Every Man for Himself

Disclaimer: sobs It's not mine! They won't give it to me! It's all Tolkien's! Why? WHY? WHY????? Well, at least I get ownership of Desmond and Reynard. Oh great. That really makes my day. I get to own two criminals who kidnap poor little Frodo. cries POOR FRODO! I'm not being terribly nice to him, am I? Oh well. Let's see what happens to him next…

Chapter 6: To Be Cared For

4 May 3019 – Before Sunrise

He was fairly certain that his head was going to explode at any moment now. In all his fifty years he had never suffered such a phenomenal headache. He groaned as he tried to bring a hand up to his temples. He frowned as he tried again to bring a hand up to his temples. He made a sound of deep frustration as he tried for a third time to bring a hand up to his temples. Any hand would do. Or even a couple of fingers! How about one? Surely he would be permitted to bring one little finger up to his temples.

This was getting ridiculous. He opened his eyes a crack, and saw the answer to his predicament – his hands were tied. He groaned in further irritation. What in the Shire had possessed his hands to do that? He opened his eyes a little more, being mindful of their sensitivity to the light. He examined the knot and rope binding his hands in front of him.

Wait a minute. He could see. Why could he see? He wasn't supposed to be able to see. It was supposed to be dark. Why wasn't it dark? He frowned and with an effort, flipped over onto his other side. He gave a whimper of pain as his left shoulder and ankle protested strongly to this movement. He looked down at his feet. Yes – the left was swollen. He must have twisted it when he fell over in that alley.

Hang on! That was what had happened to him. He had been walking back to the citadel from that inn in the fourth circle. Then he had met those two fellows who had led him into an alley, knocked him on the head (hard), bound him (tightly) and taken him to this miserable (and cold) dump. Ooh. So that was why a patch of hair was plastered to the side of his forehead in a most annoying manner. He had probably received a nasty cut from being hit so hard by that… whatever it had been.

As this onslaught of new revelations struck him, making him feel all the more dizzy and nauseous, he mentally berated himself for his outstanding demonstration of stupidity. Book sellers indeed! What self-respecting bookshop was open after dark? He was known in every single bookshop in the Shire. He knew the libraries of Bag End, the Great Smials and Brandy Hall better than the back of his hand. He knew the working hours of librarians and booksellers better than they did themselves. So why hadn't he realised that something was wrong? Why had he let himself be lured in by those two big brutes?

He gave a bitter laugh. He had only himself to blame after all. Just like he had himself to blame for not seeing the second thug that was sitting beside him, sooner. This man was slightly smaller in build than the first. His hair was reddish-brown in colour – underneath all the filth that covered it, and his eyes were similar to a pig's – small and a watery blue. They looked to be slightly bloodshot. Frodo mused that it would come as no shock if this Man should turn out to be a drunk.

At that moment, he was sitting on a stool, watching Frodo with a strange look in those eyes. All laughter, bitter or otherwise, evaporated from the hobbit's lips in a heartbeat. He watched the man warily, noticing that he had a sheathed knife tucked into his belt.

"Who are you?" asked Frodo tentatively. The man's lips curled into a smile.

"Reynard," he said. He spoke with the same dangerous softness as Desmond had, not that it mattered terribly much to Frodo.

"Must I call you 'sir' as well?" he said sarcastically. Reynard laughed.

"No," he said. "Yeh'll call me 'Yer Highness'… or 'Yer Lordship'. Or how about 'Yer Majesty'?" Frodo's brows drew down into a frown of disgust.

"The only person who will be given such titles is the King," he said coldly. He looked Reynard up and down. "You will never be anything more than a common lout!"

Even before the words had all flowed from his lips, he knew he had just made a big mistake. He mentally slapped himself. You idiot! screamed his head. What's wrong with you? Do you want to be killed?

Right on cue, Reynard jumped from his stool, causing it to topple over. He knelt on the ground next to Frodo. The hobbit was helpless as Reynard's fist impacted hard with his stomach, winding him to the same effect as if a troll had just sat on him. He gasped in pain, wishing fervently that he hadn't had so much to eat and drink at the tavern. With a great effort, he forced the contents of his stomach back down. He doubted very much that either of the Men would give him anything to change into or to clean himself up with if he was sick all over himself. He looked back up at Reynard, bracing himself for further attacks. With a swiftness that Frodo had not expected the man to possess, he gripped the hobbit's throat with one hand, while reaching to his belt and drawing out the filthy knife with his other. He held the grimy blade up so Frodo could see it clearly.

"While it's jus' you and me, halflin'," snarled Reynard. "Let's get a few things straight. While yer with me, yeh'll speak only when yer told to. If yeh don', yeh'll be punished. Any more of yer cheeky talk-back, and I will personally hack that tongue off with this knife here." He thrust the blade closer to Frodo. On instinct, the hobbit's eyes snapped shut. Reynard laughed, though it sounded more like a ferocious bark. "Put a single toe out o' line and yeh'll regret it fer the rest of yer life," he continued. "Yeh'll do as yer told when yer told or else. Do we understand each other?" Frodo didn't answer. "I SAID DO WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER!"

"Yes," croaked Frodo.

"Good," said Reynard. He released the hobbit and rose to his feet, towering over him like a monolith. "Now think o' this as a warnin'." With that said, he gave Frodo an almighty kick in the side with his iron-shod boot. Frodo bit down hard on his tongue, his eyes clenched tightly shut as he fought against crying out. Tears gathered behind his lids as he tasted the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. Reynard gave another barking laugh as he kicked Frodo again – for good measure if nothing else. Then he clomped over to the stairs, plodding up them noisily. Just as he was about to disappear through the door, he turned back and looked down at Frodo.

"I don' wanna hear another sound out of you," he said. Then he went through the door, slamming it shut and locking it behind him.

For perhaps a minute or two, all in the cellar was still and silent. Then there was the tiniest of sniffles as the lonely figure shivered.

A tear rolled down Frodo's cheek.

Pippin was silent and pacing. If he had been found like this back home in the Great Smials, he would have received worried looks from everyone who passed him until someone (probably his eldest sister, Pearl) asked him what was the matter. But truth be told, Pippin hadn't felt this worried since Merry had come to him all that time ago, telling him that Frodo was going to leave the Shire, 'so keep your eyes open and gather what information you can, as inconspicuously as you can'.

But as it happened, Pippin was not at home. He was no where near home. And the only people who knew him well enough to realise that he was so dreadfully worried were either asleep because it was very late at night, or out because they too were worried for the very same reasons as the lonely hobbit.

He suddenly stopped pacing and sat himself down heavily in the middle of the hallway. He felt desperately alone. He wasn't used to feeling alone. Usually he had an elder cousin around to envelop him in a comforting hug before asking what was wrong. When he told them, said elder cousin would usually laugh softly, murmuring out a string of reassurances. If Pippin was at Bag End, Frodo would then make him a cup of tea and offer him some cake. If he was at Brandy Hall, Merry would suggest they go and raid the pantries or play a prank on an annoying aunt or cousin, so Pippin could laugh and forget his troubles.

Pippin sighed. Merry was out somewhere in the city and Frodo was… out somewhere else in the city – or so everyone hoped. Pippin had no one with him now to comfort him and tell him that it would be alright. No one to tell him that he was a silly Took and shouldn't get so worked up about nothing…

Not for the first time since the Quest had begun did Pippin realise how very much he loved his two favourite cousins. He had been indescribably jubilant when Frodo had awoken at last in Ithilien. He had missed being ganged up on by him and Merry…

Very suddenly, a new thought penetrated through Pippin's whirlpool of contemplation. He wondered what it had been like for Frodo before he or Merry had been born. Before he had known Sam, and before he had been adopted by Bilbo. Pippin tried to imagine him as a young teenager, wondering about the many passages in Brandy Hall by himself for two years. Pippin knew from Merry and Merry's parents that Frodo hadn't had many friends in Buckland before Merry had been born. It almost broke the tweenager's heart to think of his beloved cousin so alone. Frodo was the most kind, generous, loyal and loving hobbit he knew. How could anyone want to bring him harm? It was incomprehensible! Pippin frowned deeply as he delved deeper into this new train of thought. Why, then, had the Council of Elrond allowed him to become the Ringbearer? Again! There had been an innumerable amount of others present who could have carried the Ring. Why had they let Frodo do it? He had suffered enough already!

And now, when it was all supposed to be over, something had happened to him. Pippin did not doubt now that Frodo had not simply lost his way in the city. No… It was a gut instinct that told the Took otherwise. In the way that all hobbits knew when it was time for the next meal, all hobbits knew when a loved-one was in danger.

It was at that moment that Peregrin Took heard footsteps coming towards him. He hastily got to his feet. His heart was thumping painfully in his chest. Something had changed. Something had gone wrong. He paled as he saw Sam, Legolas and Gimli hurrying closer. In the Elf's arms was Merry.

"What happened?" cried Pippin. He rushed to Legolas, jumping around him like a jack-in-the-box.

"He seemed fine one moment," said Gimli, obviously still bewildered by the situation – whatever it was. "Then he said he felt cold. Next thing I know, he's falling to the ground!"

In moments, Merry was being laid on his bed in his and Pippin's room. Pippin didn't hesitate to climb onto the mattress and sit beside him. Reaching to grasp his cousin's hands, he gave a surprised yelp.

"They're icy cold!" he exclaimed. "As cold as when-"

Pippin abruptly stopped talking. Everyone turned to face him. "As cold as when…" prompted Legolas.

"When I found him in one of the streets of the city," said Pippin slowly. "Right after the battle of the Pelennor fields… After he and Lady Éowyn destroyed the Witch-King."

At the mentioning of that vile menace, Merry's eyes snapped open and he started struggling. Upon realising he was in the company of friends, he became still again.

"Merry what's wrong?" asked Pippin. "Why are you so cold?"

"Something's wrong," whispered Merry. Pippin was dismayed at the intense fear he heard in his cousin's voice. He tried to disguise his own fear.

"Well of course something's wrong you silly Brandybuck!" he chided gently. "Hobbits like yourself shouldn't go around collapsing and going cold for no good reason."

"No," interjected Merry quickly. His eyes were wide, desperate for his cousin to listen and understand. "Something's wrong with Frodo. I think he's hurt."

"What?" cried Sam. "Why, Mr Merry? Where is he?" Merry shook his head, his brows furrowed as if to concentrate.

"I don't know Sam," he said. "I can just feel it. He's in trouble, and he's been hurt. We have to help him."

There was a silence as those present took this in. No one could find an answer to such a statement. Eventually Legolas frowned in concern at the ailing hobbit.

"Merry you're shivering," he said. "I think we should get Aragorn to have a look at you."

"I'm fine," protested Merry. "We don't have time for this! We have to find Frodo!"

"How do you know that Frodo is still missing though?" reasoned the Elf. "Gandalf may have found him."

"He hasn't!" exclaimed Merry. "I just know it! You have to believe me!"

"What is going on?"

As one the group looked to the doorway. There stood Gandalf and a slightly dishevelled Aragorn.

"Strider!" cried Merry, sitting up quickly. "You have to help! Frodo's-"

"Hush…" soothed Aragorn. He came into the room and sat on the edge of Merry's bed. "Gandalf has told me of what has happened. And it will be dealt with – I can assure you. But at the moment I am more concerned about why you have taken ill so suddenly."

Before Merry could say another word, Aragorn rested a hand on the hobbit's forehead. His temperature felt strangely normal. He allowed himself a small frown before he held Merry's hands. His frown deepened.

"Merry," said the King. "Would you happen to know why your hands are touched with the Black Breath – and the rest of you is not?"

Gandalf, who had been silent since his arrival, chose to step forward then. "I think I may know the answer," he said. He looked down at Merry intently. "Meriadoc, how is your left shoulder?"

"It aches," said Merry softly.

"And you say that you think Frodo is hurt?" continued Gandalf. The hobbit nodded. "Aragorn, it is my understanding that Frodo and Merry share a strange and unique connection. A connection harboured by their previous dealings with the Nazgûl."

"What?" exclaimed Pippin. He clutched his cousin's hand tighter.

"Frodo was stabbed in the left shoulder by the Witch-King of Angmar," said Gandalf. "Merry stabbed the Witch-King himself at the Pelennor Fields. Both hobbits were nearly consequently killed. But I believe it is because of this that they are able to feel when the other is suffering pain – perhaps only to a certain degree."

"So you think that Frodo feels cold and his left shoulder aches?" said Aragorn slowly.

"Not necessarily those ailments," answered Gandalf. "Those could simply be the areas affected on Merry's part as the arms and shoulder played important parts in the bodies' histories with the Witch-King."

"Then in all likelihood," mused Aragorn. "Lady Éowyn should be suffering in a similar way."

"But the Lady Éowyn is not Frodo's cousin," said Gandalf.

There was another silence. Pippin looked from Aragorn to Gandalf to Merry. The latter still looked restless. "All this is very good," he said impatiently. "But are we going to look for Frodo or not?"

Gandalf sighed deeply, the situation obviously paining him. "I think we had best wait until morning before we renew the search," he said heavily. "This is a big city – Frodo could be anywhere. We will enlist the help of others when it is light."

"You should all get some rest now," added Aragorn. "We will be of no help to Frodo if we're half asleep when we must begin the day's search."

Though they could see the truth in this, the hobbits were still reluctant. Sam was on the verge of tears. His Mr Frodo was hurt and lost somewhere in this big city. What if he needed Sam's help? Sam had barely left his side in six months. He didn't feel that this should be the time to break that habit.

Desmond was grinning like a maniac as he made his way back to the house where he had left Reynard and the halfling. In an old bag he carried what he had managed to scrounge off of some old mates who owed him a favour or two. All bad feelings were gone now that everything was set. All they had to do now was get the rat to write the letter, send the letter to the King and wait.

He chuckled to himself as he bounded up the front steps to the house. He was in a very good mood at the moment. On the top step he paused and turned to look up at the sky. In the east the sun was rising, kissing the distant clouds with a glorious pink and orange blush. Dawn had come at last. But it looked like they were in for a magnificent storm in a couple of days.

Without another thought, Desmond turned into the house, closing and locking the door firmly behind him. He entered a very stingy and miserable looking kitchen where Reynard was slicing up some bread, cheese and an apple.

"What yeh doin'?" asked Desmond as he put his old bag on one of the benches. Reynard didn't look up from his task.

"Preparing," he answered.

"Fer what?"

Reynard's lips curled into a smile. "Ter teach the rat another lesson," he said.

"Another?" noted Desmond. "So 'e misbehaved did 'e?"

"That 'e did," concurred Reynard. "I gave 'im a little somethin' ter think about. Dun think it's gonna be enough though… Which is why 'e's not gettin' any food or drink."

"So's that why yer getting out the bread, cheese and apples?" said Desmond, folding his arms and frowning.

"Course not!" snapped Reynard. "I'm gonna rub it in a bit, aren't I. Show 'im what 'e's missin' out on."

"Not much," muttered Desmond.

"It'll work," said Reynard. "Trust me."

"Alright," sighed Desmond. He suddenly smiled with a malicious air as he casually rummaged through the old bag. His smile turned to a grin as he produced a whip. "Let's see if this'll help as well."

Reynard regarded the whip with glinting eyes. "Yeh know what, Des?" he said. "I think that might jus' do the trick. What else yeh got in that bag?"

Though he would never show it physically, Gandalf was getting anxious. For perhaps the last three or four hours he had remained closed in his room, seeking Frodo's flame with his mind. Though he was now distanced from distractions, he still had difficulties. He had mentally inspected the fourth and fifth circles and was about to go on to the sixth when he paused.

If Frodo was lost, surely by now he would have found someone who could have directed him to the gates leading up to the next circle? After all, he had been missing for almost six hours now. Once at the gates it wouldn't have taken much to ask one of the guards to direct him up to the citadel. Even if it was a bit of a blow to his pride, Frodo was not stupid and not without judgement. He knew more often than not when it was time to give up or ask for assistance.

Then that could only mean that Frodo was in fact not lost, but… what? Taken? Kidnapped? Had he had a run in with some more unsavoury characters? Was he even now perhaps lying in a dark alley, hurt and alone, unable to get help?

Gandalf frowned, disturbed at the direction these possibilities were heading. After witnessing the councils between the delegations of Men, he wouldn't put it past anyone in the city to do such a thing. After the attack from Mordor, the lower circles particularly had been very much out of control. It was every man for himself down there. If that meant somehow obtaining money from a small hobbit, they wouldn't hesitate. Especially if the hobbit was an Elf-friend, friend of the King and White Wizard and renowned throughout all the lands in the west.

Gandalf's eyes snapped open and his thoughts and body froze in horror.

TBC

A/N: Hey all! I'm going on holiday for just over a week, so I'm not sure when I'll next be able to update. But please keep reviewing!!! :D

hush1630 – I'm trying to update as fast as possible! Hehehe. But I'm not sure if I'll be able to get the next chapter to you for a bit. See above note… But thank you very much for your kind words! It's very encouraging :) Lol, and tell you're friend I am terribly, terribly sorry! But please restrain her from killing me if you can! Hehehe.

Iorhael – You'll just have to wait and find out what happens next my friend! And don't worry, plenty more defiance coming up! :D

Kaewi – Thank you very much! hugs I've been thinking about writing a companion piece later. I've actually got a few more fics that I'd like to write soon, so look out! Hehehe. Hope things were made a bit clearer for you in this chapter. :) And you'll soon see some more of Desmond's supplies…

lilpip – You'll soon see more on what happens to Frodo. Unfortunately it's not gonna be too nice… Poor little hobbit!

rabidsamfan – lol. Thank you! I think we're all waiting for those two to get what's due to them. :D

Stephanie – You're welcome! And thank you very much for the compliments! Glad you're enjoying it. :) Desmond and Reynard are taking a VERY big gamble indeed! But right now no one knows where in the city they are , so they're safe for the moment… Let's hope they're not safe for too much longer.