Miss Frodo woke with a start. She could hear voices nearby, the gruff sounds of Orcs bumbling about their ways. She turned herself invisible quickly and crept across a pile of rocks to see them.

There were three of them, and they seemed pretty carefree. These were the soldiers of Mordor, who served Sauron. Luckily for the girl, they spoke the common language, and she could understand almost every word they said.

"What do you suppose it was He was lookin' for?" one of them growled.

"It's none of our businesses," said another, "But I hear one of them Halflings held somethin' o' value--a weapon of some kind, though not a sword or nothin'. Very peculiar, if you ask me."

"Well, if He wants it, then He'll get it, one way or another," said the third orc. "Those Halflings are fierce little creatures, though, and I hear there's more to them than meets the eye."

"D'you know what they got off'n that little one they caught yesterday? A shiny new mail coat, made of some fancy stuff, ah, I can't recall what it's named. Mined by the dwarves, it was, and pretty rare stuff."

The other orcs nodded. "You know what else," said one, "I hear they was both carrying-" he paused dramatically- "Elf cloaks."

The others shuddered.

"And that's not all," he went on, "The one with the fancy stuff--he had an elven sword!"

"You don't say. Good thing they got 'im, that's all I can say. That Elf work is nasty stuff."

"What have they done with those puny rats?" snarled the first.

"Well, like I said, it's none of my business, but I hear they've taken them to Cirith Ungol. And...Well, it's just a rumor, but there's talk that He's coming to see them personally...Thinks he can find out about this...Thing he's after. It's very important to him."

Miss Frodo looked down at the ring in her hand. 'This is what he's after,' she thought, 'But he won't find it where he's looking.'

"What d'you suppose he'll do to them?" one of the orcs went on.

"When Sauron wants to find something out..." The orc fingered a long sword at his side. "...He has ways of pulling information out of the toughest rats."

They laughed cruelly and sauntered on about their private business.

When they were well out of sight, Miss Frodo crept from behind the rocks and looked out to the black gate of Mordor. She had to get in somehow, she had to save Frodo, and Sam...

'Don't be a fool!' she said to herself. 'If you go running in there like this, you might as well just hand the Ring over to Sauron and save yourself the worry. He'll get it if you go, you know he will.'

'But what about Frodo? He's the one who was meant to do this...You don't know what you're doing, or how to get to these Cracks of Doom--you don't even know what they are!' she scolded herself.

'I can't do it...I'll go back, I'll go back to Lothlorien and get help...'

'You can't go back now. It's too late to turn around. Go forward, you can do it!'

'Do what?'

Miss Frodo thought she would go insane arguing with herself. There was only one option, she knew; to go forward, into Mordor. From there, she would do whatever she had to. She would not leave Frodo to Sauron's men, even if it meant endangering their whole mission, and the fate of the world. But how to get into Mordor? The front gate would be impossible to go through undetected. There must be another way.

She spent the day circling the bounds of the dead country, looking for another pass. She kept the Ring in her pocket, and would absent-mindedly find herself fiddling with it or reaching for it often. It was all she could do to resist putting it on. There was no need for her to wear it; she did not need its cloaking power, and anyhow, she figured that at this point it would be like a beakon of light to Sauron, pinpointing her exact location to him. She did not need to get herself into any unnecessary trouble; she knew she would have her share eventually.

A heavy shadow hung over the land at all times, and it was difficult to tell if the sun was out or not. But as she picked her way around the dying land, they sky began to darken even more, and she realized it must be night. She would not rest, but kept searching for a path all through the night. The dark thwarted her march, however, because the air became so black that she could see little beyond the tip of her nose, and she found herself stumbling about in complete confusion. Miss Frodo was forced to stop, but refused to rest; instead, she morphed into a night hawk, which had keener eyes for the dark. During the day, she had been afraid to fly and show herself, but she thought the night might be a better mask for her, and she flew freely, carrying her burden in her talons. It seemed awfully heavy, and she often found herself being pulled down to the ground by its sudden weight.

Now that she had wings, she felt less intimidated by the boundary, and flew over into Mordor. Below her, Orcs and evil Men marched relentlessly, building up their forces for an attack on the outskirting lands. Miss Frodo tried to fly as high as she was able with the Ring to avoid being seen. She was losing her energy quickly by flapping; there were no welcome breezes in the dark land, and any breeze that blew to her seemed to be blowing her away from where she needed to be.

When she was thoroughly exhausted, she came upon a tall, spiraling tower, with an eerie red light glowing from a window in its top peak. Though she did not like the looks of it, she needed to rest, and glided down to perch on a turret that stuck out not far from the top of it. The red light loomed above her, staring like a giant eye at the desolate land before it. She wondered what it saw.

She summoned her strength and fluttered over to a window, nearly blinded for a moment by the redness. The whole room was basked in the light, giving it the illusion of having caught on fire. She stared at the scene before her, and was gripped with a horror that swelled from within her. Her instincts told her to run, to fly far away, but she could not. Her heart was enflamed with rage.