I raced to the Gamgees', pounding on their door. Gaffer opened it, and when he saw me he gasped.

"Do you have a horse, Gaffer? Please, I need a horse," I insisted.

He nodded. "Have a horse if you wish, Miss Bix," he said, and then he reached for my hand. "Miss Bix, I need you—,"

"Gaffer, I'm truly sorry, but I can't," I said, taking my hand from his. I trotted down the walk; the poor man probably needed some help, but I hadn't the time to offer it now. "My son is trying to kill himself, but my brother lives just down the road; ask him if you need anything! Thank you!"

Gaffer called my name again, but I rationalized that I just couldn't. I would drag Cohco back home, go take care of Gaffer, and forget all of this suicidal nonsense. Then perhaps I could focus on getting Snowbelle back, hopefully ask Gandalf how to help my son.

I saddled the horse quickly and tore off down the road to Frodo's; I explained in short breath that my home had been burned, that I had no food, and that Cohco was headed for Mount Doom. He didn't ask questions, just disappeared inside for a moment and came back with two heavy sacks. He told me to wait right there, then raced down the road. He came back with a horse as well.

"Oh, no, you are not coming with me," I muttered. "Frodo, you have a family and a whole Farthing to take care of; my son is my trouble."

"And mine," Frodo insisted. "If it weren't for my meddling and pride, you would have a Sam to help you care for him, and thus a figure that could tie Cohco down when you needed it. And while you may know the road to Mordor better than I do, I happen to know a great deal about survival that no doubt would have helped you on your journey."

"But what about Rosie?!"

"This was her idea," Frodo shot back. "She told me I should go with you."

Rosie stepped outside just then, her youngest clinging to her skirt. "Frodo! Take this for the road!"

Frodo handed me his horse's reins, then stepped up to Rosie. She opened her hands, and inside lay a solid, white stone, bound in place by a leather strap to a rope necklace.

"And be careful," I managed to hear her whisper.

Frodo leaned down to ruffle his son's hair, then kiss his wife. "I shan't be long, Rosie. I love you." Then he leaped away from the door, slung the necklace around his head, and mounted his horse. With a rapid "hyah!", he turned and was down the road. I urged my own horse to follow, and while I didn't have the effect on my own mount, it did eventually turn and race after Frodo's.

Frodo and I talked little, mostly riding our horses frantically down the main road. They needed rest more often than I wished, and Frodo often goaded me to sleep. Some nights, nights where my shoulders pained me, Frodo would sit up against a tree trunk—losing valuable rest—and hold me until I quieted. Sometimes I imagined Sam was there, coaxing me to sleep.

That only made waking up so much worse.

Initially I thought Frodo packed too much food, and still now I believed it. We ate very little, less than I expected. Frodo had us eat in increments of ten minutes, or thereabouts. I wasn't often hungry on our journey, but I assumed it was less than Frodo was accustomed to; he struggled through it. I could only tell because sometimes he would reach for the food at his back, then leave it alone.

"Frodo, you packed too much," I insisted once. We were close to the edge of the Shire, and could resupply in Bree. We'd been on the road for six days, with no sign of Cohco.

He shook his head. "The first thing Sam told me when he came back to Bag End was that there was never enough food, that he should have taken better care of you. And while I'm sure he did his best, you could always have better."

"If you're going to starve yourself on my account, I'll start force-feeding you," I said. "I appreciate your concern, but it was when we got close to Mordor that we needed more food, not here and now while this food we have with us is still good to eat. What we need is lembas bread."

Frodo's head cocked.

"Elvish white bread," I said. "It's rather filling . . . much to my disappointment, but it's better than having nothing. If we can stop by Rivendell or Lothlorien and seek sustenance, we won't need to be so conservative now."

"We'd be best off saving all we have, in case there aren't any Elves left," Frodo said. "They've been going to the Grey Havens in swarms as of late, and the last ship is scheduled to leave in three months."

"Then we'd better find Cohco quickly," I murmured. I got to my feet, and we were on the road again.

We came to Bree and got a good rest there, stocking up on food before we pursued Cohco once more. I imagined he had probably made it to Bree and actually got something decent to eat before heading out, and with his lack of exhaustion it would be harder to locate him.

After two weeks with no sign of him, Frodo decided we should look off the main road; he couldn't be ahead of us now, unless he were pushing himself beyond his capacity to live. Frodo believed he didn't have anything to carry food in, and probably hadn't gotten much sleep, experiencing all of this new world. I didn't question why Frodo made this assertion, but I let him believe what he would, and we did decide to turn back.

That afternoon, Frodo was filling waterskins when he yelled my name. He came back, shoving through leaf-laden branches, with Cohco rolled up in his arms. He laid my son down on the ground, and I raced to his side. Frodo snatched his waterskin from his side and nodded to Cohco; I braced my son's mouth open, and Frodo let the water trickle into his mouth. He coughed, and his eyes widened. He grabbed the waterskin, drinking furiously.

Finally he sat back; I barely contained my gasps of relief. I spun around and grabbed a hunk of bread for him, thrusting it into his limply open hand.

"Come on, Cohco," I whispered. "It's time to go home."

He shook his head, and then his eyes widened again. He shook his head harder, bolting in place to his feet.

"No. Mum, I'm not going home. It's wrong for you to be raising me; it's wrong!"

"Listen to me, my lad: you aren't any sort of detriment to my life, not relative to how much I love you and want you to be there with me." I stood as well, but Cohco quickly toppled; he gripped his stomach, then his legs. He let out sharp exhales as he rubbed his calves. Frodo lifted him onto his lap.

"Cohco, your mother is right," Frodo insisted. "You may have attacked me, but you aren't made to go out and break yourself like this; going to Mount Doom is not the answer."

Cohco's eyes blazed. "Mordor calls to me," he hissed. "I must go."

Frodo and I exchanged a worried look: perhaps Cohco wanted to go not to kill himself, but to restore the Ring, or Sauron, or worse.

"Cohco, you can't go," I pleaded. "Come back. You'll be back to yourself in no time." I paused. "This is, after all, a time when your emotions are heated, and you need to let them go."

"If you can't help me at a moment like this, things will never change," Cohco insisted. His eyes sank to their normal color again, and he stared up at me intently. "Like it or not, it was because of me that your beloved Sam is gone. It's because of me that you moved out of your home, and it's because of me that the Ring caused you so much pain."

He sounded convincing. I shook my head angrily. "No. No, you aren't. You are what I strive to protect and live for."

"I'm never going to stop pushing for this, Mum. I dislike myself as much as you ought to for me, and I'm going to Mordor, even if you drag me back now and chain me to my bed. I will find a way."

"And I'm not going to let you go, even if I hook myself to your horse until you come to reason and decide to stop," I shot back. It didn't sound convincing in my ears, but hopefully it made some kind of impact.

I supposed Frodo perceived that I was losing this fight, so he shook Cohco's shoulders faintly. "How about a deal?"

Both my son and I perked up.

"Neither of you will let this go, and while I agree with your mother, I'm sure you will fight your way out of whatever we do to keep you in the Shire," Frodo said, shooting me an apologetic look. "Thus, I have a proposition: why don't we test this out? You want to do something you've never attempted before: you're marching up to a volcano to throw yourself in, after traveling across the entire world with no idea what you're doing, as is made evident by your lack of food and water. Thus you would have starved yourself to death."
"I cannot die that way," Cohco interjected.

Frodo pressed forward. "You won't make it to Mordor without Bix; you don't even know where you're going. If she takes you to Mordor, and can convince you that your life is worth saving, will you come back to the Shire and let this matter drop?"

I shot Frodo a frightened glare, but Cohco immediately held out his hand. "Deal."

I buried my forehead in my hands. At this rate, they would both push for Cohco's death.

I can't begin to describe how close we became. The journey to Mordor was long, and in spite of the peace of the land and the beauty of the time we spent, I continued to sink. I kept envisioning the epiphany and horror in Cohco's eyes as the lava consumed him, body and soul. I kept begging Frodo to let him turn back, to abandon him on the road until he came to sense and stopped pursuing this.

Nights were filled with their singing, their laughter, their conversation. I wanted to join, but I felt so heavy. The world became a blur, and every day that passed by was another bit of daylight, Cohco, and uncertainty. I dragged myself to Mordor, pointing them blankly one direction to the next. We passed through Rohan, headed south of the Misty Mountains for forty days as Gandalf had wished to do the first time we came through here. But now there was no Saruman to spy on us.

All this lack of attention made me feel lonely, unwanted . . . unimportant. Unlike when I had the Ring, no one cared about my struggle with my son. He would die lonely, pained, unassisted because of Frodo's blasted deal. And I would have nothing to return home to: a burned building, a heartbroken lass working at my side if she ever forgave me enough to come back, and Frodo's family, separated from me because of all the trouble I caused them.

My thoughts wandered yet again to Sam. I didn't want him to be gone, but after waiting fifteen years for him to come back, there were no thoughts for the future. I didn't think, even when I was younger and less hopeful, that my life would turn out this way . . . wrecked by decisions I made for the better.

We were just outside the borders of Rohan when I knew I couldn't let Cohco go through with this. I grabbed my horse's reins and yanked back. The pony protested at my sharp yank, but didn't move forward. I stared at Cohco.

"You don't know your way to Mordor alone, and I'm not taking you. I am not leading you one more step to a demise I am not willing to work towards," I said.

Cohco's eyes narrowed, but Frodo interrupted before he could speak. For attempting to be a mediator in this situation, Frodo wasn't doing too well, not in my eyes, anyway. "Bix, you don't even know if he'll die out there; Mount Doom could be a hopeless goal."

"It's a volcano, Frodo—I'm sure Cohco could figure something out, and I'm completely violating my stand as a mother in allowing him to go. I have food, I have the directions to Mordor, and I love my son more than anything. He is not going if I say he's not." I'd never felt so stubborn and irritable about anything, but now I had to take a stand to avoid losing him. Images of what I had not seen, Frodo throwing Sam from my life, replayed in my mind again and again.

I turned sharply to Frodo. "You're just trying to get rid of him, aren't you? Attempting to appease my conscience and give my son a chance to protect your family from him? This just does all of your work for you."

Frodo's jaw dropped. "Bix, I would never—,"

"Say no more," I snapped. "Cohco and I are going home until you can rethink your consideration of him. And he is not dying." I reached forward and grabbed Cohco's horse by the bridle, slipping the reins from his fingers. I clicked my horse into a jarring trot, and Cohco's mount followed.

Frodo did not make any move to pursue us, and I didn't question it.

We only moved for about ten minutes before I heard a thud behind me, and I whipped around to see Cohco on the ground, stubbornly clawing his way across the dirt.

I sighed and stopped my horse before leaping down. I grabbed Cohco by his torso; he growled under his breath.

"Get on the horse, Cohco," I insisted. "We're going home, and you must learn to love your life as it is. I'm sure there's nothing you can do."

"Mum, you don't understand," he said. I reached forward, one hand clasping his shirt collar, and directed his horse back towards me with my free hand. I couldn't lift him to save my life—or his, for that matter—but I felt horribly stubborn that day. I slapped his hands over the horse, grabbed him by his breeches and tunic, and dragged him up towards the horse.

At last, he complied and slid into place. But he had a calculating look in his gaze as he did it, and I wondered if it would have been smarter to leave him on the ground; he'd never get to Mordor.

"What don't I understand?" I asked, folding my arms. "I know what you've already told me, and as your mother at over four times your age, I'm telling you that there is always hope." Then I paused; I didn't really believe that, did I? Well, I could for him, right now. Even if I didn't have manifestations of hope all through my own life, he needed to believe there was hope out there. Then he'd come home.

He shook his head. "I asked Frodo, and I asked Gandalf when I was little. I have too much of the Ring in me; as long as I live, evil is stirring."

"What are you talking about?"

"There are orcs gathering in Mordor," Cohco said, emphasizing every syllable. "Mum, if I don't get back to Mordor and die, the armies of the Dark Lord—dead as he may be—will revive again, under my command. I feel the call of my old home." His eyes descended into a menacing gold. "You will be my new master. We will be one, One to rule all, be the master of every slave." He reached down, grabbing my cloak with two hands. "We are inseparable, Bixbite of the Shire."

My eyes widened, and I strained to back out of his hold. His hands clamped tighter.

"Join me," he hissed. "We will rebuild Barad-dur, in your name. We will be the glory of this world! Imagine it; you never had anything to aspire to. Any strain for greatness you ever attempted only brought you lower, sinking to the ground. But think of it! You will be in charge. You will have the grandest armies at your command . . . and you will find your Sam, bring him to you safely and be with him as you always wanted. Bag End would be yours if you wished Frodo to give it to you, and so much more! Palaces, races, all under your power the way you wish it. The world could become perfect, orderly, under your control."

I paused. Of course I never wanted power. But in considering that, perhaps Cohco—no. No, no, no, this was all wrong. He was too much like the Ring, only young and impertinent, unpracticed in the way of enticing man to his will.

"Cohco, what is wrong with you?!" I tried to shake him, but my arms would not move; they were pinned down by his fingers. "Listen: you're my son, not the Ring. You're my everything. Don't do this. Please; I love you. Snap out of it!"

"I am the Ring!" he bellowed. "I am the One! You will bow to me or you will become one with me."

"No. You are not powerful enough; you cannot even walk by yourself! I won't let you."

Cohco threw me to the ground, and my head smacked against a tree. Spots flickered in my eyes.

"You dare to defy me." He sat up straight on his horse, who fidgeted uncontrollably, tossing its head and sidestepping. "I shall call the armies of Mordor after you, and you will beg to come back to me."

"What do you want with me? Frodo is stronger than I, smarter than I; why do you not choose him?"
Cohco's eyes sealed shut, and a glow spread from underneath his eyelids. He murmured something under his breath . . . and a storm swirled above us. The sun quickly concealed itself, and sparse trees dotting the landscape began to tremble. Cohco's chanting echoed through the air, like a thousand whispers repeating their darkness. I clamped my fingers over my ears, but soon the whispers became screams, carving through my ears.

The language of Mordor.

My scream joined them when the impact of a stab crushed my shoulder. I buckled to the ground, grabbing at my scar fruitlessly. My jaw strained open, and I convulsed in place as though to stop the pain. Cohco's voice slammed my ears.

After what seemed like an eternity, I passed out.