Mistress-Samwise: Huzzah! It's Columbus Day and I'm gonna go see Spirited away! Yay for anime!!! It's fun living in a country that gives days off because of some Italian guy who "discovered" it over five hundred years ago. God bless America! *salutes suddenly and mysteriously materialized flag, teary eyed*

Since ff.net was such a butt on Saturday and you guys weren't, I've decided to reward you with a new chapter. Don't you feel special?

Anywho, it's Q-and-A time! Demonic-Kiwi: Yes. Angst is comin' right up! Right in this very chapter, too! Isn't that great? JediKnightBalthasar: No, he can't think of anyone else for once. He's a no-good-punk-@$$-teen. That's all the questions for the last chapter. Thanks for askin'!

As for the following chapter, prepare for good, ole fashioned ANGST! HUZZAH! Cry, cry, cry, self-mutilate, self-mutilate, self-mutilate (though I do try to avoid it as much as possible), yell, yell, yell, cry again, cry again, cry again, mysterious dream, mysterious dream, mysterious dream, and etcetera, etcetera. *dorky smile* Though everything won't come in three's. How could I come with three dreams? *a la Brian Fellows from SNL* That's crazy!

Idea Update!: I've just got a deliciously WICKED idea, and I wonder if I should use it… Lemme give you a clue: it involves poppies. Now how wicked can poppies be…? Think about it for a moment. *evil grin* Ooo-hoo-hoo! Mayhap I can work it in… *evil, evil grin* That would be so much "fun"! So it ain't Mary Jane, but it'll do… Oh, yes, it'll do… Fu fu fu! *laughs maniacally*

Erp. You want to read? Then go do that. *throws chapter at you*

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            Several days passed… Frodo slept through most of it, and concern grew outside of his room. He had barely eaten anything, and some were saying he had a cold. But whenever anybody tried to make any sort of contact with the boy, they were quickly burned and sent away with shocked looks on their faces. They could often hear him yell out in rage, swearing at some higher power for what had happened in the river. The real problem was when he directed all of that anger towards a real person. It was tough, even for Bilbo. He was far from being ready to listen to any logic, no matter whom it came from. The only thing he wanted, desired, demanded was solitude. But it was hard, even for him, to get it. The hobbits of Brandy Hall were determined to break through Frodo's bad temper, but it was a battle better left without a fight.  For he was just as determined, if not more so, to keep all others as far away from himself as possible. Through his eyes they only made things worse, intruding upon his life and attempting to control his emotions.

            "Why can't you leave me alone?" he would often cry. "You people are nowhere near to understanding half of what I went through! I don't need your help… I don't need anybody's help!"

            And for a week this continued. Frodo would be found asleep for often more than twelve hours a day, getting up only eat something very meager, and then go back to sleep. Nothing could keep him awake, not even spending precious hours outside in the sunlight or caffeine-loaded tea.

            "It might be because he wants to escape," they would say. "Or maybe he's depressed."

            Frodo liked the fact that he slept so much. In sleep, there was no one to bother him, no one to try and help him. But he wasn't only escaping from the other people around him, for you see, in sleep, he escaped from himself.

            When he stood dripping wet on the shore of the Brandywine, staring blankly at its murky depths, at the two hobbits sinking below its surface, he felt something slip. He had just figured out what happened; he escaped from the boat and his parents didn't, he got to the shore and his parents didn't, and he was standing there, doing nothing, trying to figure out the situation. That was when he realized…

            I… Could have saved them….

            But why didn't he?

            It's my fault… They're dead… Because of me…

            What kept him back?

            I couldn't control myself… I didn't have the power…

While standing alone on the shore, watching the overturned boat bob in the river's water, he felt something slip. He felt all of his power slip away.

God damn you, Frodo Baggins! Why didn't you save them?

Through his own eyes, he killed two people. Not the river. Not its rapids. Not the misbalanced boat. Him. Frodo. And that was whom he now hated the most: himself.

            In sleep, Frodo escaped not only from the others around him, but also himself. *That* is why he slept.

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Mistress-Samwise: Yes, I return to tell you that if you ask me any questions, any at all, I'll try and answer 'um in the next chapter. It's all part of being a nice and good author. Happy readers are readers who review, as I always say. Reviews make me happy, and a happy Amy is an Amy that UPDATES! Yes, you heard me right. Now… Go forth and review!