Chapter 4

Strider looked as if he were freed from a spell when he saw the

hobbits disappear through the door. He cursed silently. He had been

too dumbstruck to help the abused hobbit, only watching the situation

unfold with amazement. Frodo, yes, he knew the name, - had to be in

a big trouble. And he hadn't done a thing to help him.

As if trying to make amends, he stormed to the door and pulled it

open. To his amazement, he saw nothing. He sighed desperately. How

could that be? Those little hobbits had just been away for a couple

of minutes. They didn't seem to be creatures of high speed either,

yet they disappeared so quickly. Strider searched about the darkened

street just to assure himself. But he still didn't see anything.

Strider did not know that-although hobbits were not the fastest

beings, they were witty and what's more, they were small! It was very

easy for them to hide themselves beneath some nearby bushes.

That was exactly what Merry and Pippin were doing. When they went out

of the inn, they noted the overgrown shrubs along its side. They

looked as if they had not been trimmed for years. Merry and Pippin,

dragging poor Frodo, dove behind the shrubs and out of sight. Merry

just smirked when he saw Strider pace back and forth right in front

of them with a puzzled look. Both Merry and Pippin tried not to let

out a single sound.

Frodo, of course, had no wish to hide. But with his hurt arm and

bound and burning wrists, he just couldn't fight anymore. The

previous accident had left his wrists swollen and his shoulder

dislocated.

Frodo felt nauseous. He would surely double over if not for the tight

grips of his cousins. He barely noticed his surroundings when they

pushed him behind the bush. He saw Strider, too. But a hand blocked

his mouth and stifled the sound even before he had a chance to yell

out.

"Nurgh - " Frodo mumbled incoherently, and he felt two strong hands

push his shoulders so he couldn't move at all.

They lingered there for what seemed like an eternity until Strider

finally gave up and went back to the inn. Frodo felt his body scream

due to his injuries. The rope bit more deeply into his swollen

wrists. He had no idea how long he could stand the pain.

When the hand was finally lifted up off his mouth, he took a deep

breath and heaved miserably. His stomach clenched painfully as he

hadn't eaten anything for two days.

Merry glared at Frodo, disgusted. He yanked Frodo up when the fit was

over. Frodo heard his dislocated arm pop and his breath was becoming

heavy again. Frodo panted. He was sweating all over.

"We're going to find an inn but not the one nearby. It should be a

little bit hidden so that the big man won't find us," said Merry.

"I can't," replied Frodo hesitantly. He didn't want to annoy Merry so

he would torture him again but he was feeling very weak. He wasn't

sure if he could take another step.

"It wouldn't have been this difficult, Frodo, if you hadn't been too

stubborn and tried to run away just now. You deserve what you get,"

snapped Merry. He didn't want to linger any longer. Merry and Pippin

started to walk with Frodo squeezed in between them.

They eventually found a lodging that was located on a cramped alley.

Its name, the Black Stallion, didn't represent the place at all. The

Prancing Pony would feel like a palace compared to this terrifyingly

shabby inn. Frodo looked at it in dismay. Neither Gandalf or the big

man would ever find him here.

After getting them a small room, Merry, along with Pippin, half

carried, half dragged Frodo through the door. Frodo practically hung

in the hands of his two cousins-turned-captors. Frodo was hurled onto

a filthy and dank rug. The air was knocked out of him as he landed

hard on his stomach. Frodo tried to stuggle to his knees, but it was

futile with his hands drawn behind his back.

Pippin looked at him briefly and shrugged. He then walked toward the

basin on a small table in the corner of the room. Frodo was lying,

crumpled, on his side now, although it hurt him greatly to be leaning

on top of the twisted shoulder. He felt tears rolling down his

cheeks. Pleadingly, he gaped at Merry.

"Can you untie me, please? I won't try to run away again."

It was late at night and Merry was sure he and Pippin would be able

to handle Frodo if he tried anything. Merry signalled Pippin to

release Frodo.

Having been tied for a long time made Frodo feel stiff. He had

expected the pain to lessen when he was allowed to move his arms

forward - but it did not. His one arm was dislocated. And Frodo

cringed when he saw how bad his wrists looked.

Merry noticed that Frodo was hardly able to move the sprained arm. He

motioned to Pippin.

"Pull that arm forward," ordered Merry to his younger cousin. "That

will return the arm to its place."

Pippin grabbed Frodo's arm and wrenched it back into its socket with

a sickening pop. It indeed helped to cure the immediate pain -but

the process sent a sliver of pure agony through Frodo's entire side.

Frodo couldn't hold back his tears. Exhausted by the pain, by the

tears, in fact - by the entire horrid ordeal he'd endured the whole

day, Frodo finally gave himself up to unconsciousness.