"What'sss we got here, preciousss? A nice fat fissh for Gollum, iss it?" Frodo gasped, but before he could speak a hand grasped his throat in a vice-like grip.

"No, no," Gollum's voice slithered. "Fish don't call for help, preciousss, not when we rescuess it from our hole." He leaned in, his large eyes filling Frodo's field of vision. "Not when we bees soo hungryss," he purred.

Frodo could feel a hand on his clothes, the tearing of cloth and the raking of nails over delicate flesh. "Oh yesss, preciousss, we is ssoooo hungryss. And we lovess our fiss, priciouss."

Frodo fought him, but the hand on his windpipe was restricting the airflow, making him lose strength. He was on the edge of passing out, he could feel it cloying and stifling him. The grasp relaxed and Frodo sucked in a desperate breath.

As he panted, he looked up and the nightmare unfolded again. The creature had him pinned down. The hand was still on his throat, just resting there, fingering the soft, unblemished skin beneath his ear.

"Oh yesss, preciousss, we likess our fish awake when we feed. Don’t we, my love? Yess, preciouss, we likes fish to wriggle when we hass them in our hole."

Frodo stared up at him in horror. Gollum was going to eat him. His uncle had told him the tale of his meeting with Gollum. Bilbo had barely escaped this fate, and Frodo had the awful sinking feeling that his luck was up. He would not be returning to the others.

Frodo bemoaned the bad timing. Why could he not have waited to pee? Why could Gollum not have taken him before he had answered the call of nature? Perhaps, if he had, he could have urinated on him; perhaps the creature would have let him go and ran off in disgust . . .somehow Frodo doubted it.

As strength returned to his limbs he began to struggle again. The grip tightened on his windpipe again. Gollum wanted him conscious, but insensible, and he knew just how to do it.

Gasping for breath, Frodo sank against the rock. Gollum shifted against him, holding him firmly in place. Frodo drew in a terrified breath as it dawned on him what the creature really wanted.

Gollum's hands pushed his thighs out and up and slammed against him. Frodo tried to scream, but the shock stole his voice. He tried to call out, but there was nothing there. He tried to breathe, tried to work out where it was hurting, but the creature slammed against him like a hammer against yielding stone.

He bore into him in relentless waves, his searing glee twisting his face from plain ugly to pure demonic evil. His body rocked sharply upward once more and an idea formed.

"What has we here, preciousss? Hobbitses dropped a halfling in Gollum'ss hole, they did. My birthday present, preciouss. yess, my love, and show it how we lovess our birthday present. We take it and we hugss it," gollum hissed, continuing the conversation with himself. "This hobbitses more like ancestors, my love. This is Baggins, gots more elf in him, don't he precious? Yess, my love. Make him ssee how we lovess birthday present . . .and how we wantss it . . ."

Frodo felt sick, feeling something slide within him, a tender stroke against his flesh, tormenting and yet gentle. He was a throwback, as were many of his kin, to a time in Cuivenien when their people first awoke. The tall ones left, and the small ones stayed, ignored, overlooked, forgotten, but their bodies had remembered.

"Yess, preciousss, make him like his birthday present, won't we? Yess, my love, make him see how we lovess him."

Frodo was horrified, but could not fight back. The ultimate humiliation; not only had he been defiled by the vilest of enemies, but the creature wanted his enjoyment, his release. Frodo clamped down, tried to remember the Shire, singing songs in his head, counting backwards in elvish, anything, but think about what was happening to him.

But it did not work. His breath fluttered in his throat, as the pressure built up and ebbed away only to build again. Again, he tried to scream, incensed and outraged. He struggled with what little movement was open to him, but it was no use. He stilled, taking comfort from the fact that soon he would be dead, and no one would know.

Stars scattered across his senses, starting at his feet and swallowing him whole. When Frodo opened his eyes, the creature was gone. The ring burned hotly against his chest as he sat up, body aching as he moved. His trousers were torn in places, but still functional. As he pulled them on he discovered numerous scrapes and bruises. His breath caught in his throat as the material touched his body.

Frodo sat still for a long time, allowing the humiliation smother him; not for what had happened, but that he was still alive. That was what Gollum had intended. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and thought of other things. He had a quest to fulfill, which was more important.

He lifted his eyes to the small hole he had fallen through. There was light up there, very faint, but it was enough to discern a difference. A shadow appeared within the circle and Frodo flinched. No, not again . . .!

"Frodo?" came the soft melodic voice of an elf.

Frodo's breath shot out of his lungs with a rush, relief washing over him. "I'm down here. I must have slipped."

"Are you hurt?" Legolas asked, sounding surprised to find him alive, much less speaking.

“I'm alright," Frodo replied. "A few bruises, but nothing . . .I can't live with," he faltered. He cast his eyes around the pitch-black hole and imagined he could hear a hiss of laughter . . .