Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Authors note: I got persuaded into writing this so I thought I might as well post it on to see what other people think. I was given the challenge to actually write a fic where there are consequences to another person joining the fellowship, like who wouldn't be able to come along because of this 'replacement', what the consequences would be of not having that one member of the original fellowship, for example: if Merry and Pippin had not come along, would Boromir have died? And if not, would he and Aragorn have gone on to Minas Tirith and thus have never encountered the Rohirrim? And so forth. The main question being: would the ring have been destroyed? I believe that it wouldn't work, and this is simply an exploration of it.

'"I would have begged for you to come," said Frodo, "Only I thought you were going to Minas Tirith with Boromir."

"I am," said Aragorn. "And the Sword-that-was-Broken shall be re-forged ere I set out for war. But your road and our road lie together for many hundreds of miles." (Chapter III: 'The Ring goes South', Book II, The Fellowship of the Ring.)

At least I got a chance to read Lord of the Rings again. One positive. Any sort of review is appreciated.

Chapter 1: Bad luck

"See you next week! Hope you can get the stain off your t-shirt!" Sarah called enthusiastically as she waved goodbye and disappeared into the mass of students hurrying to be the first through the school gates and into freedom.

With a grimace, Tom wiped at his t-shirt as if he could magically remove the bright red stain without the use of washing detergent. Next time, he decided, he would avoid helping out in Science lessons – especially with year 7's. The little brats had decided it would be rather fun to squirt food dye at each other using pipettes; subsequently Tom had been hit square in the chest, having not heard the shrill cry of "Duck!"

"Bye," he replied sulkily, not really in the mood to be anything other than pissed off, "We'll see." If not there would be some very sorry eleven year olds if he ever managed to catch the slimy little worms.

The A Level student forced his way through the crowd, using his authority as one of the eldest at the secondary school. Soon he found himself off the school premises and heading down the street to where his car was parked just beside the old Norman village church.

The car wasn't much, though it was his pride and joy. Ignoring the patches of rust and the numerous dents, the car was in good condition for its age. Tom shoved the keys into the door-lock and opened it, making a mental note that the hinge needed to be oiled.

Bang! It was quite satisfying to take his anger out on something as he shut the door with as much force as he possibly could. With a small smile, he started the car; oblivious to the blinking red light that was supposed to be warning him that the fuel was low (it was covered by a blob of chewing gum).

The car set off at a rumble as he made his way home, occasionally enjoying soaking some of the pupils cycling to the next village, by driving through some rather large puddles. Perhaps it was a small act of vengeance, which also happened to be very satisfying as well. Slowly, he was becoming more cheerful.

About ten minutes had passed and the car began to slow down, having used its last resource of fuel. "Damn," Tom muttered, pressing the accelerator down further as if that would help matters. "Knew I should have done something this morning." But being a typical teenager, he had been totally skint and thus forgotten about it.

Now he was stuck in the middle of nowhere with only fields surrounding him and the next village several miles away. Bugger. Could the day get any worse? Sighing, Tom climbed out the car and opened the boot, pulling out the Petrol Can that he kept in there for just such situations. He would either have to walk to the nearest petrol station, or go begging at the next village for some spare petrol or someone to drive him home.

Tom glanced back at his car, wondering if it would survive the night by itself if it came to that, before walking away. The countryside around him had quite a few burnt-out vehicles…crime rates were rather high for such a rural place.

His shoes weren't made for walking for long in, his legs as well for that matter. Tom could just imagine the picture he made: a fool limping along the road, who also happened to look like they had been stabbed in the chest. The thoughts of, 'damn, bugger, damn, bugger, damn,' came in time to his footsteps, he deserved to have his mouth washed out with soap.

Today was not his lucky day; it was getting strangely foggy for some reason, so much so that he could barely see two hundred feet in front of him. At least it would teach him to remember to fill up the car or to remember his mobile phone.

With a start, Tom came to a stop. Something had just squelched under him and he had felt his foot sink slightly. "Mud?" He found himself speaking aloud as he looked down at his feet to find them covered in the sticky substance. Since when had he left the road? He didn't remember stepping off it…maybe he hadn't been paying attention to where he was walking.

"Great! Something else to clean."

Well, he might as well continue in the direction he was going in, as, using his logic, there was bound to be a farm nearby. If only he had joined D of E, at least then he would have had some idea as to what he was doing. Yet he had been too lazy to get off his arse and go camping in the Peak District.

He was getting annoyed now, very annoyed. It was cold, more importantly, he was cold, and Tom was sure it would end up raining. Bad luck usually came all at once.

Gritting his teeth, the seventeen year old continued trudging along, his grip becoming ever tighter on the Petrol Can as he muttered to himself. The wetness of the mud was seeping through the bottom of his trousers, making him feel rather uncomfortable.

Five minutes was quickly followed by ten, and then fifteen until finally Tom lost track, he wouldn't be too surprised if his watch had stopped. He was no closer to finding a village, petrol station or farm. Something was wrong; he travelled the route everyday and knew he should have come across a village by now, at least two. Fear and worry began to make his stomach feel as though it was doing somersaults.

"Nothing's wrong, don't be stupid," he told himself, trying to persuade himself the words were true. "Maybe you're dreaming, or you've just gone mad." Talking to oneself was most definitely a sign of madness…

He was lost, there was no denying it; lost and most likely miles from home. Tom wondered whether he should simply turn around and head back towards his car. It would have made sense to wait until another car came by, even if it meant waiting for an hour or two. Why hadn't he thought of this at the very beginning? Hopeless, he was absolutely hopeless at times.

It was better to continue on the way he was going, he had to come across something sooner or later. There were villages dotted all about the area, perhaps the local city wasn't too far away either; surely he would come across one of them? It wasn't like he actually lived in the middle of nowhere.

At least he was getting exercise, Tom decided, trying to look to the positives and stop himself worrying. He rarely walked anywhere, relying instead on cars or public transport. He could do with losing a pound or two.

Tom's thought were stopped in mid-flow as a flitter of hope coursed through his veins, he had finally spotted something ahead of him. Maybe his mum had gotten worried and phoned the police, and now as a result a search party was coming to find him. You never knew…

Happiness soon overcame any other emotion; he didn't care that he was covered in mud and looking utterly dishevelled. "Over here!" he said, waving. If he had been any less desperate for help, Tom might have realised that it was very unlikely a search party would have been organised for someone who had been missing for barely more than an hour. Such thoughts never occurred to him.

The feeling of hope was soon destroyed as the 'search party' came ever closer. They were like nothing Tom had ever seen, he found himself taking a step back as their guttural speech –if it could be called speech- reached his ears. No-one sounded like that, even if they were drunk. The speech sounded more as though it belonged to some sort of animal or monster. Maybe he was dreaming, maybe he'd fallen asleep at the wheel. Excuses began flitting through his mind in an attempt to explain the situation. It just could not be possible, it was not real; it couldn't be!

To describe them, was to say they were hideous bow-legged creatures, their arms seemed longer than a human's. Any possible thought that they might be a band of re-enactor's disappeared almost as fast as the hope. Why would anyone want to dress up like that? As they came closer, Tom was able to make out their faces; jagged, yellow fangs could be seen in their wide mouths. It was their eyes that made Tom's blood run cold though; crimson gashes amidst the blackness.

"Do you understand me? I'm lost and I need some help." He didn't know why he said the words; perhaps he was still clinging on to the hope that they might simply be people dressed up. It was then that he saw the swords…no-one in the whole of East Anglia carried a real sword with them. If they had, they would have been quickly arrested.

In a rush of panic, Tom found himself stumbling backwards as he dropped the Petrol Can, completely forgetting about needing to get some fuel. His mind screamed at him to run, the flight-or-fight instinct coming to the fore. He was in deep trouble; he had to go, there was no questioning it for they looked as though they could quite easily kill him.

And so he ran, he didn't bother to look back, didn't care whether he was acting like the coward. Some primal instinct told him that those things were dangerous, and he should avoid them at all costs. He was going to die! Murdered trying to find some petrol! He could imagine the news headlines, what fun they would have with that.

His legs already ached from all the walking and hurt even more as he ran away. He'd heard adrenaline could make you run faster for longer, but it really was the wrong situation to test whether the statement was correct. He knew he couldn't keep on with the pace forever.

It was almost as if they were animals, the sight of seeing their prey fleeing was the only incitement needed for them to follow after. Tom inwardly flinched at the sound of their excited yelling. He could hear leather creaking, metal banging against metal, and it was coming ever closer. They were gaining on him.

Tom really did not want to find out what they actually were, whether beast or human. He didn't care. Each breath was becoming more painful as he continued to run, his chest seemed as though it was on fire, whilst his legs felt as though they would collapse beneath him any moment.

He wished desperately for his car to appear, though what use it was without any petrol…at least it would be one thing standing between him and them. How could such creatures be roaming East Anglia without anyone noticing? Surely someone would have spotted them; it wasn't as if the area was anything other than farmland.

Suddenly, Tom found himself tumbling downwards, the ground rapidly coming to meet him. His ankle was sending out sharp, stabbing pains. He hadn't seen the rabbit hole, concealed as it was in the undergrowth, and so he had managed to fall down it.

Get up! Get up! His mind screamed, telling him to ignore the pain. He glanced up, seeing the things coming even closer- barely twenty metres away. Tom scrambled up, leaving a shoe behind in the process, his ankle protesting at having to carry the weight of his body. It must have been broken or sprained in the fall; certainly it was in no condition for him to run on, though he didn't fail to try.

Tom Fellowes was going to die at only seventeen; he was sure of it, so much for dying old and rich. Why couldn't they have been a search party? It was all too much for his mind to take, maybe he was having a nightmare, and before they reached him he would wake up. What was happening was impossible, it couldn't be real. Why had he left his car?

Tom collapsed once more to the ground, his energy completely spent. He was going to die, and for some reason he wanted to laugh, he felt suddenly hysterical. They were going to find his body abandoned in some ditch, and the police would never know that he had been killed by some psychos in costumes. He was in the wrong country for this to happen. You didn't get mutant Fenlanders.

He found himself waiting for the inevitable with his eyes squeezed shut, maybe he could have put up at least a little fight. His heart pounded against his chest, he could hear them slowly coming to a stop, the creak of leather, the sound of metal grating against metal, their heavy breathing. And suddenly all went black.

Please tell me if it's worth continuing or not…