Title: From Rauros to Cirith Ungol
By: Ithiliana
Overall Rating: Variable, PG at start and in places but as part of overall AU, NC-17
Section Rating: Part 4 is PG
Pairings: Frodo/Faramir
Feedback: Always Appreciated!

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the Tolkien estate. This story is written for fun, not for money, with no intent to infringe upon copywright.

My earlier AU in this series can be found by accessing my Memory Page:

From Rivendell to Rauros 1-22 Here

The current AU parts will be identified at the same place as I post them.

From Rauros to Cirith Ungol will be posted in my journal and on the interspecies lj community. From Rauros to Isengard, which will be the next narrative posted, will be posted in my journal and on the sons_of_gondor lj community. The first part of the series is posted entirely on my journal since it consists of both interspecies and sons_of_gondor narratives intertwined.

For those who don't wish to read all 22 parts (137 pages if memory serves), you can read a brief summary of the main premise and action I posted with Part I here:

http://www.livejournal.com/users/ithiliana/79857.html#cutid1



March 9 - 13, 3081
From Ithilien to Cirith Ungol

Chilled and shaking, Frodo sat in a small bay between two great buttresses of rock. They had climbed two stairs, the second longer than the first, and were approaching the top of the pass of Cirith Ungol. The climb had left him sweating, but the chill air that blew over him dried the sweat.

Faramir had insisted they stop when they saw the light in the black tower that overlooked the pass. Finding a place to hide, he told Frodo to rest while he scouted the area before they began the next passage. His distrust of Gollum, who sat a few steps away, was clear.

Frodo could hear Gollum muttering to himself. Tired as he was, he began to fancy that he spoke in two voices, one higher, one lower. Was arguing with himself.

The last two marches had taken them out of Ithilien, past the Morgul Road that led to the loathsome stronghold of the Nazgûl. Frodo shivered. As they were passing the entrance to that dark valley, what seemed to be signals, tremendous beacons of light and noise had passed between Minas Morgul and what Faramir had said must be Barad-dûr. Frodo had feared that somehow the Ring had been able to signal those within and they would be caught.

But when a vast host marched out, Orcs and Men, many marching, some riding on wargs or on horses, led by the dread King clad in black, Faramir had told Frodo that this was likely the first movement of a long-planned march against Osgiliath. Against Gondor.

Caught in what seemed like an endless journey, Frodo thought of the Companions he had left behind. Even if they won against the Orcs who had attacked at Parth Galen, they must be caught up in this war as well. The forces seemed so immense, so powerful, and here he was, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, trying to win his way into the Black Land.

Mordor loomed on the edge of so many of the stories told by the elves, a place of great evil and death. What fate led him here, trying to enter it, in the face of such danger? What story would eventually be told, or would all stories fall into darkness if he were caught and the Ring taken?

Shifting uneasily on the hard stone, Frodo tried to distract himself. "Gollum, hey, Gollum! Can you tell me what lies ahead?"

Faramir had some knowledge of the pass, but Frodo knew that they would soon come to where his knowledge failed. And Frodo suspected Gollum knew something that he was not willing to say.

"Ssssss, we've done the Straight Stair and the Winding Stair. Good Master. Now as soon as the nasssty Man returns, we'll have to go through the tunnel. When you get through that, you're at the top. Nearly."

"And then? What about that tower? The way is guarded."

"And then, we'll ssee," Gollum said softly. "Oh, yesss, Preciouss, we'll ssee. All ways are guarded, sssssss. We must go soft and quiet as shadowssss, and hope they've all gone to the war."

"They haven't," Faramir said, appearing as a shadow in the gloom behind Gollum. It had been several days since they'd seen daylight disappear behind the brown fumes that came from Mordor. This darkness seemed to be permanent.

Frodo jumped. He had not heard Faramir approach, but Gollum just crouched further on the ground, hissing to himself.

"There are Orcs in the tower," Faramir said quietly, sitting by Frodo. I could see the torches they carried. And hear them shouting. We should wait a while before attempting the tunnel."

"Very well," Frodo said. They ate, Frodo offering Gollum some of the lembas. His earlier attempt to eat it had failed, but Frodo could see nothing else for the poor starveling to eat here. Gollum refused though he accepted some of their water.

"Drink all you can," Faramir said. "Although water will be hard to find as we go into the Black Land, I found a small stream and filled my bottle. We can fill all of them before we move on."

Frodo was glad to drink deeply. The air here made his throat dry.

Faramir and he sat quietly, Faramir's arm around Frodo. Frodo rested his head against Faramir's chest.

"I wonder where our friends are," he said quietly.

"We can hope they have found refuge somewhere," Faramir said. "Perhaps with the Rohirrim, the Horse-lords. Boromir knows that land and people well. There, they would be as safe as possible in these times."

Frodo had not heard much about the Rohirrim before, other than the fact that Gandalf had been given a horse there after his escape from Isengard. "Tell me about them," he asked, hoping for a story to distract him from his fears.

Faramir settled himself more comfortably. "Their ancestors came from the North long ago, led by Eorl the Young. Then they came to the aid of Gondor and were gifted with that land where they now live. My brother told me they are truthful, generous, loving their horses as their kin. They have no writing, passing knowledge on by means of songs which all learn from childhood. They are our allies, different from us in many ways, living scattered among the herds and fields of Rohan. Their king, Théoden, lives at Edoras, a walled city, in a great golden hall, Meduseld. I have never had a chance to visit them although I have read about them. They fight on horses, with spears and swords. Boromir said they were fearless in battle, singing as they killed. He fought with them against the Orcs and the Dunlendings, hill folk, who were in alliance."

So many people, Frodo thought, living in the wide world outside the Shire. More and more his home, much as he loved it, seemed isolated to him. Hobbits never thought to wonder about the other peoples in Middle-earth, content to go from day to day about their own business. Not a bad way to live--hobbits did not harm others, did not try to take their land--but perhaps limited. The danger was in becoming smug about their lives and not caring about others.

Faramir tensed, and Frodo raised his head.

"Where is Gollum?" Faramir asked.

Frodo looked over at where Gollum had been sitting. He was no longer there. And Frodo had no idea when he had left them.

"I don't know," he said. "Perhaps he's gone to search for food."

"Perhaps. I do not like his sneaking off in such a way," Faramir said. "I hope he's not gone to the Tower to betray us."

"I think his promise holds him," Frodo said. "And more, he would not want the Ring to fall into the hands of others. He wants it for himself. He followed our Company, and us, for days and did nothing. No doubt he could have led Orcs to us many times, if he had wished."

"True, but I cannot help but feel he has some betrayal in mind."

"He may wish to do so," Frodo admitted. "But I think the power of the Ring will bind him to his word, however much he struggles."

Faramir said nothing else, but Frodo was sure he was not convinced.

Then, "Do you wish to sleep a while?" Faramir asked. "I will keep watch."

"Yes," Frodo said. "I could sleep even here."

"Wrap your cloak around you, and lay your head in my lap, then."

Frodo did as Faramir said, curling up next to him, and, despite the hard stone under him and the chill wind, soon fell asleep.

* * * * * * *

When Frodo woke, he stretched, feeling surprisingly refreshed, as if he had dreamed of a fair green place. The sky was darker above him.

"What time is it?" he asked quietly.

"I believe it is nearly the middle of the night, but it's hard to tell without being able to see the stars. I think we must go on, Frodo, without Gollum. He has not returned."

Frodo sat up, trying to see in the darkness. "If you think it best," he said. He stood and picked up his pack. Faramir led the way out of the shelter they'd found and up the path. After a while, he paused.

"The water I found is over here," he said, moving to the right where, hidden between huge boulders, a trickle of water meandered. It was slow filling their bottles, but Faramir insisted upon filling all four to the brim.

Then they returned to the main path, moving toward a huge bulk of stone which loomed ahead.

Frodo sniffed the air. "That's a horrible stench," he said. As they came in sight of the passage that led under the massive stone, the smell worsened.

"I suppose that's the tunnel," Frodo said.

"I'm afraid so."

Frodo adjusted his pack and straightened his shoulders. This was the last march before Mordor. He had never expected to get this far, and, unbidden, a small green shoot of hope seemed to unfold.

Then he followed Faramir into the stinking darkness of the tunnel.

* * * * * * *

Frodo and Faramir stood at bay, caught between the monstrous spider they had glimpsed in the light of the star-glass and the thickly woven web that blocked the only exit they had found.

They could neither go forward nor retreat back down the tunnel to search for other exits.

"Hold the glass steady," Faramir said. "Let me try to cut a way out."

Frodo stepped away to give Faramir room to swing his sword, holding the Phial aloft, staring back down the way they had come. He was sure the monster lurked there, beyond the light, waiting.

Frodo heard Faramir grunt, heard the dull sound of his sword striking again and again.

"It's no use," Faramir said. "My blade does nothing. We are trapped, Frodo."

Keeping careful watch, Frodo said, remembering Bilbo thrusting the blade deep into a pillar with little effort, "Take Sting. It's an elven blade from ages past. See if it will cut the web."

He felt Faramir tug Sting from its sheath. A pause, the sound of a blade cutting through air and something else.

Frodo felt a draft of cold air upon his neck.

"It works," Faramir said, joyfully. "A moment, Frodo, and we'll be free…..Now, Frodo."

Carefully Frodo backed up, then, as the fresher air swept past him, he thrust the Phial back into his tunic, turned, and ran.

Faramir, holding both blades ready, let him pass, then followed him.

Frodo felt as if he had drunk a bottle of the potent wine of Rivendell. The land outside seemed to be much brighter than the fetid darkness they had struggled through for what seemed like days. The sky was lit by a sullen red glare, but it seemed beautiful. Exulting, Frodo ran for the pass, sure that they would win safely through. It was a short distance, one they could easily cross in a few moments.

Suddenly, a hard blow from behind struck him to the ground. Stunned, Frodo struggled to breathe. When the darkness passed from his eyes, he found himself lying on his stomach and could see, on either side of him, Faramir's boots. He was standing above Frodo.

"What?"

"Stay down, Frodo. Look--the spider approaches."

Turning his head, Frodo saw the huge squelching body of the monster, running toward them from above and to his left. They had left the spider behind, he thought, but apparently it had more than one exit from the tunnel. It had circled around and was attacking on open ground.

He could hear the creaking, bubbling noises it made as it ran, bounding toward them. Horribly fast.

Just beyond reach of Faramir's sword, it stopped. Frodo was glad for the dimness which masked its bulk though not its stink. Huge globed eyes shining with a pale fire considered them, and its malice was clear.

Faramir struck first, aiming a blow at one of its jointed legs, but his sword had little effect. Swaying back and forth, the spider seemed to hesitate, then leaped forward, over them, its vast belly glowing green. Faramir slashed up with both blades, and the huge form arched up, liquid dripping from the wounds to fall around them, bubbling. Another blow took out one of its eyes as its head dipped low toward them.

But then the bulk poised above them, quivering, began to descend. Frodo thought they would be crushed under it, but, dropping his sword, Faramir clasped Sting in both hands and held it straight up. Down, down, the creature pushed, thrusting itself upon the sharp blade.

Faramir fell to his knees, and Frodo could hear his harsh breathing as he strove against the great weight. At the last moment, when Frodo thought they would both be crushed to death, the bulk heaved up and away from them, the spider bounding backwards, away from what must have been agonizing pain.

Gasping, Faramir collapsed, twisting away from Frodo, to lie beside him, one leg over Frodo's.

Dizzy from the stench of the spider and the poison it had dropped, Frodo raised his head to see the monster only a short distance away, crouched, still watching, head cocked to bring its remaining eye to bear on them. Faramir could do no more, Frodo thought, and if it attacked again, they would be lost.

Then, almost in a dream, Frodo fumbled in his tunic, fingers touching the Phial of Galadriel. Crawling forward, freeing himself from the weight of Faramir's leg, Frodo stood.

"Galadriel," he said. And then, remembering one night in the Hall of Fire, he cried:

Gilthoniel A Elbereth!

A Elbereth Gilthoniel
O menel palan-diriel,
Le nallon si di'ngurthos!
A tiro nin, Fanuilos!

The glass blazed in his hand, a torch, a beacon, white light flaming like a star falling from the sky to set the world alight. He walked forward.

And before him, the wounded creature fell back, turning its head, flailing its legs, and then retreating, crawling back toward the black hole they had escaped through that led back to the tunnel. Slowly, Frodo followed, feeling the power of the light about him, seeing it retreat into the tunnel until it was lost to sight.

The light dwindled in his hand, and, coming to his senses, Frodo quickly hid the glass in his tunic. Faramir had said the tower was held by Orcs, and surely they would have heard the noises of the battle or seen the light.

Turning, Frodo ran as quickly as he could, stumbling, back to Faramir, who was pushing himself up.

"Are you all right," Frodo fell to his knees beside him, feeling his arms and body for injury.

"Yes, it was just the smell and the weight. We must move quickly. Clean your sword." Faramir pushed himself up, wiping the stinking fluids off his sword on his cloak and sheathing it.

Following his example, Frodo cleaned Sting, seeing the blade blazing blue as he fumbled it into the sheath.

"Orcs are coming," he said.

"I know--listen."

Frodo listened, hearing shouts echoing through the tunnel behind him, and from the tower ahead of them.

"What do we do?"

"Hide."

Faramir grasped Frodo's arm and pulled him along.

Frodo tried to force himself to move faster, but seeing the bare path and the looming cliffs on either side of him, he could see any place to hide. Just as he became aware of torches on the path above, Faramir yanked him to the left. Frodo saw the black hole from which the giant spider had emerged.

Frodo pulled back. "It's dangerous to go back there," he protested.

"It's wounded, perhaps dead," Faramir said, turning and picking him up and dashing into the tunnel. "But there are at least two companies of Orcs out there."

Faramir halted past the first turn in the tunnel, setting Frodo down, kneeling beside him, an arm around him. "Be quiet," he whispered.

Frodo stood, heart pounding, and tried his best to quiet his breathing. He could see the flicker of torches reflected against the wall, hear the heavy footsteps and the harsh voices of the Orcs.

Perhaps it was the Ring he carried, but the longer he listened, the more he seemed to understand their words. Or else they were using the Common Tongue among themselves. He vaguely remembered Gandalf saying once that the different Orc tribes each had their own language although all had their origins in the Black Speech.

Faramir was right. One company of Orcs had come up from Minas Morgul, ordered to investigate the report of an enemy on the Stairs. The other company was stationed in the Tower of Cirith Ungol and had come out because something or someone, the Silent Watchers he thought they said, had been uneasy.

There was an outcry when some of them found the mess where they had fought the spider. Frodo bit his lip, concentrating. Yes, at least one of the leaders wasordering them to search the area, including the tunnels. The orcs were arguing. They apparently feared the spider, Shelob they called it, as well. Frodo heard blows, cries.

He dared to lean close to Faramir. "I can understand some of what they say," he breathed quietly. "They're going to search the tunnels. They saw there was a fight and know there is an enemy nearby."

He felt Faramir nod, then grabbed at him as he stood, shedding his pack.

Faramir hesitated, then knelt again, arms tight around Frodo.

"Frodo, you have the Ring. Stay here. Cover yourself with the elven cloak. Use the Ring if necessary. You cannot be captured. I will go out."

Frodo clung to him, anguished, burying his face in his shoulder. "No!"

"If I go out, they may not search further. Love, we must do this." Faramir stroked his head.

Biting his lip until it bled to keep from weeping, Frodo forced himself to release Faramir, stepped back. "Take this then," Frodo said, pulling Sting out and holding the hilt out to Faramir. Faramir hesitated, then took the weapon in one hand, drawing his sword with the other, moving quietly away, a shadow against the red glare from beyond for a moment, then gone.

Frodo fell to his knees, huddling in on himself, wrapping himself in his cloak. He felt the weight of the Ring growing, its gloating malice burning against his chest, more strongly than he had in days, as if Faramir's absence freed it.

He heard jubilant cries, the clash of swords, shouted orders. The noise grew louder, and Frodo listened, shuddering. Metal crashing against metal, shrieks of the wounded, and then suddenly, the noise lessened.

"Kill him, the filth," a harsh voice shouted.

Frodo sank his hands deep into the earth beneath him, waiting to hear the final blow.

"Back off, maggots! I have my orders, straight from Lugbûrz. Gorbag, get your rabble under control unless you want to be sent to play games with Shelob." Another voice, a bit deeper.

"Garn, look at the mess. This filth poked her good," a third voice, higher pitched.

"Poked her! Poked Shelob! Ya-hey!" came shouting, followed by a clash of weapons, then comparative silence.

"Tie him, but no games," the second voice said.

"He's fresh meat! Why waste time? Kill him and eat him now." Shouts of agreement. "Take him back to the tower and let's have some games." Other shouts.

The sound of blows, and a shriek. "All right, there's your fresh meat. Now will you listen? I have my orders, and it's death if they're not followed. Anyone found is to be held at the tower, stripped, full description of all clothes, weapons, jewelery sent to Lugbûrz immediately. And the prisioner is to be kept safe or we're all slated for the pot, maggots. When He comes, you'll see."

Orders. They had orders that mentioned jewelery. Frodo strained to hear what else was said.

"All right, Shagrat," the third voice said, sullenly. "Come on, lads, do what Captain Shagrat says. It's not worth arguing. And bring along the fresh meat for the pot. We'll be joining them for dinner."

"Hup, hup, hup. Bring 'im along, lads."

The clamour resolved itself into chanting, and what sounded like marching. As the noise faded, Frodo leaped to his feet, weeping. They had Faramir prisoner, and were taking him to the tower. What he'd heard of Orcs and their treatment of prisoners, and what he'd heard them say, chilled his blood. He could not leave Faramir.

But would Faramir expect him to? At Parth Galen, and just before he left the tunnel, Faramir had made the point that Frodo dared not take the risk of being captured.

Frodo writhed inside, his hand clasping the Ring. He could not leave Faramir. He could not be captured. And suddenly, relieved, he realized he dare not leave him in the hands of the Enemy. If the "He" that the orcs, Shagrat Frodo thought, had spoken of was, was, Sauron, if he came, Faramir could not help but reveal what he knew. His Eye and all his attention would be turned toward Mordor. Frodo would have no chance to get to the Mountain of Doom.

He had to try to rescue Faramir.

Forcing himself to think, Frodo slipped his pack off, bundling it together with Faramir's against the tunnel wall. He could carry his waterbottle and his knife. His cloak would shield him from unfriendly eyes. He could follow the Orcs, perhaps learn the way into the tower, and slip in and rescue Faramir. How that would happen he refused to consider at this point. He had to get into the tower first.

Moving as quietly as a hobbit could, Frodo slipped around the corner and moved down the tunnel. When he emerged from the darkness into the cooler air, he could see the last of the Orcs disappearing into the mouth of the tunnel below, the tattered web Faramir had cut still waving in the breeze. Wavering, Frodo hesitated, then drew out the Ring and slipped it on his finger. It was a risk, he knew, but so was being sighted by one of the Orcs and captured.

The gold Ring was heavy on his hand, almost burning, and Frodo saw the familiar world slip into greyness, solid shapes wavering around him. He felt as if he was the only solid thing in the universe, and that somewhere, a Great Eye was searching for him. He could hear the shouts of the Orcs ahead of him, and slowly, he followed.

He had to force himself back into the tunnel. No matter what Faramir had said, Frodo feared that the monstrous spider was still near, ready to attack again. But there was no sight or sound of it. Only the Orcs ahead. They moved through the tunnel easily, quickly, and at times Frodo could catch a glimpse of the ones carrying Faramir.

Perhaps the Ring gave him more sensitivity because Frodo noticed that although the black figures in the red light of the torches were fairly small and far ahead of him, he could clearly hear the two at the back talking.

"Where you putting 'im?" Gorbag said.

"Up at the top of the tower. I don't trust the lads, or you, when you're out for fun. Even if there are orders. He'll be safe there. And I'll have the only key."

Frodo forced himself to hurry despite his weariness but to no avail. The figures ahead of him marched through two large open doors, and the last ones paused to swing the doors shut. With a clang and a rattle, the huge stone doors, which apparently led into a passage of the tower, shut in front of Frodo. Shouts, the harsh blasts of horns, and laughter could be heard, and Frodo flung himself at the doors.

But he was too late. Faramir was inside, with the Orcs, and Frodo was outside. Lying on the stone, lost in the dark, Frodo fell senseless.