Disclaimer: Own LOTR? Hahah...

A/N: So sorry I haven't updated! I hope you guys haven't abandoned me...Anyways, chapter 5! I'd like to mention priorly that I have lost 78.43658364% of my geographical knowledge of The Shire, so please, forgive me, should I make errors. By the way, my computer is screwed, and won't indent my paragraphs when I upload. ^_^ I'm not as stupid as I look! :P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5-Wounded

"Frodo!" came the loud, yet cheerful call from the kitchen of Bag End. It was some nine years since the death of Primula and Drogo, and Frodo had gone off to live with Bilbo; becoming his heir and all.

Frodo opened his eyes, "Yes? Yes, coming Uncle Bilbo..." he managed to mumble through sleep. He got up and stretched, rubbing his eyes. It wasn't late, but not early either. He got out of bed and went over to a large, wooden dresser across the room. He pulled open a drawer, and rummaged through to find a casual tunic, smiling at his selection of a simple white one.

He went to take off his night shirt. But was reluctant; for as he lifted it, he frowned sadly at his left and right arms, both of them covered with occasional gashes, and many, many cuts. Not deep, but plentiful. He quickly changed his tunic, having no more desire to look upon the creature he loathed so much; himself.

He walked down the hallway as he buttoned up his vest. As he came down the hallway, his uncle greeted him with a smile. "Hullo! And good morning, Frodo. Breakfast is ready, come along now." Frodo smiled and nodded, following Bilbo into the kitchen, and sitting down.

"It looks delicious, Bilbo!" exclaimed Frodo, putting on his usual face of happiness as he often did; not to worry his uncle. Bilbo smiled to himself. Frodo had only been living with him for a few months, and it seemed to him that his nephew was making a great deal of improvement. He hadn't seen him cry as often, and certainly not break down in hysterics. He was beginning to think Frodo had mended, but how very, very wrong he was.

Breakfast passed in silence. Frodo hardly ever spoke any more; he only indulged in his own thoughts, which he would not share with anyone, not even his Bilbo.

"Have you any plans made for today, Frodo?" asked Bilbo, hoping that maybe he and his nephew could have some time to talk.

"Actually, Uncle Bilbo, I have. You see I wanted to go out today and perhaps help about town."

Help about town? He had no such intention. He only wished to escape, and to be alone. His poor uncle had been so kind to take him in, he didn't want Bilbo to see him, and what he really had planned for that day.

Bilbo smiled. "Yes, of course Frodo. That's quite alright. I've some translations to tend to. Be off now!" he smiled, "and please don't be too late in returning."

Frodo smiled, grabbed his coat, and went out the door. He inhaled the cool and crisp autumn air, letting it fill his lungs. He made his way for the same place he went everyday. There was a little piece of thin woods around the outskirts of the Bridge. It wasn't a far walk, and Frodo was quite fit for his own age. He crossed the bridge and came upon the woods, and went a little into. As I have stated, it wasn't a thick wood, but rather thin, and pleasent. He approached a silent stream that came off the river, and sat down on nearby log. He sighed and stared at his reflection, a bit of anger arousing in him.

"Who are you? And what do you think you're staring at? Is there something to see?" he stopped, realizing he was talking to himself. And before he knew it, he was fighting-with himself. The water heavily reminded him of a giant of his past, another river which he knew all too well. His lower and more acceding half's eyes pricked with tears.

"It's not my fault."

"Yes, yes Frodo you old fool it is. Why did you let them go? Why did you not play ill or so?"

"No, that would not have been right. It was their anniversary, and they deserved some time by themselves than having to deal with some conceited hobbit brat child."

"Yes, well if you had thought twice, you old Tom-fool, then maybe you wouldn't be an orphan. Bilbo probably only feels sorry for you."

"Then, if so, why would he take me on as his heir?"

"What an abominable question, Frodo Baggins! He merely detest the Sackville-Bagginses more than you, and wanted an heir to keep them away from his precious Bag End. It has nothing to do with you."

"No, that isn't true."

"Is it?"

Frodo questioned himself on that last remark, then he paused. The tears that pricked his eyes came forth now in abundance. He was arguing with himself! How ridiculous! He sank to his knees and put his hand in his pocket. Soon he began to feel totally out-of-grips with himself. He felt numb and disassociated. He drew from his pocket a sharp blade. He couldn't quite recall where he got it, or if he had just found it somewhere. All he remembered was the relief it gave him, and how he was a slave to it.

"Yes, yes please..." he said. Slowly he began to unbutton his tunic. His arms were already full. Full of hate for himself, reproach, remorse, and the pain that he couldn't get ride of; the scars of his heart. He took off his shirt and looked at his pale and clear skin. Where else? He took the blade and pressed it hard against his side, and then with a swift and hard movement, he pulled the blade up his ribs area. Blood came out slowly, at first. Little beads and welts. But as he ran over it a few times, it began to bleed steadily. He smiled. This was it. This was what he deserved. Wasn't it? He had been the cause of death to the people he loved most! He sighed and buttoned up his shirt and vest, putting his coat on over it.

He then remembered that Bilbo had wanted him home soon. He wasn't quite sure how long he'd been out, but decided he'd head back anyways. His side throbbed, and he clutched at it. He breathed heavily as he heaved himself to his feet. He could see his breath in the cold December air. Then something took him, a madness. For a moment it seemed that everything left him, and that the small trees in the wood were closing in on him. He began to run. Run away. Run away from the tiny stream he had been sitting by, just as he ran away from the river for so long.

There was a sudden and harsh tug. The tail of his coat had gotten caught in an extra long tree limb. He was running so fast that the snag and yanked him backwards and onto his back. He gasped now, the cold air and exhilaration of the previous adrenaline rush was all coming back at him at once. Little black dots came before his eyes, and he had not the will to get up and move more. He clutched his side, and fainted0.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Well there it is! I'll try to have chapter 6 up really really soon! ^_^ Please review!