KT SHY: I'm sure writing a second chapter within the span of a week'll help you guys forgive my previous procrastinations… right?.... um… right?  (sob).  Anyways, much thanks to Ritsuka (Wow, thanks for the flattering proposal!  Expect my confused yet highly... um… flattered response soon!) and giveGodtheglory (don't worry, it takes a lot to insult me! Ha ha!  I'll trrrryyyy not to craze up Arwen too much… just fer you!)  These two reviewed within a day of my posting!  It gladdens my heart to know I haven't driven off all my readers!

Disclaimed and Dedicated as always, to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Eye on the Prize

Act XII: The Eye is ever Boxful

 '…uUUUUUR-phf-tchgrrraaAAAAAUGH!!!!!!!!!!'

'For god sake fellow, lift with the legs, not the back, the legs!' Gandalf said to Théoden, who was steadily on his way to Hernia-ville due to his shoveling attempts.

'… it's my Keep, (gahrrrnnn) Gandalf, and as it's high ranking official keeper (wheeeeeeeze) it's as much my duty to help clear this snow as any other… oh I can't take this anymore, here Éomer, cover for me.'

'What!?' blurted the young man.

'Dooooooooooooo iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.' The King gave him his evilest eye.

Kaflump

Aragorn wiped at his brow, the excursion of shoveling away all the snow helped warm up muscles which had become stiff after the previous night's We-just-saved-the-frickin'-day celebration.  Looking down at the fine white substance now… he couldn't help but dwell upon its origins.  Something seriously wrong was going on… but that wasn't anything new these days.   Gandalf had told him many days back, before they'd arrived in Edoras, about how Sauron had used his dark power to steal Frodo's appearance.  Aragorn had come to terms with that… it explained quite a bit now that he thought about it…back during the Fellowship days.  That Frodo had somehow been able to control the mighty power of the Dark Lord, made a certain kind of sense as well… although Aragorn got brain freeze every time he thought about it too much. 

Best to just accept it as fact and move on, he thought.

But something else was nagging at the back of his mind as well… something crucial.

A loud screeeeeeeeech cut into the Ranger's contemplative mind set, and he looked up to see a rickety hay wagon pull up just outside of Helms Deep.

'A'ight buddy?  Here's the stop you requested, take care now.' said the driver, a hefty bearded man wearing an offensive plaid shirt and straw hat.

A figure hopped off the back of the cart, straw tangled in his mane, and a sad, lost kind of look in his big brown eyes.

Éomer recognized the character immediately, 'FIREFOOT!!!!!!'

The horse jumped upon hearing his name, turned, spotted his master, then whinnied pathetically as the two rushed to embrace each other amidst much sobbing (Éomer) and slobbering (the horse).

'Well that makes two happy reunions,' muttered Aragorn.

'There, you see Aragorn?' said a teary eyed Éomer covered in equine drool, 'you don't owe me a new horse after all!'

'Erk!' erked Aragorn, 'I'd kinda hoped you'd forgotten about that.'

'A Rohirrim forget his horse?  Never!  Isn't that right Firefoot?'

In response, the horse leapt into the man's arms, blinking huge brown eyes happily, and Éomer carried Firefoot all the way home.

'Hey!  Get back here and shovel this damn snow you lazy dependant!' bellowed Théoden.

Aragorn chuckled.  Then, feeling a presence at his shoulder, he looked over to see a big nose and fuzzy white beard obscuring his vision.

'AAAUGH!  KILL IT!'

'It's ME you dolt!' growled Gandalf.  Then softening his tone he added, 'It looked like something was troubling you…'

Aragorn struck his shovel deep into the snow, then rested his right arm over it wearily.  Behind them, Legolas was having a cow of a time trying to shovel.  Being an elf he couldn't help standing on top of the snow… this of course meant he had to bend over painfully to get at any significant amounts of the stuff.  He cursed genetics.

'Gandalf,' Aragorn began, eyes staring off into the horizon, 'They do need Frodo alive in Mordor… don't they?  They wouldn't…'

'Ah.' Gandalf leaned heavily of his staff, 'No, they won't kill him if that's what you fear.  I'm not even sure it's possible.  They are definitely aware of his meddling though, I'm not so optimistic as to be able to believe otherwise.  No, they won't kill him for his troubles.  But there are ways Aragorn… so many ways to make someone suffer without harming them physically… it terrifies me to think of the price he may now be paying at the hands of his captors… for saving us at Helms Deep.'

Gandalf looked genuinely afraid, and it made Aragorn feel cold inside to see such a thing.  It was wrong.  So wrong.  To think of all the terror, fear and hopelessness that the kind hearted hobbit must have suffered all that time within Mordor's borders… and now it was sure to double… just thinking of it broke Aragorn's heart.

He remembered how they first met:

Back in the Prancing Pony, Aragorn, hood pulled low over his eyes, beckoned the frail hobbit to come towards him, 'Your friends seem to be saying too much where unpleasant ears are apt to eavesdrop mister Underhill, you had better do something quick!'

Frodo nodded at the stranger, swallowed, then leapt onto the nearest table and said aloud, 'I am now putting on the Ring!'

'Shutupshutupshutupshutup!'

Way to pick 'em… why was Aragorn always sent to save the smart ones?  But the little thing had been so naïve, it was only natural that he'd want to protect him.  And what a fine job he'd done of it, first letting his charge get stabbed and thus cursed for all time, and now spirited away by dark sorcery into the very heart of Mordor.  Bravo Aragorn, bravo.  He hadn't done a good enough job… not where it really counted.

Aragorn sent a silent prayer to all those who'd gone before him, that they protect Frodo where he could not, keep the hobbit safe even in the very heart of evil where he was held.

***

Barad-dûr

'NO NO NO NO NO!' Frodo wailed in desperation but the Witch-King continued what he was doing, ripping down every ornament in sight, and smashing every object of rustic comfort.  All Frodo's careful and clever redecoration efforts were being destroyed before his very eyes… er… his one giant flaming eye.

'NONONONONO!' he started to bat himself against the Nazgûl leader who had began tearing up the finely polished cherry wood floor paneling, leaving nothing but cold heartless stone underneath.

The Witch-King rounded on him then, furious, and Frodo leapt back as he was confronted by the same terrifying creature that had impaled him with a Morgul blade all those months ago.  Frodo squirshed himself into a corner as the Witch-King advanced menacingly.

'Listen here you insignificant little puff of life.  I have had to deal with your-' (Frodo gasped at the vulgar curse) '- for long enough!  I put up with you before because you kept out of the way of things, but well…' there was a cold laugh, '… I really can't attempt to ignore you now after the-' (Frodo: gasp!) '- you pulled at Helms Deep!  I don't know how you managed to tap into the Master's powers… but I'm going to make damn sure it's a one time offence.'

He hoisted up a large metal crate covered in runes, then pulled a long pool lasso out from one of his sleeves and extended it towards the quaking hobbit eyeball thing.

'You will stay in the darkest dungeon at the bottom of our keep until the Master returns.  Sauron will know what to do with you.'

All throughout Mordor a miserable cry broke out, shocking everyone who dwelt there.  Then it ceased just as abruptly.  Hours later the Witch-King could be seen strolling out of the Dark Tower, putting large garbage bags full of western comforts onto the curb for Tuesday pickup.

He was in control again.  Fantastic!  He walked with a little bounce in his step confident that all was again right with the world until he ran into two orcs dressed in hobbit attire.

'Get rid of those clothes now.' he ordered flatly.

'But my lord, they're really comfortable…' one of the orcs began.

 'THIS IS A FORTRESS OF EVIL NOT A NANCY LITTLE TEA HOUSE!' the Witch-King shrieked, fury once again at full par.  'Now put on some freakin' loincloths and UNCOMFORATBLE armor and go roll around in the beast stables a couple times!' 

The orcs gave a sad little 'Yessir.' and walk away dejectedly.

'AND TAKE OFF THOSE @!#%$!* CURLY WIGS!!!!!'

KT SHY: Hopefully that holds you over for a time!  I finished Act 11 on Monday and now here's Act 12!  It'll be a while before I touch the next chapter (even though it's waaaay better planned out than 11 was before I went at it) because… eh… I NEED TO FOCUS ON SCHOOL!  Animation ain't exactly a bird course if you catch mah drift.  And I want to finish off my fan-comics so I can start on an original project (GASP!  Original!  Me!?)

At any rate Act XIII: Merry the Resourceful will shift focus back to the Small Troop and their adventures in Torech Ungol!!!!   Hopefully you've missed them and their pint sized antics!

Ciao for now my dearies.  Be good.