Title: A Little Walk 3/?

Author: Ancalime

Rating: PG, wee hobbit misery and discomfort

Summary: Frodo and Sam are stuck in gaol and Frodo is getting sick. When will the others find them?

Disclaimer: Sadly, the hobbits aren't mine, but Esli the guard is.

A/N: A most sincere thank-you to all who have been reviewing! It is very rewarding to know my efforts are being read and enjoyed. :)

_A Little Walk, chapter 3_

Frodo sat in silent misery for longer than he cared to keep track. The sunlight filtering in the small window high above his head moved across the floor and finally disappeared completely, while he slept on and off, more often than not awoken by a taunt from the guards trying to provoke him into doing something. The crude guards acted disturbingly similar to the orcs ... and just like last time, he was alone, he was at the mercy of merciless beings, he was without escape.

Trying to distract himself from this train of thought, Frodo quickly stood and began restlessly pacing the cell. He'd thought the activity may warm him up some and restore feeling to his numb extremities, but the movement only chilled him further, the moving air passing through his damp clothing and stripping away any heat he'd managed to retain thus far. The movement also made him cough roughly, the dampness of the air irritating his lungs. Seeing the patch of sunlight still on the ground, he tried to stand in it and soak up the warmth of the rays, but the sun chose that moment to disappear behind a thick bank of clouds.

In despair, Frodo cast himself back upon the bench, once again curling up in defense. The dank air crawled across his skin leaving chills in its wake; its clammy fingers encased his joints in a shroud of arthritic stiffness. Now not only was that troll standing on his chest, it was squeezing it, too. He coughed a few more times, desperately wishing for some water, but he knew better than to ask the cruel guards for anything. Not too long ago he'd overheard one of the imprisoned men beg for water. The guards, looking for a bit of sport, certainly gave him water- they dumped a bucket of frigid rainwater over the poor wretch's head. Frodo had no intention of letting the guards have their fun with him; he was still damp from the storm last night and had no desire to become wetter.

The guards continued taunting the prisoners all day. Frodo ignored everything they said, so when there was a bit of commotion, he didn't even bother to look up. He just didn't care. Even when one man asked, "So d'you wanna go in with your friend, runt?" Frodo didn't think it concerned him.

It wasn't until the door opened and closed and he felt someone putting something around him that he finally looked up. He blinked confusedly, not sure if his eyes were deceiving him or if Sam was really standing next to him. "Sam?" he asked hoarsely, his voice raspy from disuse and lack of water.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo, it's your Sam," he reassured his master as he tucked the cloak around the shivering hobbit on the bench. Then he clambered up next to him and rubbed Frodo's back and arms to warm him up some.

The guards found this greatly amusing, and jeered at the two small beings. "Aww, isn't that sweet," one mocked. "The bigger one is taking care of the littler one."

"Hey, runt!" another called. "Wanna come rub *my* back?"

Sam bestowed them with a glare, but Frodo murmured, "Don't, Sam. They'll lose interest soon enough if you don't do anything." While at first the taunts continued, Frodo was proved right as one by one the guards stopped mocking them and began to gamble on a rowdy game of cards.

Frodo continued to shiver as Sam tried his best to rub warmth into him, all the while asking about what had happened and if he was all right. Frodo assured him he was fine, just damp and cold; though Sam doubted this was the entire truth, he knew better than to keep pestering about it. When Frodo's shivering still continued, Sam suggested that Frodo sit on his lap; mayhap the shared body heat would have more success, and Sam's body could shield the still damp Frodo from most of the cold drafts infiltrating the cell. Too tired and uncomfortable to argue, Frodo agreed.

After a while, Frodo stopped shivering as violently and seemed to fall asleep, which left Sam to do some thinking. He was not pleased with the results. 'Sam, you ninnyhammer!' he scolded himself. 'Now how are you planning to get out of this mess? Those men won't just let us out, and no mistake. But nobody else knows where we are! Oh, what do we do now?' With many questions, and no answers becoming readily apparent, Sam began to wonder what might happen to him and Mr. Frodo before someone else found them, and how long that might take.

~~~~

It was long after nightfall when the members of the search parties reconvened in the Palace. They had tried to keep the whole affair as quiet as possible, knowing that there were some folk in the city who, if they found the missing halfling, wouldn't hesitate to hold him for ransom when they heard he is a friend of the King. The troubled times of the recent past had left the citizens with an every-man-for-himself attitude, and the recent coming of the King had not changed that attitude one bit. But when it was discovered that Sam was now missing as well, presumably having gone off to search himself, Aragorn admitted they needed to enlist more people to the search than just the remaining members of the Fellowship. He commanded the members of his Guard to keep a careful eye out for the two hobbits, and if they heard anything that may be regarding Frodo and Sam, to report to him at once.

Even with this increased watch, it was after midnight before any news was received. Pippin was on guard that night, and heard a strange tale from the third circle about two bare-foot children having the cheek to show up in a tavern and refuse the proprietor's efforts to escort them out. The tale itself was not strange; youths were often attempting to gain admittance to the taverns in hopes of laying their hands on a mug or two of ale, but the fact that there were two separate occurrences of this at the same tavern -and in the middle of the day, no less!- sent Pippin scurrying back to tell Aragorn what he had learned. It seemed probable that the children of the tale were not children at all, but the two missing hobbits. He knew better than to attempt to rescue Frodo and Sam on his own; from the sound of it, he would more than likely just be thrown in with them!

King Elessar agreed with Peregrin's assessment of the tale, and was soon striding down to the second circle to pay a visit to the gaol house personally, with Merry and Pippin eagerly tagging along. They couldn't resist an opportunity to tease their elder cousin for being thrown out of a tavern.

But Aragorn lived up to his Bree nickname and soon left the hobbits behind in his preoccupation with his thoughts. Panting, they stopped once they completely lost sight of him, and following a quick discussion, turned and went back. Merry and Pippin didn't know the way to the gaol house in the dark, and were understandably wary of becoming lost themselves.

Aragorn was hoping for the best, but found himself expecting the worst. He'd heard stories of what men would do to each other while imprisoned, often beating weaker prisoners to death (or close to it) for some imagined slight. If Frodo was being held with men, he would not long be able to defend himself even against one man, much less a group of them. And even if he were held separately, the guards held their own reputation for brutality, looking for sport in torturing prisoners, or pitting one prisoner against another, as in a dogfight. If either of these were the case, Frodo, and Sam with him, could be severely injured or dead by now.

Desperate concern gave speed to his steps as he hurried through the silent streets of Minas Tirith.

~~~~

The cell grew dark as the night deepened, gradually growing colder as the heat of day dissipated under the clear, cloudless sky. Sam was relieved to feel Frodo gradually getting warmer, though before long he began to wonder if perhaps Frodo was getting *too* warm. It was difficult to tell in the growing chill of the gaol, so Sam just hoped for the best. He too dozed on and off, usually awoken by Frodo's coughing. The fits were coming with increasing frequency, and sounding worse each time. There was nothing Sam could do but rub Frodo's back as he coughed and choked, wishing for some water to give him, but after Frodo told him the story from earlier that day, he was certainly not going to appeal to the guards for anything. But it pained him greatly as it became increasingly obvious Frodo was becoming ill from the damp and cold. Granted, it was certainly not a surprise that Frodo was falling ill; anyone who had to wear damp clothes and sit in a dank, chilly cell would get sick!

The heartless guards continued to deride the hobbits, not showing the least bit of compassion even as Frodo coughed. Their behavior made Sam almost wish Minas Tirith *had* fallen to the forces of Mordor, just to show these brutes of Men what could have been their existence as slaves of the Dark Lord.


Sam was shaken out of his doze by a new voice, one that sounded more gentle and civilized than the others. He listened intently to the conversation between the current guards and the new voice. "And I suppose you've left the paperwork for me, as usual?" asked the voice, half teasing, half resigned.

"O' course!" one of the crude guards sneered. "Can't give you time to go soft on the prisoners, now can we?"

Sam's hopes rose. Perhaps he would be able to convince this guard of who they are, or at least have him send a message to the King on their behalf. The conversation continued.

"So who've we got today?" the new guard asked.

"Well, we got the regulars in here, as always. Oh, and in the next over we got coupla kids Joram threw out o' the Bull..." came the matter-of-fact reply.

"Why are we holding *children*?"

"Nobody's come for 'em, so's I guess they ain't missed, wherever they came from."

Sam's blood came close to boiling, his anger at the guard's lies and general incompetence almost winning out over his self-restraint. Following the conversation, all of the old guards seemed to leave, abandoning the new guard to a dark, quiet row of cells, illuminated only by the lantern in his hand.


If Sam had been hoping the guard would immediately let he and Frodo go, he was sadly disappointed. This new guard strode right past the cells, going to a cluttered desk at the end of the row. After lighting a torch in its bracket on the wall, he sat down and worked on that paperwork for some time. When Frodo would cough, the guard would look up, but then went right back to his work. It was not until Frodo had a coughing fit for the third or fourth time that the guard got up and came over to the hobbits' cell. "Is he all right?" he asked, holding the lantern high to better see the two prisoners.

"Does he seem all right to you?" Sam retorted in exasperation.

The man did not answer. He walked back to his desk and returned with a skin of water. Unlocking the cell door, he handed the skin to Sam. Sam held the waterskin for Frodo, who drank greedily. "Now be careful," Sam admonished, "or you'll get sick."

Frodo smiled wryly and replied, "I think it's a little late for that, dear Sam. I believe I am already a bit ill."

"Oh, hush," Sam rejoined. "You know what I meant."

Frodo didn't answer, but merely settled back against Sam again.

The guard had crouched down next to the bench, and was watching the two small beings with curiosity. When it was again quiet, he said, "You are not children, are you."

It was not a question, but Sam chose to answer anyway. "No, we're not. We're hobbits of the Shire."

The man looked confused for a moment, then realization dawned. "Halflings! Of course. Why didn't I think of it before?" he said. "But then, you are friends of the King! Why are you here?"

"I'm here because I was looking for him" -he motioned toward Frodo- "and he's here because he seems to have asked for directions at the wrong place," Sam finished bitterly.

Concern and horror warred across the man's face, and he held his forehead in his hand for a few moments before speaking again. "Oh, dear. Those rascals have *really* bungled things this time!" he muttered, mostly to himself.

All through the conversation Frodo was silent, seemingly unaware of what was going on. Sam thought he was looking more poorly than before. He was pale, his eyes held the gleam of fever, and he was shivering uncontrollably once again.

The guard noticed the ailing hobbit's condition, and went to his desk again, this time returning with his cloak. He covered the smaller, sick halfling with it, and the other looked up at him questioningly. He said in a low voice, "I do not trust the blankets kept here, so this will have to do." The halfling nodded, a look of appreciation apparent on his open face.


It was to this scene that Aragorn entered the gaol house. He was immensely relieved to see the hobbits separate from the men and unharmed. But his relief soon gave way to a new concern: even in the meager light of the lantern, Frodo did not look good.

Neither the hobbits nor the guard on duty noticed his presence until he stepped through the open cell door and into the lantern's circle of light. Sam looked up and could not restrain his expression of joy; the guard turned and awkwardly bowed from his crouch upon recognizing the King. "My-my lord," he stammered, rising. "I was about to send word to you. There's been a terrible misunderstanding…"

"So I've heard," Elessar responded grimly. "How long have they been here?"

"I don't know exactly, I just came on duty about an hour ago. But from what I can tell, the blonde one-"

"Sam," the King supplied.

"-Sam, has been here since just before sundown. The other one-"

"Frodo."

"-Frodo, has been here since about midmorning, though I can't be sure." He lowered his voice a bit and added, "However long he's been here is too long, regardless of being a friend of yours. Anyone can see he's getting sick, with sitting in this musty, drafty cell in wet clothing and all. I fear it's getting bad."

"How bad?" Elessar asked in concern. The sound of coughing from Frodo's direction answered his question, and the guard looked sorrowfully at the hobbits. "I must apologize on behalf of the other guards for this. If it gets to be serious, I'll never forgive myself…" he said helplessly.

"You need not apologize on their behalf," Elessar responded kindly, "or take responsibility for Frodo's illness upon yourself. You have performed your duty admirably." He stepped over to the bench and picked up Frodo, who had ceased coughing and returned to his half-aware state. "I now take custody of these halflings and free them, since they were imprisoned unjustly," he stated regally, in accordance with the regulations for such a situation.

Sam hopped off the bench and hurried out into the corridor, glad to be free of such a wretched place. Aragorn followed him, but once outside the cell, turned again to address the guard. "Report to me when your duty shift is over," he commanded, then thought of one more thing. "What is your name?"

The guard saluted in response to the order. "Esli, sire."

"Esli. Very well." Aragorn turned and left the gaol house, anxious to take Frodo back to his room. He did not like how the hobbit's cough sounded, or how his breathing seemed to rattle in his chest. Heat seemed to radiate from him, even through the many folds of the guard's cloak. Frodo was certainly not well.

TBC