Title: Naked In The Dark

Author: Faust

Email: goblinarcher93@yahoo.com

Rating: R, for non-consensual

Warning: This is slash. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns these illustrious beings, not I. Mine is just to have wicked good fun with them and then put them back where I found them when I'm finished.

Summary: Frodo is captured by Orcs and taken to the tower of Cirith Ungol. A story about what might have happened to him there. So I guess you could say AU.


The darkness was slowly slipping away from Frodo's mind. Little by little the light and distant noises of his surroundings were slowly filtering down through his subconscious and causing him to stir, his brain to sluggishly awaken. He was confused at first, as though staring up at a spot of light from below several feet of murky water. His body was sore and heavy, this much he was aware of. His spine in particular was stinging with a muffled pain that he couldn't pinpoint right away. As the film slowly continued to clear from his mind the light grew brighter and partial memories began to resurface.

Where am I? Frodo thought tiredly, and then felt a sharp rush of panic as his last memory flooded in. He had been standing at the foot of the tower at Cirith Ungol, after frightening away that horrible creature. He was staring up at the tower, wondering how to best get inside...

A crack and a sickening pop, something hard and sharp plunged through Frodo's back. He felt a burning pain rip through his chest. A fire spread within him, then a sickening numbness, and at last he fell into blackness. Now he was dimly aware that he was lying upon cold stone, and as his consciousness continued to leak through he became aware of the burning lashes across his legs and back. The pain in his spine was now excruciating, causing him to wince and moan when he attempted to move. He also discovered that his hands were bound in front of him at the wrist, and his feet bound together at the ankles. He tried to lift his head and open his eyes, but his head felt heavy as iron and pounding with nauseating agony. At first his eyes couldn't adjust to the room. The light, though dim, made his head pound even more. He rested his cheek against the cold stone with a sigh, almost lulled back into a painful sleep by the constant low thrum from somewhere deep and far away inside this strange dark place, wherever it was.

A pair of low, guttural voices shook him back to reality. Orcs, or Uruks, he could never tell the fell beasts apart, were approaching. He knew now where he was. He had been captured by Orcs and brought to the Tower. Terror seized his heart like an icy fist and he had to struggle not to cry out in panic. This room where he lay... he forced himself to lift his head and peer around a little. A filthy, dank room lit only by a single red lantern hanging in the middle of the ceiling, glowing a hellish dim light and throwing long grotesque shadows upon the walls. Two of these shadows were growing smaller and smaller, Frodo realized with a start, and these he soon learned belonged to the two approaching Orcs who were arguing in the corridor as they neared the door. Frodo tried hard to lie still and feign unconsciousness, though he found it difficult due to his rising fear and the singing pain in his back. It was then that he realized he no longer had the Ring. The familiar solid silver chain the Elves had wrought for him was gone from his neck, and with it the cursed weight it bore.

"You're not going to do anything. We've got orders, he's to be stripped of everything and it's all going to Lugburz." The deeper voice of the two Orcs growled as they entered the room. "All of it."

"Hai!" hissed the other, his voice wicked and gruff with hatred. Frodo doubled in pain as the Orc kicked a giant black boot into his stomach, a gesture intended not only to hurt him but also to roll him over on his back. Frodo flopped over onto his back, finding himself face to face with a frowning green-skinned Orc who scowled down at him as though he were no more than rotting carrion. "What does he want with this dunghill rat?" he spat. "Let's bleed this worthless swine! Then we'll strip him!"

The taller, dark skinned Orc stepped forward and jabbed the shorter Orc in the chest. "Back off, Gorbag, you vulture, we've gots orders! He goes alive to Lugburz, along with all his things. Or you'll have to answer to more than just me." He emitted a low growl and fingered the crude blade by his side.

Gorbag grunted in defiance and continued to stare down at Frodo. The hobbit lay writhing in fear and agony on the black stone floor between them, trying to wiggle his wrists free of the coarse ropes as his eyes darted wildly back and forth to each of the Orcs.

"Quit your squirming!" snarled Gorbag, leaning his face closer to Frodo's. "You're not getting out of here. You heard! We have to strip you down!"

The larger Orc pulled out a long knife and slit the bonds on Frodo's wrists. He grabbed Frodo's arm and jerked the Hobbit upright to a sitting position. Gorbag began roughly to undress him, yanking off his coat first and fingering through each of the pockets. In his raw panic Frodo's mind was racing. They would be taking him to the Eye. What could he do? Gorbag's grip was firm as steel on his arm as he groped at the binds around his ankles. They had the Ring, what more could they want from him?

"Let me go!" Frodo cried. "You have what you want, now let me go! I am of no more use to you!"

The dark Orc struck Frodo across the face with the back of his hand. "Silence, you fool! He wants all trespassers brought to Him. We will let Him decide what to do with you."

At that moment three more Orcs crept into the room, their dark armor clunking as they slouched along, their sharp black eyes leering hungrily at Frodo.

"Is this it?" said one, sounding pleased. "Is this the rat you took from Shelob?"

The other Orc leaned close to the panic-stricken hobbit, laughing in his face with foul reeking breath. "He's just a little thing. What does Lugburz want with such offal?" He reached out a blackened claw to grasp Frodo, but Gorbag shoved the Orc away.

"Don't touch him, scum! He belongs to me and Shagrat. We're under orders to bring him alive."

"Take him to the Tower," barked Shagrat. "I don't trust these dogs!" And with that he shoved aside one of the Orcs and stomped out of the room.

Gorbag grinned at Frodo. "We're going to have a little fun," he growled in his ear.

Frodo fought the urge to break free from his grasp and flee from the room now that his hands and feet were untied. But he knew he would not even make it to the door. The Orc stood up and grabbed Frodo, locking an arm tightly around him and carrying him through the corridor like a sack of potatoes. The disappointed grunts of the other Orcs followed them down the hall. They entered a small room which was equally as dank as the last, with a small hatch in the ceiling. A rickety little ladder was propped up in the hole, and this Gorbag began to climb with the hobbit clasped to his chest. At the top was a dark room with a low ceiling, lit only by another red lantern. Gorbag threw him down onto the floor which he hit with a hard thud, feeling the sharp pain throb in his back. He scrambled to the nearest corner where he cringed, huddled away from the towering Orc.

Gorbag pulled out a long cruel blade with a sickening clanging sound, and jabbed it at Frodo. "Go on, then! Take off your filthy little clothes!" Jab jab.

Frodo's fingers fumbled stiffly at the buttons on his shirt. Burning tears were spilling from his eyes, though he was only vaguely aware of it. The Orc barked for him to hurry up. He tried very hard to undress quickly, not wanting the foul goblin to do it for him. But his arms and chest were sore, and moving was difficult. He took off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. He pulled the mithril over his head and dropped that on top of it. Gorbag eyed the mithril with interest.

"Go on! The pants, those too!" He jabbed the blade at him again, this time nicking him on the arm. Frodo let out a gasp. A little blood trickled down his wrist and hand as he struggled to undo his breeches. Gorbag grabbed the wrist and pulled Frodo to him, dropping the sword to the stone floor with a loud clang as he did so. Frodo cried out as the Orc ran a cold black tongue down his neck, his hot breath rasping in his ear. His free hand groped at the halfling's breeches, sliding roughly down into them and grabbing Frodo between the legs. The terrified hobbit let out a scream, and Gorbag pinned him to the floor, clamping the other hand over his mouth.

A wave of nausea washed over Frodo. He had never felt this alone or in such pain, or so sick with fear in all his life. Unconsciousness fought to tow him under, but he struggled against it as well as he could, fearing what they would do to him if he passed out. Gorbag squeezed him hard, and behind the battle-scarred hand the hobbit wailed in horror. The Orc growled something excitedly in his ear in the Black Speech, roughly caressing him. The weight of the Orc on top of him was almost more than his back could bear, and he tried to scream and squirm out from under him.

Sam, thought Frodo, oh Sam I wish you were here. I wish I were anywhere but here. Oh Sam, I hope they did not get you too...

Abruptly Gorbag flipped the halfling over onto his stomach, then let out a low chuckle. The Orc touched a spot on his back and Frodo howled with pain.

"Ah, Shelob got you good, didn't she?" his gruff voice breathed in Frodo's ear. "Left you a good hole with her stinger she did."

He drove his finger into the small hole, now crusted over with blood and dirt. Frodo could feel fresh blood dripping from it as the Orc twisted his gnarly finger into the wound. He wailed and thrashed under Gorbag's crushing weight, the searing pain in his back blinding him momentarily. The Orc ran his tongue along the side of his prey's face, breathing the Black Speech into his ear as though he were talking to a lover. His free hand ripped at Frodo's breeches until he had torn them off, and with fingers calloused and scarred he stroked the hobbit between the legs as he wailed behind the Orc's clamped hand. In spite of himself Frodo became aroused, and this frightened the hobbit almost more than he could bear. He had never been this close to anyone before, and certainly never imagined his first time would be with an Orc.

So this is it, he thought to himself, this is how the world ends. This is what Middle Earth has come to at last, and all shall now be in darkness. I will never see the Shire again, or my Sam, dear gentle Sam...

He tried to think of the Shire, to remember the smell of the green grass... he tried to remember what his uncle Bilbo looked like, and what Bag End felt like when he was curled up with a pipe in front of the fire... but all he could really think of was the rough Orc on top of him, violating him, leering at him. The more Frodo felt himself become aroused against his will the more the Orc became excited, and he took his hand off the halfling's mouth long enough to kiss him, the cold black tongue squirming between his teeth. Frodo felt the blood rushing to his sex in pounding waves, a sickening feeling of pleasure and intense anguish washed through him and at last spilled out onto the floor beneath him. Gorbag seemed satisfied, licking the wetness from his fingers and mumbling the Black Speech into the hobbit's ear. Again the Orc kissed him, but pulled away quickly as the ladder below began to creak as if supporting a great weight. Gorbag climbed off of Frodo and stepped away from him just as Shagrat's head appeared in the hatch.

"What did you find?" the large Orc growled. Gorbag grunted but said nothing, shoving the pile of clothes over to him with the end of his blade. Shagrat pawed eagerly through the pile, grasping the mithril right away and holding it up like a prize.

"Well what's this! A shiny Elf shirt, no doubt!" He held it up and even in the dim red light from the iron lantern it shone and shimmered like a silver gem. He tried to put it over his head but it was far too small.

"Hands off!" barked Gorbag in a rage, gripping the cruel sword in his hand and pointing it at Shagrat. "Everything goes to Lugburz, have you forgotten? Drop that shirt, or I'll run you through with this blade!"

Shagrat snarled, baring rows of jagged yellow teeth. "I don't take orders from you," he hissed, and drew his own crude notched dagger. Frodo cowered in the corner as the two Orcs fought. Gorbag swung at Shagrat but the taller Orc was able to dodge it, and then plunged his blade through Gorbag's chest. Gorbag fell gasping to his knees, his hands grabbing blindly at the blade sticking out of him. Black blood trickled from his mouth and he slumped to the floor, where Shagrat proceeded to use his boot to push him down the hatch. Frodo heard his armor-clad body hit the floor at the bottom with a loud clank. A murmur of excited Orc growls and squeals could be heard rushing into the little room below where his body lay. As Shagrat continued to look through Frodo's belongings he seemed oblivious to the commotion on the level below them. The din of Orcs howling and shrieking with rage could be heard through the trap door, and Frodo heard the clash of metal.

Finally Shagrat took a whip from his belt and turned to the cowering halfling. "You've caused enough trouble here," he spat, cracking the whip across Frodo's legs. He howled in pain and the whip licked his legs again. Below them the rumble of voices was escalating into a frenzy of clashing blades and snarling Orcs. Frodo felt his eyes darken, and his vision became black and blurred at the edges. He thought briefly he was going to be sick, but the feeling subsided. Shagrat's whip cracked then once more, leaving thin red stripes across the hobbit's chest.

I hope he kills me now, thought Frodo wearily. I hope he kills me here instead of bringing me to Him. And with that thought he passed from consciousness.

**** Darkness once more began to fade from Frodo's mind, and he once again felt the soreness in his body as he opened his eyes and tried to sit up. Shagrat lay dead a few feet away. The tower was silent.

"What..." he began, but then a familiar voice and a familiar touch on his arm sent shivers of joy and confusion through him. Sam, dear loyal Sam was seated at his side, holding his hand and looking into his eyes with great fear and concern.

"Oh..." Frodo gasped, blinking hard to clear his eyes. "Oh Sam, is this a dream, or is it really you?"

"No, Mr. Frodo, this isn't a dream," said Sam softly, taking Frodo in his arms gently and covering his naked body with his cloak. "I'm here. Your Sam is here, and I'm not leaving you again."

The horrors of the past few hours swam inside Frodo's mind and coated him like a filth. He buried his face in Sam's jacket and cried. Sam said nothing, just held his master while he sobbed and tried to choke back his own tears. He could tell by the marks on him that he had been tortured. In what ways Sam could not imagine. Fiery black hatred coursed through him as he sat there cradling his dear master, silently swearing death upon every Orc that still lived. Samwise you fool, he berated himself. If you hadn't left him for dead they wouldn'tve gotten their claws on him. Forgive me Mr. Frodo, I'm so sorry. I won't never leave you again, and that's a promise.

Finally he began to feel uneasy. "I'm sorry Mr. Frodo, but I think we best be moving on now. Those Orcs are dead downstairs, looks like they all killed each other. But who knows what else is here waiting for us." He stood up and helped Frodo to his feet.

"Oh Sam, what's the use?" Frodo sighed wearily, weak with despair. "They have the Ring, it's all over. They took everything I had."

Sam looked slightly surprised. "Beg your pardon sir, but they didn't." He pulled the silver chain out of his shirt, and there hung the Ring, glinting in the lamplight. Frodo was stunned. "I... I thought you were dead," Sam stammered, taking the chain from around his neck, "so I took it. I'm so sorry, Mr. Frodo. I only did it because I thought you for dead. I could just kick myself for it too." He hung his head sheepishly.

Frodo was overcome with relief, but it quickly turned to anxiety and rage. "Give it to me, Sam! Give it to me, you thief!" he said, and snatched the Ring from Sam's fingers. He was only dimly aware of Sam's apologies as he slipped the familiar smooth chain around his neck, feeling the heavy weight rest upon his chest once more with a relieved sigh. He looked at Sam's tearful face and the anger passed as quickly as it had come.

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I did not mean that. But this is my burden, and you cannot bear it for me." He kissed Sam on the forehead and wiped his tears away. "My dear Sam."

"Well, come on then Mr. Frodo," said Sam sadly, wrapping the cloak tighter around his body and trying to forget the angry red marks he could see all over him. "We've got to find you some clothes."

And so they made their way through the Tower, continuing on towards Mordor.