Title: Even In Light Can Darkness Lurk (Part 1) 
Author: Isabelle Ringing 
Author's Email: terribletempest@yahoo.com (Any feedback will be gloated over, 
read, and replied to, criticism or not. ;) That way, I’ll know that someone 
took the time to read my very first LoM entry!) 
Pairing: Frodo/Merry (no slash is actually present between these two 
characters), Frodo/Original Character, Merry/Original Character 
Rating: A good NC-17; and if there was an ‘NC-21’ option, that would be 
closer to this fic’s rating… *gulp* 
Summary: While the others sleep soundly in the depths of Moria, all-
around cuties Frodo and Merry are abducted by two orcs and are then 
subjected to all of the little tortures my twisted mind can conjure… 
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters! There, I said it! :( But I *do* 
own this plot, this fic, these words, and all mistakes and/or good aspects 
that any reader may find in this story… 
Warnings: NON-CON, RAPE, TORTURE, BDSM, INCEST (if you want 
to count non-consenting cousins…), GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, and many 
other unnamed and generally horrific things… 
Authors Note: As I said, this *is* my very first LotR fan fic, slash fic, and 
LoM entry all rolled into one, so have mercy! Lol, no; if you find very 
many mistakes worthy of criticism, feel free to rain your opinions upon 
me! Flood my yahoo mailbox! And if you just liked it, hearing your praise 
would be even better. 

      He woke in a cold sweat, not because of nightmares, but because 
of his fear of the unknown, the darkness that seemed to seep from Moria’s 
every crack and crevice. Sounds of sleep—snores, soft groans, and ragged 
breaths—made the cool, damp air seem heavier. Without the brilliant light 
radiating from Gandalf’s staff, the immeasurable darkness of Moria was 
nearly maddening. Frodo, though his body was tired and his muscles 
ached, could not find any sufficient rest; the darkness before him made it 
impossible to tell whether his eyes were opened or closed. 
      So the shimmering pools that were Frodo’s eyes were open while 
all of his companions (or so he thought) were drifting peacefully in the 
realm of sleep. The small hobbit restlessly propped himself up on his 
elbows, careful not to nudge Sam’s sleeping form beside him. His eyes 
scanned the perfect black that surrounded him. 
      Before he set out on this noble quest from his home in the Shire, 
Frodo would always note to Sam to leave a crack in his bedroom door. 
That thin, comforting strip of light that would bounce off of his bedroom 
floor’s carpeting and cast a soft glow in the room was his key to sleep. 
And then, in Moria, his body longed for the light that he had been so 
mercilessly deprived of.
      Suddenly, his scanning eyes caught sight of the silhouette of an 
obscure rock formation; and all know that a shadow cannot be cast without 
light. He gasped softly—too softly for any of his companions to hear—and 
his deer-like pupils shrunk to half their previous size when he spotted the 
light source. It was coming from quite a distance away, and appeared to be 
flickering softly, as if it was emitted from some lantern. He could not see 
it directly, for the tunnel that the light was shining from contained many 
curves and bends. 
      Glancing over his companions—he was finally able to see their 
sleeping faces thanks to the light’s glow—he was planning to make sure 
that they were all present and sleeping before he decided on any course of 
action. Being so naïve and mischievous, as most hobbits from the Shire 
tended to be, Frodo decided that he should see about the matter himself 
before waking any of the others. 
      But, before he could avert his gaze from his sleeping friends, he 
noticed that one of his fellow hobbits, Merry, was nowhere to be seen. His 
blankets were strewn beside the sleeping Pippin; Frodo could plainly see 
the imprint of his small body still in them, but they were ruffled in such a 
way that forced Frodo’s brow to crinkle in apprehension- there appeared 
to have been a struggle.
      His crystal-blue eyes, now wide with fear, worry, and confusion, 
darted back to the lit tunnel. Could his cousin have wondered toward the 
light, plagued by the same curiosity that Frodo had felt moments ago? 
What if he had been abducted during one of Frodo’s brief periods of 
unresponsive sleep?  
      Frodo grunted with the effort of pushing his body off of the cold, 
damp floor. With one last glance toward the gentle face of his sleeping 
gardener, Frodo’s lips formed a tiny smile as he maneuvered over and 
around the other sleepers. His feet, though cumbersome in appearance, 
were capable of the lightest and quietest steps. 
      He made it to the tunnel’s opening without waking a soul, and he 
sighed softly and shivered a little when a wave of Moria’s cool air wafted 
out from inside the lit cave and caressed his timid body. He moved along 
cautiously and carefully, squinting into the dimly lit distance and groping 
boulders to help him balance on the uneven stone floor.
      After he’d progressed a good distance, and the sight of his resting 
friends over his shoulder had faded into the growing distance, Frodo’s 
hobbit ears caught a strange sound. 
He stopped walking, gripping the dampened shell of a nearby rock. His 
pointed ears perked up. The sound almost resembled a giggle- not a 
childish or hobbit-like giggle, but a rough, cruel-sounding sort of one. 
      Frodo shivered, not from the cold this time, but because his fear 
was mounting. His feet drug on, and he hoped dearly that the sound was 
only that of some harmless, cave-dwelling animal. 
      He could tell where the light shone from now; there was an 
extremely sharp curve straight ahead of him, maybe a few yards away. 
The opening looked well-formed and concealed; Frodo wondered if it was 
perhaps created by hands and not by ancient running water. 
      Suddenly, one of Frodo’s hairy feet slipped on a slimy sheet of 
algae, and he let out a loud, startled gasp when he slid and nearly tripped 
before latching onto another cool stone. Whoever or whatever was 
concealed in the opening must have heard him, because while Frodo was 
clinging to the rock and struggling to catch his labored breath, he heard 
scuffling. The scuffling and pounding of what sounded like armored boots 
was accompanied by some growls and mumbles. Whoever was in that 
small room had been frightened by the hobbit’s sounds.
      Frodo’s thoughts quickly returned to Merry. In his innocent mind, 
he guessed that Merry might be playing some sort of odd prank with 
Pippin; but then he remembered seeing Pippin curled into a tight ball, 
snoring away with the others. 
      His small fingers curled around the door-like rock structure, and he 
slowly peered inside toward the light. What he saw then caused his heart 
to skip a beat. There was Merry, lying on his side, sprawled on the smooth 
rock floor and lit by the flame from a—Frodo’s guess had been correct—
tin lantern that hung from a rusted nail on the cavern wall. He was still 
clothed, wearing his dirtied white blouse underneath a pair of brown 
suspenders. His hands were pulled behind his back, with his wrists 
obviously bound because of the odd way his shoulders were hunched. His 
bare feet were locked together by thick rope that was knotted tightly 
around his ankles. 
      Frodo’s burning eyes relaxed in the rays of the lamp, and his black 
pupils steadied as they gained their focus. His black brows knitted and his 
pink lips parted in shock and confusion when he first laid eyes upon his 
restrained cousin, and then warm tears melted somewhere behind his eyes 
and he let out a fearful whimper. He stood there for a short moment, 
paralyzed with fear and uncertainty, taking in the dreadful sight before 
him.
      Merry’s face looked slightly battered; a thin line of blood stretched 
from his nose and down his chin. One of his eyes was half-closed and 
swollen, making his right eyelid a dark shade of magenta in the orangey 
lamplight. A thick gag that resembled a piece of someone’s black belt was 
over his mouth, stretched around his tearstained cheeks, and had been 
latched tightly behind his head. 
      Seeing Frodo’s frightened face appear from behind the rock 
entrance, Merry’s one undamaged eye widened- first in fear, and then in 
recognition. The younger hobbit’s body began to squirm and buck wildly, 
and Merry managed to emit an audible (but still muffled) cry from 
underneath his gag. 
      But Frodo, in all of his fear and shock, did not catch the shades of 
warning in Merry’s desperate actions. He stepped swiftly through the 
entrance, the thick soles of his feet padding along the cool rock surface. 
Frodo could not understand why Merry began squirming as he 
approached, his attempted shouts sounding like nothing more than soft 
moans under the gag.     
      “Merry? Who’s done this to you? Oh my…” Frodo murmured as 
he knelt gingerly beside the crumpled body of his cousin. Unsure of what 
else to do, Frodo reached out one hand and brushed a dirtied lock of hair 
from Merry’s damp brow. 
The bound hobbit began to sob softly, and it was then that Frodo noticed 
his eyes looking not at his concerned face, but over his shoulder…
      A pair of unnaturally large, claw-like hands grasped both of 
Frodo’s ankles with bruising force, and before he had time to cry out in 
pain his feet had been jerked out from underneath him; he was forced from 
his squatting position to lying flat on his stomach in a matter of seconds. 
His head jerked in surprise before he hit the ground, causing his tiny chin 
to smash against the rock floor and create a considerably large gash in his 
bottom lip. 
      Frodo found himself facing the ground, which was now only 
inches from his wide eyes. Before he could utter a sound, he felt the body 
of a great being pounce onto his back, pinning his arms and body to the 
ground and constricting his already laboring lungs. One of the hands that 
had previously grabbed one of his ankles came down and shoved itself 
between his face and the ground; the monstrous palm smacked down hard 
over his lips, grinding against his bleeding lower lip and causing a stream 
of hot tears to drip from his eyes. The weight atop his small back was so 
intense that he couldn’t even squirm against the ground in an attempt to 
escape; all he could do was sob and whimper in pain under the strange, 
rough hand. 
      Merry—as always, concerned more for the safety of his friend than 
his own wellbeing—shifted and tried uselessly with his muffled screams 
and yelps to lure the orc off Frodo’s helpless body. 
      “Hush, imp!” The orc pinning Frodo growled toward Merry’s 
writhing body. “Check and see if another one’s comin’, Mort.” 
      Another orc—nearly identical to the first with his jagged, 
protruding teeth and broad, muscular form—peered carefully out of their 
hideaway and into the tunnel from which Frodo had come, and grinned 
menacingly as he replied with a quick shake of his oversized head. 
      “Good. Now I guess we got ourselves two o’ the lil’ vermin to play 
with, eh? It’s lots more fun when you got more ‘n one; they’re easier to 
control that-a-way,” growled the first, tightening his grip over Frodo’s 
small, sobbing mouth. “Hurry up ‘n’ get me another gag.” 
      The orcs’ gags consisted of a black rubber ball, similar in shape to 
the rubber on a babe’s pacifier, attached to a long, black strap. When the 
hand was removed from Frodo’s mouth, the orc grasped a handful of dark 
curls roughly. He jerked the hand back, causing Frodo to hiss loudly in 
pain as he found himself staring into the wretched eyes of his captor. The 
hand moved quickly to his jaw and pinched cruelly, forcing his lips up and 
apart as the large rubber ball was shoved into his tiny mouth and over his 
tongue, rendering him speechless.
      Huge, rough hands groped him and thick rope chafed his pale skin. 
He had to clamp his wet eyes shut and bite down hard on the rubber in his 
mouth in order to keep form struggling; he assumed that Merry’s 
struggling was what earned him his bloodied lip and pink eye. As they 
bound him, he could hear Merry’s persistent protests. 
      They finished, chuckling wickedly and obviously proud of their 
work. Mort grabbed the collar of Frodo’s white, crumpled shirt and 
dragged him until he lay in front of Merry. Once Frodo was nearer to his 
cousin’s tied body, Merry’s shouts and struggles lessened, as if he could 
somehow protect him—which Frodo knew was not possible. 
      The two orcs stepped aside until they were out of the reach of the 
light rays, plotting and mumbling and growling. Frodo managed to prop 
his back up with his elbows (which was quite a task with his wrists tied) 
and he scooted himself backward toward his friend. Frodo stopped when 
he felt the dark curls of his head brush against Merry’s stomach. He then 
tilted his head to the side and lay his right cheek against Merry’s chest in 
an attempt to comfort them both. 
      He felt Merry’s broad (by hobbit standards) chest rise and fall 
rapidly, could hear his heart pounding at twice its normal rate. But once 
Merry felt his friend’s cheek rub against his clothing, he closed his eyes as 
tears began to escape them. His labored breathing slowed a little at this 
comforting action.
      Frodo’s thoughts turned to his sleeping companions at the far end 
of the cave: Would they realize that he or Merry is missing before it was 
too late to save them? He should have woken someone more capable of 
defense- Strider, Gandalf, or perhaps Legolas. He should not have been so 
anxious to step into the unknown, especially when he had been told about 
the dangers of Moria…
      ~To Be Continued~