Mistress-Samwise: *breathes big sigh* Phew! I'm glad I don't have *too* much to do right now… You don't know how relieving that is. My life's been up and down lately and I have no idea what's going to happen next. It's gonna be a hard few months…

Enough about me! What about your questions? Let's see…: Tiggivon: Let me tell you one thing: you're catching on. Blue Jedi Hobbit 009: "Half Budget"? I'm working on it… Serious this time. Last time I was fibbin'. Not now, not now. Athena: Ask that again later. You'll see why, eventually.

Is that all? So be it.

Chapter Notes!: This is a long 'un, chillins. Settle in, grab some chips, break open the Vanilla Coke… and don't yell at me about the dream! Some of you might be like "*slyly* Oh, you! *raises eyebrow*" or "*angry* Oh, you! *sends fist through monitor*" But whatever you do, don't come crying to me, capeesh? Especially you, Athena!

You guys are really gonna kill me over the next one… but that's not for a while. I still gotta write the one after that. And I promise I'll try to get to "Half Budget"!

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            Stumbling over the dew-covered ground, Frodo desperately clutched the mushroom-filled bag to his chest. His breath froze on the early morning air as he narrowly dodged low-hanging tree branches. Behind him, the ferocious snarls of Farmer Maggot's wolfhounds rang piercingly, thrusting even more fear into the hobbitlad's heart.

            "Merry!" he cried, quickly glancing over his shoulder. "Merry! Where are you?"

            He suddenly lurched forward, falling face first into the dirt.

            "I'm right here, Frodo…" Merry said, drawing his foot back from under his cousin.

            "Did you have to trip me?" Frodo asked, trying not to sound angry.

            "Fine mess you got us into," Merry hissed. "How do you suppose we get out of this one?"

            Frodo said nothing, nervously digging his fingers into the tough leather bag. Merry rubbed at his eyes, an aggravated smirk on his lips.

            "I don't even know why I let you make me do these things! Do you realize how much trouble we'll be in? Not only have we raided a farm field, teed off Maggot's dogs, but we snuck out in the middle of the night!"

            "Look, I'm thinking of a way—"

            "Well, you better bloody well think faster!"

            The two hobbits stared ahead intently, listening helplessly as the howl of the dogs drew closer. Frodo was now panicking as he grabbed Merry and pushed up off the ground.

            "Run!"

            Abandoning the ill-gotten mushrooms, Frodo and Merry hurtled past tree after tree. They stopped at the steep overhang jutting out of the forest floor. Frodo hastily lowered his cousin over the side, occasionally peering behind his shoulder.

            "Quick!" he stated, carefully letting go of Merry's arms. "Wait by the side of the road. I'll lead them away."

            Merry nodded and slid down the side of the hill. Frodo's breath hitched as he heard the rapid footfall of the enraged hounds closing in. He scrambled away along the edge of the cliff, nearly slipping off.

            Why did I have to do this?

            Just then, one of the dogs pounced out in front of him, stopping him dead in his tracks. Whipping himself around, he found the other two, crouched, their teeth bared in a menacing scowl. He was just about to jump over the side when he was grabbed by the wrist and thrown onto the ground.

            "You again?" Farmer Maggot growled in surprise. "So you've decided to go for three in one month? Impressive, but what about your little friend?"

            "There is no other one!" Frodo cried defensively, trying to keep Merry out of it. "I came alone!"

            "Don't play me for stupid, you filthy little brat! You just tell 'im that you both are in a lot of trouble! Isn't that right, Fang?"

            The dog frothed in rage, snarling at the mention of his name.

            "If it were any earlier, I would have let these dogs tear you apart. They don't like being woken up from their sleep."

            Frodo knew that there was truth in those words. He slowly backed away from his captors, trembling with fear.

            "You're not going anywhere!" Farmer Maggot snapped. "I'll be sure you and your pal pay dearly for this."

            The farmer's gaze pierced Frodo like burning knives, though the fear he felt would pale in comparison with that when he got back to Brandy Hall.

            "Why do you do this?  It has been years, Frodo… Years! It hurts everybody to see you this angry. We've tried to help you, talk to you, even punish you… But nothing works. Why won't you let us help you?"

            Frodo said nothing, but rather lowered his gaze, his lips curled in a sneer.

            "What do you want us to do? Let you stay like this? You're nearly twenty-two years old, you know. It's time you start taking responsibilities for your own actions. I understand that you were only a child, but now it's just absurd—"

            "It's not as easy as you think!" Frodo broke in. "You don't understand- you can't understand! You people think that I can just simply forget everything that happened to me and continue living my boring and meaningless life just so you won't have to deal with my emotions. But guess what? I can't do that, so don't go telling me how I should act! Nothing gives you that right!"

            He then rushed away into his room before anything else could be said. Nothing needed to be; he had already figured out that there was no way he would be going to Bilbo's up-coming birthday party, and, with the fact Merry had gotten caught up in Frodo's little escapade, the added time would be worse. He knew he was really in for it now, and there was nothing that could get him out of it this time. For six years his behavior had consistently gotten worse and worse, and so did the patience of all who were around him. So if last time proved any worth, the punishment now would be anything short of complete and utter exile.

            Wouldn't be so bad… he thought. Nobody around to bother me.

            Frodo waited a while, waited for someone to burst in, yelling. But nothing happened, and that seemed very off. These weren't the type of people who, one moment, were screaming at you, and then, another, turn around and actually leave you alone. They just wouldn't do that; do what you wanted them to do. Or, at least, never for Frodo, that is.

            Nevertheless, he stayed in his room with his growing suspicion. Occasionally, he would yell and scream, and then wait for a reaction. Alas, he got none. He thought that, maybe, they had grown afraid of him, afraid of his anger. Of course, there always were the random people who always strayed away from him whenever he came near, for they caught him at the wrong time to make first impressions. But he never figured that a large group of people would avoid him solely because of his anger. He was rather impressed by that, for he had achieved something he had tried doing for so long. And, somehow, he was also scared of that.

            But he always found the best thing to do when he hit a snag like that was to ignore it. And he did. Nothing's easier than ignoring your own faults, and if he could have made a job out of that, he would have been a millionaire.

            While he was doing precisely that, a week and a half passed. It was now September sixteenth and six days before his birthday. Naturally, he was not anticipating a celebration of any sort, more or less even experience his cousin's. Yet he had not gotten any word of his not going, but he presumed the former to happen anyway. So in his boredom, Frodo found himself picking away at his bedpost with a dull penknife.

            "Ugh," he groaned incoherently, pushing the blade against the wood grain, sending shavings flying into the air. "My life is so meaningless- Ugg!" He sent a particularly large piece of wood sailing across the room, along with the penknife. "Ah, damn…"

            Mumbling unintelligibly, he stooped over to retrieve the knife and continued to carve away at the bedpost. He was past halfway through when a knock came to the door.

            "What?" He flinched in surprise, shoving the blade into the post and cracking off the bed knob. Before he could respond justly to that situation, Saradoc entered.

            "Frodo?" Saradoc asked. "Frodo, will you put that thing away? Heaven knows how you got it and why you still have it… Please, you're making me nervous."

            Frodo shot a cold, steely gaze at the older hobbit while he sheathed the knife, sending a shiver up Saradoc's spine.

            "Now, Frodo… You know I didn't mean anything by that—"

            "Of course you didn't," Frodo murmured. He placed the penknife on the bed stand and casually ran his slender, ashen fingers through his dark chestnut hair.

            "Is that who I am to you?" he inquired, sounding more downhearted than upset. "Some angry, disturbed young hobbit who does nothing but hurt?" His words grew thick, and he cut himself off before he went any further. For a while, Saradoc said nothing but quickly gained his commanding, grown-up confidence.

            "You have not done much to prove us otherwise," Saradoc stated. "How can you expect us to treat you like a normal hobbit when you don't act like one?"

            Frodo had many answers to that question, but found it best not to mention them. He was in enough trouble as it was, and a few strategically placed four-letter words would certainly make matters much worse. Saradoc quietly cleared his throat and continued.

            "But that's why I want to speak to you." He paused for a moment, trying to get his thoughts in order. "It's about your behavior, Frodo. I'd hate to be so blunt but, quite frankly, your behavior is out of control. I don't know how hard you've been trying, but we've just about given up on you."

            Saradoc looked down at Frodo and his heart wrenched. The hobbitlad's eyes shone brightly with tears as he bit down hard onto his bottom lip.

            "Frodo, Frodo, Frodo…" Saradoc cooed. "Please…" He placed his arm around Frodo and managed to keep it there until Frodo pulled himself away. Saradoc furrowed his brow in worry; Frodo was so small, so slight, almost too much so. He had so much emotional pain, and now it was really beginning to show. Was it all on purpose?

            "Frodo-lad…" Saradoc said, lifting Frodo's chin up from his chest. "We love you, Frodo… Please never forget that. Nothing you could do will ever make us hate you. But we don't want you to stay like this forever. It hurts, Frodo, it hurts. We want what's best for you."

            Frodo looked up, not quite sure at what Saradoc was getting at.

            "Your aunt and I have thought about it for a very long time," Saradoc continued. "But before I go on, just let me tell you we did not want it to come to this, but… you made us. We've spoken to your cousin Bilbo about it, and he has agreed to let you live with him in Hobbiton."

            Before he went on, Saradoc paused. Frodo sat in a stunned silence, completely stricken by what he heard.

            "It was partly his idea. He knew how much trouble you were having adjusting to life after your parents' death. He thought it would be much easier for you to live in a place where you wouldn't have to worry about the pressures of other people."

            "It's not like we are trying to get rid of you, Frodo. We really do think that this is best for you. Bilbo was looking for an heir anyway, so we decided to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak."

            Frodo stared at Saradoc with a sort of amazed incredulity, not certain whether this was a good thing or not. He was, of course, rather fond of his cousin, and didn't mind the fact that he would have to be living with him. But this suddenly? He had no idea that he had driven all his family to this option, and that left him stunned. Had he really been that angry?

            He felt mad at his family for doing this to him, yet he felt immense guilt. He had done this. He had driven them this far. But just shipping him off? This would solve everything? Frodo wasn't sure. There was no choice but to trust their judgment. They obviously must have been desperate, for they always could have done this years before. Maybe it would be best…

            The following four days were slow ones. Between packing and numerous final arrangements, Frodo was approached time and again by relatives saying their last good-byes. Merry, whom days before would be reveling in this occasion, was the most choked-up. There was nobody else he liked to spend time with than his older cousin, even if it meant landing himself into a lot of trouble.

            "I hope you'll come visit us again," Merry pleaded to Frodo.

            "Of course," Frodo replied, forcing an encouraging smile. "There's always Bilbo's birthday party."

            "Not this time," Merry stated grimly. "Because of you, I'm stuck here. You get to live with the man, and I don't even get to go to his party. 'Hey, Merry! Wanna do something really fun?' "Yeah, Frodo! Like what?" 'I dunno… Steal mushrooms, perhaps?' "

            "I do hope you know I am sorry about that there, Merry."

            "Certainly," Merry grinned. "We're cousins! We can't stay mad at each other forever."

            "No, we can't."

            As Frodo spent his last evening at Brandy Hall, he sat in his bedroom, staring at the empty chests and dressers, thinking of his same empty soul.

            How can anything cure this…this void…?

            The sleep he finally fell into was dark and restless. Uneasy shadows crept up, only to recede, showing glimpses of a dream.

            "Please stop…"

            Frodo felt his lips move, but the voice was not his own.

            "… the pain…"

            Slowly staring up from the dagger in his hand, Frodo look ahead at the raging river in front of him. White, glowing feathers swirled around in the breeze, landing at his feet. Brushing up against his tearstained cheeks, they lifted little bits of liquid pain off his face, leaving a strange sensation upon his skin. A shiver ran up his spine as he suddenly felt someone behind him, an explosion of light guiding him with a strong yet gentle force.

            "… my beloved…"

            Suddenly, his eyes shot open, and he found himself awake, back in his cold, bare room, unable to fall asleep again. For long time he contemplated his vision, recalling the powerful presence which engulfed his entire being with such a warmth… such a love… that he found it unreal… completely impossible. He had grown so used to the coldness in his life, the emptiness…

            "That voice…"

            But he could find no name for it, and soon gave up deciphering his dream. Morning found him tired and restless as he departed from Brandy Hall for the last time. A new life was to be begun in Hobbiton, and his start was as mysterious and bittersweet as the way it would end.

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Mistress-Samwise: Liked that, huh, didn't ya, didn't ya, huh, huh, didn't ya? Save the ranting for next chapter, scheduled for next week. I'm going to go mess around with Dreamweaver right now. Tah.