The Redeemer: Chapter One *An End to Resilience*

Rating: PG-13 (for intense thematic material and explicit scenes). May be upped to an R.

Genre: Angst/Drama/Supernatural - may have some romance later on. A story concerning Frodo and Sauron, spinning off an alternate end to ROTK. There is no slash or anything of that nature involved.

Disclaimer: I don't own a single hair off the head of any of these characters, nor am I writing this fic for personal benefit. All of the names and etc. belong to JRR Tolkien, creator of Middle-Earth, so don't hire a lawyer and drag me to court.

A/N: This is my debut piece on FF.net, but I'm not telling you this so that I can receive special treatment of any kind. You readers may treat me in any fashion you deem acceptable to your taste in the review column. I come from a free nation and I believe strongly in freedom of anything, so review and flame at your whim. Any of the latter will be used to fuse the loose fringes of my nylon ballet tutus. Also, if you happen to think up any good constructive criticism or plot suggestions, feel free to give a speech. My apologies for a boring-as-hell first chapter; I write in the style of long, complicated plots and things don't exactly develop until some ways into the story. And lastly, my most profuse thanks to all who have endured through my first piece of Lord of the Rings fanfiction writing.

Second A/N: I have not often seen a fic that changes how the book ends, and even fewer that deal with Sauron the Dark Lord up close. And as LOTR did not exactly end up the way I wanted toI thought, what the hell

And now, let the madness commence

The Redeemer

"More lies within one's soul than the world perceives; and the one who misunderstands that soul most is himself."

- Anon.

An End to Resilience

Frodo stood at the rim of the fiery chasm, two unnaturally blue eyes staring lifeless and blank. Fathoms below his feet vermilion liquid hissed, churned, bubbled and seared in all its fiery glory; the ground shook continuously, and sharp jagged rocks tumbled and cracked from the walls down into the bright oblivion. He had sought this hellhole for long agonizing months, spent in bleak toil, hardship, dark despair and suffering - and now, against all odds, here he was, just a step and a toss away from Doom. It was, indeed, his own doom that he was ere to spell out. The Doom of him, the Doom of men, the Doom of elves and dwarves and Halflings alike; the Doom of the World and of All. It was a doom that both beckoned to him and frightened him.

So many memories, gone. So many people and lives, lost. So much beauty ad peace which he knew would also perish into the floes of Time. And all his happiness, forever made a delusional dream of the past.

This had been the toll the Quest of Mount Doom had taken upon him, and, oh, how he wished it had been otherwise. How he wished he could end this needless suffering.

Then why was he hesitating?

Frodo's chafed hands strayed to the Ring, and callused fingers closed about it. The metal band writhed and seethed in his tightly clenched palm. The Ring, obviously, had a mind of its own, and it was far more intelligent than many meager things that also lived and had minds and thoughts. It knew what was about to happen to it. It knew, and it didn't want it to happen. It didn't want to be tossed into the Cracks of Doom, to be unmade, disintegrated, dismantled, its power let to scatter to the wind. It was the closest it had ever been to his Master. Why was the Halfling so stupid? Why couldn't he just give it back to his Master?

Just throw it in, you fool.

Determination and desire warred for control in his blood, and Frodo felt as if a whole chorus of voices were speaking into his tormented mind at the same time. Voices screaming to make him throw the damned trinket in and finish everything for good; and other words, soft, tantalizing, but poisonous, promising unlimited power, wealth, and domination - if only he would spare the Ring its intended doom, and claim it for his own. He clutched the gold band as tight as his muscles would allow; and a trickle of blood, a darker and a more intense red than even the fire of the Mountain, flowed from where his fingernails broke into his skin and dripped hissing onto hot ground - a stark contrast from the ghostly pallor of his complexion. The Ring also sensed conflict in Frodo's mind; and it too fought within itself. And two powers warred for control as well: loyalty to its Master, and against it lust for the Halfling Ringbearer. Indeed, it knew how much power Sauron had, and it felt good to be connected to that power, to be used as a conductor for that delightfully black sorcery to course through, like a current. But the Halfling, it saw, also possessed a singular thing that Sauron, its Master, would never, ever come to possess in all his ages upon the world. Frodo had an unusual resilience against the Ring's fatal seduction, the strongest it had ever encountered - and that resilience was a power that, although the Ringbearer had no idea of it, equaled in some respects even the supposedly invincible forces of Mordor.

That power had been born from Frodo's purity. Purity in the wearer was something the Ring adored; for it relished in destroying that virtue, slowly, torturously, surely over time. Purity was the beginning from which all else sprang, in essence the very fuel that corruption needed. And the purer the beginning, the more thorough the corruption. Frodo had the most of it, of anyone who had worn the Ring - which was why the Ring had also desired to bind itself to Frodo when it first got fingered by the Halfling. But soon, the Ring discovered that Frodo's purity was anything but of the kind it wanted. Whereas others were made of ice and snow, dirtied, mired and melted away easily as a small rain or a muddy footstep, Frodo Baggins was a Simaril, a stone of Adamant - just as flawless, but hard, unassailable and immune to any outside force. The slow work of the Ring was only a mere layer of filth upon the outside; though it thickened and built upon itself gradually, nothing penetrated the inside, and the core of his soul remained untouched and unspoiled as it had been before. Then as time went on the Ring realized that it could not permanently mar its bearer as it had intended. So it resorted to dirtying and scarring his outside, hoping against hope that ultimately the filth would become too thick and solid to remove, that his purity would be forever obscured - and that his mask would force his soul to corrupt itself, like diamond breaking diamond.

The Ring was powerful; and the Frodo Baggins that now stood at the Cracks of Doom was unrecognizable. His appearance had been sullied and blemished; his face was blank of emotion. Only his eyes remained, for they were the windows to his real soul, but they burned with such a vengeance from the evil influence of the gold band as to combust any living thing that dared look directly upon them. He was oblivious to the sharp throbbing pain as his skin was torn by open his own nails. Nor did he notice the strange, bittersweet taste that had entered his mouth, or the pounding of his ears. The hiss, cackle and rumble of Mount Doom was enough to deafen, but Frodo did not hear any of it. He had his own battle to wage. Half of him wanted to obey the Ring, and the other half remembered the task he had bound his life to. He was torn exactly in two; no one side had edge over the other. And so he stood there, as straight and firm as a stone scepter; and struggled madly in himself while the forces threatened to rip, destroy, and tear him apart in their fury.

Throw the Ring in, you fool, throw it in!

Take me Frodo, take me for yourself. Claim me for yourself. I am yours, and you are mine. You know you want me.

The Hand of Doom awaits. Throw it in and all shall end, and all shall be glad. Do it, fool, for the love of Eru Iluvatar! I command you!

I know you cannot bring yourself to do such a terrible thing. Destroying such beauty and power is a terrible thing to do. Do you wish to see the former glory of Middle Earth fade into eternity? Do you want yourself to pass on into some shadow land, forever forgotten by these mean crawling creatures they call Men, while you could have been the Ruler of Middle-Earth, equal in stature and standing to the Valar, blessed with unfathomable power and inexhaustible life, the one and only Lord of the Ring?

It corrupts you, Frodo Baggins. Cast it forth and destroy it before it can harm you any further. You know what you must do! You must do this!

Everybody has lost things that are precious to them. Though they strive to find a way and redeem what they have lost, Fate is irreversible. But all that is an illusion, Ringbearer. Bind yourself to me, and in turn I shall manipulate Fate for you until it is the way you desire it. Together, we can bring back many things that have been lost in the past...we may correct things so that they never should have happened...

"There is nothing I wish to change!" a shrill voice cried out, and Frodo's free hand flew up and clutched at his throat. That voice had been his own. "I have lost everything, and yet I desire not to change anything. Things cannot be changed!"

You lie to yourself, Frodo Baggins. You do want this to change. You do not even know the true extent of power that I hold within myself. So you have lost everything? I shall regain everything for you. Stopping and reversing the great wheels of Time are only some of the things I can do...

No, Frodo, the Ring lies. It has always been lying. You have not lost everything yet...there is still something to live for. Somebody to live for. Somebody who you've treasured more than you've known...

"Mr. Frodo!"

Samwise Gamgee cried over the deafening din and roar of Orundin, his shorn, flaxen hair whipping about in a harsh gale. He stood barely ten paces behind his master, struggling to hold his footing as the mountain bellowed its fury.

"We've made it, Mr. Frodo!" shouted Sam. "Now all you have to do is throw it in!!"

Somewhere within Frodo, a piercing brilliance came shining out, breaking momentarily through the dark mask he wore. The voices died. Involuntarily, the shaking hand left his throat and it fumbled with the clasp of the chain that held the Ring. Undone, it slithered down and was caught deftly; and Frodo nearly dropped it when his hand stopped its fall. It was burning, having expanded to twice its original girth; and oh, it was so, so heavy. Heavier than he himself was. Yet Frodo still clenched it tightly in his fist, and if he had opened up his hand and tipped it palm-down, he fancied the Ring would still cling to him, like a magnet. Nor - oddly - did he want to give it up just yet.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam repeated, panic registering in his words. "Has it taken hold of you? Why are you waiting like this? Throw it in, Mr. Frodo!"

Frodo could not bring himself to do it. He simply stared at Sam, the Ring still in his fist, and Sam finally admitted to himself that his master was deranged. He stared back at him, dumbfounded, silent tears welling up and dripping down his sooty face.

There was a long-drawn pause, then Frodo finally stirred. Tears were in his eyes too — and a voice echoed again throughout his mind.

there is still something to live for. Somebody to live for. Somebody who you've treasured more than you've known

Somebody to live for

You have not lost everything yet

"" then it dawned in him. "Sam!" Frodo squawked, and he burst into tears, sobbing madly. His knees gave away and he slumped to the ground, feeling an overwhelming torrent of shame possess him. "Oh, Sam"

"Master!" Sam cried, and rushed to Frodo's prostrate form.

Frodo opened up his hand and the Ring dangled from the chain. He screwed himself up and eyed it with a glowering stare of hatred, and his fine eyebrows were arced thunderously. His resilience had overcome.

"I don't want you, you stupid thing!" he yelled, out loud, and his voice ricocheted around and around the stone chamber. "I don't want you!!" he repeated, and he sprang up to his feet, as if in a gesture of defiance to Sauron and Mordor. "I am giving you what you've deserved, all the past Age!! Embrace your own destruction!!" Then, swiveling to face the Crack, he revved his arm back, and prepared to toss the Ring in, but —

"MR. FRODO!!!"

Frodo was not fast enough to turn around. All he heard was a sharp hiss, a pressure on the back of his leg as somebody stumbled and ran into him, and a sickening wham accompanied by a bloodcurdling shriek. When he did whirl about, he saw a sight that made his very skin crawl. Sam was slumped pathetically on the ground, blood flowing in rivulets from the crown of his head; and being him stood a grotseque, slimy creature, with fish-like eyes, arms raised oevr his prey, bawling at the top of his lungs. Gollum.

"Smeagol!!" roared Frodo, a violent surge of anger erupting inside him. He felt a heat flash in his eyes.

Gollum advanced upon Frodo. "We wants it, yesss, my precioussssss!!!!" the creature seethed. "Nasty hobbitsss, we wants our preciousss BACK!!!"

Frodo stumbled back and shook his head furiously, eyes bulging. "It's not your precious!" he lashed back. "Get your filthy hands off Sam! I'm" he struggled to articulate his words as Gollum crept ever closer to him. "I'm throwing your "Precious" IN!!" Then, without looking back, he dangled the Ring over the open chasm.

"PRECIOUSSSSSS!!!" Gollum shrieked, lunging at Frodo, and in a whirl of brown curls the hobbit was slammed violently to the ground. Frodo's head and shoulders stuck over the ledge of the Crack, while the arm, with the Chain of the Ring interlaced in his fingers, was flung back precariously above the spewing fire. Gollum clawed and clamped a hand over Frodo's throat, as his other arm snatched repeatedly at the dangling object.

"WE WANTS IT!!!!" Gollum screamed. Frodo hacked and choked as air was denied from his windpipe, but then he mustered all his strength and tore free, roaring in retaliation and trying madly to strike the creature back. All he succeeded in, however, was wiggling himself farther and farther over the edge.

Without warning both of them were dealt a stinging kick that sent them rolling over. Gollum howled and a sharp nail flung up and slashed Frodo across the shoulder, drawing blood. Frodo furiously blinked tears back and saw that Samwise had sprung to life again. If possible, he looked madder than either two of them; and the sight of his own sweet servant transfiguring into a fury-crazed animal terrified him.

"GET OFF HIM!!!!" Sam bellowed. Suddenly the weight on Frodo's chest vanished as if by magic, and the next thing he knew, Gollum was being dragged back by a furious hobbit, yowling and thrashing. Then came a yell from Sam as teeth sank into his hand, and both tripped and tumbled, on top of one another. A mad fight ensued.

Frodo tried to move, but it felt as if clamps were put all about him, and he froze in place, watching on in horror. Sam and Gollum were screaming war-cries as they sparred on like two made things, striking each other, kicking each other, trying to strangle each other with their own bare hands. He saw as Sam attempted to fling Smeagol against the hard stone walls, only to be foiled repeatedly as his adversary would find some means to bite some extremely vulnerable and sensitive area. Sam then would backhand Gollum across his slimy face, but the creature would simply strike him back with twice the force. Of course Gollum was older by far; and his lifestyle with hunting down and strangling things for dinner gave him far more experience when it came to dogfights. Only a few blows had been exchanged; a few frenzied moves, some kicking and clawing, yowling and screeching, and Sam Gamgee was already loosing. Although Sam had started on top of Gollum, Gollum had always found ways to reverse their positions; and now the former was floored, pinned to the ground, struggling against the creature to no avail. They rolled around and punched each other in fury, while the Mountain shook and bellowed; and yet Frodo remained paralyzed, staring horrified, still not recovered from the aftershock of his own quick standoff with Smeagol. For a moment the Ring lay forgotten, leashed to his fingers by the chain.

"NobodyMaster Frodo!" Sam spat, in between grunts and gasps. "Don't even thinkabout trying to get that filthy Ring back!"

"It's my Precioussss!!" Gollum snarled back, and he dealt Sam a nasty blow on the temple. "Ergh!!if the nasty hobbitsss won't give my precious back, we'll make him pay, yesss!"

Frodo's heart leapt to his throat. Make him pay?!

Stupid Halfling, you have the One Ring of Power clenched in your hand, and all you do is sit there while your best friend fights your foe for you? Are you shameless enough to simply let events play themselves out? Your servant is a terrible fighter, and he shall lose against Gollum. Put the Ring on, you idiot, and help him!

No, Frodo you fool, no sacrifice is too great for the Quest. Pull yourself together and throw the Ring in! It answers to Sauron alone; it will never help you!

Damn the elves and their advice. They are weak. They do not admit that the One Ring is a greater power than they are. How many elves have been Ringbearers, anyway? What are even the holders of Nenya, Nilya and Narya in comparison, when not one has ever borne the One Ring? Frodo, you are an even more powerful character than those pathetic Quendi. Don't listen to their Council. You have power within you, and I answer to any power, not just one

Shut up! Shut up! Listen to ME, Frodo! If anything is damned, it's that Ring! You believe it, and it has corrupted you beyond our aid! Frodo, if you love your world, just do it, Elbereth Githoniel above!

"What more is there for me to love, besides Sam?" Frodo whimpered in response to the voice. "He is the only one I have left."

Then do it for the love of Sam! He has also devoted his life to this quest; do you want him to perish in vain? If he dies, finishing the Quest he has given his life to is only fitting —

Sam does not have to die, fool! Is death the way you repay him? If there is anything fitting to repay him with, help him, idiot Halfling, don't let him perish needlessly -

"Wha – " Frodo choked, utterly bewildered and lost; then a heartrending cry sent the voices fleeing from his mind. Sam was nowhere in sight. Horrified, Frodo leapt to his feet, then saw his servant, hanging at the edge of the chasm from his fingertips. Gollum was stomping on his only supports and every time the creature landed on Sam, the latter cried out in agony and slid another increment away from the ledge.

"No, Mr. Frodo!" Sam gasped, when he saw his master. Their eyes met for an instant; and Frodo's pupils dilated in terror when he realized the dullness in the gray orbs of the latter pertained to resignation. "Don't help me, Mr. Frodo – just do what you have to do. It doesn't matter what happens to me now!"

Frodo recoiled at Sam's chilling words. He was still immobile, mind blank with shock, and the Ring still dangled limply.

"Please, Mr. Frodo, I beg you!" Sam entreated, hot tears of pain coursing down his face. His legs were getting singed from hanging in the fiery Crack.

Gollum snarled once more and ceased kicking Sam's fingers. Sam quailed, stricken with terror, as he read the triumphant expression on the creature's face; and Smeagol knelt down and covered Sam's hands with his own. Sam knew what Gollum was going to do.

Smeagol smiled, the first ever smile he had given in hundreds of years; and it was a cruel, mirthless smile. "The hobbitsss shall pay," he cackled, and he paused for a split second, relishing in the silence. Then in one swift move he shoved Sam over the ledge.

There was not even enough time for Frodo to scream. A mere split-second elapsed and just as Gollum turned his back a pudgy hand shot up and by some miraculous means managed to seize the creature's ankle. Gollum roared as he fell, slipping away to the very edge; and as he did Orundin bellowed and a hill of flame lashed up, consuming him, who shrieked and then released his death-grip on the ledge. With one final "AAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!", the squirming form that was Gollum, wreathed in flame, fell down into the Crack and disappeared entirely from view. Before Frodo could run to the Crack a tremendous shaking racked all of Mount Doom, and he was thrown off his feet; but then as suddenly as the chaos had started things were suddenly quiet again.

Frodo pushed himself shakily into a standing position, eyes swimming, head spinning. No, no, this could not have been true. It couldn't have happened. Gollum had hit him so hard that he had passed out, right there on the ledge, and this was all some horrific fantasy he was experiencing in an unconscious state. The throbbing of his still-fresh cut on the shoulder, though, told him against all incredibility and denial that it was all true. Gollum had attempted to attack Frodo for the Ring; and Sam had placed his body in front of him; defending him. Sam had gotten knocked out; then Gollum fought Frodo; but before he could strangle him Sam again rescued him. Then the two had fought, while Frodo had been lost in his world, fighting against his voices, and Sam had been pushed over the edge by Gollum, only to reach up and drag Gollum down with him as he was falling to his death. And both had been, without a doubt, incinerated in the Cracks of Doom.

Frodo staggered to the chasm, which was now oddly still, hands held stiffly in front of him as if he was blind. In his ears there only was heard an odd sound of ringing; his knees shook, and dagger-blades were being thrust into his heart. Sam. Dead. Sam was dead. Frodo had seen him die with his own blue eyes, and at the last moment, when he had stood up to help, Sam had turned him down. So that he could sacrifice himself, and finish off Gollum, the one last threat to the completion of the Quest, with him. A horrid burning dryness reigned in those sapphire eyes of the Ringbearer, and an even more horrid lump was tearing its way up his throat. And then the tears came. Frodo sank, wailing, clutching the terrible pain in his chest, wetness dripping off his face without abandon, and he knelt at the very edge of the horrible chasm where his friend had met his death. Sam was dead, dead, dead.

"Oh, Sam," he cried out, his voice ragged. "Oh, Sam! What have I done to you? What have I done? Why did this have to happen to you? And of all places — oh, Sam — you had to perish, right here, where all things end, in the Cracks of Doom! Ohoh!" Screaming, sobbing, gasping, Frodo rocked back and forth violently, attempting to dispel the hellish sickness that raged in him. Something spontaneously gurgled up into his mouth, and he bowled over and retched — a mouthful of dark, red, brackish blood. A teardrop landed in the midst of the splotch, and some of the fresh blood turned the color of rust.

No sacrifice is too great for the Quest, Frodo Baggins. Pull yourself together. Send the Ring to its rightful doom. This is what Sam instructed with his last words for you to do.

Frodo took no heed of the voice, only sobbed and coughed compulsively.

Sam did not have to die, Halfing. Nor do you have to let things be this way. Now have you lost everything? And now do you wish to change what should not have happened? Sam did not deserve to die. Together, Frodo Baggins, we can bring him back, you and I. And we can also bring back the wretch, Gollum, and send him back to death the way he deserved to die by — not a quick burning — but everlasting torture. Do you want justice, Halfling? Do you want correction?

Frodo still sobbed, but his sobbing had quieted down some.

Still the Ring lies. It will never help you recover Sam, Frodo. It only wants you to keep it so that it may be sooner tracked down and returned to its master!

Do you still heed the pathetic council of the Eldar? It was their advice that doomed Sam to his unjust fate. It was their advice that tore your world apart for you. With the words of a Ring of Power, Frodo, nothing can go wrong. Trust me, Frodo. I am yours, and I serve you. I will expel your misery, right your wrongs, and give all I can create to you. I will return Sam to life, and I shall damn Gollum to Hell.

Frodo stopped sobbing.

FrodoI will return Sam to your side

and I shall damn Gollum to Hell

I will return Sam

I shall damn Gollum

No, Frodo! The Ring ensnares youit corrupts youit ensnares you

I will return Sam to you.

Sam.

Sam.

Sam!!

Frodo slowly lifted up the Ring. It shook along with the delicate hand that hoisted it up. Oh, what an object of beauty. Such simplicity. Such grace. Such power, embodied within it. Just a simple, elegant, gold band. And all the might of Arda lay within it.

I will return Sam to you.

And I shall damn Gollum to Hell.

Trembling fingers caressed the ring, so delicately it was as if the fingers feared touching it. ""quavered Frodo, "I"

I know you remember what Sam said to you. He wants you to destroy the Ring. But if you take me, Frodo, and use me to redeem him, he shall never grudge you disobeying the last words of his previous life. He will be glad that you disobeyed him. Who does not want a second chance at life?

And Gollum shall learn that the Ring never truly belonged to him

I will return Sam to you.

And I shall damn Gollum to Hell.

The last shred of any resilience left within the hobbit snapped. Tears running rampant, shaking madly, Frodo slowly slipped the chain off the Ring. The thing was no longer burning; it was warm, pleasingly warm, and it had become small enough to fit Frodo snugly. As if in anticipation.

Almost as in a final prayer, Frodo lifted his eyes to the Heavens — all that he saw was a ceiling of jagged rock, but it mattered not. The Valar would be able to see anything. The Ring was in his left hand; his right ring finger was extended.

"Oh, Eru," Frodo whispered, so softly as if he feared to hear his own voice; and he gulped. "I beg you help me." And then, shutting his eyes tight, he slipped the gold band on.

The world around him, amazingly, did not dissolve. Instead it remained, and it began to grow in clarity — getting sharper — sharper — sharper — so sharp and clear that Frodo's eyes seared. He felt a sickening sort of feeling blossom inside him, consuming him to the very fingertips and toes, elevating him mind, and slowly, as if his legs had turned into lead, he stood up. He no longer shook. Yes, it was sickening, butwas itpower? And all of a sudden, Frodo knew the sickness that they called Power. It felt as if he had all of Arda, what lay above it, and below it, under his thumb. The feeling was that overwhelming — that wonderful. And Frodo actually savored it. His eyes grew wide, and, even against his own volition, a cruel smile tipped at his parched lips. Was this really what it was like — to be the Lord of the Rings?

And even though it was a faint as a breath in a still wood, Frodo felt it. A slight chill, horribly familiar, entered his backside, and if it were not the new stature the Ring had bestowed upon him, he would have shuddered. But he did turn around. And he saw what had given him the chill. Behind him, advancing upon him, wreathed in black, in all their putrid glory, the Nazgul of Sauron.

The former Frodo Baggins would have succumbed to terror instantaneously, in that moment; for he was a hair's breath away from the ledge and would have toppled backwards into the Crack. But the Frodo that had the Ring, simply, turned around to face them in full; and amazingly, he drew himself to the tallest height he had ever stood at, and looked back at them in defiance. He had no reason to be afraid of them. They were only wraiths who owned the Nine Rings of Men; the Nine Rings which were under the dominion of the One. And now, Frodo the Halfling owned the One. And before Frodo could even gather control of himself, his voice spoke out — and he was subconsciously horrified of it, for it had changed into the terrible, stone-harsh wont of a mighty Noldor Lord.

"Give your farewells to the Shadow!" he cried in command, squaring his shoulders. "No longer do you serve Sauron. For now you serve me, the new bearer of the One Ring."

If the Nazgul were capable of emotion, they would have been somewhat frightened, briefly, at that moment. But Frodo still had yet to learn the true extent of the power of Sauron's wraiths; and for the Nazgul, this Halfling that commanded them was not real Ringbearer, a pitiful match for their Dark Lord. Instead they gathered themselves and laughed, coming to Frodo's ears as a high, shrill, venomous shriek; and they simply advanced upon him.

"Our master is Sauron," they hissed, "and no other master we have. To himwe shall take you, Halfling!"

"Sauron is no longer your master," Frodo retaliated, but a hint of terror began creeping back into his words. "I am your master. And youare not taking me anywhere!!"

"To Barad-dur, we will take you!"

The One Ring had deprived Frodo of his common sense; for if he had not been in its clutches he would have given up his impression and run right there and then. All Frodo saw was some sort of a cloud forming in front of him; as soon as it gathered it turned from black, to smoke gray, and then to red; and before he could even register what was happening to him it charged forth. Thousands of arrows seared right through his chest. The sheer force of the curse sent his hair into a billowing gale, and his gray cape whipped harshly, fluttering like a rag. Ah, pain, beyond pain, and Frodo screamed, screamed and screamed, so loudly that it was perhaps heard by the Riders out on the plains of Rohan. The vision blurring before his stung eyes, his limbs going numb, his face convulsing in agony. All he heard was a hellish rushing, like the din of the floodwaters of Bruinen, and the cacophony of explosions and shattering glass panes; his eyes saw nothing but spectacular bursts of colors and blurs. Then a lightheadedness overtook him. The sounds and sights disappeared, leaving only the pain, and the sheer weight of the Ring upon his fingerand the black power of Mordor consumed Frodo completely. He gave one last anguished sigh, and night fell before his blue eyes.

A/N: Faintly related, hot off the press - MAJOR SPOILERS - TheOneRing.net reports that the current running time for The Two Towers film stands at 3 hours and 14 minutes. And the Battle of Helm's Deep is 50 minutes, give or take. Plus, they've really filmed an Ent battle! All right!

A/N: Thanks again to all who have given their precious time to reading my first chapter. I am scrambling on the second installment. Until then, kudos! ~ Verok