forbidden in those lands. Their cries were beginning to fade, the hope of the men was beginning to wane. Sauron was a master of killing hope.

The temporary and permanent inhabitants of Valinor were growing restless. They were watching all hope fade in the world and were powerless to do anything about it. No one yet knew of Frodo's plan, but all who knew Frodo were seriously grieved at the sight of Frodo being so cruel. What was wrong with him? Sam had spoken a bit about how Frodo had kept the Ring, but surely he could not be all that cruel!

One day, he was seen up close. A man, an insolent Gondorian that still could recall days of freedom, was acting up. The orcs beat him, but still he persisted in rebellion. The orc was about to strike him again when Frodo bellowed out, "Wait! I shall deal with him!"

The orc let his whip fall limply to his side and Frodo rode up.

"And is this Frodo the Terrible? He is but a child!" the Gondorian jeered.

Frodo rode up next to him and glared at him and it was now that the Gondorian fully beheld the monstrosity that was Frodo the Terrible. His appearance was frightening. It had the look of one who was dying and being preserved at the same time. Cruel and merciless, that is how he looked. Even the curve of his lips was cruel and merciless.

"You think I am a child?" he asked. "You shall now learn differently!" With his spiked mace he beat the man until he was almost unconscious. He then put him in care of an orc and told him to heal the man so he could work another day.

After that, no one dared to speak against him. At least, not loudly. Of course someone always whispers, but each one Frodo even suspected of dark designs he beat and tortured.

Even though all seemed hopeless and the cries of men were waning, hope was still there, and whispered words were still spreading hope and tales of days before the shadows, of elves, halflings, dwarves, and men. Many children never heard these tales, but they that did kept these stories close to them and kept hope alive. The whispers were so quiet, and the hope so faint, however, that even Sauron did not notice it. It was a secret kept deep within the hearts of the people and it could not die.

Over time he graduated from children to men, from men to orcs.

Orcs, they were the next rung up. He was overseer of training and discipline. He hand selected those he thought would be best suited to Sauron's purposes, then he trained them with severe rigidity. Even though he had never trained soldiers before, nor had he been in an army, he was quick to learn. At first he was mentored by the Witch King, but soon enough he let Frodo on his own. He and Sauron were very pleased with the results. Soon he was the head of all the orcs. He oversaw spawning, training, discipline, everything.

Soon, Frodo was known as the tenth wraith. He was pale, drawn, his skin was now a greyish green, his eyes, once limpid, were now cloudy and pale. His brown hair was yet the same, he was still not that old, and the Ring preserved all under its sway. That is why the Ringwraiths did not die. To say Frodo looked like a specter is an understatement. Sam looking at him from the comfort of Valinor wept bitterly, and begged him to turn back. He is fortunate Frodo could not hear him, for if he could have, he would have surely thrown Sam aside and have him hauled into a deep pit to be eaten by the creatures there in.

Frodo the Terrible began to grow in stature as he grew in cruelty. He became one of the chief torturers and soon he could look shorter men in the eye. At five feet tall and terrible thinness and transparency Frodo the Terrible was a mortifying sight to all he came to torture. All that saw him shook in fear.

Soon, Frodo had climbed, beaten, and killed his way to the top. He was now as high as he could go. He was now a slave advisor to his lord. Frodo sat on Sauron's left, and the Witch king upon Sauron's right. Despite his high rank, he was still tormented by the Ring. He wanted it and loathed it so much that it threatened to drive him mad. In fact, it was. Even though he had all sorts of swords, knives, and spears in his hoard, he still kept that shard of stone and close to him. His plan was still remembered, his desire for the Ring now consumed him. That is what drove him to be so cruel, that is what made him so wicked.

The three were the most loathed and feared more than anything else in all of the world. They were the triangle of evil, and they reveled in it, they flaunted it, they loved it!

Authors note: Evilness marches on! Merciless, cruel, wicked! Just don't flame me. Just wait til the end before you hang me by the neck. ACK! You may not have too! I have a lot of angry elves coming at me with knives! Just put it down slowly Legolas! Wait! If you kill me now you'll never see the end! Legolas backs away while putting knives away (I give a sigh of relief!)

Since there is now a spiffy lou feature of responding to reviews, I shall do that instead of writing out reviews here. Elwen, did I do better? smiles.