The Master of Bag End

by FrodoII

Disclaimer: I don’t own Lord of the Rings.

~Chapter 20~ Counter Play

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“Take you?” Amber sneered viciously, coming to stand face to face with the contained, yet controlled Frodo. Though it hardly seemed possible, her eyes narrowed until it appeared she could barely see from them, and then suddenly she stepped back with a gracious sweep of her hand.

“Why should you take his place? If I had wanted you to be in his place, I most certainly would have put you there. I have waited long for such an even to occur, why now should I change my mind?”

“Because,” explained Frodo calmly and evenly, “as you said yourself, I will not give away the location of the treasure, assuming I knew where it was, even unto death. If I, in your reasoning, were so stubborn to rather die than speak, why should I be more gracious to another not myself?”

Frodo hated saying the words, for they were an utter falsehood. He hoped Sam would understand, considering their present situation. The walls of the small room seemed to close in around him and Frodo imagined the cold boards of the floor pressing against Sam’s chubby cheek. He remembered the feeling all too well and would not wish it against his worst enemy.

“Do you realize what you are saying?” Amber said cautiously, raising an eyebrow. “If you were in his place, you would be the tortured one.”

“No!” Sam suddenly cried, twisting around to plead with his friend. “Don’t do it, Mr. Frodo!”

But Frodo only drew himself up taller and staring Amber boldly in the face he said clearly

“So be it.”

The hobbit lass nodded her head with a crooked grin and Frodo was shoved roughly forward, sprawling on the floor beside the freed Sam. As the ropes were twisted around his wrists, he tried to grin at his friend, hoping to spark some light of hope into the situation, but the tears in Sam’s eyes betrayed a great despair.

Frodo was yanked roughly to his feet his hands bound in front of him, and was held facing the lass behind the conspiracy. A wicked grin was on her face, and she applauded loudly.

“Well done, Mr. Baggins, well done,” she said, and Frodo realized with shame and horror this had been her intention all along.

“You used Sam to capture me!” he accused, glaring at her. “You knew I would take his place. But why go to all the trouble?”

“All in good time, sir.”

“ButÂ…” Sam protested, held on both sides as Frodo had been a moment before. He was silenced, however, by a piercing glance from his friend. Frodo knew she planned to use his own physical pain to wrench the location of the treasure from Sam, who would do anything to save his master.

Thus was the one and only flaw in Amber’s plan; for although Frodo did, in fact, know the location, Sam did not.

“Sam, I’m older, and I can endure more. Don’t worry about me,” he said hoping to soothe the anguished young lad whose eyes were already brimming over with tears. He was, after all, only thirteen years old and not even half of-age.

“I can endure more, Sam, don’t worry about me,” Amber mocked in a high voice, and laughed loudly. “We’ll see how much you can endure, Mr. Baggins.”

As if on cue, Frodo was pummeled, hard, in the stomach and he fought to control his breathing. He knew if he broke, Sam would too.

‘Not only the fate of Bilbo’s treasure, but of countless other hobbits rests in my hands,’ he thought with surprise. ‘Please, help me.’ The plea came without thinking, and he was shocked to find it. ‘It’s as if I was talking to someone, yet, somehow, I feel that He heard me.’ He didn’t have much time to mull over it, however, before he was stuck again, in the same spot, and he found it slightly harder to repress his facial emotions. The pain hadn’t exploded yet, but he knew from countless experience it would soon.

“Endurance, Mr. Baggins,” Amber said, pacing in front of him, hardly lifting an eyebrow as Frodo was slapped viciously across the face.

“It’s strange how a healer can so quickly become the torturer,” Frodo said evenly, and the produced effect was exactly what he had hoped for.

“Do you presume to insult my healing skills, again?” she seethed, towering over him.

“Presume? No, quite the contrary.”

Quick as a snake, she raked her fingernails across his cheek, leaving three oozing stripes of blood in a stinging trail behind her. She snatched a long, knobbled stick from one of her hired hobbits and flipped her head around. Frodo was spun roughly until his back was facing her, and she wasted no time. Again and again she brought the stick down, screaming across his back. He bit his lip to stifle the cries of pain, and he shut his eyes so tightly tears leaked out of the corners, but he uttered not a word. He couldn’t, because of Sam.

~

If Sam hadn’t been supported by the thugs on either side, he would have collapsed, bawling by now. He couldn’t bear to watch the horrible woman strike his dear friend’s back over and over, and he couldn’t stand the small droops of blood oozing through the white shirt.

But what was most unbelievable was that it was happening here, in Bag End! This smial was supposed to be a place of laughter and merry-making, not torture and brutality.

‘Please let my Gaffer come, please let him come and find us,’ Sam begged in his mind, and he too was surprised to find himself talking to Someone. It was comforting somehow to feel as though he was being heard, and gradually a peace settled over his mind. A gentle trickle, like a brook on a sunny day, started in the back of his head, gingerly spreading its warmth into the furthest corners, dispelling all black, paralyzing fear and replacing it with a golden mist, sweeter and fuller than anything he had ever experienced.

“Do not worry,” a Voice said, “I am with you.”

“Yes,” Sam whispered, dried tears on his face. “You are with me.” And he tightened his jaw, raised his head, and stared Amber squarely in the eye.

“Stop hurting him,” Sam said evenly and her stick fell, a grin of triumph on her face.

“So, you’re ready to talk?” She asked, coming nearly nose-to-nose with him.

“I am, but not about no treasure.”

She sighed, but threw the stick away.

“Of course you’re not going to talk about the treasure; you’re going to tell me where it is.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, Sam!” Frodo cried, and was immediately silenced by a thick blow.

“First, tell me why you’re looking for it,” Sam said evenly. His words came too naturally to be his own, for Samwise Gamgee would have stuttered and stumbled over every syllable.

“Why I’m looking for it?” She asked, clearly surprised at such a question. “Well, why else? To get rich.”

“And what would happen once you had it?” he asked.

“Why, I’d pay these fine hobbits and then enjoy it. Party, have fun, be happy.”

“Really? You’d be happy, until it’s all spent. Then what?”

Amber paused for just a second, and then turned on him ferociously.

“Your friend is going to pay for these silly questions of yours,” she hissed through his teeth. “I am in charge here; I should be the one asking you questions.”

“Then why aren’t you?” Frodo asked defiantly, showing he was beaten but not broken.

“Because I have already asked my question, Mr. Baggins.” Her voice was barely controlled, and it was apparent to all that she was fighting to regain the upper hand. The atmosphere in the room tensed even greater with a long silence, broken only when one of the henchmen shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the next. Amber was trying to calm her raging nerves, Frodo was kept busy trying to suppress his pain, and Sam was asking the Voice for more help, not only for himself but also for his friend.

Suddenly, to his surprise, he was hurled forward roughly and pinned against the floor with a bony knee.

“Tomo!” Amber barked, “Release him! Mr. Baggins made us a deal, and we must honor that.”

“Why?” the hobbit retorted as he reluctantly pulled Sam up. “He ain’t given us the treasure yet! ‘e’s just stallin’ fer time. Someone could come by the time they give us the treasure!”

Amber shook her head confidently.

“No one is coming by tonight,” she said evilly. “I’ve made sure of that. There are watchmen hidden all around, ready to deter anyone who comes by.”

“So that is the cause of your audacity to hold my captive in my own home,” Frodo said through clenched teeth. The pain had begun in earnest now, and he fought to smother the groans that would betray what he was suffering. Suddenly, through the haze clouding his mind, he remembered something, and he made a decision.

“Audacity? Boldness? You didn’t think I had it in me, did you, Mr. Baggins?”

“If you mean to imply I did not know what you were capable of, then I’m sorry you were misled. I only thought you had more character than to rob an invalid.”

“But no longer is the invalid an invalid,” she said with a smile, apparently enjoying the game of words. “Yet he shall be soon if he insists on being so uncooperative. But enough talk.”

Frodo tensed his muscles for the coming abuse, and but it never came. When he opened his eyes, he found Amber barely an inch away, smiling sweetly.

“Experienced, are we?” she mused thoughtfully. “How about a game of nerves?”

She reached into a wide pocket and her hand settled on something, but she changed her mind and withdrew her empty hand.

“Later,” she explained, then reached into another pocket and displayed a small vial.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked, waving it in front of Frodo’s face, then Sam’s. “It is acid mixed with poison from poisonous ivy, oak, and other special herbs. I made it especially for you, Mr. Baggins, since Samwise here must be well acquainted with the effects of such plants.”

Sam gasped as Frodo’s arms were yanked in front of him and his shirt sleeves were pulled up to reveal the soft, pale insides of his arms. Amber uncorked the bottle and held it poised above them, a deadly curve to her lips.

“I don’t know where it is!” Sam cried. “Frodo never told me!”

She looked to her captive for confirmation, and was met with a small, curt nod.

“I never told him,” Frodo admitted, and with one swift move, she re-corked the bottle, shoved it into her pocket, and shoved him to the floor.

“You stupid, worthless piece of dirt!” she cried as she struck him again and again. “I will beat the location out of you if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Stop it!” Sam cried, tears running down his face as he pulled helplessly at the arms that held him. “Leave him alone!”

“You!” Amber hissed, jerking from one victim to another. She towered over Sam until he seemed to shrink into the floor, eyes glittering like cold rubies. Pulling out the bottle, she uncorked it and jerked Sam’s jaw open, preparing to dump its venomous contents down his tender throat. However, before she raised the bottle she was knocked off balance and wrestled to the ground as Frodo flew into her from behind. Half the poison splashed from the bottle and landed with a hiss on the floor, and the two wrestled viciously for control of the rest.

It would have been better for Amber if her hired ruffians were loyal, but instead of jumping in and saving her they stood back and watched the play of events with amusement. They were along only for the money, and they wanted to find out what she planned on doing to Frodo for ruining her revenge.

It was hardly an instant before Amber had Frodo pinned beneath her weight, for the hobbit still had his hands bound and was in quite the disadvantage. She held the bottle aloft, and hesitated for effect, preparing to empty the searing contents. However, in that split second of pride, Frodo flung up his bound hands to protect himself, striking the bottom of the bottle and sending the poison splashing into her face.

Amber screamed and reared, hands flying to her dripping face, then screamed all the louder as her hands were coated too. Frodo rolled into a corner, as far away from her as possible, and hid his face from the gruesome spectacle. He didn’t dare look, for a slight hissing and the smell of burnt flesh permeated the air, sick and sweet. The echo of her tortured screams pierced the heart of Bag End, and he couldn’t help but feel pity for the creature, so consumed with greed and now destroyed by her own folly.

Slowly the screams died away into pathetic whimpering and choking, and he glanced up just in time to see her fall to her knees, reaching into her pocket.

“YouÂ…cannot stop me, Baggins,” she croaked. “I still haveÂ…one moreÂ…card to play.”

One of the ruffians pulled her to her feet, and the rest left the room rather quickly, throwing Sam to the floor in the opposite corner from his friend. She dragged herself up and Frodo gasped at the sight of her burned face. The skin had peeled off most of it, leaving her cheeks and forehead raw and bleeding. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were singed off, and her eyes were slowly corroding away, but a smile was on her strangely intact lips.

“Say hello to my friend,” she announced, and threw a small glass jar to the floor in the center of the room, shattering upon impact. Almost instantly, from the broken shards a very black, very angry snake crawled forth.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, then left the room, locking it behind her.

~To be continued!~