T.A. 3019
Maggie

Maggie pinched herself. It was hard to keep awake. The journey that day had taxed her strength, and the weight about her neck was growing apace. All she wanted to do was sleep! The night wore on. She was drowsing, drifting between dream and the waking world, when sniffling and snuffling grew above her, starting to turn into words. Words that sent a shiver down her spine, while at the same time bringing back pleasant memories of hunching over cookies with Sarah, muttering 'My Precious."

"They're thieves. They're thieves. They're filthy little thieves," the hissing came from above. "Where is it? Where is it? They stole it from us. My Precious. Curse them, we hates them!" Gollum. It was Gollum, or Sméagol as he was once called. "It's ours it is, and we wants it!"

Cracking her eyes open and peering through her lashes, Maggie could see Gollum's long, spindly fingers hovered over her, wavering between her and Frodo, as if they couldn't decide which to throttle first. Lamp-like green eyes shone pale above.

"Ah!" With a shout, Sam and Frodo sprang up, Maggie seconds behind them. The two older hobbits seized Gollum about the wrists and yanked him to the ground. Maggie jumped on his middle, pinning him down. With surprisingly great strength the creature ripped his arm away from Sam and reached his hand towards Maggie's neck, scrabbling at her collar where the ring was hidden.

Frodo shoved Maggie back, reaching for Gollum's own neck as he did so. Like lightening striking a tall building Gollum evaded him, coming after Maggie, who by now had gotten off her sling and was in the process of fitting a stone into it. There was no time to gain momentum by slinging it around her head, nor was there any room.

Making do, Maggie heaved back with the leather throngs and wacked Gollum, first on the rump, then on the head, bringing her foot up under him as she did so. Both whacks landed where they were meant to, thought that didn't faze him. The kick, however, did not land where it was intended, but instead caught the belly button, sending him head over heels behind Sam.

Sam spun around, but not quickly enough, Gollum caught his ankle from behind and jerked it, landing him on his back. His head hit the rock with a clunk, and he lay still.

Caught up in furry for his friend, Frodo drew his sword and with an almighty kick threw the wretched creature against the cliff, holding Sting to his neck.

"You do not touch my friends," Frodo hissed, and drew his sword back to strike. Maggie watched, horrified. How had it gone so off course so quickly?

"Wait!" she shouted, stumbling towards Frodo, pulling back on his raised arm. "Don't!"

Frodo turned to look at her, still keeping Gollum pinned to the rock. "Why?" he asked coldly. "He deserves it. He should have died long ago."

Maggie was shocked at the look in his eyes, one which did not belong on any hobbit, not even on Gollum. The cold fury shone like fire reflecting off of diamonds, sending a shiver into Maggie's very soul. She froze, her mind stuck on anything to say. Without even realizing that she was speaking, she began to quote, quote a memory that had almost faded from her mind, one that she herself didn't even recall knowing.

"Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve dearth. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death and judgment. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. There's not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it, and I hope that he will be. And he is bound up with the fate of It."

Maggie blinked. That was from the book, the book that she hadn't read in over a year now. She was very surprised that she even remembered it at all.

The light died from Frodo's eyes, and he came back to himself, thrusting Gollum away from him like something diseased. He smiled slightly. "You sound like Gandalf," he told her. "He once said something very like to that." He made as if to continue, but Maggie, glancing behind him, shouted a warning.

"Watch it!"

Frodo spun around just in time to catch a sight of Gollum disappearing into the night. He sighed, turning back to Maggie. "Well, there's no hope for it, we can't go chasing him in the dark, but we'll have to set a watch."

A groan from the left suddenly brought the poor injured Sam back into their minds with a jolt.

"Sam!" Frodo cried, rushing over to where the prone hobbit was lying.

With a groan Sam pushed himself off of the ground, rubbing at the back of his head. Maggie quickly followed Frodo. "Are you all right?" she asked, very worried.

Sam blinked, and did not appear very responsive, more groggy than anything else. Maggie cast her mind back to what her Mom would do whenever Christopher bonked his head very hard on some surface.

Glancing at the hobbit to her right she asked, "Frodo, can you start a fire? I need a light."

Frodo gave her a puzzled look. Maggie elaborated further. "Mom always used to shine a light in our eyes if we bonked our head, I think that she was checking for a concussion. Do you have a light?"

Frodo began to pat his breast pocket, feeling around inside it. A moment later he triumphantly produced a small wooden box.

"Matches!" he proclaimed. "I do not know why I kept them, I lost my pipe long ago, but I still have them, and they are dry, too." He handed the box to Maggie, who accepted it with thanks.

Sliding back the lid with her thumb, she pulled out one of the thin sticks of wood and struck it against the side. It flared up brightly in the dark. Maggie bent down to where Sam was propped up on his elbow and flashed the light in his face, looking for a reaction. She didn't see anything abnormal, but then again, she had absolutely no idea what she was looking for. Pulling back and sitting on her heels, she blew out the match with a quick puff.

"Well?" Frodo asked.

Maggie looked uncomfortable. "Err… I actually don't know what to look for. Mom always just smiled, patted us on the back, and put arnica on the bump."

Frodo looked exasperatedly at her and held out his hand for his precious box of matches.

"Sorry?" Maggie offered sheepishly. It was at about this time that Sam decided to make a verbal appearance.

"I'm alright," he told them. "It is just a knock on the head. Where's that stinker Gollum got to, anyway?"

"We lost him," Frodo answered. "He ran off."

Sam scowled and muttered something about 'good-for-nothing wretches', clearly meaning Gollum and his ilk.

"We'll have to set watches," Maggie observed, repeating what Frodo had said earlier. "With him on the loose, and with an even greater reason for revenge, we'll have to be doubly careful."

The other nodded in agreement. They decided that Maggie would take the first watch, as Sam needed his rest to recover, and hopefully get rid of the headache, and, though they didn't say it, both Frodo and Maggie knew that Maggie did not trust him not to kill Gollum if he came on him again, not this night at least.

With a yawn, Maggie settled against a rock, pulled a blanket up to her chin, and stared at the clouds covering and uncovering the moon. It was dark and lonely, but it gave her time to think, for which she was glad.

They did not have Gollum as a guide, and she had no idea which way to go. Well, she knew the general direction, they all did, but nothing more than that, and she knew how very treacherous the Dead Marshes were. They needed Gollum – badly. They might make it out of the Emyn Muil, in a day or two, but even that would be too long. And Frodo was determined to go into Mordor by way of the front gate, and wouldn't even consider going a different way if Gollum wasn't there to stop him. Though, she reflected, it would be rather hard to get him to agree to going anywhere with Gollum after what had happened that night.

The night wore slowly on, though there was not much left. The battle had taken place about midnight, and she had been thinking off and on for about an hour, so it was probably about two in the morning. She glanced up at the moon, wishing she knew how to tell time by it. It was a bother not to know all these things.

"If I ever get back, I'll learn them," she resolved to herself. "Clearly they're important."

A faint light crept into the sky, signaling the end of the night. It grew and grew, until it cast a rosy pallor on the rocks, a welcome change from the constant clouds. She yawned. This was the first time that she had stayed up all night in a while. Sure, she had had insomnia for the past few weeks, but she had always gotten a few hours of sleep in, and she often drowsed off in the boat, while they were still on the Anduin. No-one noticed or cared, she couldn't do much with the oars anyway.

With a shake of her head, Maggie roused herself and woke Frodo and Sam, the latter reluctantly. Sam, however, declared himself as much better for a few hours of sleep, and quite able to go on, in whichever direction they might choose.

After a quick bite of lembas and a sip of their water, the three continued on. The sun rose, burning off some of the mist, before it was once gain covered by the dark clouds. This dimmed the spirits of the small company greatly, leaving them quite discouraged. It was hard to see, or to make out the shapes of the rocks, or anything like that. All that was left to them was their sense of smell – hearing was deadened by the fog. And what a stench! The Dead Marshes were definitely making their presence known in a very emphatic way.

Maggie wrinkled her nose. The smell had been steadily growing, a positive sign, as it meant that they were reaching the edge of the Emyn Muil, but very unfortunate for her sensitive nose, a downside of being a Hobbit.

"Hang on a sec, guys," she called, dropping her pack from her back and kneeling down beside it.

The two native hobbits, both more towards the front of their little column, paused their steps and then dropped back, coming to stand in front of her.

"What is it?" Frodo asked.

"Cloth," Maggie relied, rummaging through her pack for a scarf, or something similar. There was nothing besides her blanket, which would have done her no good. It was too large. She looked up with a sigh. "Nothing." She glanced considering at the two. "You wouldn't happen to have a piece of cloth other than your blanket, would you?" she asked without much hope. It wasn't very likely, after all.

Frodo shook his head in the negative, replying verbally in like manner.

"I do," Sam told her, looking slightly embarrassed. "Ever since I was a lad, listenin' to old Mr. Bilbo's tales, I would carry a pocket handkerchief with me. 'Never run out the door without one' he would say to me, and so I haven't."

Maggie smiled. "Very smart, that," she complimented him, and Bilbo. "I, unfortunately, forgot that bit of advice."

Still red in the face, Sam fished about in his pocket for the afore mentioned handkerchief. "It's rather large," he said apologetically as he handed it over. It was about the size of a neckerchief, like what you would see pictures of American cowboys wearing.

"Thank you!" Taking the proffered cloth, Maggie grasped the corners, neatly tying it in a triangle around her head, over her mouth and nose. Her voice came through the weave in a muffled explanation. "The stench."

Understanding lit the eyes of Frodo and Sam, and the former looked as if he was thinking of looking through his pack as well.

Now that Maggie's nose was taken care of they continued on, walking for another hour or so, the smell getting stronger and stronger by the minute. Soon they were almost on top of it.

A welcome breeze flew past, ruffling their hair, and taking with it a few tatters of cloud. The sun shone through briefly, providing them with a glimpse of its position in the sky. It was midday.

Accordingly they sat down on a rock to take a rest and to eat, Sam carefully handing the exact amount of food, not too much and not quite enough, but they made do. He eyed their water skins critically.

"I do hope that we find water soon, and fresh water," he remarked. "Those skins are looking mighty empty."

Frodo and Maggie followed his gaze, and soon their faces mirrored his – worried.

Sam sniffed the air, though why he wanted to do that was beyond Maggie. It was awful enough with her band, and she wasn't deliberately sniffing right next to a bog. It was just common sense.

Sam seemed to be lost in thought, and then he spoke, rather slowly, filling the oppressive silence. "It's like Mr. Gandalf told Pip – Mr. Pippin, I should say. 'Always follow your nose' he would say. And that's what we have done. We followed our noses and they led us to this bog, though maybe this bog is where we wanted to go."

"Yes," Frodo answered him, sounding very tired. "This is where we wanted to go, at least I believe, this is the path that Aragorn meant to take."

Maggie shrugged, feeling that she should add something to the conversation. "All I know is that you go over the marshes, and then there's this big field where there was a battle long ago, and then you see the gates. I looked at a few maps in Lord Elronds house."

Frodo nodded. "As did I. It is decided. We will rest tonight, and tomorrow we will look for a way over this cliff. None of us want to go through the swamp, but the sooner we get it over with, the better."

"O-okaaaay," Maggie yawned. She stretched. "I'm going to catch a bit of sleep, if I can. If we're resting the rest of the afternoon I don't see a reason not to." She dropped off, the last thing that she heard were Frodo and Sam's quiet voices going on about something in the Shire, some escapade that Frodo had had when he was younger. Then she remembered no more of the waking world.