Rating: PG-13 (Scary images)

1 Chapter 3: Bag End

November 6th

It was very difficult knowing where to begin the clean-up of Bag End. The hobbit hole itself was still mostly intact, thanks to Lotho Sackville-Baggins and later Saruman using it as their headquarters. But Bag Shot Row itself was in shambles. Most of the row had been turned into a vast sandpit and covered with mean tar shacks. Even Sam's beloved Bag End gardens had been torn to pieces and polluted. Frodo and Fredegar Bolger stood on the doorstep of Bag End looking into the gloom and wreckage.

The two friends decided to cleaned out Bilbo's old front study first. Frodo said he would use it as a his study, a common meeting room for the work going on in the Shire, and as a Deputy Mayoral office. From the study Frodo would oversee plans for restoration of the Shire.

Frodo and Sam continued to reside at Farmer Cotton's large country farm house. Frodo was using of the guest rooms in the rear of the house. Sam shared a room with Nibs Cotton. Frodo, Fredigar, Sam and Rosie went over to Bag End each day to help with the restoration of the Shire.

At 3:00 Fredigar took his leave. He had been one of the first hobbits incarcerated in the Lockholes during the Shire's occupation by Sharkey's Men. He was "Fatty" no longer, having suffered greatly while locked up. He was so weak from near- starvation and infrequent beatings that Merry and Pippin had to carry the poor hobbit out of the Lockholes. A few days rest and lots of good solid hobbit cooking from his mother had greatly improved his constitution. But he nursed a lasting hatred for the Big Folk who had beat him mercilessly. They never even asked him questions. They simply throttled him before tossing him back in his cell. He suspected the abuse was ordered by Sharkey because Fredigar was a well-known friend of Frodo Baggins. But Fredigar would never be certain that was the reason for the abuse. He never blamed Frodo for his ill- treatment at the hands of the ruffians. Frodo was his friend. But Fredigar also never forgave the hobbit Shirriffs who looked the other way for the long months of his incarceration.

Frodo told him that hatred and thoughts of revenge were not the way to find peace, but Fredigar's heart was too full of justifiable indignation to listen. And besides, it didn't seem to him that Frodo had found any solace himself. Today Fredigar was just tired with the physical labor of cleaning out Bag End. Fredigar said he would be back the next day. Frodo continued the work.

As the sun set Frodo wiped his hands on a dirty rag and pulled the front door shut. The once bright green round door was all slashed and hacked. Foul words were carved into the wood. The hole's front door was also embellished with the faded caricature of a hand painted in whitewash. The ruffians had even stripped the doorbell off its bracing, stomping the poor bell into a flat almost-unrecognizable lump of rusted metal. All about were piles of debris taken out of the smial. Some were pieces of furniture broken and fouled with nasty-smelling oils. Other piles were of rugs and clothing stained with who-knew-what and slashed to ribbons. It was all pitiful. Frodo pulled his cloak tight against the bitter North wind as he tramped back to the Cotton farm.

That night Frodo suffered one of his many recurring nightmares. He was back at Weathertop, reliving the attack by the Ringwraths and the Pale King. They were there to wrest the Ring from him and take him to Mordor. He already had the Ring on his finger and could clearly see their ghostly forms, shredded robes and poisoned blades. He was surrounded. They shrieked of torture in Barad-dur. They would skin him alive slowly, painfully, saving his ring finger till the last. Frodo stumbled and fell backwards onto rough stones. The Pale King stabbed him. Frodo couldn't stifle a cry of torment. The pain was unbearably cold and bitter like being burned with acid. But this time Aragorn, Sam, Pippin and Merry were nowhere to be found. There was no help. No rescue this time. Only the deadly sword and an agonizing descent into the twilight world of the undead. He was transfixed by the gaze of the Pale King. The Nazgul twisted the blade still in his shoulder, causing it to snap at the tip. Frodo screamed with renewed pain, anguish and despair. He was helpless - small and terrified of both the Pale King and of himself. He lusted to command the Ring even though he knew its fatal consequences. Its lure was overwhelming. He had no choice! As the Pale King reached out his skeletal hand to claim the Precious, Frodo suddenly awoke. His heart was racing and he was sweating. It was dark and the house quiet save for his own labored breathing. For a moment he didn't know where he was. Then his left shoulder began to ache.

Frodo got out of bed and put on his clothes. He decided to go outside into the crisp night air to take his mind off the nightmare. Almost unconsciously he armed himself with his sword, Sting and then slipped on his travel-worn Elvish cloak. Its familiar weight was somehow comforting. As he was heading down the hallway towards the front door, Sam came out of his bedroom.

"Mister Frodo, sir?" Sam whispered. "Are you all right? I thought I heard you cry out. Or is one of them ruffians still about?"

"I am fine, Sam," Frodo lied. "I just could not sleep and thought a little walk outside would help relax me. Don't worry. Go on back to sleep. I will be back shortly."

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Sam asked, noticing the sword at Frodo's side but saying nothing.

"No thanks, Sam. That is kind of you to offer, but I really prefer to be alone with my thoughts. Now get back to bed before you catch cold or wake up someone."

Sam reluctantly went back into his bedroom as Frodo headed outside. The night air was near freezing. Dead leaves swirled around in the bitter breeze. The moon was at full, casting long shadows over the bleak late autumn landscape. Frodo unconsciously started walking towards Hobbiton. It was a depressing walk. All the familiar trees and hedgerows were gone. In their place were weird stumps, burnt-out piles of rubble, and twisted earthworks foully grimacing black in the night. As he rounded a bend in the road, a lump abruptly came to his throat. He saw the ruins of Bag Shot Row. All was dark. No twinkling candlelight greeted the solitary traveler on the road. No graceful siluettes of stately trees. No sound of farm or pasture animals. Saruman's rape of the Hill stood out in stark relief against the bright midnight sky.

Frodo stood and stared at what used to be his home. A tear started down his thin weary face. "This is worse than the nightmare I was having," he thought. Of all the terrible trials he had to endure, this one hit the hardest. It was his own home which had been vandalized and maimed. Bag End was now the visible manifestation of his own ruined and wounded body and mind. He realized he could never truly come back to the Shire. He could only attempt to rebuild and restore Bag End. But it would never be the same.

"I'll never be the same either." The thought came in a bitter hail of pent-up emotions. "Perhaps I shouldn't even try to repair things. Perhaps I should just burn down Bag End and then leave the Shire."

He sat down on a blackened stump thrown against the side of the road and stared at Bag End in despair. The numbing cold wind moaned in the night, whistling through fallow fields and bracken. His left shoulder ached in sympathy with his dark thoughts. Then Frodo's hand moved to the slender silver chain hanging around his neck. He brought out the white gem given to him by Arwen Evenstar. It glowed softly in the night, illuminating his hand and face, bringing warmth and comfort even in the darkest moment of his doubt.

Frodo sighed and clutched the gem in his maimed hand. "Well, it's a bitter thing, but I know my mission is not quite finished. And I must complete this one as well. If not for myself, then at least for Sam and Merry and Pippin and all the others who are counting on me. I'll set things right and then maybe I can find a place where I can find some peace and relief from the pain and weariness. But I don't think it will be at Bag End, or Crickethollow, or anywhere else in the Shire." He returned the gem to its familiar place next to his heart. It was the same place where he used to keep the Ring.

As he stood and turned to go back down the road, a twinkle of light caught his eye. It was as if the light was aimed directly at him. It was from somewhere in Hobbiton, out back slightly from the main business area. Someone else in Hobbiton could not sleep that night.