Warning: rated PG-13 for mild violence and ANGST!!

Last time: We left the Keeper with a horrible vow up his sleeve. Now weÂ’ll see how he carries it out.

~~~~*~~~~

It was a week later, and the four hobbits stood silently outside the massive carved doors of the council room, awaiting the councilÂ’s decision. They had been summoned there early this morning, and had been under excruciating trial all day, their nerves on edge. Punishment was unavoidable, but Aragorn had promised before it wouldnÂ’t be too harsh.

‘That’s very well,’ Pippin had thought earlier while searching the grave council member’s faces, ‘Considering Strider’s not here.’

What caused their friend to not be in attendance nobody knew. After all he had done, to disappear at the most critical moment was not in his character. Thankfully, Faramir, Steward of Gondor was present, looking anxiously about him for any sign of his King. His was the only friendly face amid the stone-faced elders.

Despite the protests of the hobbits, the council had ensued without the King, and the mood had worsened as the hours dragged on.

“Did I tell you I got a letter from Gandalf?” spoke up Sam, attempting to lighten the dark spirits hovering in their midst. Three anxious heads turned in his direction.

“No, you didn’t,” replied Merry, raising his eyebrow. “What did it say?”

Sam shrugged.

“I don’t know. I didn’t have time to open it.” He pulled a creased and dirty envelope from his pocket, handing it to Merry. “I was given it on the way here by a messenger.”

“Open it!” Pippin urged, trying to find something to distract him from the sick feeling harboring in his stomach. He felt as though he was about to retch any moment, so nervous was he. Merry put a comforting hand on his younger cousin’s trembling shoulders and was about to open the letter when the doors flew open. He stuffed it hastily into his breeches pocket and stepped forward into the room, his three companions following right behind him.

They stopped on a large mosaic of the White Tree set years ago into the center of the room and stood awaiting their doom. Faramir stepped forward and unrolled a large scroll. Merry thought he noticed his hands were shaking ever so slightly. He cleared his throat.

“It is the will of the Council ,” he read, placing emphasis on the word ‘Council,’ “That according to the customs long preserved by the realm of Gondor, the testimonies of witnesses, and the law of the Steward (here his voice cracked and he cleared his throat again before continuing), the accused must take on the sole responsibility of their actions. Therefore, concluding the said jailbreak was done in full knowledge of the law, it is the will of the Council to procure sentence upon the accused: Meridoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, and Samwise Gamgee.”

Faramir reclaimed his seat, looking sadly at the three very pale hobbits, shaking his fair head ever so slightly to himself. The leader of the Council then stood and took a scroll and read from it.

“Meridoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took,” he began, “You are banished from this realm forevermore. If either of you set foot inside the boundaries of this land again, you will be executed promptly and without trial. Master Took, your title of Knight of Gondor is removed from your person.”

Pippin cried out and clutched at MerryÂ’s arm to keep from falling to the floor. MerryÂ’s rigid face was set in a grim line, eyes staring straight ahead, seeing nothing at all. Frodo gasped in shock and stared franticly at Faramir. Surely it hadnÂ’t been his doing? The StewardÂ’s face was buried in his hand, his eyes focusing into his lap. But the Council member wasnÂ’t finished.

“Samwise Gamgee,” he continued, “You are also banished from the realm, but your sentence has been postponed until further notice.”

Frodo couldnÂ’t contain himself any longer.

“Is this it?” He shouted to the council. “Is this how you punish people for saving a life? They only broke into the jail to free me because you couldn’t take care me well enough!”

“Mister Frodo,” interrupted Sam, tears running down his face as he tried to get his master to calm down.

“Shut it, Sam,” snapped Frodo harshly, and Sam recoiled. He hadn’t heard his master use that tone since he had the Ring.

“Merry here,” Frodo yelled, motioning towards the grim hobbit, “Saved your city! Don’t you remember? He smote the King of the Ringwraiths! And Pippin! He fought for you! He’s a knight of your realm! How can you banish them?”

“Frodo….” Whispered Merry, but his voice was unheard by his furious cousin.

“What about Sam? He went into Mordor. He carried me to Mount Doom so I could destroy the Ring, and save you! If it wasn’t for Sam, I would have failed, and now you banish him for saving my life again!”

“That’s quite enough, master Baggins,” said the Leader of the Council, silencing him with a wave of his hand. “We know full well what the accused previously did. Do you forget that you too are in a foreign land? You might be banished along with your kinsmen. We have executed men for less than what they committed.”

Frodo could say no more. Seeing this, the Leader continued.

“Masters Brandybuck and Took, you shall be escorted to the borders of this land tomorrow. From there you may take whatever path you wish, as long as it does not lead back to Gondor. Master Gamgee, you will remain in the service of Master Baggins until he is ready to return home. Once you cross the border on that journey, you may not return.”

He nodded to the guards, and they escorted the four crushed hobbits from the room. As he watched their bent heads disappear through the closing doorway he delicately fingered a gold coin in the pocket of his robes, smiling evilly to himself as he thought of the thirty-nine more secured safely around his waist, hidden from FaramirÂ’s sorrowful gaze.

~

A dark hooded figure slunk silently down a hall in the palace, looking for a certain door. Ah! There it was! Set deep in, it was easy to miss if one didnÂ’t know where it was. But this person was very familiar with this door. He pulled a key from the folds of his cloak and turned it silently in the lock, pushing the door open on noiseless hinges.

All was still inside. The hobbits were conveniently occupied with receiving their ‘sentence’ at a trial bribed into occurring one day too early so the King would not be present.

The figure slithered around the room, looking for a pouch he knew contained herbs used for making a special tea, a tea only Frodo Baggins was acquainted with. It was easy to find.

‘These hobbits are too obvious,’ thought the figure as he removed the pouch from inside the teakettle. He sat down and opened it in his lap, the soothing fragrance drifting up to settle in his nostrils.

“Too bad I have to ruin this lovely tea with a little dried something,” the figure whispered to himself gleefully. “All it needs is a little water.”

He took out a small vial and dumped the brown, powdery contents into the bag, mixing it thoroughly with the tealeaves, chuckling all the while. When he had assured himself it was well blended, he smelled it again. Ha! Nothing could give it away. The Keeper returned the bag to the kettle and whisked out of the room, leaving nothing to indicate he had ever been there.

~*~

Merry mechanically placed his one and only spare shirt in his bag, sighing as he turned to see how his cousin was faring. Pippin sat staring blankly into space, empty bag in his hands.

“How could it come to this?” he asked no one in particular, and Merry shrugged his shoulders, coming over to put an arm around Pippin.

“I suppose this is why Frodo lost his finger, Mer.”

Merry looked at him quizzically.

“What do you mean?” he asked, and Pippin explained it to him.

“Isildur, a Man, didn’t get rid of the Ring in the first place. A hobbit found it, a hobbit destroyed it, and now it’s hobbits that are banished from the land of Men. If a hobbit had the Ring in the first place, it would have been destroyed long ago, and Frodo never would have inherited it or gone on this quest, thereby never loosing his finger.”

Merry stared at him blankly.

“That makes absolutely no sense, Pip,” he sighed. “What does it have to do with our present situation?”

“Nothing at all,” smiled the younger hobbit, attempting to be cheerful. “That’s why I said it.”

Merry rolled his eyes, searching through his pockets for his pipe. His fingers came across something rather different.

“Pippin!” he gasped, pulling it from his pocket. “It’s Gandalf’s letter!”

“Open it!”

Merry quickly slit the envelope with a knife and pulled out the letter, bringing it over to the firelight to read.

“What does it say?” asked Pippin excitedly. Merry’s widening eyes scanned the page quickly.

“Tomorrow,” he said at last, “We’re not going heading to the Shire.”

“Why not?” gasped Pippin. He could hardly believe his ears. If they weren’t going to the Shire, then where were they going? Certainly not back to Gondor, or to Mordor.

“Because we’re going to Rivendell, to meet Gandalf,” Merry said decisively.

“Why?” Now Pippin was more confused than ever.

“The letter didn’t say exactly, but apparently something’s happened. Something very serious indeed.”

~*~

Frodo wearily opened the door to his room and trudged inside, followed by a heartbroken Sam. The sun was setting blood red on the western horizon, and its dimming rays hurled a tide of scarlet through the window to lie dying in its misery on the floor. The fire had died down in the fireplace, but neither of the hobbits seemed to notice it, or care.

Frodo staggered to a chair and slumped down into it, resting his chin in his elbow on the armrest. Sam came up quietly behind him and draped a blanket over his sagging shoulders, sighing. Out of habit, he stoked the fire until it was burning mockingly bright in the over-sized recess of its abode. He then removed the pouch of herbs from the teakettle and set the water on to boil.

They had left Merry and Pippin a short while ago to solemnly pack their few possessions in preparation for tomorrow. Sam didnÂ’t know what was in his masterÂ’s mind, but he himself wanted to leave tomorrow with their friends. What good was it doing them to stay here anyways? True, they were waiting for the arrival of the party from Rivendell, but why should they stay if Merry and Pippin werenÂ’t there beside them? They had been split apart once, and Sam couldnÂ’t bear the uncertainty again. What if something happened to them and he wasnÂ’t there to help?

He couldnÂ’t stand the suspense any longer.

“Mister Frodo?” he asked quietly. Frodo’s only response was a muffled grunt signaling him to continue. Sam suddenly remembered Frodo’s outburst earlier and his wavering courage failed him. He mumbled instead

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Frodo replied softly.

Sam spooned two spoonfuls of the tealeaves into his masterÂ’s cup, swirling them around until the water turned just the shade Frodo liked best. He placed the steaming cup into his friendsÂ’ hands, and Frodo sipped it quietly.

“Sam,” he asked, “Why do you stay?”

The hobbit in question stared, dumbfounded.

“What do you mean?” he asked, studying Frodo’s face. The madness had left it a long time ago, indeed, Sam hoped it had gone for good. Now, his strained face was filled with remorse and self-blame.

“Why do you serve such a terrible master like me?” he whispered.

SamÂ’s heart broke at the false self-accusation.

“You’re not a terrible master!” He reassured soothingly. “You’re the best master, the best friend anyone could ever hope for!”

“No, I’m not!” Frodo’s voice broke like a child’s and a single tear escaped and ran down his cheek.

“Look at me. I caused the three best hobbits in the Shire to nearly die on a quest, and now I’ve caused everyone to be banished from Gondor. I testified at the council! I’m a……I’m a traitor.” He hung his head in shame and stared down at his teacup. Sam remembered when Frodo in his madness had called him a traitor.

“If you are, then so am I,” said Sam simply.

“What are you talking about?” Frodo asked in a strange voice.

“Do you remember when you called me a traitor in your cell?”

Frodo nodded sadly, his face turned away.

“Oh, please not that too!” he gasped. Sam noticed his hands were shaking.

“It was partially true,” Sam confessed. “I was angry at you for hitting me when you were mad, and….” Sam’s voice faltered. Perhaps now was not the best time to try and explain.

“And what?” Frodo asked, still facing the opposite direction. Sam was in too deep to stop now.

“Oh, please forgive me sir, I wasn’t thinking right. I didn’t visit you for so long because I….didn’t….I….wan….I wanted you to be there,” Sam finally blurted out. Frodo’s reaction was a complete surprise.

He leapt from his chair and spun around, grabbing Sam by the vest.

“What did you say?” he nearly yelled. A strange light was in his eyes, and his brow was creased in anger. This was not the Frodo Sam knew.

“What did you say?” demanded Frodo again, and seeing Sam’s hesitation, slapped him across the face. Sam gasped and tried to pull away, but some hidden power gave Frodo enough strength to hold fast to his clothing. Sam’s face stung where Frodo had slapped him. Was Frodo having another fit? No, it couldn’t be. Although he appeared terribly angry, the same wild, uncontrolled glaze was not present in his furious eyes.

“Did you say you wanted me to be there?” Frodo asked, shaking Sam. The only thing he could do was nod. Frodo slowly released him, allowing Sam time to back away.

“Mister Frodo….” He began, but was rudely interrupted.

“It’s Master Frodo,” Frodo hissed, and grabbed him again, this time by the arm. “Don’t you know your place?”

Sam was dumbfounded. He had never seen Frodo act this way before. He had never dreamed it possible. But it was.

“I said don’t you know your place?” Frodo asked again in a low voice. “Answer me!”

“Y…yes,” Sam gasped, and Frodo slapped him again, harder.

“And what is it?” He yelled.

“I’m your gardener,” Sam croaked, tears beginning to form behind his eyes. They weren’t from the physical abuse, they were from the words Frodo was saying to him. This couldn’t be his friend saying these things.

“Crying, are you, Sam?” Frodo mocked, an evil light in his eyes. “I’ll give you something to cry about!” And he threw him to the floor.

Sam backed up, his eyes wide with terror as Frodo advanced. He stopped suddenly, his back against the wall. Now there was no escape. Frodo grabbed him by his collar and hauled him to his feet, slamming him against the wall so hard his teeth chattered in his skull.

“My gardener should learn his place,” Frodo said in a low voice. “Since he dosen’t know it, he’ll have to learn the hard way.”

“Please, Frodo,” begged Sam, a request only earning him another hard slap, and another backhanded across his other cheek. Frodo ground Sam’s shoulders into the wall hissing

“What did you do to me?”

“I…don’t know….” Broke Sam, his voice catching in his throat.

“Yes you do!” Frodo pulled back his fist and drove it hard into Sam’s stomach, causing his breath to rush out of his lungs with a loud whoosh! He would have doubled over, but he was still being held against the wall. He shut his eyes against the pain and tried to focus on something, anything else.

“You know what you did to me, traitor!” said Frodo. “Tell me, what was it?”

Sam was still trying to catch his breath and wasnÂ’t able to answer right away. He was struck across the face again, this time with FrodoÂ’s fist.

“I…I left you…” Sam panted, and a slow smile spread across his master’s distorted features.

“Yes, that’s right. And where did you leave me?”

“In the dungeon.”

“Right again,” Frodo said. “You’re catching on fast, Samwise.”

Hearing his full name suddenly brought to Sam a wave of anger. Frodo had no right to be doing this to him! Why had he put up with it so long? Sam wrenched himself away from FrodoÂ’s grasp, and with a cry of fury his master sprang after him.

Sam tried to leap away, but somehow Frodo was faster. He caught him by the shoulder and spun him around, shoving him to the ground.

“Don’t you dare try and run away from me again!” he roared, kicking Sam in the shin.

“I’m sorry…” gasped Sam as he tried to back away. His retreat earned him a volley of kicks and blows from his master, accompanied by names.

“Traitor! Liar! Dog!” The words stung more painfully than the throbbing bruises. Sam didn’t know how long he could hold out. All he could do was curl up in a ball and try to protect his head, which of course left a whole new side exposed.

“Stop, please stop!” He begged at last, and magically the rain of torment ceased.

“I have stopped,” said Frodo sweetly, dragging Sam to his feet by the hair. “I’ll let someone else finish the lesson for me.”

He grabbed Sam by the arm and marched him, stumbling through the darkened corridor lit by an occasional torch flickering dimly on the soot-blackened wall. Sam was seeing spots before his eyes by the time they reached their destination.

“Welcome, welcome,” said the hooded figure who let them in to the dungeon. “What may I do for you?”

Frodo shook Sam roughly.

“I have a traitor here who needs to be taught a lesson. Unfortunatly I have not the tools with which to deal it out.”

“I have just the thing,” said the man with a cruel laugh. “Follow me.”

He grabbed a torch and led the two deeper into the tunnels and passageways underneath the earth, unlocking a cell door and herding them inside.

“This is just the place,” he advertised with t flourish. “Far enough away that hs cries won’t be heard, and close enough to be able to carry him out when he’s unconscious.”

SamÂ’s eyes widened in horror as the man held his arms while Frodo removed his vest, then his shirt, exposing his bare back and chest to the torch light.

“No!” He whispered as the man tied his hands together, threading the end of the rope through a large loop hanging from the ceiling.

Then the man pulled a long, black snake from the folds of his cloak and cracked it sharply in the air. Frodo stepped back and folded his arms, apparently watching the scene with pleasure. He nodded to the man, and the torture began.

One, two, three the whip slashed across SamÂ’s naked back, burning it with fire and scaring his soul with shame. He had never known such pain before, such searing awful pain. And Frodo was letting it happen. He was actually enjoying watching his best friend be tortured. He, the loving master Sam had known in the Shire, had sentenced Sam to this atrocity.

Sam threw his head back and screamed, not so much from the agony of body, but from the breaking of his gentle heart. And the whip gouged on, sending red blood coursing freely from the raw wounds.

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Sam gasped for air. He didnÂ’t know how long he would remain conscious. The man stopped, apparently his arm was tired, and Sam sagged against the rope holding his arms high. The tears were flowing hotly from SamÂ’s burning eyes. He wanted nothing more than to hide. He was so ashamed!

‘I’m finally getting what I deserve,’ he thought bitterly. ‘But I tried so hard to be a good servant! I thought I was doing the right thing.’

“Hello Sam.” Frodo tilted Sam’s chin up, searching his face for something. Sam shifted his eyes to the floor, humiliated to the point where he could no longer look his sneering master in the eyes.

“Ashamed?” Frodo asked evilly. “Good, you should be. Tell me, are you sorry for what you did?”

“Yes!” Sam burst out. “I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry, what?”

CouldnÂ’t he understand? Sam knew Frodo was his master! Why did he need Sam to say it every time?

Frodo held his hand out to the man and took the whip from him, cracking it once in the air for practice.

“It seems you still haven’t learned,” he sighed, and flogged Sam across his already torn back.

“I’m sorry, master!” Sam sobbed. This couldn’t be happening. Not Frodo! Having him beaten was enough, but to do it himself? Sam was crying now, and still the whip scourged on.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! SamÂ’s head slumped forward on his chest, and he knew no more.

~To be continued!~