Every Man for Himself

Disclaimer: Do you think I could pretend that Lord of the Rings belonged to me? No? WELL FINE THEN! Hmph! (hehehe) In that case it doesn't belong to me and I'm not making a profit or anything out of writing this. Oh look! I see that the men in white coats are coming to take me away…

Chapter 10: The Letter

5 May 3019 – Before Dawn

On the very edge of his mind, he knew that he really didn't want to wake up. He knew that if he were to open his eyes and let consciousness take him, he would not like the results one bit. But he unfortunately did not have the power to stop the inevitable.

As his mind drifted ever closer to awareness, a strange sense of paralysis overcame him – he felt dizzy and nauseous as he found himself suddenly encompassed in a thick grey fog that he could not escape. A sickly sweet smell defiled his nostrils, making him want to retch. He detested that smell. At that moment he wasn't exactly sure why that was… but that didn't really matter now – he was waking up.

His eyelids fluttered open and the first theory that crossed his thoughts produced was that he must have somehow gotten drunk. For that was the only explanation his lethargic mind could come up with to justify why he felt so utterly abysmal. In fact, he could have written a book on the many afflictions of his body at the time…

He suddenly frowned and began to wonder, not why he was drunk, but how. Sam would never have allowed it, no matter what Merry, Pippin or anyone did or said to try and persuade him otherwise. His frown deepened. Sam also would NEVER have allowed him to be tied up to the frame of a hard wooden chair in a very cold and very dark room that Frodo had never before seen in his life. Actually, come to think of it… where was Sam?

And then realisation once more dawned on him as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice over his body. Frodo Baggins had been kidnapped by two Men and was being held in their house. Wait… three Men. His fuzzy memory managed to produce an image of a third menacing being, clutching him in an iron grip and holding a cold and gleaming knife to his throat… He would not so easily forget the hard voice that had spoken so cruelly and mercilessly to him.

He groaned as more memories flooded his mind, including memories of his injuries. At this turn of thought, his body suddenly flared with pain so intense that it brought tears to his eyes and a groan to his lips. Even if he hadn't been secured in place to the chair, he knew right then that he wouldn't have been able to move at all.

For some minutes he dwelled on his misfortunes with a melancholic air. It was then that he truly felt small and weak and helpless, like some pathetic, young animal that couldn't find its way home.

As fate would have it, that was the time when Seregon, Desmond and Reynard chose to make their grand entrance. They entered through the door and stood in a row, staring down at Frodo with hard faces. As he looked up at them, he wished they would stop randomly splitting into three Desmonds, three Reynards and three Seregons.

"We meed again, my liddle rad," said Desmond in a harsh voice. Frodo shivered, whether out of fear or because he was so cold, he did not know.

"And now we have a little task for you," said Seregon softly. Frodo did not like the tone in his voice one bit. "You are to write a letter to your friend, the King. We will tell you what to say. You are to write only what we tell you to. Do you understand?"

Frodo groaned inwardly. He didn't think he would be able to hold a quill or a pen, let alone write with it. He felt so horribly weak… He just wanted to close his eyes again and go to sleep…

"Please," he murmured. His voice was shockingly raspy and could barely be heard. Yet that was as loud as he could speak. "I don't think I could. I feel terribly weak. If I could just have some food… It might give me some energy."

"Had enouv energy der go gallivandin' round da cidy dough," said Desmond angrily. "If yeh gould run ub do da gades, yeh gan wride a ledder."

"I dunno Des," said Reynard slowly. "'E does look pretty bad."

"That's his own fault," said Seregon. "If he is not going to be obedient, then he is going to suffer the consequences. He will write the letter now." With that said, Seregon drew out a knife and slit through the bonds securing Frodo's right arm to the arm of the chair. He then pushed a tray holding a grimy piece of old parchment, a quill and a small bottle of ink onto Frodo's lap. "Now write. Dear Elessar-"

"But-"

"But what, halfling?" thundered Seregon. Frodo was looking down at his right hand fearfully.

"I – I've never written with only four fingers before," rasped Frodo. "I don't know if I could do it-"

"YEH'LL DO ID IF YEH KNOW WHAD'S GOOD FER YEH!" barked Desmond. Frodo jumped and found himself picking up the quill quite before he knew what was happening. With extreme difficulty, he wrapped his fingers around the writing tool and dipped it into the ink with a trembling hand.

"Dear Elessar," repeated Seregon sharply. Frodo began to write, though he would never know how he managed it. But even as he pressed the quill to the parchment, another plan formed in his foggy mind. Seregon continued to dictate to him.

"I have been taken by two Men and am being held in their custody. They-"

"WHAD DA BLOODY HELL DO YEH THINK YER DOIN'!" Seregon and Reynard turned to Desmond who had sprung over to Frodo and snatched the parchment from the tray. He glared at the words then turned that glare to Frodo. "WHAD'S DIS NONSENSE YER WRIDING?"

"It's how we learnt to write, where I come from," croaked Frodo weakly. "It's Elvish."

"Write in the Common Tongue," ordered Seregon.

"I don't know how," murmured Frodo feebly. Desmond gave a strangled sound of fury.

"Dis is gedding ridiculous!" he cried. "Seregon, why don' you wride da stubid ledder?"

"It's too late now," snapped Seregon in deep displeasure. "He's already started writing like that, he'll have to continue. This is the only parchment we've got and we can't wait for morning to get more. The letter has to be in the King's hands at breakfast." Desmond growled and put the parchment back on the tray before pacing irately around the attic. Seregon continued to dictate.

"They say that they will safely hand me over to you in exchange for…" Seregon paused and turned to the other two. "How about six sacks of gold pieces?"

"Six?" exclaimed Desmond, his eyes widening voraciously

"That means two sacks each," said Seregon.

"I say nine," said Reynard softly. Desmond and Seregon stared at him. "'E's the King of the bloody West!" argued Reynard defensively. "'E'll be able t' afford three more sacks of gold."

"Alright," agreed Seregon. He turned back to Frodo. "In exchange for nine sacks full of gold pieces. The exchange is to take place… Shall we say the day after tomorrow?"

"At night," said Reynard.

"Obviously," said Seregon more than a little impatiently. He turned back to Frodo. "To take place on the night of May the sixth. Be at the public gardens in the fifth circle at midnight. Come alone. If you do not follow these instructions properly, the men will kill me. Make sure that you bring all of the gold with you. How does that sound?" Seregon glanced over his shoulder at Desmond and Reynard.

"Sounds fine do me," grumbled Desmond.

"Did you get all of that, halfling?" said Seregon icily. Frodo wrote one more word before he put the quill down and gave a small nod. "Now sign it…" Frodo signed the bottom of the parchment with his name. Seregon's lips curled up into a disdainful smile. "So you do have a name," he said. "What would it be?"

"Frodo Baggins," mumbled Frodo reluctantly.

"Frodo Baggins," said Seregon, trying the name out for himself. "Interesting… But remember this, Frodo – if I ever find out that you wrote differently to what I said, you will wish that you had never been born. Do I make myself clear?" Frodo gave another listless nod. Seregon's smile grew. "Good. Now let's make sure that message sticks in your mind. You seem to have a problem with following instructions. Reynard – find something to gag his mouth with. Desmond – You can have your bit of fun first."

Frodo's brows furrowed in confusion. His cloudy mind couldn't quite comprehend what Seregon was talking about. But then he found a rag being stuffed unceremoniously into his mouth. As he looked around bewilderedly, Seregon drew out his knife and cut the rest of the bonds that tied Frodo to the chair. He said nothing when the blade bit through the hobbit's wrist, drawing out blood that contrasted strangely against Frodo's snow-white skin. The poor hobbit barely had time to realise what was happening when he found the chair being pulled from beneath him. He went crashing to the ground, tray and all. His hands flew out to catch himself, but so weak was he that he crumpled to the floor helplessly. The Men howled with laughter. As he tried to pick himself up, Frodo noticed that some of his blood had splattered onto the letter. He gave a mental groan. So much for hoping that the others wouldn't get too worried…

He had very little time to dwell on this, however, before it became apparent that it was the least of his problems. Desmond stepped forward, brandishing a heavy cane. As the Man dealt blow after blow, Frodo wished more than ever before, that some mercy would be granted on him, and he would lose all consciousness.

Pippin shifted restlessly in his sleep. He was dreaming that he was back at home in the Great Smials. His sister, Pervinca, had just gotten mud all over her new dress and was getting into deep trouble from their mother. Normally such a dream would have put a smile on his sleeping face, as it was usually Pippin that was getting into trouble for spoiling clothes. But he found it difficult to smile when some strange force kept pushing and kicking him. Just as his mother sent Pervinca to go and change into some clean clothes, Pippin found himself falling…

Pippin awoke with a sharp gasp. Rubbing his eyes into clearer focus, he found that he had somehow ended up on the floor with half his body entangled in sheets and covers. For a moment he sat there contemplating how he had fallen out of bed, when he heard a strange noise coming from above him. The young hobbit quickly got to his feet and climbed back onto the mattress. There, he found the answer to his questions.

Merry was entangled in the sheets even worse than Pippin had been. He was tossing and turning and lashing out with arms and legs, occasionally giving a grunt or a whimper. Though this might have looked somewhat amusing to any other audience, it disturbed Pippin. Merry was not one to move around so in his sleep – unless he was suffering from a truly terrible nightmare. The Took quickly grabbed a flailing hand in his own and clutched it to his heart.

"Merry," he said softly. "Merry, wake up!" Merry did not respond.

"Merry!" said Pippin more loudly and with more desperation. "Merry wake up! Please wake up!" He shook his cousin's shoulders as roughly as he dared. But still Merry would not awaken.

"MERRY!" shouted Pippin as loudly as he could. This was getting ridiculous. Pippin had resolved to go and fetch Aragorn when several things happened at once.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Merry had sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes as round as saucers as he stared at something that only he could see. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead and his pale body trembled.

A split second later, the door burst open and the rest of the Fellowship piled into the room. For the second time that night, Pippin fell off the bed in surprise with a loud squawk. Sam helped him climb back to his feet while Aragorn quickly moved to Merry's side.

"What happened?" he asked at once. For a moment Merry stared at Aragorn, as if he was someone the hobbit recognised – but could not remember. He turned his gaze to Pippin and Sam, his grey eyes pleading. In that instant, the two hobbits understood.

"What's happened to Mr Frodo?"

The Men were roaring with laughter. As they tormented and humiliated their prisoner, him being less than half their size as it was, they laughed so hard that tears poured down their faces. And when the prisoner lay in a bloody and bruised heap on the cold floor, no longer being able to find it in himself to react to the blows that were dealt him, still the Men laughed. The sight was enough to make any decent person sick to the stomach.

But the prisoner? He could no longer even think for the incessant pounding in his head. But he could remember. The vile faces of the Men were constantly turning into the faces of Orcs, and the attic morphed into an evil dark chamber in a black land. As his captors dealt him blow after blow after blow, all hope faded from his being.

"That's enough for now," said Seregon. Reynard dropped the belt he had been holding with a sigh. Desmond, however, didn't look inclined to do anything of the sort.

"Who says yer in charge?" he demanded.

"Me," said Seregon coldly. "If you don't like that, then you can get out of my house." Desmond growled but nevertheless, he let the cane clatter to the ground. Seregon glared at him for a moment before turning back to the prisoner. The Man could barely believe that the halfling was still conscious. He frowned, wondering if this meant anything, then picked him up and tied him back to the chair.

"Let that be a lesson to you," he muttered in a steely voice. "If you don't do as you're told, then you will suffer the consequences." The prisoner did not respond. Seregon regarded him for a moment longer before he stood up fully and turned back to the other two.

"Where's the letter?" he said. Reynard picked it up from the ground and handed it to Seregon. The Man looked over it. The bloodstains made some of it hard to read – but no doubt the King would get the message. He smirked to himself and folded the letter up. He snatched up one of the candles that had been brought up with them, and poured some wax on the letter to seal it closed. He handed it to Reynard.

"Make sure that this is in the King's hands in the morning," he said. Reynard nodded. "And whatever you do, make sure that you are not seen." Reynard grinned and disappeared out of the attic. Neither Seregon nor Desmond heard him leave the house.

The two remaining Men looked over at the halfling as if he was some offending object lying in the stinking gutters of the streets. They tied him back to the chair then left him, moving themselves to the parlour. Seregon resumed his seat in the best chair, and returned to staring at the fire. Desmond stood glaring about himself moodily.

"What now?" he wanted to know. Seregon's lips curled up into a smile.

"Now we wait."

Reynard was very good at two things. He was good at tracking and he was good at making himself avoid the unwanted eye. He would have made a rather good Ranger if he had not chosen to walk down another path.

It therefore did not take him very long to reach the seventh circle. By then he was feeling quite pleased with himself. He had managed to avoid at least two dozen guards as well as a few people making their way to their shops to start opening up in time for the morning influx of customers. Though if this miserable weather kept up, it was unlikely that anyone would be making much money.

But now Reynard was approaching unfamiliar territory. He had only been to the citadel a couple of times, and very long ago at that. He did not know where the dining hall was, or how he was going to get the letter onto the King's place so that it was not disturbed by the wrong person.

Drawing his cloak closer to his body, he silently slunk across the courtyard and edged his way around the sturdy walls of the palace. If memory served him well, there should be a side door somewhere about that the servants used when they brought produce back from the markets. That side door would probably lead Reynard somewhere close to the kitchens, which meant that he would be somewhere close to the dining hall.

His hand brushed against wood and caught on a cool metal handle. Smiling triumphantly to himself, he pressed his ear against the door to listen for anything living immediately beyond it. As far as he could tell, all was silent from within. Slowly and cautiously, he pulled on the handle and opened the door.

Luck was on his side this morning. The hallway he entered was completely deserted. For a moment he wondered at that. Soldiers usually guarded all of the entrances into the palace. Perhaps they were out searching for Seregon and his fellow escapees? Or maybe they just didn't want to stand out in the rain getting soaked to the bone. Reynard shrugged and continued on his way. After all, it didn't matter to him why the guards weren't where they should have been. Just as long as he wasn't seen…

He padded down the hall on silent feet. Sharp ears caught the sound of conversing voices from within a nearby room. His mouth began watering as the aroma of baking bread wafted to his nose. The King had it made up here. All he had to do was sit on his throne all day and let the servants and guards run about doing his bidding. Reynard grinned to himself. It wouldn't be long before he could receive such treatment too.

He made his way right up to what had to be the kitchen doors and paused. The entrance to the dining hall should be somewhere close by… As he looked about him, he suddenly noticed that the double doors almost directly opposite himself were ajar. He moved to the gap and peered into the room within.

Well… He had certainly found the dining hall all right. The room was enormous. It was furnished with a grand table big enough to seat a small army, as well as several smaller tables that must be there to seat the less important guests of the palace. Serving tables lined the walls, designed to hold food and extra dishes. At the moment, they were dressed with the same articles as the grand table – cutlery and crockery, all of very fine make of course.

The first golden rays of dawn bled through the receding storm clouds, making the silverware gleam. For a moment Reynard considering nicking a couple of spoons and forks. It wasn't as though the King was going to run out of them anytime soon. But he decided to withhold temptation. He would be able to afford his own silver spoons soon enough.

He forced his mind back onto the task at hand. He probably didn't have too long before more servants entered to continue preparing the hall for the diners to come. He made a beeline to the head of the grand table. The King's place had been fully set and would not be disturbed until he filled it with food. Excellent! Reynard took the letter from a pocket and wondered where to put it… Aha! Under the napkin that rested on the bread and butter plate. When the King sat down to his meal, he would put the napkin on his lap and would immediately see the letter. Grinning victoriously, Reynard set the letter carefully in its new place and was just turning to leave when he heard approaching voices. Without another thought, he dove under the table, well hidden by the chairs and long white tablecloth. He counted two pairs of feet enter through the doors and move to the serving tables.

"Honestly Evelyn," said an exasperated female voice. "I don't know what you're goin' on about."

"Well of course you wouldn't!" argued a second female voice, Evelyn, Reynard presumed. "You haven' bin cleanin' the King's quarters! I'm tellin' you, something's goin' on. Something other than those escaped prisoners runnin' about the city I mean. I overheard His Lordship talking with Lord Mithrandir and Lord Faramir. I reckon somethin's happened to one of the guests – somethin' real bad. They sounded awfully worried."

"You was listenin' to the King's conversations!" gasped the first female in a scandalised whisper. "Elyn, what were you thinkin'? What if they'd caught you? You'd be out of a job for sure!"

"Well it's not like you're any better, Iortae," snapped Evelyn rather irritably. The two women moved to the smaller tables – apparently to finish setting them, mused Reynard, by the sounds of clinking china. "You're always listenin' to what them Lords is sayin'." Iortae muttered something under her breath that Reynard couldn't quite catch. Evelyn started laughing.

"Well that's fine language for a young lass like yourself to use!" she said. "Don't let anyone else hear you or you'll be out of a job." Iortae muttered something else that Evelyn chose to ignore by continuing with her speech. "But you have to admit that somethin's going on. I noticed more of the guards than usual were bein' sent out into the lower circles. And the King and his special friends have been actin' strangely if you ask me – haven't been sleepin' well, if they've been sleepin' at all. You should've seen the state of their beds when I went to change the linens! And how about His Majesty requestin' such an early breakfast? Lord Denethor, bless his soul, was never such an-"

"Now that's enough!" Iortae's voice cut through Evelyn's like a butcher's knife. Evelyn fell silent at once. "You have no business speakin' of the Lords in such a way! Now shut your mouth and get back to work like a good lass before I report you!"

Now it was Evelyn's turn to mutter incoherently under her breath. But Iortae said not another word. The two women continued their tasks in silence before exiting the dining hall. As soon as he was sure that they were gone, Reynard crawled out from under the table and made his way back to Seregon's house in the first circle.

After the events of Merry's dream had been retold, none of the Fellowship slept much for the second night running. When morning came, Aragorn would send out a full search for the missing Ringbearer.

The hobbits remained together in Merry and Pippin's room for the rest of the night. Though they were all exhausted beyond comprehension, none of them slept another wink. Instead, they sat on Merry's bed in glum silence, occasionally exchanging a few words, voicing questions and formulating possible answers. But they did not waste their breaths on reassurances.

Though hobbits in general always sort to comfort others in times of need, whether the situation was dire or not so, these three had been through enough to know when reassurances were completely and utterly useless. They were all just as worried as each other – and they all knew it. And there was a very good reason to be. So it was no use saying that everything would be alright – when they had no idea whether it would. Instead they remained chiefly in silence, whiling away the rest of the night in their small huddle – taking at least a small bit of comfort in the company of each other.

As the storm slowly dissipated, they tried hard not to dwell on what Frodo must be suffering in his lonely state on such a fearful night. When at last dawn cracked through the cloak of night, the three decided they might as well get up and see if the bounty of the dining hall would offer them any solace.

If this had been any other day, they would have been quite surprised at the number of people already in the hall at such an early hour. But as it was, their registration of such a thing was only mild. They sat in their usual places on the long grand table, looking up to the head (as was their wont) to see if Gandalf or Aragorn was there. Both were present. Indeed, the whole Fellowship currently residing in the seventh circle was present in the hall at that time, though Gandalf and Aragorn had only arrived a couple of minutes before the hobbits. They had spoken long into the night and had not gone back to sleep either, though both were considerably better at hiding their weariness than the hobbits. They were even now currently deep in conversation with Faramir and Éomer. Not finding this remotely interesting or unusual, the hobbits turned their attention to piling their plates with food.

As they applied themselves to their meal, the four Lords at the head of the table shook out their napkins and placed them over their laps. Aragorn's already grim face darkened further as his eyes caught site of the filthy letter resting almost innocently on his plate. His three surrounding fellows fell still and silent as they watched him pick it up and break open the unmarked seal.

Always one to sense even the slightest of shifts in a mood, Samwise looked up from his plate with a frown. The room suddenly felt tense and expectant. He looked down the table and his eyes widened. Merry and Pippin soon followed his gaze to watch Aragorn reading a piece of grubby parchment. With each word he read, the King continued to pale until he reached the end and made a strange and very uncharacteristic choking sound. The hall was now completely reticent.

"Aragorn?" said Gandalf quietly. "What does it say?"

Aragorn opened his mouth and attempted to speak several times, but only succeeded in producing the queer choking sound once more before he abruptly got to his feet and left the hall through a side door that led to a small chamber. The Fellowship, Faramir, Éomer and Éowyn quickly followed.

Aragorn was pacing the chamber in such a manner that spoke volumes to those who knew him. The letter was clutched tightly in one trembling hand.

"Aragorn," spoke Gandalf again, this time more urgently. "What does it say?"

Aragorn spun to face the wizard, his eyes glittering with a tempest of emotions. "What does it say?" he choked. He held out the letter for Gandalf to take. "Read it for yourself!"

With a frown, Gandalf took the letter. "It's in Elvish," he said softly.

"Read it!" said Aragorn again. Gandalf cleared his throat and read in a clear voice for all present to hear.

"My Dear Friends, I am so sorry for the worry I must be causing you, but I have been kidnapped by two Men – Desmond and Reynard. They are holding me in a house in one of the lower circles (I don't know which circle exactly) of the city. They and another Man named Seregon want Aragorn to come alone to the public gardens in the fifth circle at midnight on May 6. They want you to bring nine full sacks of gold pieces. But please, I beg of you, do not give them the money! The city cannot afford to lose so much gold when so many reparations still need to be made from the war. Do not worry about me! The Men will not harm me overmuch – if they kill me they won't get anything after all. But don't you dare exchange all of that money just for me. The gold will not be put to any sort of good use whatsoever. The welfare of the city is your first priority, Aragorn. And to Sam, Merry and Pippin – DON'T YOU DARE TRY ANYTHING ON YOUR OWN! DO AS ARAGORN AND GANDALF SAY OR I WILL SEE TO IT SOME WAY OR ANOTHER THAT SHADOWFAX DRAGS YOU ALONG THE GROUND FROM THE CITY TO THE SHIRE! But now I'm afraid I must finish writing this letter. Hopefully the Men won't suspect too much (I told them that hobbits only knew how to write in Elvish). Farewell my friends – Frodo."

There was a pause as Gandalf's voice died into the air. The group stood in a sorrowful circle with their heads bowed. At last Pippin looked up. Over the past six months he had had to summon more courage within himself than he had thought was possible. But now the knowledge of everything he had learnt on the Quest seemed to evaporate from his being. He felt like a scared tweenager again, not fully understanding what was going on. But he did know that Frodo was in trouble and that something had to be done about it. He looked around at the gloomy faces about him.

"What are we going to do now?" he asked in a small voice.

TBC

A/N: Phew! Well that's another chapter down and there's still so much more to go! My thanks to Lexi for her help (you're still my angel!) :D Sorry again for the delay in updating. Coursework and homework have been killing me and exams are just about to start, so I'm afraid there's going to be another delay with the next chapter. My deepest apologies for leaving you all hanging like that, but I will update as soon as I can so you can all find out what happens to Frodo next.

Breon Briarwood – Surely you must be losing your voice by now from all of this chanting?! Hehehe. On any account, I'm glad and relieved to hear that the story's not a tremendous disappointment. :D Trouble for the guard, eh? Well there's something to consider for later… Hehehe. And I agree, go Frodo for putting up a fight alright! Although now he doesn't have the advantage of being underestimated. Let's see how that will shape things… I'll try and update for you as quickly as I can. :)

Cheese – Hahaha. Well if I can turn you, Rach, then my work is done! :D And you really should watch it! It's THE BEST! :D Well… you know my views on LOTR. Hehehe.

Elijahs-gurl – Thanks very much! :) And we all adore Frodo… there's just something about that hobbit that makes us wanna hug him – don't you agree? Though I feel rather guilty for putting him through all of this :( But thank you very much for your encouragement – it's greatly appreciated. :)

FrodoBaggins87 – Thank you very much for your kind words! I'm so glad you're enjoying it. And Frodo most certainly does have more in store for him, so watch this space… Thank you also for your email. Your wonderful words of encouragement were truly touching and I am so happy to know that this story is being enjoyed so much. Your constructive criticism has been taken into account and I hope I can improve my work with time. :) Thank you for actually taking the time to write both email and review! Hehehe – I feel so loved! :P

Graphite ZK – Yep, Seregon's bringing out the goods now, so to speak. And in this chapter we finally see Reynard being somewhat useful to his fellow baddies. Glad that it's getting more interesting, hopefully I'll be able to keep that up. ;)

heartofahobbit – Seregon really has turned things around, hasn't he? I wonder how he's going to effect things later on… Hmmm… there's something to think about. But he's certainly effecting things now! As to Frodo's perseverance… You are absolutely right in saying that it is one of his greatest qualities… but you're also right in that everyone has a breaking point. I think now he has been pushed to that limit and he is once more beginning to crumble. The big difference, though, between now and when he was bearing the Ring, is Sam. It will be interesting and possibly heartbreaking to see how Frodo does or does not survive without Sam constantly being by his side to keep him going. So watch this space to find out what happens next… And I am somewhat relieved to hear you compliment the "flow and ease" of my writing. With chapter nine and ten particularly I've had real trouble making it all flow together as it should, and I have been quite worried about making it sound right. So thank you very much for the reassurance. ;)

Indolosse – Hahaha. SHE PROCLAIMS HER LOVE! SCORE! Hehehe. Thanks Bronwyn. And go me for good writing! :D I just love those hobbits, especially when they're being so cute and cuddly. But who IS your favourite character? I can't put more of him in if I don't know who he is!

Iorhael – (sighs) Yes… Our favourite hobbit has been caught again. But just two more days until the exchange! Let's see if he can't hold up until then. Hopefully everything will run smoothly with no more complications… but we'll see. And you're very welcome for the return to Merry and Pippin. I just couldn't resist leaving them out for too long. ;)

Kaewi – Thank you very much! Glad to hear that the story's still okay ;) And yes, the potion has made its appearance at last! You've seen some more of the bag's contents in this chapter (the cane) and I have a feeling that more's going to be coming up, so watch out for that! And the guards… well it would just be too easy to have Frodo saved like that, wouldn't it. I'm glad you enjoyed the flashback at the end. I enjoyed writing it. I was originally going to end the chapter without putting it in, but it just didn't feel right. And you're absolutely right, Frodo is such an important figure in both the young hobbit's lives, as a cousin and friend. I just love them all! :D

Rose – Thank you, Rose. I'm glad you're enjoying it. More coming your way as soon as possible. :)

vorny – Hey siobhan! Glad you're enjoying it, hehehe. But I can't reveal too much or the story will be spoilt!