Shattered Dreams

Title: Shattered Dreams
Author: Anemone Frost
Email: Weepingwillow987@aol.com
Pairing: Various
Rating: PG-13 (Eventually NC-17)
Summary: 1/? Frodo claims the Ring and stakes his claim.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Warnings: Violence
Archive: Ask first.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tolkien.
***A/N: This is posted on FF.NET, but I'm going to be making some changes along the way, including a different ending. It's called Shattered Dreams, and it will be Frodo/Sam.

In this AU fic, Frodo claims the Ring and unwittingly falls under Sauron's influence. Frodo believes himself to be master, when he is only a slave being used by Sauron for amusement. Through the Ring he uses Frodo as a puppet, spreading his cruelty and malice upon Middle-earth while taking enjoyment from the misery inflicted on Sam and Frodo. There will be an extra chapter dealing with Frodo's mind, and what he is experiencing in his hellish prison. I say this now because some people in the past were confused about Sauron's role in the fic.

I will warn everyone now. This fic will become very gorey quite quickly. There will also be a lot of Sam torture. This story will definitely not be for the squeamish. Shattered Dreams was my first attempt at a real angst and torture story.***

“I have come,” Frodo said. “But I do not choose now to do what I have come to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!” He set the Ring upon his finger and vanished from sight.

Sam gasped but he never had time to cry out for his legs were knocked from under him. Then, he was flung aside, striking his head on a rock. A dark shape sprang over him, madly dashing to where Frodo had once stood. All became dark to him then.

And far away, as Frodo put on the Ring and claimed it for his own, even in Sammat Naur the very heart of his realm, the Power in Barad-dur was shaken, and the Tower trembled from its foundations to its proud and bitter crown. The Dark Lord was suddenly aware of him. Then his wrath blazed in consuming flame, but his fear rose like a vast black smoke to choke him. For he knew his deadly peril and the thread upon which his doom now hung.

Wheeling with a rending cry, in a last desperate race there flew, faster than the winds, the Nazgul, the Ringwraiths, and with a storm of wings they hurtled southwards to Mount Doom.
Although dazed, with blood streaming down into his eyes, Sam shot up. He found himself groping forward until his gaze fell upon a terrible sight. Gollum was before him wrestling like a mad thing with an invisible foe. Back and forth he swayed, drawing ever closer to the abyss. The creature hissed at the unseen foe but spoke no words. Closer and closer he was pushed to the edge of the crack. The fires below rose in anger, shooting lava near the feet of Gollum and an his unseen assailant. He was at the edge now, nearly being bent over toward the crackling flames.

Fear finally settled in the creature’s mind at the realization of the situation. His white teeth gleamed in the firelight. Gollum relentlessly snapped his teeth at his foe but the attack went unheeded. The creature’s head whipped back as a blow grazed the side of his face, spraying blood everywhere. However, Gollum was filled with fury, and he recovered quickly. His mouth closed around something and for a moment Sam cringed, but there came no cry. When Sam opened his eyes, he found Gollum gnawing helplessly at Frodo’s finger. The previous blow had knocked all his teeth out. Froth now developed on Gollum’s blood stained lips. He had gone completely insane now. He flayed violently, trying to find any possible chance to escape, but it was useless. There was no way he could compete with Frodo’s newfound strength.

“You have tormented me for the last time you foul creature,” Frodo boomed. “You shall never posses the Ring! It belongs to me!”

Gollum gave a strangled cry as he was launched forward. Into the depths of flame he went, shrieking for his Precious. Sam gazed in horror. The air in front of him rippled, slowly revealing Frodo’s form. Fear strode into Sam’s heart at the sight of his master. Still wearing the Ring, Frodo stepped forward, his arms seemingly stretched out in welcome. Sam found no tenderness in it. Frodo was not himself. Frodo’s stature had changed; erect he stood, and his shadow loomed over the cave walls. His eyes blazed at Sam’s rejection, and he strode closer to him. Sam cowered on the stone floor in utter fear. This was not his master.

“Why do you fear me so Sam?” Frodo asked, hurt echoing in his voice. “I am your friend. I want you at my side when Sauron is dethroned and Middle-earth goes through the ultimate.....change.”

“Mr. Frodo, please, take off the Ring,” Sam begged. “It frightens me to see you this way. The power of the Ring cannot be used for good. You said that yourself once. Please, I beg of you master, take it off and throw it into the crack of doom.”

Silence for what seemed forever. Frodo’s smile twisted to one of untamed rage. With every step he took Sam crawled further back.

“I offer you unlimited power at my side, friend,” growled Frodo, “and all you can do is try to thwart it?! I will not throw away such power! The Ring is mine and with it I shall rule all of Middle-earth!” His eyes lowered, forcing Sam to cower further into the ground. That look burned holes through him. “With or without you, Sam. It is up to you.”

Tears sprang to Sam’s cheeks. He sobbed when he felt a once familiar hand running through his curls. He didn’t dare to gaze up.

“I would prefer you by my side, Sam,” Frodo said, more softly. “You are a true friend and very dear to me. I would hate if anything were to happen to you, friend. No, I have decided. You will be by my side, whether willing or forced. You will be by my side for all eternity. I hope, for your sake, though, that you come willingly. It would be just dreadful if I had to put any suffering over your shoulders. But first, there is someone that needs to be dealt with. Look up, dear Sam! Gaze upon my power! Gaze upon my servants!”

Reluctantly, Sam complied. What he saw sent chills down his spine. All was lost now; he truly knew it. e wae was no hope. Everything he had believed in failed. All around him were the eight Nazgul. They looked solely on Frodo. One of the wraiths walked toward him and once the creature stood before Frodo, he bowed. The others soon followed. Sam closed his eyes and wailed.

Frodo gazed upon the eight smiling wildly, his eyes gleaming with pride. The eight still remained on their knees before him, waiting to rise at his command. Sam stood and began to back step toward the entrance of the crack, but he suddenly stopped. The piercing, icy stare of Frodo’s gaze froze him to the spot. All he could was look on wide-eyed as one of the wraiths rose from the ground. A dark speech that Sam could not comprehend surged from Frodo’s lip. The Nazgul understood, immediately stepping forward to the shaking hobbit. Sam squeaked and turned to flee. He made it no more than a few paces before a hand painfully grasped his shoulder and shim him face first to the stone floor. Sam grunted and lay still from the throbbing agony in his skull. The hand wrapped around Sam’s neck, which touched a portion of bare flesh. A strangled cry echoed throughout the cave. It burned. Sam could feel smoke slowly rising from his flesh as the Nazgul’s claw seared him.

“Please, Mr. Frodo, it hurts!” cried Sam. “Oh, please, make it stop!”

The plea was ignored. “Bring him here.”

The world seemed to spin as he was hauled into the air. Gasps came from Sam when the cruel hand tightened on his neck, cutting into his windpipe. Smoke continued to trail from the burning flesh. Tears dribbled down Sam’s cheeks as he gazed into Frodo’s, searching for any mercy. He found none.

Sam whimpered. “It burns. Please, make this thing put me down Mr. Frodo.”

“You forget who is master here, Sam,” growled Frodo. “Never bark an order to me again, less you want the pain to intensify.” He turned to the Nazgul. “Ghash.”

Sam screamed. The heat increased to a smoldering fire, which coursed through the hobbit’s frail body.

“Who is master here, Sam?” Frodo asked. “I want to hear it from your lips. Submit like a good servant.”

The only response he gave was a groan. He would not acknowledge the creature before him as master. No, this thing before him was not his beloved Frodo. The power of the Ring had completely taken Frodo over. He had to accept that, but there was a small portion of him that wanted to cling to hope; hope that his dear Frodo still existed in that body.

“Answer me, slave,” Frodo hissed.

The word stung Sam’s heart, and he felt as if he could die on the spot. “I’m not a slave, Mr. Frodo. I’m your friend.”

“We shall see in dime,ime,” answered Frodo. “You will not address me as Mr. Frodo; you will address me as master. Now, do it before I lose my temper.”

Sam would still not answer.

Frodo spoke in the foreign tongue, leaving Sam confused. The Nazgul rammed the hobbit against the stony floor, eliciting a sharp scream. The agonized wail intensified as the creature pressed its armor-clad foot into the nape of Sam’s back. The pointed tip of the boot dug into flesh, breaking through skin and causing blood to trickle out.

“Say it.”

Moaning, Sam shook his head.

“Say it.”

Sharp pain spread throughout as the metallic tip drove deeper, halfway to touching bone.

“Say it.”

The chant played back and forth in Sam’s mind. Even through pain he would not speak. The Nazgul twisted its foot causing Sam to shriek.

“Say it.”

Finally, Sam reached his breaking point. Anything to make the agony cease. He spoke in a broken whisper. “Master.”

“What?” Frodo inquired cruelly. “I cannot hear you. Say it louder so all may hear.”

“Master,” Sam choked.

“And who is your master, Sam?” Frodo said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Frodo, please,” begged Sam.

“Who is your master?” Frodo boomed.

Another cry came from Sam as the tip dug further, striking against bone. “You are my master!”

“Hm, better than before I suppose,” Frodo spat. “Once I have the time we will work on your...submissiveness. The wraiths show more respect for their master than you do. Release him.”

A sigh of content came from Sam. The Nazgul removed the jagged tip from within the depths of his body. Blood was now draining everywhere; staining Sam’s cloak. He stood and tried to press a portion of the cloak against the wound in attempt to lighten the flow. Frodo sneered at him.

“Poor Sam,” he mocked. “Such a shame; such a shame. I sincerely hope you become more respectful. It would hurt me so to cause any more discomfort on you.”

Sam averted his eyes to the ground.

“Come, we fly to Barad-dur,” Frodo commanded. “It is time to stake my claim; my rightful place. Take him.”

He was borne on top the Nazgul’s shoulders and carried from the fiery cracks. Soon, he found himself atop a winged, black steed. Behind him sat the wraith, which held him by the waist with one arm, while using the other to take the reins. The other seven followed, and Sam found Frodo riding next to him. They were in the air, flying at top speed high above the dead surface below. Nausea set in Sam’s belly. The Dark Tower rose in the foreground. The dreaded tower was illuminated with an intense red light; the eye of Sauron. The red beam shot over the land and appeared to quiver when falling upon Frodo’s form. Sam noticed the evil smile formed on Frodo’s lips.

“Do you feel that, Sam?” Frodo asked. “That is fear. The Dark Lord himself is terrified of me, as he should be. Once I rid the world of his pestilence I will change Middle-earth. Sauron is weak. He does not know how the world should be. I do. Everything will go through a metamorphosis. Youl sel see, Sam. All will be better.”

“You may rid Middle-earth of Sauron’s evil but you will replace it with your own,” Sam groaned. “You are lost Frodo. How can you not see that you will destroy the world? All will not be for the better.”

Frodo sighed. “I suppose you fail to see my beautiful vision for the world, Sam. Some day you will come to understand and accept that vision.”

“I will never....”

“Did I say that you could speak?” Frodo snapped. “That seems to be your greatest fault, Sam. You speak too much ou ter term. You forget who your master is. Perhaps another demonstration is in order?”

Hands twined in Sam’s curls, and he was lifted from the steed. He almost screamed not only from his tearing hair, but the fact that he was dangled in mid-air, threatening to plunge to the depths below. His hands flayed madly, trying to grasp at the larger ones gripping him.

“My, such a long way down is it not?” Frodo chuckled. “It is amazing how these wraiths follow my every order. They are such loyal servants, unlike you. Why, I could tell that one to loosen his grip and he would.”

The hold on his hair began to slip. Sam’s eyes became wide in terror.

n agn again, I do not want to rid myself of you so soon, Sam,” Frodo continued. “One will always need a slave.”

Sam was hauled back onto the steed. He groped at the side of his head, finding small chunks of his curls missing. He found the missing clumps snagged in the gnarled fingers of the wraith. He dared to shoot a glare at Frodo but quickly snapped back when the other hobbit looked at him.

“So much fight left in you,” Frodo muttered. “That will change soon enough. It is obvious that you will never rule by my side. I find that disheartening. I really wanted you there, but in a sense you will be, even if it will be in a lower form. Well, I have no time to discuss this now. The tower approaches. You and I will speak more on the matter once Barad-dur is under my power. Oh, but where will we openly debate such a thing? How do the dungeons sound to you?”

The Nazgul shrieked, forcing Sam to clutch at his ears. Barad-dur stood tall and dark before them.

TBC