Frodo sat in the darkness, curled up into a ball, stroking the Ring.

He was cold and alone, but that didn't matter. All that mattered now was his preciousss. The preciousss would keep him safe, because it was great, far greater than anything else, and it was so beautiful, and really quite shiny, and--

"Is that you, Mr. Frodo? You shouldn't be out in the garden so late, what with you not even wearing your cloak or nothing. What are you doing out here, anyway?"

A light fell upon Frodo and he squinted up at Sam, annoyed. Standing up from the row of carrots he was sitting on, Frodo stormed from the garden, leaving poor, confused Sam with his squashed carrot plants.