Author's Note: I'm sorry if this took a little longer than other updates. This is my longest chapter so far. I'd like to thank the people who have reviewed/followed/added this story to their favorites. Reviews are always encouraging (except for flames of course). There's more Frodo-torture-scenes in this chapter, as well as a lot of "internal conflict" and that sort of stuff.

Next chapter will most likely be catching up with some of the other characters (Aragorn, Legolas, the other hobbits etc.) although I'll get back to Frodo's suffering pretty quickly. If you have any questions about this you can ask me in a review.

The flow of this chapter might be a bit off, but I'll try to make future chapters better, so stay with me!

Chapter Warning: Torture/Violence.

Chapter 4

Célebriän's Promise

Frodo was deep in sleep. Occasionally his breathing would grow frantic and his peaceful countenance would become fraught with apprehension. A few times, he actually cried out, but Célebriän did not interfere. She had decided that it was better to let him rest. Who knew when he would be able to again once those Haradrim and orcs returned? Frodo would always drift out of his nightmare and return to a placid, dreamless slumber anyway.

Célebriän sensed that it was nearly midnight, but she was not tired. She kept herself wide awake with thoughts about the present and the events over the ages that had led to it.

"So, this is the Ring-bearer," she thought to herself. "Poor, innocent thing! I doubt that he had ever been touched by the slightest pain of a war like this before they sent him on his quest, alone…"

But she corrected herself immediately. He hadn't been alone, not the whole time at least. There had been a company of eight other travelers. That much was known throughout the Dark Tower. Célebriän wondered about their fate. If they were still alive, were they aware of what had happened to their Ring-bearer? Maybe, they just assumed Frodo to be dead and were devising a new plan, but if this was not the case, if they knew, how were they going to respond?

The best tactic would be to find the Ring and a new Ring-bearer. Yes, it was a depressing matter that the little hobbit who had been sent first to destroy the Ring had perished, but he was a small sacrifice if the goal was reached in the end. Frodo had always been a sacrifice, hadn't he? No one could have expected him to come back alive once the deed was done.

Célebriän tried to tell herself that this was what was necessary. Logic would always prevail over morals, would it not? Yet how could she possibly say that it was right to abandon Frodo in Barad-dûr, to leave him to further torture and death? Yes, that was it. Such things weren't fair or just, and apart from all morals, they were not meant to happen if the Free People were to win this war. Somehow, Célebriän felt in her heart that Frodo's role as a Ring-bearer was not over.

Hyarmur was calling for her from upstairs. Oh well, it was better to answer him now rather than have him go on yelling. He was in enough of a bad mood as it was, and Frodo paid for it. Sighing, Célebriän stood up to leave.

"I'll be right back, Frodo," she muttered.

As the door closed with a screech, she glanced at the small, shivering figure, emaciated and terribly abused. Mixed with the sense of pity for the hobbit and the hatred towards those he had suffered at the hands of, she felt an odd bit of culpability. Once again, Célebriän found that she was arguing with herself over the same old debate that she could not bring herself to ever discuss aloud.

She had been and still was in the service of Sauron, but this hadn't come to be due to her own greed or wickedness… no, she hadn't had any other option when she made her choice. It had been purely out of love and desperation had it not? What else could she have been expected to do? Nonetheless, she was working with the Enemy… she therefore held some responsibility for any pain Frodo underwent...

No! She would not think like that! This could all be pushed to the back of her mind, forgotten, denied…

But for how long? Memories always emerged in a matter of time, especially those that people wanted to conceal.

Célebriän knew that very well indeed.

Frodo was jolted awake by a dream far into the night. After the dreadful visions of thick blood and massacre had left his mind, he opened his eyes and looked around. Célebriän was no longer there, but no orc or man had taken her place.

He yawned and tried to go back to sleep. He hoped that Célebriän would come back soon. Even if she couldn't shield him from all the horrors, she could probably at least protect him a little from the orcs and the malicious men. After all, she had promised to do so.

Frodo closed his eyes. He was thinking wistfully of freedom that would never come, when someone jabbed him in the ribs with their foot. Alarmed, he started, causing his mangled right leg to rub painfully against the floor. Wincing, he looked up to see a man towering over him.

"Get up, you filth," growled the man. Frodo could tell by the voice and appearance that this was one of the Southrons.

"I… I can't," Frodo stammered. "Can't stand or… or walk."

"Too lazy, eh?" said the Southron.

"No," said Frodo. "I just can't… my legs are broken…"

The man stood, thinking for a moment, and then laughed.

"Ah," he said. "I forgot that Hyarmur had that done… yes."

A smile crept across his face as he added, "I see I woke you up from your little nap, but don't worry. You'll be wide awake in a few moments. I've got a little surprise ready for you upstairs."

Frodo saw a hand reaching for him, and, overcome by anxiety, he bit down hard on it. He coughed, trying to rid himself of the taste of dirt and oily skin when he was picked up and thrown against the back wall of his prison. There was a yell followed by cursing and the clinking sound of someone searching through a pile of metal. Dazed from hitting his head particularly hard, Frodo barely paid attention to it, until he felt someone grab his wrists and hold him down.

"Very well then," came the voice of the man. "We can have a little preview to the show we've got prepared upstairs if that's what you'd like. We have time…"

Frodo gulped as his mouth was pried open and the man inserted a metal tool of some sort. He couldn't tell exactly what it was, but its shape resembled an old pair of pliers. He felt this device yank on his back molar and cried out. He knew that it was useless to fight, although he tried desperately to get free. By the time the third tooth was ripped out, he was a mess of screaming and tears.

He didn't know how long this would have continued if no one had interfered, but after the fourth extraction, he was dropped. He lay on the ground in a sobbing heap, spitting out bloody saliva, while his torturer stood up and went over to an Uruk-hai, standing in the aisle.

"Oi!' said the Uruk-hai. "What's kept you? You been toying with the Halfling while we've been waiting?"

"Just had business that had to be done, that's all," snapped the man. "I had a little bit of trouble from this one." He shot a glare at Frodo, who flinched, and added, "And if there's more trouble, I'll do worse."

"Well, whatever it is," said the Uruk-hai. "We've got bigger matters to handle."

"I'm still not quite clear on exactly what you need him for," said the man.

"Are you deaf to what goes around here?" shouted the Uruk-hai. "There's been people spotted around the outskirts that shouldn't be here… men of Gondor, I've heard. The Halfling knows something about them. Your master's sure of it."

A sense of joy flickered in Frodo for a moment at the thought of salvation. Maybe the Fellowship had forgiven him, and they had sent people to his aid at last. He would be able to escape this wretched fortress finally. It was an outrageous thought, but everything was lunacy now, and he clung to this wild prospect until a different insanity gripped him.

The feeling of hope fled when he was picked up once again, and lugged into the heavy blackness of the staircase. He soon realized what was about to happen, and this time, there was no act of weakness that could save him from whatever torture the questioning would involve. This time, he had no answer to give, even if he wanted to speak willingly. He recalled his previous interrogation and shuddered, feeling helpless, vulnerable…

"Where are the rest of your kind anyway?" asked the Southron, who was trailing behind. "Didn't see many of them around today."

"Most of them have been sent out to deal with the Gondor scum," said the Uruk-hai carrying Frodo. "I thought you'd know, since half of your little friends went out also."

"I'd assume that's where the Elf went also," said the man.

"Yeah, she's guarding the nearby hills, so she's not that far away, but we're lucky that she's gone for now. I was afraid she'd still be with the Halfling and we'd have to somehow get him from her. She's probably protective already. I heard her fussing over him in the evening. She wouldn't like to see him get all sliced up… but she's not here now; we can do what we have to."

"So that's where she is," thought Frodo. "Oh, Célebriän, please come back before they hurt me further! I can't endure anymore… please…"

Once more, he found himself crying, but the tears were not only due to physical pain. It was the mere contemplation of his fate that made him weep. He would be put through much more. Sauron wanted his prisoner kept alive for reasons other than attracting Mordor's foes and gaining future information.

Frodo vaguely remembered someone telling him that if captured, he would be "tormented". This was Sauron's punishment: The Ring-bearer was to spend the rest of his life in anguish. This was exactly what was going to happen. There would be no freedom, and the days would pass on, unremittingly bringing the same guilt and agony until he died a pathetic wretch.

"Stop your whining," Frodo heard someone yell. A swift blow followed, and he gasped in agony.

They came into a small chamber. Frodo blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light from the burning fires around the room. It made him wonder how long it had been since he'd seen sunlight. Hyarmur was pacing back and forth, murmuring something to himself.

He looked up when Frodo was brought in, and called out, "It took you long enough to fetch the Halfling, especially when we're facing these sort of matters!"

"It's not my fault," growled the other man. "The rat gave me trouble, so I dealt out punishment. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, nothing," said Hyarmur. "But next time we've got something at hand, do it later. You can have him after I'm done here."

He snatched Frodo away from the Uruk-hai and threw him to the ground. Unable to break his fall, the hobbit hit the hard floor, painfully. His injuries throbbed even more.

"I need you to understand a few things," said Hyarmur, calmly as though he was explaining something to a toddler. "If you answer my questions without a fuss, we won't need to use this."

He picked up what appeared to be a long, metal rod, and held it closer so that Frodo could see that the end of it was similar to that of a rake. However, the edges stuck out like curved spikes, sharp as knives. Upon closer inspection, it could be seen that some of these blades were stained with the dried blood of their last victim.

"If you choose to be stubborn like I'm told you were earlier," continued Hyarmur. "Things won't go quite as smoothly. Do you understand me?"

Frodo gave a terrified nod. He stared once again at the horrid device Hyarmur gripped tightly, ready to strike him with it if he was unable to give a satisfactory response. He searched through his mind for possible responses when asked something he could not answer, but found none that could save him from more harm.

"Let's start then," said Hyarmur. "I'm sure you know that a group of Gondor scum is snooping around the borders as we speak. No doubt, they'll be dealt with in a few moments, but surely the former Ring-bearer would know of the affairs of the "White City". Why are men of Minas Tirith here in Mordor?"

"What?" Frodo whimpered, unsure of what else to say.

He knew what would happen as soon as the words left his mouth. The spike-ended rod was raised, and a second later, its razor-edges fell, scraping the bare skin off his back. He screamed and mumbled an indecipherable plea.

"There's no use trying to act clueless," shouted Hyarmur. "It's not like anyone's coming for you, so don't try to stall. Now, tell us what you know of Gondor's plans for battle!"

Frodo was shaking with fright. "No one ever told me anything about it!" he wailed. "Please… I don't –"

He was cut off for the blades were digging into his back again, scratching up and down over and over again. He shrieked and huddled up against the wall. All the while, he could hear Hyarmur yelling at him, distantly.

"He's not talking," said the other Southron. "Move on to something else. Ask him about the White Wizard. I'm sure he's linked to everything somehow, and we're all mighty curious about him."

Hyarmur took the metal rod away and thought. A moment later, he turned back to Frodo and said, "Yes, of course. Who is this 'White Wizard', little Ring-bearer?"

Frodo knew from some dwindling memory what to say this time, but what relevance the answer had to the Dark Lord, he did not know. It seemed like something Sauron would be very much aware of already, but at least there was no harm in "revealing" this.

"Saruman?" said Frodo, confusedly.

To his surprise, he felt the dagger-edges pierce his flesh again, this time on his right side. He let out a shriek. What had he done wrong? He had said what they wanted to know, hadn't he?

"Do you take me for an idiot?" bellowed Hyarmur. "Yes, of course I know who Saruman is… tell me of the other wizard. The one who is said to be in the war fighting alongside the armies of Gondor. Who is he? Are all the rumors true?"

Frodo almost said, "Gandalf!", but he stopped himself. He didn't know exactly where this name came from for its meaning had been worn down along with Frodo's sanity, but somehow it felt like the wrong thing to say. The spikes were rubbing against his chest now. Slowly, little drops of blood were dripping down there also.

"Please," he begged. "I wasn't told of another White Wizard! I have nothing more… nothing more to tell. Please, stop!"

His eyes darted around the room, vainly looking for a possible escape, forgetting that he could no longer walk, much less run. There was only one entrance that led to an open hall. There was someone passing by. His heart leapt the moment he realized who it was.

"Célebriän!" he called out.

She stopped by the doorway, but didn't enter.

"Please, stop them," Frodo cried out to her. "Don't let them… help me!"

The elf took a step forward, hesitated and then paused again. Why wasn't she coming? Hyarmur laughed and bent down next to Frodo.

"Are you waiting for her to save you?" he whispered, mockingly. "Did you think that just because she was oh so kind to you last night, you now have a guardian? Someone who's going to come and save you from all those mean people, eh? Well, I'll do you a favor and break you out of this naïve fantasy. She's under the Dark Lord's orders just like I am. If the Dark Lord doesn't tell her to interfere, she won't. If she's told to do exactly what I'm doing, she will."

Frodo had caught eye-contact with Célebriän and was silently pleading her to prove this horrible man wrong. She had promised to protection as long as she was around. If she didn't, it would be betrayal… or perhaps he had just been a fool for trusting her so impulsively. No! This couldn't be the case…

"Célebriän, please," he was begging now. "Remember what you said..."

With every second Célebriän stood there, the feeling that he had been purely misled by her grew heavier.

It seemed like a lifetime before Célebriän decided what to do. Like all elves, if she had been allowed to debate this for another hour, she would have gladly done so. But, she could not wait, nor could she live with herself knowing that she had deceived someone who had already been through so much. As she watched Hyarmur rip through Frodo's skin with that cursed thing again, a rage with an extremity that she had not felt in years seized her.

"Stop this!" she yelled. She was surprised to her herself. She sounded much younger somehow, like a girl telling a group of lads to leave some poor animal alone. This was so different than what she was used to: The silent watcher, passing by like a shadow, never revealing what she contemplated or wished for.

Hyarmur had stopped and came a few steps towards her, surprised by this outburst. Célebriän reached up to her arrow-sheath and fingered the long knife she kept there. It seemed like so long since it had been used in combat… far too long…

"So, you've decided to come and rescue your little friend here?" said Hyarmur. "Strange of you to lose your temper so quickly, Célebriän."

"Never mind that," said Célebriän in a tone of biting rancor. "I said to stop this! You say that the Halfling must be kept alive, then you try to tear him apart!"

"I wouldn't have to if he would only cooperate with me. There wouldn't be any harm done if he wasn't so..."

"Do not think that I am oblivious to your thoughts. You would do the same to him even if he gave you all of Minas Tirith's weaknesses, strategies and whatever else the Dark Lord needs to win the war! Do not deny that you yearn for that sick sense of power you reap from knowing the Halfling is at your mercy, from sensing how afraid he is of you, from hearing him wail as a result of your actions! But now, I tell you… no, I order you to stop!"

There was a long silence after this last declaration. Frodo waited in apprehension for someone to respond. He glanced at the spiked rod lying on the ground, then at Célebriän. She wasn't looking at him anymore, but was glowering at Hyarmur. The man and the Uruk-hai who had brought Frodo were watching their captain, nervously.

"Very well," said Hyarmur, reluctantly. "You're rather worked up today…"

Célebriän strode over to Frodo, who stared up at her, pitifully. She picked him up, trying to aggravate his new wounds as little as possible.

"Come now," she whispered. "Let us leave these foul scoundrels."

As they passed Hyarmur, he grinned and said, "Who would've thought you'd finally use the authority the Dark Lord gave to you all those years ago… all this time you've refused to take advantage of it. You're smarter now, but you know that regardless of how you chose to exercise your power, it comes from the same source as mine… we're very alike that way, aren't we?"

Célebriän ignored him. She left quickly with Frodo and together, they began to make their way back to the dungeons of the Pits. Once they were out of earshot of anyone else, Célebriän spoke just a little louder.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not sure why I waited… but know that what I told you last night still holds through. My vow will be stronger in the future. If I could free you, I would."

Frodo turned his head so that he was looking straight at her. She looked weary, as if her last act had required a great deal of energy.

"Why can't you?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"I…" Célebriän faltered. Once they reached the cells, she set Frodo down, gently, and began to rub a gel-like substance that she'd gotten from the arrow-sheath on his cuts.

"Frodo," she said. "Sometimes, no matter how skilled you grow with a knife or a bow, no matter how many ages you spend in this world, you still fear to accept a task where failure seems even the slightest bit likely. 'Uncertainty may indeed be the bane of many men and elves and all other races.' I remember someone telling me that long ago. But sometimes there are things we should not risk… that's the way escape at this time would be."

This sounded like a reasonable answer, but somehow, Frodo was not satisfied by it. Something in him refused to accept that things were the way they had to be. Whether she sensed or shared his emotions, Célebriän was looking even more unnerved.

"Try to bear it a little longer, Nandír," she said faintly. She looked down, and, as if she had noticed a great mistake, she said, "I'm sorry, Frodo! I'm slipping back to the past again."

Frodo didn't understand this statement or why she had suddenly called him, "Nandír". He sighed, tired, both from blood-loss and lack of sleep. He was feeling increasingly lightheaded. Célebriän had fallen silent. She continued to tend to Frodo's deep lacerations, but barely acknowledged him otherwise. A short while later, he drifted into unconsciousness and lay still in placid oblivion.

This however, did not last for long, for he soon began to writhe a little in his slumber, drawing in frenzied, shuddering breaths. He struggled against the ropes around his hands, groaning softly in distress and pain. Célebriän watched at him; there was a sense of horrible recurrence about this. At first, she decided that it was best to not intervene, but when Frodo began to twist and turn more violently, she reached out to try to comfort him.

At her touch, Frodo yelped and awoke suddenly. Wide-eyed and shaking with terror, he cowered. Célebriän leaned closer, to show him there was no one to fear, but he hid his face.

"Don't," he said in a quavering voice. "I can't bear it… I can't… stop… stop! Get away…"

Frodo looked up, but did not appear to even notice Célebriän. He was absorbed in a warped mixture of awful memories of what had happened at the Dark Fortress, and he could not escape. He saw faces creeping out of the darkness and felt the shadows brush up against him, wrapping around him like suffocating shawls.

Célebriän was speaking to him gently, trying vainly to bring him back. She knew in her heart that this was useless. Frodo barely heard her now; the few words that reached him were unintelligible murmurs. He had been trapped in madness from the first day he came to Barad-dûr, an occasional "relief" from the bitterness of reality.

"They're gone," Frodo was now talking to himself in a distant, thoughtless voice. "They've abandoned me… that's all there is… they won't come… none will come…"

"That is not certain," whispered Célebriän; although she knew he was not listening, she went on, growing more determined. "You may leave this place someday by another path besides death. I myself cannot succeed in freeing you, but I can attempt to aid you…"

She leaned closer to Frodo and said, "I must leave now to give you that." An idea was growing in her mind.

"Men of Gondor have strayed into the Land of Shadow, so they say," she thought as she left. "Not all of them will be able to flee with their lives, but perhaps some will with assistance… assistance that will be repaid. Salvation for you, Frodo, and redemption for me if fate is in favor of our plan."