Author's notes: Well, here's the next part. Sorry I took so long, but college life is Horrible + Terrible = Horri-terrigible! Eugh! And Boromir's hair is copperish in color, in the movie—I shall still call him a redhead, for convenience's sake. And I'm not a humor writer in nature, and this piece is quite a struggle for me. If this chapter reads like rubbish, blame it on college which turned my brain to mush.

The Fellowship Of The…Baby?

Ten: The Breaking Of The Fellowship I

   "Boromir, it is your turn to take care of Gaelin," Gimli said. "Watch over him well."

   The redhead grimaced. "Could I not watch him?"

   "You were trained for warfare," the Dwarf retorted. "Will a babe defeat you, Son of Gondor?"

   Knowing that his pride and that of his family's was at stake, Boromir picked Gaelin up and settled the child on his leg, holding the babe well away. Yet, his mind lingered not on the drool trickling out of Gaelin's mouth; his eyes flickered ever to Frodo and his burden.

   Aragorn was mapping out the route they would take, while Sam slept and Pippin ate. Gimli plotted their course in his mind and protested against that way, for, as he so aptly put it, it was "filled with barren rocks of razor sharpness and stinking marshlands as far as the eyes can see."

   Pippin wore a shocked look on his face but Aragorn only replied coolly, "That is the road we will take. I suggest you get some rest, Master Dwarf."

   Gimli bristled but said naught, and Merry turned to ask Frodo a question. "Frodo, do you—Frodo?"

   Aragorn caught the panic in the Hobbit's voice and turned. The place beside Frodo's pack was empty, as was the place beside Boromir's. Gaelin was gone as well.

   "Go!" Aragorn urged. "Search for them! Merry, Pippin, stay with me!"

   But the Hobbits took no heed of the Man's words. The possibility that their kindred should be in trouble gave them a recklessness that made them forget about their own safety,

   "Sam!" The Ranger tried again. "Stay with me!"

   Samwise dashed off alone.

   Aragorn threw his hands up in the air, exhaled sharply, and chased after them.

***

   Boromir saw Frodo get up and leave. Placing Gaelin in a small back-carrier made of reeds and twines by Aragorn and Legolas, he slung the babe behind him and went silently after the Hobbit.

   He collected some firewood as well ere Frodo saw him.

   "I know why you seek solitude," Boromir said. "Will you not share your troubles with me?"

   Frodo eyed the Man warily, but answered, "It would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart." He ignored Gaelin who was trying to get his attention.

   "Warning?" Boromir questioned in surprise. "What warning?"

   "That I should destroy the Ring."

   "Why not use the Ring, Frodo?" Boromir suggested. "It is a weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him."

   Gaelin, who had learnt that the bright, yellow thing he had played with a few days ago was called a ring, clapped his hands at the mention of it, thinking that they were going to let him play with it again.

   "No. Did you not hear what Lord Elrond said? The Ring cannot be used."

   "Why do you not trust me?" Boromir demanded. "I am no stranger nor thief!"

   "You are not yourself." Frodo turned to walk away.

   Boromir threw down the firewood he had gathered. "I ask only for the strength to defend my people!"

   Frodo did not answer and the Man strode towards him. "Give me the Ring!" He caught hold of the Hobbit, throwing him down. "It is mine!"

   "No!" Frodo struggled and managed to slip the Ring on, disappearing from view.

   Boromir gave a pause, startled, and gasped as he was kicked by an unseen Hobbit. Gaelin gave a cry at the jerk he received.

   The Man got up, eyes darting about wildly. "Curse you! Curse you and all the other Halflings ever born! Oof!" As if his own curse turned against him, he tripped on a stone and fell on his side.

   It was like a slap to the face, one which awoke him from his crazed state. "Frodo?" He called, voice thick with guilt. "Frodo! Come back! A madness overtook me, but it has passed! Come back!"

   But Frodo was already too far away to hear his calls.

***

   Hundreds of Orcs ran, led by a lead Uruk-hai. All had a mark of the White Hand on them—the army of Saruman.

   Their steps were broad, their pace fast, and their bodies without knowledge of exhaustion, nor hurt. With every step they took, they came ever nearer.