Disclaimer: Just because I have been having so much trouble in math, I will be adding torture to my disclaimer. What I own is equal to:

6k+3/7-4(2+3Y)

0

For the mathematically challenged, like myself, this equals NOTHING!

AN: Hi. Thank you to my loyal reviewers. This chapter was a bit longer origionally, but I trimmed off a little of the end and used it to start the next chapter. All this does is gets me to update faster. And it was more complete where I left off. Sorry if it's too short. But then, I've done worse. I published that 50 word story once...


Chapter 8

If I really hated someone, and wanted them to die a slow, miserable death, alone and desolate...

In other words, if it was at all possible to bring the entirety of the cheerleading squad, the football and wrestling teams, and any of their sick little friends to Middle Earth, I know where I would send them.

Emyn Muil.

Fondly known as a the Rocky Maze of Monotony.

The scenery was very decorative: there were rocks. Not like in one of those pretty rock gardens they have in Japan. Nope. Just big hulking rocks. All of them brown (or for variety, gray!) and just... sitting there.

Not exactly impressive. The problem was that there were practically no trees. Or rivers. Or birds.

Which left us two problems: first off, since all the rocks looked alike, it was close to impossible to tell where you were or where you had been. This was not a problem for me, because we were following Frodo and Sam anyway, and Elvis seemed to already know his way around here pretty well. The real issue, though, was a little more serious: no animals, birds, trees, or any shrubbery in particular meant, eventually: nothing to eat. I hadn't thought to pick more than a few berries earlier, not that I had found any, and as for fish...

I had no idea whatsoever how to smoke fish. And they smell really bad if they're left out too long...

Which left us with no food but what was already in our bellies and a few handfulls of berries.

That put aside, hiding from Frodo and Sam (who were, in fact, hopelessly lost) wasn't an issue. As long as I kept my thoughts of begging food off them to myself, they had no way of spotting us amongst the jagged terrain. Sometimes it can be a good thing not to take a bath in days. Frodo was no better for the wear. He often started from his sleep, shouting Gandalf's name. Sam tried his best to help him, but there was little he could do to chase away nightmares.

Three days had passed since the elves had entered the maze of rock. Elvis and I were perched on a rather steep precipice, surrounded by a soupy mist, and listening to the exploits of our little hobbits. We were only about ten feet away from where they had securely fastened a rope that Galadriel had given them in Lorien. Elvis refused to touch it. Suprise, suprise...

"Can you see the bottom?" Sam called out. A redundant question, in my oppinion. They hadn't seen us when we were only a few feet away from them (evidently they mistook us for small stones), and I seriously doubted that they would be able to see the ground from wherever they hung.

"No!" Frodo confirmed my suspicioun. "Don't look down, Sam! Just keep going!" I rolled my eyes. Elvis gestured for me to follow him down a nearby ledge.

"Catch it!" Sam cried suddenly. "Grab it, Mr. Frodo!" I turned my head sharply to see what Frodo was to catch, but saw nothing through the fog. I heard a satisfied "Ah!" from Frodo, followed by a sudden cry of distress. "MR. FRODO!" Sam nearly screamed, the sound multiplied to a bellow by the rocks. I heard a shallow thump.

"I think I found the bottom," Frodo said calmly. I hurried down after Elvis, cursing the fog for making the handholds so slick.

"Bogs and rope, and goodness knows what..." Sam muttered as we reached the bottom. We waited for their backs to turn, then snuck up behind them. I knelt down and threw a hood over my head, and Elvis rolled into a ball. Once more we looked like a pair of regular rocks. "It's not natural. None of it." Especially not the scenery, I thought. Frodo turned back to us and examined a small box in his hand.

"What's in this?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just a bit of seasoning..." Sam said shyly. "I thought maybe if we was having a roast chicken one night or something..."

I could have leapt for joy. I knew my Sam would pull through for us!

"Roast chicken!" Frodo cried in disbeleif.

"Roast chicken?" I echoed hungrily. Both hobbits turned around quickly, searching for the source of the sound. Not even suspecting, I noticed with some confidence, that the owner of the voice was sitting a few feet in front of them, in plain sight.

"Blasted rocks..." Sam muttered, writing my outburst off as an echo. "You never know." My heart sank when I realized that he was talking about the chicken.

"Sam. My dear Sam," Frodo said, laughing lightly. At least the poor hobbit had brightened somebody's day, I thought dismally.

"It's very special, that," Sam said proudly. "It's the best salt in all the Shire." I wondered vaguely what the Shire was.

"It is special," Frodo agreed, giving the box back to Sam. "It's a little bit of home." He looked back at the rope. "We can't leave this here for someone to follow us down." I almost laughed. Yup, I thought. The only way to get down here from up there is to climb down your rope. Can't argue with that. Not at all.

"Who's gonna follow us down here, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked. "It's a shame, really. Lady Galadriel gave me that." I realized that some people actually called Galadriel 'lady.' The discovery was short of shocking. "Real Elvish rope." I smirked. I was wearing, outside of Elvis' knowledge, real Elvish clothes. "Well, there's nothing for it. It's one of my knots. Won't come free in a hurry." He gave the rope a goodbye tug, and it immediately came tumbling down. I reminded myself never to trust Sam's rope tying skills. Frodo did not look suprised.

"Real Elvish rope," he said simply. Sam shrugged and collected the rope, depositing it in his pack before walking into the mist after Frodo. After they had dissapeared from view, Elvis and I relinquished our hiding spots. The fog was starting to clear, and we probably wouldn't be able to play 'Candid Camera' again until it came back.

We caught up to the hobbits as they were, you guessed it, climbing over some more suspiciously familiar rocks.

"Mordor," Sam observed in despair. "The one place in Middle Earth we don't want to see any closer. And it's the one place we're trying to get to. It's just the place where we can't get." He turned to his companion. "Let's face it, Mr. Frodo. We're lost. I don't think Gandalf meant for us to come this way." I saw Frodo flinch at the sound of the name.

"He didn't mean for a lot of things to happen, Sam," he said softly. "But they did." He looked out into the distance, but suddenly went rigid. He gasped and gripped something on his chest. I started, worried he was having a heart attack. At the corner of my eye, however, I saw Elvis, frozen and pressed desperately against the rocks, his eyes wide. I tapped him on the shoulder, wondering if he, too, had undergone a seizure.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, his voice veined with worry. "It's the Ring, isn't it?" I tapped Elvis again, and he looked up, startled, and nodded that he was all right.

"It's getting heavier," Frodo said grimly. Elvis shakily walked to the edge of the rocks we were hiding behind, and with me watched Sam take off his backpack (always a suspensefull event) and examine its contents. "What food have we got left?" Frodo asked.

"Let me see..." Sam said, rummaging through it. "Oh, yes. Lovely. Lembas bread. And look! More Lembas bread." By the tone of his voice, he wasn't nearly as thrilled as he was trying to be. Sam took out what appeared to be a large cracker wrapped in a leaf, and handed a peice to Frodo. He took a bite himself and chewed thoughtfully. "I don't usually hold with foreign food," he said through a mouthfull. "But this Elvish stuff, it's not bad." Frodo smiled.

"Nothing ever dampens your spirits, does it, Sam?" The hobbit in question looked at the sky and shrugged.

"Those rain clouds might." I winced. As much as I enjoy water, I like it in bodies. As in lakes, rivers, oceans, stuff like that. Even a puddle will do. But rain... rain was not on the 'Make Stephanie Happy' list. Not without an umbrella.

After several long periods of begging and nagging, Elvis finally yeilded and showed me to a heap of rock that hung dejectedly over a narrow crawl space. It wasn't comfortable, but it was dry. The hobbits weren't as lucky. They were left to sit miserably under a shallow ledge not far away, with large, sad looking drops falling endlessly on their cloaks. Poor, dejected little things. They decided to refrain from talking, after thier first attempt ended as follows:

"It's raining."

"Yes it is."

"Really hard."

"Yup."

"You know, I heard a joke about rain once."

"Really?"

"Yes, I did."

"How does it go?"

"...I forgot it."

"I see...It's raining."

"You don't say."

I don't bother to mention who said what, because they traded off every so often. Eventually they lapsed into silence, until at last the rain ended, when they hastily scrambled to their feet and continued thier way over the rocks.

Staying out of sight was made even easier shortly after this, as I slid several times while prying myself out of the rocks, until I was at last coated with mud. My trusty spear had also gotten its share of filth, and now looked more like an old tree branch than a weapon. We continued on this way, Elvis looking a lot like the Swamp Monster from Planet X, and I was eternally thankful for the lack of mirrors in the area. Apparently, I could easily have scored the part of the Bride of the Monster of the Son of the Martian Slime Thing. Evidently, Frodo and Sam did not share in our misery. They were only concerned that the rock they were climbing over was the same one they had sheltered under in the morning.

"This looks strangely familiar," Sam observed. And I look strangely muddy. I wonder why? I thought, biting back my sarcasm.

"Because we've been here before!" Frodo cried angstily. "We're going in circles." Sam nodded, then recoiled his head.

"Ugh! What is that horrid stink?" I discreetly checked my underarms, and jumped back myself. Yup, I'd found the culprit. "I warrant there's a nasty bog nearby. Can you smell it?" I breathed a sigh of releif. Of course Frodo couldn't. He didn't have a dog nose or anything...

"Yes, I can smell it." Or maybe he did. I put my hands protectively over my armpits. "We're not alone." My eyes widened. Sure, I hadn't taken a bath in days. Sure, I was coated in mud and grime and all manner of animal excrements. Sure, I was now indiscernable from most frogs. But I didn't smell that bad. Did I?

Frodo led Sam away from my putrid stench... To a rock ledge, a few hundred yards away. Elvis, finally realizing my sudden drop in self esteem, led me to a creek, and returned to watch our quarries while I happily cleansed myself and my clothes. Once I changed into dry clothes I returned to find the hobbits making camp against a rock face, looking altogether satisfied with themselves. Elvis directed me to our own camp, just at the top of the same rock, about fifty feet over their heads. He left me to prepare for bed as he departed, only to come back several minutes later with a fish in his hand a second in his mouth. He was also dripping wet, but clean, which was good by me. We watched them settle against the meager shelter of the stone, and talk quietly until their voices faded into silence.

"Those two down there," I said softly once I was sure they were asleep. "They're important."

"Yes, Stephses," Elvis agreed. He was curling into a ball, his usual pose for sleeping. I yawned.

"I don't even know why. Just that they're out here in the middle of nowhere, and we're here following them..." Elvis nodded sleepily. I streched, then fluffed up my backpack a little. "What's amazing is how this thing is still in one piece. I swear..." Elvis nodded again, though his head barely moved in his rest. My vision began to blur, and I closed my eyes, succuming at last to sleep.

I dreamed that night. I saw a spider creeping down a web, toward two insects. I didn't recognize them, though they reminded me of ladybugs. I heard a voice call through the spider's web.

'Thief,' it said. 'Thief...'

'Are you there?' I asked the voice.

'Where?' the voice lamented. 'Stole...Precious...'

'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I hope you can get it back.'

'Curse! Hate! Want!'

I was woken by a sudden shout. It took me a moment to realize that the cry had come from Elvis, and I looked around, trying to find out why he was making the noise.

But he was gone. The sounds continued at the base of the rock, and were quickly joined by sounds of shuffling and scraping. I heard Sam cry out suddenly in pain. I rushed to the edge of the rock.

The sight below me shocked me beyond reason.

Elvis was sprawled across the ground, though he had Sam in a healock, and the hobbit seemed to be bleeding lightly from his shoulder. Sam was struggling against the attack, though his movements were getting steadily slower. Frodo was pushing Elvis's head painfully againt a stone, and had pulled out his sword, which was now pressed against Elvis's throat. I gasped and grabbed my spear, ready to come to my friend's defense. But Elvis saw me, and slowly shook his head, his eyes locked on mine. I tried to gesture that I was coming down to help, but he shook his head again, more rapidly this time. I backed up a step, trying to understand what he was doing. Now he nodded slightly.

"This is Sting," Frodo hissed while we maintained our little exchange. "You've seen it before...Haven't you? Gollum?" I was once again struck by the sound of the word. Judging by the way Frodo said it, I decided that it must be some kind of Middle Earth swear word. "Release him! Or I'll cut your throat." Elvis nodded weakly, this time at Frodo.

"Yesss..." he moaned pitifully. I fought the urge to run to his side, but remembered his order, and reluctantly stayed put. Elvis released his hold on Sam, who gratefully gasped at the air that had previously been denied him and rolled away from my friend.

"Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?" he asked. "Thanks for the rescue, if you don't mind me saying."

"I'm fine, Sam," Frodo confirmed. "I suspected that this wretched creature would be here."

Sam agreed wholeheartedly. Which, in itself is saying very little, since Sam almost never disagreed with Frodo at that point.

"What do we do now, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked. Frodo still had Elvis pinned to the ground, a sword at his neck. Frodo looked suprised at the question.

"Do you still have that rope, Sam? Bring it, if you will." Sam eagerly obeyed. I tried to ignore the spectacle of his opening his backpack and rummaging through it, even though I could have sworn I saw a walkman amidst the debris. Finally he retrieved the 'real Elvish rope' and brought it to his friend. "Now, tie it around his neck." I started, my eyes wide. I had seen the Phantom of the Opera enough times to know where this was going. "Don't make it too tight, Sam!" I suddenly heard Frodo say. My absolute confusion was all that kept me from diving off the cliff to rescue Elvis.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam wondered out loud.

"Don't kill him," his companion said softly.

"But why? This stinker is going to kill us!"

"That's why he's tied up, Sam. Gandalf said...he told me that Gollum is important. Or at least, he will be, before the end." He hesitated. "He said that there was a reason why Bilbo didn't kill him, all those years ago. And I think there's a reason why he shouldn't die here." I nodded silently, but my eyes returned to Elvis. His eyes were wide with pain. He was staring at the rope around his neck with horror, and he was shaking like a leaf. I leaned forward, and realized that the rope had been tied in a loose loop around his neck. It didn't look extremely dangerous, and not overly lethal. Yet he was breathing heavily, his teeth clenched as though he was in agony.

"What's wrong with him?" Sam asked, noticing the state of his prisoner. Elvis put a hand to the rope, hoping to untie it, but drew it back suddenly, as though he had been burned. He crawled backward, putting as much distance between him and the hobbits as possible. Sam noticed this, though, and gave the rope a sharp jerk. Elvis tumbled forward with a sharp cry.

"What?" I muttered, rising to my feet. Something was very wrong.

"Stay here, you!" Sam barked.

"Stop that," I growled, too low to hear. With my spear in hand, I slid quietly down the rock face. Sam jerked the rope again, making Elvis whimper. This made me mad.

"Enough!" I shouted, hitting the ground heavily. Both of the hobbits turned to see me running at them, my spear leveled toward them. The suprise was obvious in their faces, but I was beyond reason now. I dove forward, slamming the shaft of my spear into Sam's stomach. He landed on the ground with a satisfied 'oof!', but not before Frodo pounced on me himself, crumpling my legs beneath me. I tried hitting him several times with my weapon, before I realized that I was hitting myself more than my adversary. Frustrated, I threw the spear aside and tried to pry the hobbit off my leg. I managed at last to free one of my legs, and used it to kick him in the stomach, effectively sending him tumbling away. At this point, I would have probably jumped to my feet and untied Elvis.

Again, I would have. Because just as I was rising to my knees, I felt a sharp pain at the back of my head, and everything went black.