Boromir's Return -II- Book Four of the Tales of the Fourth Age Series

Chapter Nine: Dark Tidings

A single beam of grey light shown down on Arabella as she hung from the chains, six feet off the ground. It was as if she was being displayed as a trophy, and perhaps she was; her capture, whoever it was, had said as much.

Arabella had never once seen who it was in spite of being here for... how long had it been? Weeks? Months? She gave up trying to figure it out. It didn't matter anyway. The days couldn't be measured by the sun for the light did not penetrate the ever-present clouds or the unearthly darkness that lived here.

In the perpetual twilight, Arabella had been able to make out the ruins through the gaping holes in the walls, and the high domed ceiling above her. She guessed it to be one of the ancient fortresses of the northern men of old that she'd heard so many stories about as a child. Now, she knew why they were to be avoided.

Arabella winced as the shackles bit into her wrists as she hung there. She was almost numb to the pain now, for it was one more biting wound among many. Her body was covered in thin cuts and nicks; not deep enough to cause her to bleed out, but enough to cause unimaginable pain. Oh, and it was painful. It was like her whole body was on fire like every nerve and muscle was being dipped into molten iron.

A piercing cry ripped through the ruins, echoing in the vast domed hall; the same cry that had haunted her dreams every night since she'd woke up in this dismal place. Arabella had not seen what made the horrible noise or knew whether it was a man or animal or something else entirely. She had no doubts, however, that the monster was close.

Arabella closed her eyes and wished for death to come swiftly.

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Fo.A 2, July 19th

Údar and Boromir helped the grieving Sam to his feet and brushed the mud off of him as best they could. "Sam," Údar said gently. "Where is Frodo? Is he alive?"

Sam dumbly nodded, wiping his eye. "He's alive if you could call it that."

Údar gripped Sam's arms. "What do you mean?"

"Best see for yourselves," Sam said, turning toward the road that led to Bag End.

The trio walked along in silence as they ascended the hill, to busy taking in the fullness of the devastation around them: Bag Shot Row was burned and blackened, the mallorn tree in the Party Field was a charred husk. For as far as the eye could see were scorch marks and graves, so many graves.

"This is more than simple revenge," Boromir whispered to Údar. "The land itself has been defiled."

Údar could only nod his agreement.

When at last the reach Bag End, they saw that the door lay against the opening. It looked as though it had been ripped off its hinges and tossed aside. Burn marks covered the hill, the walls were black, and the garden was nothing more than ashes.

Boromir muttered a curse under his breath while Údar spoke to Sam.

"Frodo is here?" Údar asked.

Sam nodded slowly, a fresh tear forming in his eye. "I've been coming to feed him and tend to his wound. But-"

Before Sam could utter another word, Údar rushed into the home, looking in every room for Frodo, and finally found him laying down on a makeshift pallet in a back room. Frodo's eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling steadily. His left arm lay on a pillow, its hand missing.

Údar sank to his knees, letting out a low moan.

"How long has he been this way?" Boromir asked.