Frodo awoke to the sound of horses hooves pounding into the dust. His back hurt and he realised that he was moving. He opened his eyes wearily.

He was slumped on the back of a horse, and a tall figure rode in front. It was probably Orli. Frodo raised his head slightly and blinked.

He could feel Orlis bulky pack resting on his back. It was nightfall already, but neither the stars; nor the moon, shone to warm the biting darkness.

The sky was just a cloudy stretch, and there was only a faint glimmer just above the horizon where the sun was going down. Frodo rested his head and closed his eyes painfully, and spun into a comfortless and suffering sleep...

The horse suddenly jolted to a halt. Orli dismounted and the weight off his pack was lifted from Frodos back, and Orli dragged his small form off of the horse and let him fall to the ground.

"Come," he made a sickening grin, "He is waiting."

Frodo suddenly realised who he was. His neck pricked in fear and he reeled from the sick in the pit of his stomach. He felt some one else- different to Orli- picked him up by the shoulders and set him on his feet.

"Come!" A voice snarled, repeating Orlis words, "The Master is waiting."

"Thankyou for escorting us, Wormtongue. You should leave now."

The crouched figure scurried away into the gloom, as Frodos eyes gradually became accustomed to the darkness. He could now clearly see, that the light on the horizon was not a fading sunset. It was the fire of a raging battle in the distance. He could hear far off cries and screams in the night.

He tore his eyes away and looked up. He saw the gleaming shadow of Orthanc towering over him- so dark in fact, that the tower was blacker than the sky hanging over them: portraying a shadow of what was to come, or so he thought.

Orli pushed a heavy door open to reveal a dimmed room, with candles flickering silently in the corners. He pushed Frodo into the room and went in after him, closing the door.

"So you are here."

A terrifying voice boomed into the dim, casting an invisible fire of cold racing. Frodo closed his eyes and struggled to contain the panic rising inside him. Orli pushed him forward into a dull, flickering light.

"What?"

Frodo focused his eyes shakily. A majestic figure sat before him, sneering. For a moment Frodo thought of his dream, and struggled to only just push the thoughts away. He was brought back to reality with a start.

"I have been meaning to see you. Stand up!"

The voice was hard and merciless. The eyes penetrated into Frodos- the stare was so solid that Frodo could not bear it any longer and snatched his eyes away.

"He is standing, my lord Saruman," Orli bowed.

"What are you?"

"I, I- I am a halfling sir."

"LOOK AT ME!" the voice rang around the room and bounced off every wall, echoing into the depths of the black. Frodo flinched, but tried with all his might to return the stare, and not brake it again.

He stared so fiercely into Sarumans eyes, that this time it was Saruman who averted his gaze, and was quick to anger.

"Come here!" Saruman commanded.

Orli pushed him forward violently, and Frodo almost fell to the floor, but he kept his gaze, and Saruman did not like it.

He snatched a cloth off of something on a stand. It looked rather like a globe, but was filled with a black smoke swirling around inside.

"You know what this is, halfling?" Saruman jeered icily, "A palantir. Want to look inside?"

Frodo knew what Gandalf had mentioned this at Bag End, but he could not remember what he said. Oh, I should have listened to EVERYTHING Gandalf said, Frodo thought despairingly, why did I NOT pay attention?

Frodo edged forward and peered into the Palantir.

The smoke immediately formed into a different tower- very much like Orthanc; it was just as dark. But this was... different. It was a ragged structure, and red light shone from some small, decaying windows. The land around it was bare and sandy. A level of dust and fumes swept themselves around, just above the hard, bristly ground. The sky was a swirling mass of smoky, grey mist, chasing along the skys horizon.

But there was something- something just above that tower that made Frodos blood run cold...

It was the eye of Sauron- that very same eye that threatened Frodo in the mirror of Galadriel, the very same eye that haunted Frodo whenever he dared to sleep, whenever he even dared to close his eyes and let his mind wander.

Words could not describe the look of that eye- the evil, the malice, the terror- how it burned Frodos heart and soul with an immense might each time he set his eyes upon it. But he could not tear his eyes away.

Fire suddenly erupted from the eye and filled Frodos vision- and through it, appeared something that flew towards him, with ragged wings spread across, and a shriek that filled his ears.

Frodo yelled and fell back in fright. The palantir immediately filled back into grey swirling smoke. The sound of Sarumans shrill laughing went round and round in his mind, as he struggled to regain himself.