Chapter 32: Dark Night of the Soul

Warning: This is rather violent.

Frodo crawled painfully to the heap of filthy rags in the corner. His back and chest burned when he had been whipped and he felt blood run down his legs. He did not make a sound, forcing his tears down, though his throat ached with the effort. He had promised himself that he would not utter anything when the orcs had come for him. He had tried so hard to resist them, but in the end they had had him as before, naked and helpless. He still had not said a word. He had not begged for mercy or for them to stop. He knew his words would have been useless. He had bit down on his lip until he had tasted blood when the whips came down on his fragile skin. He had not replied to any of their demands for information even though his body demanded he do so to stop the torture. He knew he couldn’t. He had to protect the Ring. He had to protect Sam. He had not uttered a sound until one of them had pierced him with a knife. And then he had screamed. He had screamed until his throat was raw and bleeding as the whips came down over and over. He had begged then. But he still had not given them the answers they wanted. "I don’t have it! I am alone!" he had cried with the last of his strength. "Completely alone!"

It was then after an eternity of that torment that his principal assailant had been shoved away. "He wasn’t to be spoiled!" Gorbag had growled. "You’ll pay in your own blood if he is too damaged to be of use to the Eye."

The other orcs had snarled, but had backed away. Gorbag had stared down at the small thing lying so still and silent in its own blood. He feared he had been too late, but after a long silence, the hobbit had stirred faintly. "Thank you," Frodo had murmured.

The orc had laughed then. "Don’t thank me. It would have been kinder to let them kill you, but that would have been all our hides. Your pretty skin is not worth that."

The Ring-bearer was left alone then. He had lain there for a long time on the cold floor until he gathered enough strength to crawl across to the rags and collapse upon them. His own words echoed endlessly in his head. "I don’t have it! I’m alone! Completely alone!" And so he was. He was empty. Like the abandoned city of Dwarrowdelf in Moria. Something that had once been beautiful and thriving but was now dead and populated only by darkness and evil. That were the only things that filled him now.

And terrible loss. The loss of the Ring. He felt hollowed out without it.

Loss of Sam. Where was he? Frodo tried to remember. He and Sam had fought Shelob and they had won, hadn’t they? But there Frodo’s memories ended until he had woken in the tower. What had happened to his friend? Was he even still alive? Did he have the Ring?

Loss of the peace he had had. He could see its light but it felt distant and cold, offering no consolation. Still he reached for it, but it seemed to grow no closer. He barely felt his physical pain as despair filled him. He had lost everything. His last thought before he lost consciousness was,

Why have you abandoned me?