The rain was falling hard, and it stung when it hit bare skin. The cloak Frodo had borrowed was too long and very cumbersome, but he kept walking, not knowing exactly where he meant to go. He had fallen more than once, either slipping in mud or tripping over the trailing cloak, and he was covered in mud and small cuts. It was nearly as dark as night, though it was hardly midday, and the rain blurred Frodo's vision further. Somehow during his slow trek to anywhere, the chain on the locket he wore had snapped, and then slipped out of his shirt and into the mud. He hadn't noticed because he was numb from cold and grief. Lightning illuminated the world in an eerie glow for a moment, and Frodo cried out.

He eventually made his way to the thicket of trees that lined the Brandywine, now churning and sputtering brown water in small but dangerous waves. He slowly worked his way through the trees, many of them stripped of their leaves and swinging branches violently through the air. Some hit Frodo's face, but their sting was barely felt, and the blood mixed with the rain and mud, forming a grotesque mask. Soon he reached the muddy bank of the river, and sat and stared for a moment. As he reached for his locket he lost his balance and tumbled down the bank.


"Saradoc, have you seen any sign yet?" Bilbo yelled over the roaring rain. He held a latern high, but it didn't even being to pierce the darkness that had fallen over Buckland.

"Not yet, not yet! I think the rain may have washed all signs away, especially light hobbit prints." Fear crept out of Bilbo's heart and into his throat. A flash of lightning managed to do what his latern could not, if only for the time it took to take a breath, and something glinted near his feet. He stooped down to pick it up, and realized that it was Frodo's mother's locket, the chain broken. Then, he heard a faint cry above the rain, coming from the river bank. No! He dropped the lantern, pocketed the locket and sprinted toward the Brandywine, ignoring the calls from the other hobbits of the search party.


Frodo had fallen into the river, but had managed to catch his right hand on a large rock that saved him from floating haphazardly down the Brandywine, at least for the time being. He hadn't escaped injury though, and blood poured from the hand that gripped the rock. He struggled to pull his other numb arm out of the water and onto his only hope, and eventually succeeded, though he was weary. The cloak pulled at his neck and was weighing him down, putting more stress on his already aching arms. He had been shivering from the cold, but soon his teeth stopped chattering and he felt his panic slipping away into a quiet, dark calm.

"Frodo! Frodo!" Bilbo screamed until his throat was raw, tears streaming down his face along with rain. No good crying, now FIND HIM, he said, berating himself. He struggled through teh trees as Frodo had, and saw a slide in the mud about ten feet from where he stood. The sky was filled with temporary light once again, and he saw a small figure clinging to a rock at the edge of the river. Stumbling through mud, rocks and twigs he made his way toward it. "Frodo!" Now, be careful, you old fool. It'll do you niether of you any good if you fall in as well. He walked down the slippery bank very slowly, occasionally loosing his footing. He saw the lad clinging for dear life, though there was obviously weariness in his eyes.

"Da?" Frodo mumbled as he felt a hand on his. He opened his eyes slowly, as if he were waking from a dream. Suddenly it all rushed back to him, and he was angry at Bilbo for pulling him out of the warmth and back into the painful cold.

"No, no, it's me, Bilbo. Come on lad, we must get you out of here!" Bilbo noticed the cloak and pulled out a small knife he had brought with him, being careful not to knick the lad's throat. Soon the heavy weight of the cloak fell away from Frodo, and Bilbo began to drag him to safety. He had to be cautious, for the edge of the bank was saturated with water and unsturdy. He nearly fell in himself, but he managed to pull Frodo out of the water and up to safer, though not drier, land.

"Bilbo...I...oh..." Frodo began, and suddenly broke down in gasping sobs, wracking his entire body.

"Shhh, shh, Frodo, my lad. I know, I know," Bilbo whispered soothingly, as he took off his cloak and wrapped Frodo in it.


Esmeralda and several of the search party members weren't beyond breaking down in tears when they saw Bilbo coming up the stairs, staggering under the weight of the lad. His shirt was stained with blood from the wound on Frodo's right hand, and both wore haggard expressions and faces streaked with mud.

"Get him warm, he's been out in the cold too much, and bind that hand. It's a nasty wound," Bilbo said, before he himself collapsed on the floor of Brandy Hall.

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Author's Note: Nope, this is not the end, not quite yet. One more chapter to go!