Recap: Frodo leaves for the picnic. Bilbo, for some unexplained reason, feels that something bad is going to happen to Frodo, but tries to ignore it, and chooses to tamp it down. Smaug arrives and, after a series of events that makes Bilbo want to kill him, proposes to Bilbo. The latter outsmarts the former, and Smaug ends up with a mouthful of pig shit.
CHAPTER 3:
"…two, one! Ready or not, here I come, you guys!"
Frodo stepped away from the tree he'd been leaning on. His eyes roved around the area, searching for telltale signs as to where his friends were hiding. As he did so, he looked over his shoulder, and nearly giggled out loud.
Sprawled out on the picnic blanket behind him was Mrs. Gamgee, snoring lightly, her chest falling and rising with every breath she took. Ever since she'd fallen asleep, Frodo and his friends had reveled in their newly-acquired freedom, even going so far as to play hide-n-seek in a section of the forest that they'd never been to before.
At first, all five of them had been quite wary, seeing as how they were afraid of being lost and never making it out. But the sunshine had been so warm-looking as it had filtered through the crunchy leaves, and the nooks and crannies inside the place had been so perfect for hiding that all fear had immediately fled their little bodies.
"Rosie? Sam? Merry? Pippin? Where are you?" he called, even though he knew very well that none of them would answer. Like him, all four were hell-bent on winning the game, despite the fact that none of them were really kids anymore (Frodo, Sam, and Rosie were 13. Merry was 15, therefore making him the eldest, and Pippin was only 12).
He took a step forward.
Frodo winced as a branch snapped underneath his right foot.
Sneakiness had never been his forte. Insulting Smaug was. And speaking of the idiot, Frodo wondered whether or not he was currently at home, eating every morsel of food in sight, and annoying the living daylights out of his beloved Uncle Bilbo.
Subconsciously, his fingers curled themselves into fists.
Frodo's pale knuckles turned red with a sudden blood blush. Just thinking about the moronic hunter made his blood boil. He'd always been mean to Frodo and his friends. Not to mention, Myrtle the horse. Frodo had seen him pat her none-too-lightly on the rump with the butt of his gun just last week, and had denied it to Bilbo's face when Frodo had told on him.
He smirked quietly as he remembered Bilbo telling him that he wasn't to have any dessert for the week, but winked at him at stuck his tongue out at Smaug when the hunter's back was turned.
Frodo always got back at him, though, by sneaking worms and other unsavory stuff into his tea whenever Smaug's attention was focused on something else. And if Bilbo even noticed it at all, he'd never said anything about it. Not even once.
So, Frodo just took that as a good sign.
Snap!
The teenager whirled around, sapphire-blue orbs skimming the perimeter. His face split into a wide grin when he saw a flicker of…well…something by the trail end. This particular trail end, however, led into the deeper parts of Tuckborough Forest, where Beasts and Wild Things roamed freely.
But, of course, Frodo didn't know about that.
He was only thirteen, after all, and a newcomer, at that.
Frodo approached the place slowly, trying to keep his giggle reined in. Frodo squinted as the sun broke through the clouds for a minute, making the same spot glint brightly again. He was certain now that it was either Merry or Pippin, the both of which had curly blonde hair that almost looked golden whenever the sunlight caught their curls at a certain angle.
But, as Frodo drew nearer, keen as he was on finding at least two of his friends, his normally attentive eyes missed quite a few things: the long claw-like furrow marks scratched deeply into the ground, the crude paw prints that looked as if they'd been stamped into the soil, and most importantly, the little specks of dried blood that dotted the forest's trail.
Unable to contain his excitement, Frodo clapped his hands together, and giggled like a school boy. This was so unlike him, so out of character, but he just couldn't help it. The weather was perfect, there was a possibility that he would win the game, and his uncle hated Smaug.
What could possibly go wrong?
So, just imagine the look on Frodo's face when what he saw weren't his friends, but a pack of fully-grown Gundabad Wargs, maws bloody and splattered all over with gore. They were too fixated on their latest kills – five bucks – that they failed to notice the teen, but Frodo knew that if he didn't move, they eventually would.
He took a step backwards. He knew that he had to warn the others. The horses they'd ridden were swift, and could most probably outrun anybody they chose, but Wargs?
Well.
Everybody very well knew that they were much, much faster.
Have to move. Have to warn the others. Have to move. Have to warn the others. Have to-Shit!
Frodo cursed mentally as the twig crunched underneath his foot. Of all the times, for heaven's sake! The Wargs stopped chewing, their ears and noses prickling. Although he was already a fair distance away, Frodo's heartbeat quickened.
He knew that Wargs had sharp senses. And these ones were no exceptions.
Abandoning all thought of precaution, Frodo turned and ran, pressing his lips together in a hard, thin line to keep the blood-curdling scream he wanted to release from spilling out. Behind him, he heard one of the Wargs growl and the sound of velvety paws beating against soil.
Frodo's speed increased.
He wanted-no, needed- to reach the others in time, needed to warn them. After all, there wasn't no use in letting all of them be torn to kibble, now was there?
So, with a final burst of exertion, Frodo pumped his little legs harder. He wasn't the fastest runner at school for nothing, after all.
He burst into the clearing with inhuman speed, his head turning left and right as he searched for his friends. With massive relief, he saw that they'd come out of their hiding places while he'd wandered off.
It's a good thing I've got impatient friends, he thought distractedly.
Said friends were now bunched around Mrs. Gamgee, and all four of them seemed to be doodling something on her face. The teen was too panicked to care. Merry, who just so happened to be staring over his shoulder, caught sight of Frodo, flashed him a slightly gap-toothed grin, and waved him over.
"Hey! There you are. Come on! Before she wakes up," he said, giggling. Frodo shook his head, trying his best to catch his breath.
"No-stop-Wargs-behind" was all he managed to say. He was starting to get pissed off. Didn't Merry see the danger all of them were about to be in? Didn't anybody see just how much their lives were in peril?
"Merry," said Rosie Cotton, the purple marker she'd been using dangling lightly from her hand. "I think he's trying to say something. Now, come on, Frodo. Deep breathing's the key. That's it. In. Out. In. Out."
When Frodo finally caught his breath, she smiled at him. "Now, what was it you were trying to say?"
By this time, the other three had stopped their mischief as well, walking over to Frodo and Rosie with cautious expressions on their faces. Sam eyed Rosie's hand on his back a little too warily for Frodo's taste, but he let it go. Right now, there was something more pressing that he needed to attend to.
"What I was saying was that-"
He was cut off by a sudden howl. It wasn't that near, but near enough to make them freeze and their blood run cold. Pippin's eyes widened, the glassy green orbs reflecting the light.
"What the heck was that?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Wargs. Loads of them. We have to get away from here," Frodo answered in the same quiet tone. It was as if everybody suddenly felt the need to whisper, what with the pressure of something carnivorous lurking in the shadows.
Rosie nodded and ran over to Mrs. Gamgee, shaking the old lady awake.
"Mrs. Gamgee? Mrs. Gamgee, we've got to go! There're Wargs nearby!" the thirteen-year-old said, trying to keep her voice as steady and calming as possible for Sam's grandmother's sake.
"Poppycock, dear. Wargs in this part of the forest? Impossible," she mumbled, half-awake, rolling over on her side. As if on cue, another howl resonated through the air, sending more chills running down the teenagers' spines. At the sound, Mrs. Gamgee snapped up. She was much alerter now, her eyes turning steely gray and her expression shifting into that of the one she wore whenever Sam misbehaved.
"Right. Right, then. Rosie, get onto the cart, dear. Merry and Pippin, would the both of you ever be so kind to pack up our things? Sam, get the horses. Frodo, darling, please step away from the trees," she said in a firm but commandeering tone.
The teens did as they were told.
Rosie clambered atop the cart, wrapping her scarf around her neck as tight as it would go. Merry and Pippin scurried about the camp site, picking this and that up and stuffing all of it into the wicker baskets. Sam disappeared into the trees, only to reappear a few minutes later holding three reins.
He handed Myrtle's to Frodo, Salt and Pepper's to his grandmother, and hopped on top of the cart himself.
"They're getting closer!" Pippin said, albeit a little hysterically. He had been watching the scene behind Frodo's back unfold with a pair of binoculars he'd brought with him, and all he could see now were snapping jaws and sharp fangs.
"Not helping, you idiot!" Rosie shrieked. Her curls bounced on her shoulders as she motioned at Merry to hurry up and load the baskets beside her. Frodo jumped on top of Myrtle, nearly falling off the other side as the skittish horse threatened to throw him off.
"Woah, girl! Steady, steady," Frodo muttered, patting her side lightly. He turned to Mrs. Gamgee, who was now in the cart's driver's seat, trying her best to calm her own pair of frightened beasts.
"D'you think we could outrun them, Mrs. Gamgee?" Frodo asked. "I don't know," she replied. But, there was something in her tone that made Frodo think that they couldn't.
Unless…Unless…
He took a deep breath, his throat constricting as he made his mind up.
"You go on ahead, ma'am. I'll distract them," he decided.
The elderly woman's eyes widened.
"No! No! Not a chance, young man! Come on, Frodo! Lead the way, we'll follow," she said. Frodo shook his head stubbornly, sending raven curls flying everywhere. "No. It's no use if none of us make it out here alive. I'll be careful, I promise! And if Uncle asks where I am, just tell him that I got…held up," he instructed.
Mrs. Gamgee to reason some more with him, but Frodo's mind was made up. He'd just have to work out the kinks in his plan as he went along.
"Please be careful," she pleaded, resigned.
Frodo nodded and smiled, trying his best to reassure her. He looked over his shoulder. The Wargs were closing in. And soon, the cart wouldn't have anywhere to go. His eyes darted back once more to where Mrs. Gamgee and the cart stood, and said a single word, "Go."
Then, he turned Myrtle around, and blew the air out of his cheeks.
"Oi! Oi, you bloody bastards! Yeah, you, you ugly moron. Come here. Come and get me, you fat slowpokes!"
He darted off into the trees, completely determined to let the Wargs catch his scent.
And, unfortunately for poor Frodo, they did.
