A/N: This chapter is rated for violence. If you wish to avoid this you can skip down to the

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without missing much.

5. Star-glass

The world was black, so black that he could see nothing. He lay upon the stony ground, arms stretched above him, consumed by despair. His sight was gone. There was nothing but a void as far as he could see, but in the distance a fiery glow blazed. It was a fierce glare that illuminated nothing, that seemed to draw all remaining life and colour out of the world. He feared that glow more than anything -that it would utterly consume him, both body and fëa.

As if it sensed his fear the blaze slowly began to creep closer. He shut his eyes, but the hideous burning light seemed to be imprinted in his skull. Beneath his body he could feel rough, stony ground. It cut into his tender flesh, digging and gouging holes into him.

A ponderous weight lay on his chest so that he could scarcely breathe. The Ring. The all-consuming golden flame which was slowly beating his body into submission. Once again, It was crushing the breath out of him. His hand lifted to move towards It, but then stopped abruptly. His eyes flew open, suddenly aware of a constricting pain in his wrists and ankles.

A pair of bulbous yellow eyes leered down at him, giving his body a satisfactory sweep. With a surge of horror he realised that he was naked, chained helplessly to the ground with his arms and legs outstretched, and the Ring was plainly visible to all. The orc looming above him began to laugh and the roar of it cut like a whip, slicing into his body. No! he thought, this can't be happening! Not again!

He struggled to free himself, but the chains bound him too closely to the ground. His tormentor laughed harder and the blows from the invisible whip struck deeper. Crimson rivers of blood flowed from Frodo's body and every inch of him throbbed with fiery pain. The orc straddled him. Its eyes seemed to burn into his skull, aroused by the hideous spell-binding song of the Ring. It laid one of its hairy, taloned hands on his bare stomach and forced his heaving, squirming body to the ground

"Now, don't you worry, Mr Frodo," the creature mocked. "I'm just havin' a look at It. No harm."

The world seemed to freeze for an instant. Frodo gazed up at the hideous creature in disbelief. "Sam?"

"Sam!?" it roared, shaking with laughter. Frodo tried to shrink into the ground away from the rain of blows. The orc wiped its eyes. "Well, o' course, Mr Frodo. Who else would it be?" The voice was Sam's.

"No..." Frodo whispered, and then, "No!" he screamed. "You are not Sam! You can't be Sam! What have you done with him?!"

The fiend leered down at him and reached for the Ring. Frodo's struggles redoubled, but to no avail. A taloned hand lifted the Ring from his chest and yanked It over his head. The chain ripped at his ears as it came off. The orc stared down at him for a moment, the Ring clutched in its warty hand. Then slowly, almost sadly it said, "Don't you recognise your Sam?" It turned and walked away.

Frodo was incensed. He struggled wildly, and then suddenly was free. He rushed upon the orc-Sam, seized the knife in its belt, and plunged it into its belly. The orc looked at him with shocked brown eyes, the loathsome features fading.

A flash of fiery red and hideous gold swept by his eyes and a dark, whispering laugh sailed past his ears. He blinked. He was fully clothed; the Ring still hung as a terrible burden about his neck.

Sam sank to the ground before him, Frodo's orc blade buried in his stomach.

"I-I were just goin' - t' wake you, sir," he gasped. "I we-weren't goin' t'-t' take It, sir."

"Sam," Frodo cried, falling to his knees beside his friend. "Oh, oh, Sam. I'm so sorry. I...I didn't-I never meant-" He cradled his friend in his arms, babbling in his panic.

"Shh, shh," Sam whispered, gently brushing his hand across his master's cheek. "I know." His breath caught for a moment, and then he gasped and continued, "I know, sir. It-it weren't you, it were - that."

"Sam," Frodo's throat was tight with grief, "Please for-forgive me." He choked on the words, tears streaming down his face.

Sam tried to give him that cheery grin of his, but a stab of pain ran through his body and it twisted into a grimace. "Naught - t' forgive, s-sir. It's al-alright."

Frodo could already see Death's shadows on Sam's face and held him closer as if that would somehow reverse the consequences of his actions.

"Promise - me, Mr Frodo. Y-y' have t' - promise m-me," Sam was whispering faintly and Frodo had to lean down to hear it.

"What, Sam? Anything," he wept.

"P-promise - me - as you'll - d-destroy It. Please, - Mr Frodo," Sam was almost panicking. Both hobbits knew his time was soon.

"I promise, Sam. F-For you."

Sam nodded slowly. "They s-said. . . d-don't you. . . leave him. I'm - I'm sorry, - Frodo."

"Sam-lad, I am so sorry." Frodo was sobbing. "I can't do this without you. I need you, Sam."

There was no answer.

"Sam?" Frodo peered through tear-blurred eyes at his friend. Sam's eyes were blank and staring. His face was the colour of wax. "Sam?!"

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Belle jolted awake, her heart pounding as an unearthly scream echoed throughout the passages of Green Hill. Horrified, she leaped out of bed and hurried to Largo's room, barely pausing to grab her dressing gown from the end of the bed. Ruffians, she thought, her mind racing back to the last terrifying year. They've broken in and now they're killing Largo!

She was almost whimpering as she grabbed for his doorknob. It was roughly jerked out of her hands and she stumbled forward only to be caught by strong hobbit arms.

"Belle?" a gruff voice gasped.

Belle nearly collapsed in relief. "Largo," she babbled, "I thought they were killing you. That horrible scream-"

Largo's arms tightened around her. "I thought it was you, and that Lotho was doing you some mischief."

Belle pulled away a little and suddenly realised that her brother was carrying a very heavy candlestick. "Were we both dreaming?" she asked dazedly.

Another eerie wail rang through the passage, but this time it was abruptly cut off. The siblings froze in shock for a moment and then with horror Largo exclaimed, "Baggins!"

The two of them bolted down the passage, honour-bound to defend their guest whether they liked him or not. Largo tried to push Belle back as he threw open the bedroom door, but she ducked under his arm. The room was dark except for the light of the stars outside, and neither of them could tell if anyone was in the room.

"Frodo?" Belle called, rushing to the side of the bed.

"S-Sam?" cried a tenor voice that sounded thick with tears. "Sam, I'm sorry! I'm s-so sorry! P-please forgive me! I didn't mean it-I t-truly never meant-that blasted ring-I w-wasn't, oh, Sam!" He clutched at her, weeping. Belle shuddered and pulled away from his maimed hand, her bleary mind stricken with horror. What was he saying?

"Here now, Baggins, you let my sister be," barked Largo, dashing to the side of the bed. The hands mercifully retreated and Belle hastily took two steps backwards. The sobs died away, replaced by the sound of quick, but quiet, gasps. Largo began poking around the room as best he could, searching for intruders. Belle watched from her place by the bedside.

"What's the meaning of this, Baggins?" Largo demanded. His voice was rough from the fright Frodo had given them. "We thought that you were being attacked. What was that scream about?"

There was a moment of silence, and then a brilliant shaft of silver light blazed up from the midst of the bed-clothes, illuminating the entire room as if it were day. Belle fell back, blinking and shielding her eyes as Frodo held the glow aloft. "What is that?" she heard Largo exclaim.

"Forgive me," Frodo said in a quiet voice. "I fear that I had a nightmare. I did not mean to waken you, and I apologise."

"A nightmare?" Largo sounded utterly disgusted.

"Yes," came the quiet response.

Belle's eyes were adjusting to the light and now she saw that he was clutching the front of his nightshirt with his right hand, an unreadable expression on his tear-streaked face.

"Are you alright, Mr Baggins?" she asked.

Frodo nodded firmly. "Yes, Miss Bracegirdle. It was nothing."

"Nothing." Largo observed dryly. "It must have been quite a bit of nothing to produce a scream like that,"

A grey shadow seemed to pass over Frodo's face and his grip on the nightshirt-no, Belle realised, the white jewel around his neck- tightened.

"What was it?" Belle asked sympathetically.

Frodo shook his head. "It doesn't bear repeating," he replied. "Forgive my foolishness. It will not happen again, I can assure you. Please, go back to bed."

Largo gave him a sceptical look but shrugged his shoulders. "Fine," he returned. "Come on, Belle. Apparently Mr Baggins is too good for the likes of us to help him. He'd rather have his precious Sam."

Two red spots appeared in Frodo's chalky-coloured cheeks, but he said nothing, instead dropping his glowing hand to the quilt which still lay across his lap and gazing hard at it.

"What is that?" Belle asked suddenly. "Your fist doesn't just glow like that, does it?"

He looked up at her with surprise, and then his gaze fell to the white fire in his lap again. Slowly a beautiful smile crept onto his face. The fear and -whatever it was- which still lurked in the corners of his face seemed to vanish. "No. It's a gift that I received on our journey," he answered quietly. "A phial of starlight set amidst the waters of the Lady's fountain." He slowly uncurled his fingers from the object and held it flat in his hand so that she could see. Belle blinked as the pure silvery light blazed more brilliantly from Frodo's hand. She hesitantly ran her fingers over this glowing thing that she could barely see. It felt like a fine glass bottle, cool to the touch and quite small. Her fingertips brushed across his as she touched the phial and she felt him tremble. His fingers were cold to the touch and felt delicate in the dark. She dragged her attention back to the mystery in his hand.

"Where did you get it?" she whispered.

"The Lady Galadriel gave it to me," he answered. His hand closed around it again and he held it to his chest. "A light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out," he murmured softly, as if remembering something long past. The light welled through his fingers, illuminating him. He looked up at her and she froze, caught as if in a spell. In that silvery light he looked too beautiful for a hobbit. Almost she found that she could believe the old stories of Elves and lords and strange creature that she had heard when she was a small lass. In that magical light anything seemed possible, and she seemed to be standing before an Elf lord from one of her favourite tales from faunthood. She drew a sharp breath of shock.

"Is something wrong?"

The vision seemed to fade and the Elf lord dwindled back down to Frodo Baggins, sitting cross-legged on his bed with a blanket over his lap and a quizzical look on his face. She shook her head to clear it of the last vestiges of the dream. What poetic nonsense. Aloud she said, "No, I'm just tired." A wave of drowsiness swept over her and she realised that she hadn't been lying after all.

Frodo smiled at her. "Why don't you go to bed then," he advised. "Just close the door behind you. I'll be fine."

She blinked stupidly at him, and then noticed that Largo had left the room. She hastily bade the Baggins goodnight and slipped out. As she closed the bedroom door she thought that she could hear Frodo within singing softly.

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Translations:

fëa - soul