Okay uhhh so this is the chapter where the dove's condition deteriorates rapidly. It's not dead i don't think but it's also definitely not living its best life. Just, uh. Keep that in mind.

TW for torture via knife as well as blunt force, blood and canon-typical levels of violence in general. Also some threats of blinding. hmu if i should add anything else!!

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Robb had no way of knowing how much time had passed before Saruman finally came to question him.

He was first jolted out of his jumbled thoughts by steps outside the door. Seconds later there was the sound of a lock opening and then, at last, a beam of light fell on the floor of his cell.

Robb straightened up as best he could. His muscles protested; the lack of food, drink and sleep taking its toll. Robb bit back a groan.

Saruman looked just as he had when they had first met, clad all in white, his long hair falling over his shoulders. He carried a torch, the flickering light casting half of his expression in eerie shadows. When the door closed behind Saruman, everything but his face and the topmost part of his robes faded back into darkness.

"Good evening," Saruman said, his voice neither angry nor intimidating. He seemed serene as he put the torch into a sconce beside Robb's head, unconcerned by the fact that one of his prisoner's hands was still free.

Robb remained silent.

"You must forgive me if I do not address you by your name—I have not yet come to know it."

The corner of Robb's mouth ticked up. "That's alright."

Saruman only raised an eyebrow.
"Very well. It makes no difference to me. I am sure you know why you are here."

Robb shrugged as best as he was able. "There are a variety of possible reasons. I couldn't begin to guess which one you deem most important."

"In that case, I will speak plainly," Saruman said, his lips parting in what Robb suspected was meant to be a gradfatherly smile. "I have no desire to see you treated harshly, or have you stay here in this… room."

The way Saruman eyed the dirty wall next to him made it very clear he meant hovel. Robb was almost insulted that the man thought he would betray his friends for what, a bed? Come off it.

"I would ask you why it is you were sent here, or how, but I know the Valar—they are tight-lipped at the best of times. No. There are more important matters: You know where the One Ring is. Tell me."

Robb raised his eyebrows. "Honestly? I haven't the faintest idea."

It was not even a lie. Frodo and Sam could be anywhere by now. Even if Grey Wind had found them and Robb warged into him, he would be none the wiser. What good did seeing a location do when Robb had never been there before, nor seen a picture or—Gods forbid—a map? Right now, just telling Robb to point out which direction Mordor was in would be asking too much. Not north, probably, but could he be sure? Absolutely not.

A spark of anger lit up in Saruman's eyes, but it was quickly quenched. "I understand your hesitation. Perhaps I should have made sure the Halflings had the Ring when I had them captured. I assure you, seeing them so cruelly murdered was not my intention."

"Of course not," Robb growled, biting the inside of his cheek.

"But if the Halflings did not have it, who did?" Saruman pressed on. "There were only nine of you to choose from, and three out of those I can be certain did not carry it."

"You never saw M— the other two," Robb hissed, barely catching himself from speaking their names. It could not harm them, now, but he refused to give Saruman even the smallest bit of information. "How do you know they didn't carry it?"

"My Uruk-Hai would have found it," Saruman replied carelessly. "The Ring's power would have called out to them. Weak as their minds are, they could not have resisted."

Suppressing a scoff at the insinuation, however unintended, that Boromir, too, was weak-minded, Robb pursed his lips. "From what I understand, the Ring has quite the measure of control over who hears its call. Perhaps it did not wish to be carried by Orcs—or Uruk-Hai, as you say."

Robb tilted his head in Saruman's direction. "Perhaps it did not want to come into your possession."

Saruman's facade of civility was being tested, and no matter how bad the lighting, Robb could see it.

"Perhaps," Robb pushed with a wide smile, "Sauron does not trust you with it."

Finally, Saruman's face twisted in anger. "He would be foolish not to."

Robb snorted. "Are you sure? You failed to bring two Hobbits into your possession. Hobbits! They are tiny! You had, what, a hundred Uruk-Hai? Two hundred? Surely Sauron can see how much of a failure that is."

Between one second and the next, Robb felt a cold line of steel at his throat.

"I have caught you," Saruman sneered. "Do not forget that."

Robb lifted his chin, felt the blade scrape at the scabs from when the Orc— the Uruk-Hai had threatened him. His fingers twitched at his side, every instinct screaming at him to grab the knife and ram it into Saruman's eye. Yet the moment the thought entered his mind, Robb felt his free hand become numb, restrained by an unseen force. Clenching his teeth, he fought against it for a moment, but Saruman's hold was too strong.

Exhaling sharply, Robb stopped his struggle. He should probably save what remained of his strength for another time.

"Aye,” he finally replied. “An injured, hungry, thirsty man from another world who could not tell north from south if you dropped him next to the most well-known landmark that exists. Truly an achievement beyond words."

The knife pressed deeper into the soft skin of his throat. Once more, warm blood trickled down his skin, pooling in the dip between his collarbones.

"Believe me," Saruman hissed, "whether or not you are able to navigate the world outside this room has become quite inconsequential."

Robb swallowed, but a corner of his mouth curled up in resigned mirth. "Aye. I had suspected that."

The motion made the tiny gathering of blood overflow. Robb felt it make its tickling way a few inches further down his chest before it met the edge of his tunic, seeping into the fabric and staining it crimson.

The blade remained at his throat for a moment longer before it suddenly disappeared.

“Very well,” Saruman said. “I can see that words will not convince you. Do not say I did not give you this choice.”

Robb pressed his lips together and said nothing.

A cold gust of wind swept through the cell and a moment later, they were once again bathed in darkness. The torch next to his head had gone out. Robb shivered, peering frantically but fruitlessly into the darkness. The cell remained quiet. His own increasingly harsh breathing was all Robb could hear.

When Saruman's hold on his hand suddenly vanished, an involuntary gasp escaped his lips. Frozen at first, Robb waited for the other shoe to drop. Surely, Saruman was still here. The door had not opened, and Robb had not heard him move.

And yet—the man was a wizard. Robb did not know what Saruman could do with his magic. Perhaps he had spirited himself away and left Robb to stew in his own fear, letting him work himself up as he waited for something, anything, to happen. Robb hated to admit that it was working.

He held his breath for a moment, listening. Nothing. No swishing of fabric, no breathing, no footsteps.

Finally, Robb began to move. First came his fingers, twitching experimentally, testing whether the forceful hold of magic was truly gone. When that worked, his hand started to feel along the wall. First to the side, then upwards to where the sconce was. His fingers hit cold metal. More quickly, now, Robb explored the metal bands, searching for the remains of the torch, although he knew not what he might use it for. He was met with empty air. The torch was gone.

Robb swallowed. Was that a good sign or a bad one?

Retracting his hand, Robb wiped at the blood on his throat. The new cut was still wet and every now and again, another warm trickle made its way down to seep into his shirt. The old scab from before had reopened as well, although it hurt less than the fresh one when Robb moved his head.

He swallowed again. Surely, Saruman would have done something by now if he were still here.

Taking one last breath to steel himself, Robb raised his hand. Then, he swiped at the air in front of him.

Nothing.

A breathless laugh bubbled from his chest. Still, he needed to be sure.

His fingers hit fabric.

Robb jerked back with a yelp, but a cold hand had already wrapped around his wrist.

He was ripped forward. Any pain in his strained muscles was drowned out by an explosion of crippling, blinding agony as something hard and blunt and hot rammed into his injured side.

Robb screamed. It was loud and broken, involuntary, torn from his lungs before he could think to keep quiet. He wanted to curl in on himself, but his hands, restrained in two different directions, had him unable to move.

When his unshackled hand was released, Robb sagged, keening. His boneless weight yanked at his already overtaxed shoulder and wrist, the chains now truly the only thing keeping him standing.

Robb's side throbbed with every laboured breath. His own heartbeat echoed so loudly in his ears that he was sure Saruman could hear it, and would mock him for it at any second.
Instead, a cold hand closed around his throat, softly at first, but becoming tighter and tighter the more Robb tried to move away. He longed to fade into the wall, hard and damp as it was, because surely even its icy embrace would be more comfortable than this.

"No, no—!"

But there was no escape. His lungs burned, his head felt close to bursting, hot and cold at the same time. Robb tried to claw at the fingers around his throat, but his own hand was pinned down by his side again, useless, just as the rest of him.

White flashed across his vision, in time with his pulse. Robb was gagging, wheezing, but he did not hear it over the rushing of blood in his head. It sounded almost like hissing, where, where, where is it, say it—

His eyes hurt, rolled back as they were, and Robb swore they would pop if Saruman didn't stop—

SAY IT!

Robb's mind burst with colours when the pressure finally disappeared. He took a heaving breath, two, three, before the sudden influx of air overwhelmed his poor lungs and they rebelled. The gasps turned into coughs turned into gags, until Saruman had enough and slammed Robb's head into the wall to shut him up.

Had his throat been just a bit less abused, Robb would have screamed once more. As it was, all that escaped him was a choked moan.

"Where is the Ring?" Robb heard Saruman say, faintly, through ringing pain and dizziness.

"I don' know," Robb gasped. His tongue felt too big in his mouth, unwieldy, and it refused to do what he wanted it to. "Don' know, I swear."

"Yes, you do," Saruman whispered softly. "And I promise you, as soon as you tell me, we can leave all this unpleasantness behind us."

Robb tried to shake his head but that, too, was frozen in place by Saruman's magic. "I don't," he repeated hoarsely, "I can't tell you, I don't know. I don't know."

He closed his eyes, as though that might protect him from the man in front of him. It was pointless, of course. It made no difference. Even with his eyes wide open, Robb could not see Saruman in the darkness.

As if he could hear Robb's thoughts, Saruman brought a hand up to grasp Robb's chin. He tipped his head back, then to the side, and hummed. A moment later, Robb felt the cold touch of the blade back on his skin. It travelled over his face, deceptively gentle, over lips and wet cheeks, stopping here and there as if Saruman was unsure of what it was he wanted to do with it.

Finally, it stopped just under his left eye. Robb flinched back, but the magic held him in place. Saruman hummed again.

"You are aware, of course, that if you do not talk, you will stay in this room for the rest of your life?"

Robb's silence was answer enough.

"In which case your eyes, as you well know, would be quite… useless, no?" The knife tapped twice on his eyelid.

Robb gasped. "No," he whimpered, fruitlessly trying to draw his head away. "No, don't. I promise you, it won't help. I don't know where the Ring is, I only ever saw it once, and that was weeks ago. I don't know where it is now, they never told me, they didn't."

The knife stopped.

"Did your companions not trust you?"

Robb paused. Pushed the dizziness down as best as he could and exhaled into the darkness.

"I was alone when your Uruk-Hai found me, wasn't I? Does that scream unity to you?"

"And yet you mourn the Halflings."

"Because they were innocent," Robb hissed, momentarily forgetting himself. Saruman's fingernails dug into his chin, and the blade into the skin below his eye. Robb recoiled.

"They were innocent," he repeated more softly when Saruman remained quiet. "They were no warriors. I doubt they knew what they were getting into at all."

"Hm. And the others? Why did you go with them when they did not trust you?"

"When the Gods tell you to do something," Robb said, sighing, "it is very hard to say no. At first, I understood why my companions were wary. Any spy could claim what I did. I thought they would tell me what they intended to do once I had proved myself. But as time went on…"

Robb trailed off. Any attempts to make out Saruman's expression, to gauge his reaction, were spoiled by the darkness.

"Interesting." Saruman's hand left Robb's chin to cup his cheek instead. The knife trailed down, leaving his eye and resting softly on the other side of his face. Robb gave a shuddering exhale.

"Very interesting," Saruman repeated. "You are not a bad liar, my friend. But you cannot lie to me."

Robb's eyes widened. "What? No—"

"I would take your tongue, but I have need of it yet. Be glad for that."

The blade dug into Robb's cheek, deeper and deeper and deeper and—
"No, no, no, no, nonoNO, please—“
—and through.

Robb screamed, and it only tore the hole wider. The knife sliced into his tongue, and Robb tasted pain. Blood and metal and pain.

Saruman pulled the dagger out, and through his tears, Robb was horribly, frighteningly thankful he hadn't sliced forward through the corner of his mouth instead.

Whimpering with every breath he took, Robb gaped into the darkness. Gods, his cheek hurt. His tongue, too.
(And his throat, and his shoulder, and his side, and—)

Blood dripped from his lips and chin in rivulets, but Robb made no move to keep it back. Didn't swallow it down, didn't spit it out, didn't close his mouth. He didn't think he could have, had he tried. Moving the lower half of his face was too painful.

Robb blinked. The door was open. A sliver of light ran along the floor of his cell, and some ways up Saruman's robe.

He blinked again. It was a fight to open his eyes. The light was gone. So was Saruman.

Robb's eyes rolled back.