Every Man for Himself

Disclaimer: Lord of the Ring's just ain't mine. :(

Chapter 8: The Fugitive

4 May 3019 – Sunset

The hours between morning and afternoon had passed by painfully slowly. Merry had been allowed to get up after lunch, though from time to time his muscles cramped in a most annoying way. Legolas and Gimli, along with some soldiers, went out into the city again to search for the missing Ringbearer, but by this time, no one held much hope of finding him without clues or information of his whereabouts. Gandalf remained ever locked in his room, desperately seeking his friend using his own method. The hobbits remained with Aragorn, Faramir, Éomer and Éowyn in the throne room. Until the third hour after midday, Pippin sat dejectedly on the ground with his chin cupped in a hand before he had to return to his duties as a knight of Gondor. Poor Samwise alternated between pacing around the hall and sitting next to Merry and Pippin. He had desperately wanted to go out with Legolas and Gimli, but had been forbidden. He would only have been left behind in the great pace that the two would have been going.

Merry also felt restless. He too had wanted to search for Frodo himself and had met the same rejection as Sam. But he seemed to feel a different sort of agitation. Yes, he wanted to do something more useful than sitting around waiting for something to happen. But he also felt keenly a strange desire to escape…

"Hey, Des?"

"What?"

"I've bin thinkin'…"

"Didn' know yeh could."

"Well I can, alrigh'!… I've bin thinkin' 'bout this plan of yers."

"What 'bout it?"

"When are we actually gonna get the halflin' ter write the ransom note?"

"Soon. Tomorrow maybe. Give that king up there long enough ta start worryin' 'bout his little friend. But not long enough for them guards ter find us down 'ere."

"Oh. Right then… What we gonna put in the letter?"

"Our demands."

"Yeah – and what would they be?"

"Simple. If they want the halflin' back and alive, then they'll have ter give us gold."

"I know that part. But what else? I mean – how much gold? When are we gonna give he halflin' back? Where we gonna do the exchange? How are we gonna do it? We jus' gonna dump 'im somewhere and let 'em pick 'im up, them leavin' the gold behind? Or do we bring 'im up ter the cit'del or somethin'?"

There was a long pause as Desmond considered the possibilities. He had spent many long hours mulling this over in his head before now, but had never come to a clear conclusion.

"Dunno," he said at last. He scratched at his bristly chin distractedly while staring at the bare table in which he sat at. "I could kill for an ale about now," he announced. Even as he spoke the sky darkened as the sun proceeded its great descent into the horizon.

"Yeah," agreed Reynard, nodding slowly. "An ale would be good." A silly grin played on his features, earning him a whack on the head from Desmond.

"Wipe that stupid look off yer mug," he grumbled. "Yeh jus' wanna goggle at Arlyn again."

"So what if I do?" snapped Reynard, his grin being replaced by a frown. "I'm entitled ter do as much."

"Not when we've got work ter do," replied Desmond. "The ale's ter help us think – not ter get women."

"Can't we do both?"

"NO!"

"Alright, alright!" said Reynard quickly, holding his hands up defensively. He got to his feet, stretching his arms out in front of him. "We goin' then?"

Desmond remained seated for another moment before standing up himself. Without another thought or word, the two went to the front hall of the small house, picked up their cloaks and went out the front door.

"Aragorn! Where is Aragorn?"

The soldiers standing guard outside the doors to the throne room looked up in astonishment at the hurried arrival of Legolas and Gimli. Without pausing, the Dwarf pulled at the doors, trying vainly to open them though they were locked.

"Sir!" cried the guard in charge. "I am afraid you may not enter at present. The King is feasting in the dining hall. He wishes not to be-"

The Elf and Dwarf did not wait another moment before they were racing off with all speed towards the aforementioned hall. The guards rushed after them, shouting protests all the while, heeded by neither. As they ran, other passing guards joined in the chase, but could not hope to match the speed in which the two were sprinting.

More guards were positioned at the doors to the dining hall. They straightened up upon seeing the pursuit the two had attracted.

"You cannot pass through these doors!" said one of the soldiers. A very uncharacteristic look of frustration crossed Legolas' features. He drew himself up to his full height, towering over the guards on duty.

"I have important inform-"

"Legolas! Gimli!"

The Elf abruptly stopped in the middle of his speech and turned (almost desperately) towards the all too familiar lilting voice of one Peregrin Took.

"Pippin!" he exclaimed. "We must gain entry into the hall beyond! We have important information for the King that cannot wait!"

Knowing fully what Legolas must be referring too, Pippin's eyes widened and he turned to his fellow guards, glaring at them with his hands on his hips.

"You heard him!" he said. "MOVE!"

"But Peregrin-"

"I'll take responsibility if the King gets angry," said Pippin impatiently. The doors to the dining hall were suddenly unbarred and opened by the hobbit. Every face in the hall turned to him as he entered and bowed to Aragorn who had risen to his feet, a frown on his features. On seeing who stood behind Pippin, the King beckoned all three into the hall, moving towards them. They huddled just out of earshot from those seated at the tables and standing at the doors. Unnoticed for the moment, Pippin remained by Gimli's side, listening carefully to the words Legolas currently told.

"We were asking shop owners in the fourth circle if they had seen Frodo since last night. We had no luck until we came closer to the gates leading up to the fifth circle. One woman owning a stall said she had a customer very late in the night that fit the description we gave. The woman said he didn't buy anything, was merely browsing at leisure. He was there for several minutes before he left. Almost as soon as he had turned away from her stall two men approached him. She said they were wearing dark cloaks, but their hoods were down. Both men were quite tall, though one was taller than the other. The taller had dark hair that was very unkempt. The shorter had lighter, reddish-brown hair, as equally bedraggled as the other. They exchanged words with this woman's customer, all the while leading him towards a dark alley nearby. She said that she saw none of the three come out of that alley again."

"So what you are saying," said Aragorn slowly. "Is that two tall men took someone fitting a description of Frodo into a dark alley late last night." Aragorn shook his head. "Legolas, almost every fully grown man in this city is tall with dark or reddish-brown hair."

"That's not all though," said Gimli. "We went to the inn again to ask about the two men – see if we could find out who they were. We knew it was a long shot, but we had to try. Two barmaids said that last night they had a couple of customers who came in together. One was dark and one lighter, the lighter being a bit shorter. They both wore dark cloaks. The barmaids said that unfortunately the two were regulars. They often give the lasses a bit of trouble – be she patron or employee."

"Is that it?" asked Aragorn, his voice and expression a mixture of eagerness and impatience. "Did you get no more information about them?"

"Of course we did!" grumbled Gimli, annoyed that he was not being permitted to come to the point in his own time. He jabbed a thumb at Legolas. "The way pointy-ears here was charming those barmaids, we could've gotten their life stories."

"I resent that," said Legolas coolly, sparing a moment to glare at Gimli before turning his attention back to Aragorn. "The two men are more commonly known as Des and Rey. One of the barmaids said that Rey was talking to her last night, telling her that Des had been formulating some sort of master plan that would make them rich. As Rey was rather intoxicated by that point, she dismissed it. But she said just now that she wouldn't be surprised if the two were planning something. Apparently they're well known to cause disruption in the lower circles of the city."

There was a pause as Aragorn let all of this information settle in. Though it certainly merited further investigation, he could not just send out guards to find these Des and Rey characters and have them arrested on the spot. He would have to find out where they lived, if they actually had taken Frodo, and if so, then why.

"Alright," he said at last. "The information is much appreciated. I will have to think over this longer. But please, sit down and eat with us. Both of you must be hungry after your efforts today."

Gimli eagerly accepted this invitation and promptly sat himself down at the end of the main table. Legolas followed with more composition, though he too was keen to relax a little and enjoy a good meal. Aragorn returned to his seat at the head of the table. As he delved once more into his meal, he glanced over at Gandalf on his left.

"You heard what they had to say?" asked Aragorn in a low voice, though he already knew the answer. Gandalf nodded.

"Yes," he said. "I am intrigued by this 'master plan' that was spoken of."

"Legolas said the barmaid dismissed it."

"When drunk, most men tend to reveal things they'd rather not, as opposed to making something up. Take Legolas for example."

"Legolas got drunk?" Aragorn's eyes darted to the end of the table where the Prince of Mirkwood was exchanging soft words with Prince Imrahil who also dined in the hall that evening. Gandalf chuckled softly, shaking his head with mirth.

"My friend," he said. "Like with hobbits, never assume that you know all there is to know about Elves. Just because you lived in Elrond's house for a time does not mean that you are all knowing about that race."

"I confess," said Aragorn. "I knew not that Elves were able to get drunk. The inhabitants of Rivendell did well in keeping that fact from my knowledge."

"Knowing what you were like when you were younger," said Gandalf. "It was probably a very good thing they did. But Elves can get drunk if they choose. Often they do not for obvious reasons, but from time to time they too like to have some fun. Though I think in this case our immortal friend had some heavy influence from certain young miscreants who shall remain unnamed."

"Why does that not surprise me?" said the King with an amused smile. He suddenly frowned thoughtfully. "Legolas drunk…" he murmured. "That would have been an interesting sight to behold." Gandalf snorted, earning him an intrigued look from Aragorn.

"Not when one is seeking some peace after a long day." Aragorn's frown deepened.

"But he seemed fine when you woke me up," he said.

"Fortunately he was able to recognise the seriousness of the situation when we discovered Frodo's disappearance," said Gandalf. "Elves are also able to choose when to become sober again."

"Now that hardly seems fair," Aragorn shook his head before sobering again himself. "We are avoiding the point," he said with the merest hint of a sigh. "You think that this master plan has something to do with Frodo, if these men did take him?"

"It is viable."

"You think it is worth looking in to." It was not a question but a statement from the one who knew the wizard so well.

"I think that any leads on Frodo's whereabouts should be further investigated. No one has seen nor heard anything of him since last night." Aragorn sighed.

"I hope he is alright," he said softly, eyes turned downwards at his unfinished meal. "I do not relish the thought of him being so vulnerable in the hands of two Men."

"He is capable of defending himself you know," reminded Gandalf. Aragorn nodded quickly, eyes once more meeting the wizard's.

"I have not forgotten," he said. "But how long can an unarmed, convalescing hobbit survive against two fully grown brutes approximately three times the size of himself?"

Gandalf could not respond. He only bowed his head, eyes tightly shut. He would rather not dwell on the answer to that question; it's answer being too heart-rending when he thought of the bright-eyed, fun-loving tweenager he had met all those years ago, before any of this mess had occurred.

The three hobbits sitting further down the table sat in silence for a few moments before Samwise looked up at the other two. Pippin had just relayed to him and Merry the news that Gimli and Legolas had brought after the three had accidentally-on-purpose eavesdropped on the conversation between Aragorn and Gandalf.

"I don't like this," announced Sam bluntly. "Not one bit."

"None of us do, Sam," said Merry with a dejected sigh.

"We have to do something, Mr Merry," continued the steadfast gardener.

"What can we do though?" asked Pippin miserably, his head leaning heavily on a hand whose elbow that had found its way to the tabletop.

"We have to keep looking for him," said Sam determinedly. "I'm not going to wait around for news when Mr Frodo needs me."

"Well said, Sam," agreed Merry. He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. "You know," he continued. "I think it's time we did things our way again."

"What do you mean?" asked Pippin, sitting up straight again as he puzzled over his cousin's words.

"We've been following the ways of the Big Folk long enough I think," said Merry. Hard determination was setting in his features and he looked upon his companions with eyes alight with resolve. "Ever since this Quest began we've been doing things more like they do – all this fighting and such. Now look where it's got us."

"Merry you're making no sense," said Pippin frankly. Merry rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"I think that if we're going to find Frodo," he said. "We're going to have to do it our own way."

"And what way would that be?" asked Pippin.

"Well," continued the Brandybuck, his quick mind thinking logically. "We have a description of these two Men, and we know their names. We also know that they're regulars at the inn we went to last night, and that the barmaids know who they are."

"And how do we come in to this?" asked Pippin with a hint of impatience.

"We go back to the inn," said Merry. "We ask one of the barmaids to point these Men out, then we follow them. They'll end up leading us straight to Frodo."

"It's a good plan, Mr Merry," said Sam, his brows drawn into a thoughtful frown. "But I don't think Mr Strider will be too happy with us sneaking off in the dead of night with all these dangerous folk about. Especially you Mr Merry, with you being ill and all."

Merry frowned himself, thinking quickly. "Well… we'll just have to sneak out late," he said. "When Aragorn and Gandalf are asleep."

"No," said Sam almost at once. "That won't do. We could miss the Men at the inn. If they're up ta no good, they're not going ta want to be questioned by anyone. They'll want to blend in with the crowd, so they'll be at the inn when there is a crowd, if you follow me. If we're going to the inn, we're going ta have to be there early."

"You're right, Sam," said Merry with a frown. "Only I don't know how long we'll be able to go unnoticed. Aragorn's been on my case like a hawk. We'd barely make it out of the citadel before he realises we're gone."

"Looks like you'll have to stay here then, sir," said Sam. "You can cover for Master Pippin and me." Pippin started shaking his head, his face wearing an expression of such dejection that Merry was about to ask if he didn't feel ill.

"Merry will have to cover for just you, Sam," said Pippin. "I've got guard duties from mid-afternoon until late evening for another week."

"Speaking of duties," said Merry suddenly. "Aren't you supposed to be on duty now?"

Pippin paled, his eyes widening impossibly. He frantically scrambled down from his seat and zoomed out of the dining hall before anyone could quite say or do another thing. The remaining two hobbits stared at the doors of the hall for another moment before looking at each other. Sam sighed.

"Alright," he said. "I'll go on me own. But you'll have to cover for me, Mr Merry. I don't like ta think what Mr Gandalf and Mr Strider would do if they knew what we were up to."

"Don't worry Sam," said Merry reassuringly. "I'll cover for you. But you have to be careful! I don't like to think what those Men would do if they got two hobbits in their custody." Sam snorted.

"Don't worry about me, sir," he said. "They're the ones that'll have to watch out! When I get my hands on them they'll be sorry, that's all! If they've hurt a single hair on Mr Frodo's head-"

Sam didn't continue, but a look of such intense and unforgiving fury crossed his usually gentle features, that Merry almost felt sorry for Frodo's abductors. But then he realised that he was feeling a similar wrath within his own heart. His cousin had been through enough. He didn't deserve this.

About the same time as Pippin returned to his station, the doors to the dining hall opened again and in came two guards. They strode purposefully to where Faramir sat on Aragorn's right. After they had bowed respectfully, Faramir nodded at them to speak.

"My Lord," said one. "We were sent by our captain from the third circle. There has been a breakout in the jail. Six prisoners have escaped."

Frodo suddenly went rigid as he heard the slam of a door being shut. His eyes darted to the cellar door, delicately pointed ears straining to hear if any footsteps approached. All was silent. Frodo quickly undid the rest of the ropes binding his feet. He had been picking at the bonds for the past half-hour, and was glad to be free of their unforgiving grip at last.

Slowly and very carefully, the hobbit got to his feet, hands gripping the wall to help steady himself. He was greatly dismayed at how wobbly his legs were. Due to his injured ankle, most of his weight was being supported on one foot. Due to impending illness and no food or water for a whole day, the strength of that one foot was very limited.

Once he was standing straight, he leaned heavily against the wall, immensely grateful for its dependable solidity. He closed his eyes for a few moments, hoping that by the time he opened them, the room would stop spinning. He was lucky. Dizziness subsiding for the time being, Frodo shuffled along the wall until he was directly under the lonely window. Ignoring the stabbing pain of his shoulder, back and neck, he stretched his arms up towards the sill as far as he could.

He was still a bit more than a foot short of reaching the bottom of the window. Feeling rather annoyed at this, he turned around to face the rest of the room, and in the glistening light of a full moon whose rays just reached the window, looked about him for something he could stand on.

The cellar was still as empty as it had been for the last twenty-four hours. Sighing, Frodo sat back down on the icy ground, shivering with cold. His clothes were still rather damp from his prolonged position in the puddle.

For several long moments he sat in the middle of the cellar, trying hard to ignore the merciless chill. But he soon got restlessly to his feet again. Sitting around doing nothing wasn't going to make him any warmer. He carefully limped around the cellar, hoping that the movement would generate some sort of heat for him to find comfort in.

He had no such luck. Instead he only wasted more of what little energy he had left within him. His limbs continued to tremble both in reaction to the cold and in protest to the movement forced upon them. As his stomach gave an almighty roar, Frodo realised that perhaps there was a good reason why hobbits ate six meals a day. Pippin never missed a meal if he could help it – and look at the abundance of energy he always seemed to have!

With a pang, Frodo suddenly realised how alone he was. As he dwelt on it, he missed his friends and cousins with such a deep ache that he almost fell to the ground. Now that the Fellowship had reunited, the Ringbearer felt a great reluctance to be separated from them so. But what could he do? He had no way of escape. The window was too high and the door was locked.

To top this all off, his left ankle decided to give way then, and he fell with a pained cry towards the wall and the ground. His hands flew out to catch something – anything – that would save him from the devastation that would surely come when his body impacted with the stone floor. His fingers grabbed hold of the wine shelves, all his weight being suddenly pushed onto the wood. But when he should have stopped moving, he was immensely surprised when the shelves pushed back an inch or so until they hit the wall behind them.

When Frodo was still again, he stood up properly, still holding onto the shelves for support. He looked down at them and frowned. He had thought the shelves were stuck to the ground. He hadn't known they were movable.

Suddenly a light flicked on in his head and his face broke out into a small, slow smile. Looking from the top of the shelves to the window, he grinned. Moving himself to the end of the set of shelves, he began the laborious task of pushing and pulling them towards the window.

Reynard sighed contentedly as he downed the rest of his beer. This inn really did have the finest ale in the city. And the finest barmaids… He grinned over at Arlyn who promptly turned her back on him. Desmond, who was sitting beside him, rolled his eyes as he finished off what was left in his own mug.

"Why don' yeh come over here an' keep a man company," called Reynard to Arlyn. The young woman looked at him with a face of clear disdain, her moss green eyes alight with contempt.

"I'd rather not," she said. "Now excuse me, but I have customers ta serve."

"I'm a customer," said Reynard. "Won't yeh serve me?"

"I'll leave that fer another unfortunate soul," retorted Arlyn.

"Ah c'mon," said Reynard, spreading his arms out. "What've I done ter you? Gimme a chance – I'll pay yeh fer it."

"Reynard, yeh've barely got enough money ta pay fer a drink," snapped Arlyn, her patience running thin. "How do yeh 'spect ta pay me fer anythin' else?"

"'Cause Des here's gonna make me an' 'im rich," said Reynard with a grin as he clapped his colleague on the back.

"Not this 'master plan' nonsense again!" groaned Arlyn. "Hones'ly, you two are 'opeless! No one's ever gonna give either of you a hoard o' gold. Asides, with all the reparations being made fer the damage of the war, no one's got anything ta give yeh!"

"There's still some people up in the higher circles as has some money left," said Reynard. "The King'll 'ave money." Arlyn snorted.

"If yer plannin' on scammin' the King," she said. "Yeh'd better be careful. His friends are on ta yeh both already. They came around here earlier, askin' about yeh."

Desmond, who had been sitting quietly still on his stool, suddenly leapt off it and moved to the other side of the bar, grabbing Arlyn and dragging her into a dark hallway that led to some rather paltry rooms. He pushed the young barmaid roughly against a wall, his beefy hand gripping her neck. Arlyn's eyes widened and she clutched at Desmond's thick wrist, fighting to breathe.

"What did yeh tell 'em?" growled Desmond. When Arlyn didn't answer straight away he gave her a rough shake. "WHAT DID YOU TELL THEM?"

"N-nothin' much," choked Arlyn. "Jus' that y-yer regulars here… a-an'…"

"Did yeh tell 'em our names?" thundered Desmond with another shake.

"J-jus' yer n-nicknames," sobbed Arlyn, tears starting to course down her cheeks. Desmond cursed.

"Did yeh tell 'em where we live?" he barked.

"N-no," answered Arlyn.

"Did yeh tell 'em anythin' else?" demanded Desmond.

"I-I t-told them that yeh was p-plannin' somethin'," sobbed Arlyn. "B-but I said it was prob'ly n-nothin'."

Desmond cursed again and released Arlyn, fairly throwing her to the ground in his fury. "Don't you ever pass information about us to anyone ever again unless I specifically say yeh can!" he roared. "Do I make myself clear?" Arlyn nodded quickly, though she was trembling with fright. Desmond pointed a finger in the general direction of the bar. "Get back ter work," he snarled. Arlyn quickly scrambled to her feet and hurried off. Desmond glared after her, his eyes glittering with rage… and unease. In a heartbeat, that glare was directed at Reynard.

"You idiot," hissed Desmond. "You dim-witted, good-fer-nothin', fat lump of USELESSNESS!" Desmond paused to draw in a few ragged breaths. "What were yeh thinkin', tellin' the flamin' barmaids of my plan!"

"I'm sorry!" exclaimed Reynard. "I didn' know what I was sayin'. I was drunk!"

"Well yeh've blown it now," snapped Desmond ferociously. "We'll have guards bangin' on the door by dawn thanks ter you!"

"But they dunno where we are," argued Reynard a little timorously. "No one does. That's why we moved 'ouse, remember?"

"It don't matter," barked Desmond impatiently. "It'll on'y be a matter o' time afore they find us." He was pacing like a caged beast, thinking quickly. "We might have ter move again," he said at last. "At any rate we'll have ter get the runt ter write the letter tonight. Then you can make sure it gets ter the cit'del without yeh bein' seen."

"How'm I s'posed ter manage that?" exclaimed Reynard.

"I dunno!" snapped Desmond. "However. Jus' make sure the King'll get it first thing on th' morrow."

"Alrigh'!" said Reynard quickly, not wishing to test Desmond's patience anymore. "Can I get another ale now?"

"No," said Desmond. "We're goin' back ter the house. I dun like the thought of leavin' the rat alone with guards out lookin' fer 'im."

With that said, the two left the inn, making their way back home. Arlyn the barmaid was the only one who noticed them leave. She said nothing when they walked out without paying for their drinks.

Faramir exchanged a swift look with Aragorn before moving to his feet and leading the two soldiers out of the dining hall. He found more of their company waiting outside the doors which were quickly shut.

"You say six prisoners have escaped?" said Faramir. The guards from the third circle nodded. "Only six? I thought there were at least three dozens locked up in that jailhouse. How came it that only these six escaped?"

"Yes, my Lord, only six," said one of the guards. "And these six were the most heavily guarded. We're not yet sure exactly how they managed it, but they killed all of the guards in the jailhouse. We think they've gone their separate ways though – we haven't sighted such a large number of men in any of the circles."

"The most heavily guarded," repeated Faramir to himself, a deep frown being etched on his forehead. "Which six escaped?"

"Dagnir, Moragar, Seregon, Valmir, Tarenir and Máril."

Faramir's eyes widened in horror. "Oh no." The words escaped from his lips as a breath of foreboding.

"What are your orders, my Lord?" asked another guard.

"I want a full search of the entire city," said Faramir quickly. "Spread the word around of who they are and what they have done. Give descriptions to all shop-owners, stall-owners, innkeepers – anyone who has customers. They must be found quickly."

"Will there be a reward for their capture, Lord Faramir?" asked another soldier. Faramir paused for a moment before answering.

"Yes," he said. "There will be a good reward set on each of their heads. However I must consult with the King first to see how much."

The soldiers bowed low before leaving the palace to begin the official search of the fugitives.

Sweat was now trickling down his face as he gave the wine shelves a final push against the wall. Flicking his fringe out of his eyes, Frodo stood back, admiring his labours of the past hour or so.

It had been no easy task for him to move the heavy shelves from one side of the room to the other – especially considering his current physical condition. The slashes on his back were burning fiercely and he was almost forced to hop, his left ankle throbbed so badly. He felt dangerously light-headed and was growing increasingly frustrated at the room when it had the audacity to start spinning from time to time. His shoulder, however, had gone decidedly numb which was a blessing. It was much more preferable in this state than the icy, pounding pain that he had been experiencing before. And now he was not freezing cold – another blessing. Instead, he felt hot. It was coming to a point where he was uncomfortably hot. At this he frowned, for while he was hot he was also trembling. Whether it was from overworked muscles, weakness, cold or hunger – he didn't know. But he did know that he couldn't stop now. With a martyred sigh, he approached the wine shelves once again and began to climb up them, using the circular holes in the wood as hand and footholds.

It didn't take him long to reach the top, though when he did, he was positively exhausted. For a moment he lay there, his eyes closed, as he took a moment to recover some strength. But he didn't dare take too long. He still wasn't sure where the two Men were. He didn't know whether that door banging shut before had been the front door or perhaps a bedroom door. Had they decided to get some sleep? Or had they gone out? Or had only one of them gone out? Frodo had no way of knowing. But he had decided that if even one of the Men was still here and awake, they would have come down to the cellar already, wanting to find the source to all the strange scraping and thumping noises (the shelves did not feel inclined to move silently over the stone floor).

So after a few moments, Frodo stood up again and looked at the window. He was now eye-level with its approximate centre. And he was delighted to see that it would be big enough for him to fit through. Now it was only a matter of opening it.

He looked for any hinges that would indicate that the window could actually be opened – and found none. He frowned in annoyance. He was going to have to break the glass then. Praying that the sound of it shattering would not alert anyone he'd rather not of his escape plans, he thrust his elbow into the middle of the pane of glass.

Desmond was moving at a brisk stride down the street to the house where he had left Frodo. Though he would never show it on his face – he was worried. An unusual amount of soldiers were out this night. And it looked as though they were searching for someone. This was not good. He quickened his pace and kept his eyes forward, not looking around until he was walking up the steps to the front door. Reynard was a few steps behind him.

During the time it took for Reynard to reach the same steps, Desmond's dark eyes darted about the street. There were still a few windows lit up with the light of candles or a fire from within their respective houses. One hooded figure was walking up the street – away from Desmond. A middle-aged woman was balancing a basket on her hip, opening a nearby front door. She quickly disappeared into it and the door closed with a snap. Reynard arrived on the porch.

Desmond took one more moment to gaze up at the dark sky. The clouds he had seen that morning had not been idle in their travels – they were now hanging ominously over the city. A low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. The storm would probably break that night.

Desmond turned back to the door and found to his bewilderment that it was already open, just a crack. His brows immediately drew down into a suspicious frown. Since when did doors open on their own accord? He hesitated but a moment before pushing the door open all the way. Even as it swung further back, his eyes beheld that something was standing in the middle of the front hallway, facing him. He stumbled backwards into Reynard, barely suppressing a shout. For it was not a something, but a someone.

Two cold eyes glittered back at him. Desmond stumbled back further, causing Reynard to trip down the rest of the stairs with a somewhat muffled yelp. Though he couldn't see this person's face, Desmond knew it was smirking at them as though greatly amused. Then suddenly he felt as though he was frozen. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and stood on end, sending shivers up his spine. His own widened eyes remained glued to the black figure in the hallway. His hands clung desperately to the wall next to him. His mouth was hanging open as though emitting a silent scream. He could not explain it – but a cold sense of dread washed over him like a gust of wind. He could not name what instinct or sense spoke to him then, but it whispered in his ear a sensation of familiarity – that he knew this black figure.

Finally retaining a grip on the gift of speech, Desmond spoke, though his voice trembled slightly.

"Who are yeh? What yeh doin' in my house?"

The figure elicited a low, silky laugh. "Your house?" he hissed smoothly – for this was the voice of a man. "Since when has this been your house, son of Desril?"

Desmond frowned. He knew the voice as well. But it was changed. Mutated since the latest hearing his memory could recall. He could not place who it belonged to. Growing impatient with himself and this intruder, he drew out his dagger, pointing it at the man's throat.

"Who are yeh?" he repeated in a deep growl. He could almost see the man's eyebrows rising in disdain. In a flash the intruder had drawn a sword, pointing it almost casually at Desmond's heart.

"Lower your weapon Desmond," he hissed. "Before you do something you'll regret."

Something in those words was even more familiar to Desmond, and realisation struck him. His eyes widened once more and the dagger fell with a clatter to the ground.

"Seregon?"

The man laughed again, though the sound carried little humour. He lowered his sword and his hood. His eyes adjusting more to the dark, Desmond was able to see the detail in the man's face. Behind him, Reynard had climbed back to his feet and gave a harsh gasp as he too looked into the figure's features.

One of the most dangerous criminals in Minas Tirith was standing in the doorway before them.

TBC

A/N: A million hugs for Lexi for being my angel. :D Sorry everyone about the wait. I've been sick since I came back from my holiday. And now I'll have a ton of homework to catch up on, so updates will probably take longer.

Breon Briarwood – Lol. I'm typing as fast as I can for you Breon! :D

Elijahs-gurl – Wow! Thank you so much! Wow! I can't stop grinning here! :D blushes I do try my best… Wow! Thank you for your lovely words! I'm truly touched! :D I'm glad you're enjoying it so much. Wow! THANK YOU! :D All of you who review keep me going. You all make me want to write all the more. Your encouragement really helps boost morale and keeps my muses around for longer ;) hehehe. Thank you so much!

heartofahobbit – Hehehe. Frodo certainly is one tough hobbit. And to me he seems to give a lot of people a run for their money. And I doubt that you'll be feeling too sorry for the ruffians for too much longer… ;) And the Merry/Frodo connection is kinda both – cousinly and harboured by the Nazgûl attacks.

hush1630 – Thank you for the compliment :D My deepest apologies, Becca. I'm not exactly sure yet when Frodo's going to be 'out of the woods' so to speak, so I'm not sure when this story will start appealing to you more… Might I suggest you save your energy used for whining for the ruffians? Speaking of them, hush – concerning the intelligence of Desmond and Reynard, I would like for that to show more, but so far I haven't really been able to think of something intelligent for them to do. Hopefully now that Seregon is here, he will bring out more intelligence… either that or he will only show how stupid they are at the moment. But I will bear your request in mind for future chapters. :)

Kaewi – Hehehe. I think stubbornness must run in the family. Bagginses, Brandybucks and Tooks alike. And the potion among other things should be in use next chapter, so watch out for them. And the ooze… well… we'll just have to see what happens with that… ;)

LilyBaggins – Hahaha. Don't be ashamed Lily! We're all fans of this sort of thing here! :D I am very glad to receive your review now though, so don't fret! :D Thank you for your lovely words. I always get worried about keeping the characters as true to the books and movies as possible. So thank you indeed for your reassurances :D And you can be assured that Frodo will get plenty of comfort and support from his friends and family when all is said and done. He'll have to, or else my health and safety will be in serious jeopardy! Hehehe. ;)

Stephanie – You're right to be scared about the poison oozy stuff – it is not nice! But if it comes to using the poison, I hope you can cope! :D And you are very welcome for the chapter! Thank you for your lovely reviews :)